THE MISSING (L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Book 4) (20 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

THE NEXT MORNING, Julianna heard Luke long before she saw him coming from the bathroom. He’d showered, but he looked drawn, his eyes were bloodshot as if he hadn’t slept.

Because he wouldn’t listen to her idea, she was at a loss as to what to say or do, so she just kept on heading to the kitchen. Abe had volunteered to help with her plan, but realistically, she couldn’t endanger Abe. She had to think of something, maybe someplace he could go until all this was over. But Abe leaving the ranch now was about as likely as him winning the Boston Marathon.

Pops was already in the kitchen when she got there. The aroma of coffee tantalized her. Abe liked his coffee strong enough to grow hair on your knuckles, and she’d gotten to enjoy it that way, too.

“Coffee’s ready,” he said. “Been up for a couple of hours and had breakfast, too. But I can whomp up a batch of eggs if you want.”

“I’m not very hungry, Pops, but thanks anyway.” She poured herself some coffee and popped in a couple pieces of toast. “This will be just fine.”

As she set the plate of toast on the table, Abe said, “I hate to say I agree with Luke, but he’s right. You could get hurt if you go through with this idea of yours.”

“I know that, Abe.” She placed her hand on his. “But I need to try. This…perverted lowlife could be Michael’s murderer. It would be worth my life to take him down.”

Abe’s rheumy eyes sparked. “Michael’s—you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure. But there are too many similarities for me not to entertain the possibility. Regardless, the man is going to continue to threaten me unless something is done. But in all good conscience, I can’t put you at risk.”

“You let me worry about that,” he said. “If you’re going to insist on doing this, then I’m going to help. Just tell me what I can do?”

Could she? Could she even consider including Abe in the plan? It wasn’t his mission, it was hers. If something happened to her, so be it. But not Abe. “The one thing you can do to help is let me find a place for you to stay for a little while. A vacation spot. Maybe someplace beachy and warm.”

Abe frowned, then pushed to his feet, his chair scraping on the adobe-tiled floor. “I may be an old man, Julianna, but I’m not dead. I don’t have a lot of years left and dammit, if there’s something I can do, by God, I’m going to do it. And that doesn’t mean going somewhere to rot on a beach.”

Luke was right. The whole thing was ridiculous. A bad plan. Not a bad idea, but a bad plan since it would inevitably involve other people. She couldn’t justify that. Especially not Abe. Luke, yes. He had law enforcement experience. He had a stake in the outcome. In more ways than one.

“I heard you say you wanted to learn to shoot a gun. I can teach you.”

Julianna’s spirits perked. “Really?”

“Best teacher around. Taught Luke when he was a boy. He’s won some shooting contests, you know.”

“I heard about his shooting skills, but not the contests.” Luke had never told her. Funny how little she actually knew about the man she’d been married to for five years.

“I was a crack shot with a rifle in Vietnam, and I still am.”

