Born To Be Wild (5 page)

And Micah said, “I’ll do a search for a Roy Donovan in this area.”

One ring and she got a connection. “Ochoa.”

“This is Isabel Falcon.” She turned on speakerphone, so Micah could hear, too.

“Ms. Falcon, I was just going to call you.”

Her heart thundered with hope. “You found Lucy?” She locked gazes with Micah, whose hand froze over his smartphone.

“No. Sorry. But we got a call from the principal of her school about another missing student.”

Disappointment made her throat close, and a scary expression crossed Micah’s features before he hid it from her. He didn’t want her to know he was feeling as desperate as she was.

“Yes,” she said into her cell, “Principal Rivera just told us about Sam Donovan. So his parents still didn’t call in?”

“Nope. Haven’t heard from them.”

If something had happened to their son, surely they would have done so, Isabel thought. “We wondered if there could be a connection.”

“That’s the reason we’re following up on it. We tried the home, but no one answered. Neighbors didn’t know anything was wrong. We’re trying some other Donovans now. If we locate a relative, we should be able to find out if the boy really is missing, and if so, the circumstances.”

“Can we have their phone number?” Isabel asked. “Maybe we can leave a message, one parent to another. Surely they’ll check their messages.”

He gave her the number, saying, “Keep me informed. And don’t do anything foolish on your own.”

Anything foolish?

Of course she would do something—anything—foolish or not, if it meant getting Lucy back, and Isabel was certain Micah would do the same.

After tapping the phone number into her cell, she handed the slip of paper with the number to Micah. And while she left a message for the Donovans, he was looking up information on his smartphone.

The moment she hung up, he said, “I found where they live,” and showed her the map on the small screen.

Not knowing what else they could do to find their daughter, she asked, “What are we waiting for?”

…

Caleb Wild held on tight as he guided his ancient, rusted pickup over a rutted dirt road on the outskirts of Soledad. A quarter of a mile in, he parked on the side of the road next to Holy Trinity Cemetery. The grounds held a hodgepodge of graves, all with wooden crosses, some of the markers so old the names were worn completely away. No neat landscaping here. The high desert vegetation grew wild within the cemetery. He clambered out of the truck. There had been an influx of rain the past few days. The wind was blowing in gusts, and the air was still heavy with the scent of juniper and purple robe locust trees, sage, and fragrant honeysuckle.

Entering the cemetery through an opening in the barbed-wire fence, Caleb shuffled across the uneven ground until he got to the wooden cross marking Hector Falcon’s grave.

“Our fault, Hector,” he said. His chest was tight, and a huge lump filled his throat. His eyes stung with unshed tears. Not that he was going to cry. He wouldn’t give the old bastard the satisfaction, not even with him in his grave all these years.

“You and I both know that we’re responsible for our great-granddaughter’s being in trouble,” he told the dry earth covering his old enemy. “Lucy is such a special girl. But then, you must be aware of that, no matter which direction you took when you gave up the fight.”

If Hector’s spirit had gone anywhere at all.

For the first time in his life, Caleb wondered if there really was a God. If so, how could he let an innocent child suffer for the arrogance of two old fools?

“We need your help finding Lucy, Hector. We need to find her ’fore it’s too late. If you’re still around somewhere, then you can see her. You got to be able to see her, an’ know who has her an’ why. Gimme a sign. Let me know what to do to get her back. We worked together once. We were partners before it all fell apart. We can do it again. For Lucy. I’m so close to crossing over, surely I can see or hear a sign from the other side.”

His voice broke on the last, because he didn’t know if he could see or hear anything spiritual at all. But he guessed this was his way of praying. The only way he knew how.

The desert wind whistled around him, the only sound filling his head. If he’d actually expected to hear Hector speak to him in return, he was sorely disappointed.

Caleb sighed.

Then, suddenly, he got an answer.

Hector-inspired or not, that answer told him he’d done the right thing in facing his old nemesis.

Chapter Five

To Isabel’s disappointment, no one answered the Donovans’ door and no car sat in the side drive. They were standing in front of a Territorial style house in one of Santa Fe’s newer developments. All the houses looked pretty much alike but a double-check on the house number told her they were at the right place. A car pulled up into the shared drive, and a woman with silver-blond hair got out with a bag of groceries. She gave them an intent look.

“Can I help you with something?” the neighbor asked.

Micah said, “We’re looking for the Donovans. It’s very important.”

“They’re at work.”