“I don’t know, Abe. I’m thinking Luke might be right. It’s too dangerous.”

~~~

LUKE STOOD IN THE ARCHWAY listening. Since last night he’d done a lot of thinking about Julianna’s plan and also about his contribution to the end of their marriage.

Instead of being supportive, he’d turned to a bottle. Instead of understanding, he’d said they needed to go on with their lives, start a new family. Truth was, he couldn’t imagine anything worse than bringing a child into an unhappy home.

And Jules had been right about another thing. They couldn’t replace Michael. They could only begin again once they learned to live with their grief.

Neither of them had handled that part very well. But by writing her stories, Jules was doing
something.
All these years she’d been focused on finding Michael’s killer and doing it the only way she knew how. Instead of using his skills, he’d drowned himself in alcohol and self-pity. He was appalled at his own weakness.

The way Jules handled the loss was a testament to her incredible strength. And she wasn’t going to quit until she found the bastard who killed their son. He hauled in a deep breath. Perhaps working together would bring some kind of closure for both of them.

“Maybe dangerous. Maybe not,” Luke said, walking into the room. He strode over, poured a cup of coffee and set it on the table, pausing before he explained. He didn’t want either of them thinking he was condoning Jules’s idea of taking matters into her own hands. He needed to make it a police operation. He ran a hand through his still-wet hair. “I’ve been thinking.”

Julianna and Abe looked at Luke. “About?” they said in unison.

Luke pulled out a chair and sat. “I’ve been thinking that if this plan was done in the right way, it might just work.”

Jules’s mouth dropped open. His dad frowned. Luke sipped his coffee. “We’re going to be here anyway, so we might as well be prepared. However, we’d have to have backup. Sheriff Yuma, if he’s around. Jordan and Rico in L.A. Rico has already set up a monitoring system on your laptop that makes all incoming messages traceable in some way. It’s complicated and takes a while to follow up, but it’s not impossible. If we get a location on the guy and he’s in their area, they’ll handle it from there.”

When Jules and his dad simply sat there staring at him, he went on. “First thing for us to do here is get a tap on this phone. If the guy’s using burners…disposable phones…it won’t do much good, but if he gets sloppy and uses a private phone somewhere, we might get lucky and locate the source. Jules, you’ll keep your cell off, so if he calls it has to be the land line. Jordan is sending me wires, so we can be hooked up and transmitting all the time. No one will do anything without the rest of us knowing what that is. Even at night. And Jules, I’ll train you to shoot a handgun.”

“I can do that,” Abe said.

“A handgun, Pops. Not your expertise.”

“I taught you.”

Luke rubbed his chin. “And a good job you did. But I learned even more at the police academy and by practicing at the gun range.”

“I’m a good shot.”

Luke felt as if he were battling a five-year-old who wouldn’t give in. “Dad. I need control of the situation or we’re not going to do anything. Lives are at stake. It’s critical that we have one person in charge and that’s me since I have the experience and the connections.” He looked from one to the other. “Can you two agree to that? If not, that’s it. We’re not doing anything.”

“Sure,” Jules answered without hesitation. “You’re the expert.”

Finally, Abe reluctantly said, “Okay.”

“You’re the sharpshooter, Pops. I want you to find a place from where you can give the most cover to Jules when she goes to the stable each day. The second she goes out the door, you’re going to be in position. I’ll have the stable and other outbuildings rigged with cameras so we can see the entire place.”

“If he’s watching, won’t he see us setting all this up?”

“If he’s watching, all he’ll see is us working. We’ll have to be discreet.”

Just then, Luke’s cell phone rang. It could only be one of three people. Jordan, Rico or the captain. “Coltrane,” he answered.

“Yo,” Rico said. “We’ve got another e-mail message.”

“What’s it say?”

“It’s weird. It’s like a poem, but it’s not. You want me to read it?”

“Sure. Let me get a pencil and paper.”

As Luke finished writing, Rico said, “We’ve also got a phone number for Beau Thatcher from Mrs. Jenner’s phone bill. There were several calls but only one we can track.”

“Go for it,” Luke said. “What about the stepfather?”

“Jordan’s on it as we speak. The guy’s moved around a lot.”

Luke took a deep breath. He had to tell Rico about their plan, and he knew exactly what his by-the-book buddy would say. Better to wait until later when his dad and Jules weren’t there. “I’ll get back to you after I talk with Jules about the message. If we can decipher what it means, then we can send a response.”

This was the perfect time to set the bastard up. Jules thought he’d likely respond after the article ran, so they had a week to put their plan together. But the sooner they got everything in place, the better.

After he hung up, Luke said, “Okay, are we all on the same page?”

Abe nodded. “What if this guy doesn’t make a move?”

“Don’t know. He’s been pretty predictable calling after each installment and he’s just sent another e-mail message.” He picked up the paper. “It’s some kind of rhyme. Jules, does this mean anything to you?”

She read the message. “This is weird.” She read the message again, this time out loud.

[“In the cicada’s cry

No sign can foretell

How soon it must die.”]

“It’s like haiku, but I don’t know for sure.”

“What the heck’s haiku?” Luke asked.

“It’s a kind of Japanese poetry. I think there has to be a certain number of syllables to each line. I can look it up on the Internet.” She got up and left the room.

“It’s gibberish,” Abe piped up. “And if that’s all it says, how d’ya know who it’s from?”

“He sent it to Jules’s attention, and signed it with a star, the same as the others.”

Jules came back with her borrowed laptop, set it on the table and turned it on. “I’ll Google it and see what happens.”

Luke watched as she typed in the word
haiku
and instantly several references came up. One site explained the original construction of Japanese haiku poetry, that there needed to be seventeen syllables divided into lines of five, seven and five. After reading the explanation, Jules hit another link that showed popular haiku writers.

Luke shoved a hand through his hair. “This isn’t doing us any good unless we know what he means.”

“Since this has been translated, it doesn’t seem to follow the exact description for Haiku structure, does it?”

Luke and Abe both shrugged.

“But I think he’s telling me I won’t know when he’s going to strike. And by the way, it says here that particular poem was written by Basho, a seventeenth century samurai.”

“So this psycho thinks of himself as a samurai? A warrior of some kind?”

Jules slumped back in her chair. “I don’t give a rat what he thinks. It just creeps me out knowing he’s probably not some Neanderthal idiot. Idiots aren’t into poetry.”

“Serial killers believe they’re above the law, too smart to get caught. They’ll even taunt the police like the BTK killer. They’re narcissistic bastards.”

“Another good reason for you to get out of that job, son.”

Luke did a double take. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad called him “son.” He couldn’t remember his father ever giving a damn about what he did with his life. Once he’d left the ranch that was it. “I didn’t know you cared,” he answered, then wished he hadn’t sounded so sarcastic.

Abe crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t. But other people do.” He glanced at Julianna. “Maybe they shouldn’t.”

Julianna looked away. Started typing again. “This Basho guy wrote some two hundred haikus before he died. Weird, huh?”

“Do
you
know anyone who writes haikus?”

She smiled. “I know a macho guy who wrote a poem once. But he’s no threat.”

Luke blanched. One freaking time he’d tried to do something romantic and it comes back to bite him in the ass. He stood, pulled a gun from the back of his pants.

Jules gasped.

“You wanted to learn to shoot a gun. I’m ready to start now.”

“ARE YOU SURE we won’t be seen doing this?” Julianna eyed the tree in the distance where Luke had tacked up a homemade target.

“I’m sure. We’re two miles out with nothing around but pasture and an occasional tree. How could anyone see us? Now stand still and get in position.”

“Someone could’ve followed us.”

He came up behind her. “Not the way we came. It was totally open. I would’ve spotted them. We’ve got a clear view all the way around. Both hands now.”

She felt his body against her back. Warm and big and she fit perfectly against him. He placed his left hand on her arm, his face against the side of hers. Her heartbeat quickened.

“That’s better,” he said, his hot breath fanning her cheek.

There was no way in hell she could concentrate enough to hit anything with him so close. Her mind flashed to the other night when they’d made love in Venice Beach, and her blood rushed.

“You’re not concentrating.” He stepped away. “Your hand is wavering all over the place. You’ll never hit anything like that.”

“I will if you move away.”

He smiled wickedly. “Distracting, am I?”

“Mildly.”

“Well, get used to it. There will always be distractions, so you have to learn to focus. Keep the gun raised, with both hands on it and your eye on the target. Feet shoulder-width apart. Once you’re ready, squeeze off a round to see how it feels.”

“Don’t I have to do something to prepare?”

“You are prepared. Now just do it. Think of this as a trial run to see if you want to continue. And be ready for a kickback.”

She moistened her lips, took aim and squeezed the trigger
. Blam
! She jerked back and almost dropped the gun. Her hand reverberated as if a live grenade had gone off in it. “That’s a mean kick.”

“Only when you’ve never done it before. You’ll get used to it now that you know what to expect.”

She squinted at the target. “Did I hit anything?”

He grinned. “See that tuft of dirt sticking up? That’s what you shot.”

“I shot the ground. That’s great.”

“Do you want to go on?”

“Until I hit the bull’s-eye.”

He gave more instructions and she kept at it until her hand was red and swollen and by the time they rode back, it was late afternoon. But finally, she’d hit the target. Not dead center, but close enough. Taking the horses into the barn, Julianna looked at Luke. “Well, you haven’t said how I did.”

He grinned. “You did just as I expected you would.”

“You mean I sucked.” And maybe she did, but each shot had been better than the last.

“No, I meant that I knew you’d keep at it until you got it right. Now you’ll have to practice or what you learned today won’t mean a thing.”

“I will. But isn’t there a closer place to do it? I don’t want to have to drag you with me every time.”

Luke unbuckled Balboa’s saddle and pulled it off. “Now how would you know if you were doing something wrong if I wasn’t there to tell you?”

She laughed. “Believe me, I know when I’m doing something wrong. Don’t you?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I leave that up to other people.”

She wasn’t sure if he was kidding or deadly serious. Didn’t matter. There were more important things at stake than her relationship with Luke.
Relationship.
What a crock. She had no relationship with Luke. He was her ex-husband. Period. End.
Finito
.

“Besides, you’re not going anywhere alone unless it’s part of the plan.”

That’s what
he
thought.

But every day after that, Luke shadowed her. Whether she went outside to the patio or to the store, he went with her. When she practiced her shooting, Luke stood at her side. Or behind her. Or he lay on the grass a few feet away, studying her, critiquing when he saw the need. And the more he watched, the more acutely aware of him she became; his strong hands and long fingers, the way he tipped his head when he was thoughtful, the little dip between his bottom lip and his chin. His sensuous mouth. Luke was a hard man to ignore. Her heart raced just thinking about him.

On the third day, Julianna hit the outer edge of the bull’s-eye. “Yes!” she called out and raised a hand in the air. She turned to Luke. “Hey, I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

A rhythmic pounding sounded behind Julianna. She turned to see Stella Hancock galloping toward them on a brown-and-white pinto, slowing as she got closer. The older woman’s hair blew free in the wind and for a moment, Julianna thought she looked much younger than her years.

Tugging the reins, the neighbor pulled the steed to a halt near Julianna. She greeted Julianna with a questioning look. “I was out riding and heard the shooting. I couldn’t figure out why anyone would be firing a gun out here, so I came to see.”

Luke scowled.

“Luke was just teaching me how to shoot,” Julianna said. “Now, we’re seeing who’s the best shot.”

Stella slid from the mare, stood next to Julianna and squinted at the target. “Not bad. I used to be a fair shot myself.”

“Really.” Julianna glanced at Luke who was now ignoring the woman. Being rude. “Want to try it?” Julianna held out the gun.

Rising from his spot on the grass, Luke all but growled, “We better go.”

Stella shook her head at Julianna’s offer of the gun and reached for her own weapon hanging on a holster from the saddle horn. She released the safety, took aim and nailed the target dead-on.

“Wow. You’re better than Luke,” Julianna said, smiling. “You’ve obviously done a lot of shooting.”

“Since high school.”

“You must’ve had a good teacher.”

“The best. Abraham taught me.” Stella took aim and squeezed off another shot. Another bull’s-eye.

Julianna’s mouth fell open but not because of Stella’s superb shooting. “Really. You’ve known Abe since high school?”

Luke couldn’t not look. But he didn’t say a word.

Stella looked at Luke, then back to Julianna. “As I mentioned before, Abraham and I have known each other a very long time.”

She knew Luke was probably smoldering because she was talking to Stella, but she didn’t care. She wondered if Luke knew that Stella and his father had known each other for so long. That Stella had been his mother’s friend. He must’ve. But looking at him, he seemed as surprised as she was.

“Here, I’ll show you a trick,” the older woman said.

Luke launched to his feet. “We don’t have time for tricks. We have to go, Jules.”

Stella didn’t say a word, but after a few seconds, gave a resigned shrug. “It was nice talking with you, Julianna.” She turned, hitched herself up into the saddle and looking at Luke said, “You, too, Luke.”

As Julianna watched the woman ride away, her mind spun. What a bizarre exchange. She swung around to face Luke. “That was rude.”

“She wasn’t invited.”

She stomped over to him. “I was talking to her and whether you like it or not, I can talk to whomever I please.”

He snatched the gun from her hand and holstered it.

“Whatever it is with you, Luke, it’s been going on for a long time. Too long. Get over it.”

For the first time in years, Luke seemed speechless.

“Did you know that she and your father have known each other since high school?”

Luke kicked at a clump of grass, his expression odd.

He knew something. Enough to make him hate the woman.

“Did you know that Abe taught her to shoot?” she pressed for an answer.

“No,” Luke snapped. “And I don’t care.”

They walked in silence to get the horses they’d tethered at the tree a few yards away.

Maybe he didn’t care, but she did. Something had happened a long time ago that profoundly affected Luke’s relationship with his father, and she was beginning to believe it had something to do with Stella Hancock. In fact, she was sure of it.