”The school couldn’t track them down,” Isabel said. “And their son is missing.”

“What are you talking about? Sam isn’t missing. I just saw him this morning.”

“But he didn’t show up at school,” Micah said.

“Because he was sick all night. Food poisoning or stomach flu or something. Leah said she was dropping him off at her mom’s for the day on her way to work. She must have forgotten to call the school.”

“Oh. Oh, thank goodness he’s all right,” Isabel said, relieved. So Micah had been right. Though it didn’t get her any closer to finding her daughter, she was glad. She wouldn’t wish her gut-wrenching fear on another parent.

The neighbor narrowed her gaze on them. “What in the world is going on?”

Isabel told her about Lucy, and the woman’s expression grew horrified.

“Oh, you poor dears. I’m so sorry.”

“The police were here, hoping to talk to the parents,” Micah said. “And to the neighbors, as well.”

She lifted her grocery bag. “They must have come and gone while I was at the store.”

“Well, thank you for relieving our minds about Sam,” Micah said. “We thought maybe Lucy and Sam were both at risk. That maybe his parents knew something that might help the authorities find them both.” He shook his head. “Now it’s just Lucy again.”

The sound of Micah’s pain sliced through Isabel like a knife. She couldn’t stop herself from sliding a hand into his to offer solace. His fingers wrapped around hers tightly. She gave him an answering squeeze, but was starting to feel desolate.

Another dead end.

What now? They couldn’t just sit around and do nothing.

“Thanks again,” she told the neighbor, her voice catching.

They turned toward the truck, and Micah insisted on helping her in. The comforting feel of his gentle hands on her waist, even briefly, made her yearn for more.

His arms around her.

His breath whispering along her cheek.

His fingers combing the hair back from her face before he kissed her.

Yearnings that made her question herself. Made her feel guilty. Made her feel like she was betraying their daughter.

Lucy was enough for her.

She always had been, always would be.

Her child was her reason for being.

Without Lucy, she was lost.

…

Micah headed the truck for Isabel’s place because he didn’t know what else to do. She somehow pulled herself together and called Detective Ochoa to tell him what the neighbor had said about Sam being at his grandmother’s house.

No sooner did she click off than she murmured, “Oh, no, I left that message on the Donovans’ voice mail. What if they check their messages and think something has happened to their son?”

Isabel then left a second message for the Donovans, apologizing for possibly scaring them.

“I can’t believe we wasted half the morning,” Micah said.

“We had to check it out. What if Sam really had been missing? What else were we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. If you and Lucy were back in Soledad where you belong, this never would have happened. First the damn bus accident three months ago, now this. You never should have left, Isabel.” And he wasn’t just talking about Lucy being missing.

“Then you never should have let me go.”

“As if I could have stopped you.” He’d learned long ago that sometimes love just wasn’t enough to keep a couple together.

“You weren’t even man enough to try!”

Micah clutched the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers. Hadn’t he thought that enough times himself? He’d been nineteen, somewhere between being a reckless kid and a responsible adult. He opened his mouth to tell her that, but Isabel’s cell rang.

She pulled it out of her bag and looked at the screen. “Emily Johnson? I don’t know any Emily Johnson.”

With an uneasy feeling, Micah said, “Maybe you’d better answer anyway.”

Isabel did, listened a moment, and her tone was anxious when she said, “Can I speak to him?” She switched on the speakerphone.

“Um, hello? Is this Lucy’s mother?”

“It is. And this is Sam, right?”

“Yeah, Mom got your message, and was so worried she called to make sure I was all right. Then she mentioned Lucy being missing and she gave Gram your number to call you back so I could talk to you.”

Instinct drove Micah to pull the truck into a fast food place and park as Isabel asked, “Does that mean you know Lucy?”

“Yeah. She’s real cool. For a girl.”

“Lucy never came home yesterday.”

“That’s what Mom said. Lucy didn’t look so good after school let out, and then when I got sick later, I figured it was the cafeteria food. I thought maybe she was sick from it, too.”

Micah’s pulse picked up as he wondered what else the kid had seen.

Isabel asked, “You saw Lucy yesterday after school?”

“Yeah. In the parking lot. She was in this car that drove by me. She looked all dopey, like she was half-asleep and trying to wake up. I thought you came to get her because she wasn’t feeling so good.”

Had Lucy been drugged? His gut twisting, Micah locked gazes with Isabel, whose eyes went wide and mouth started to tremble. He put up a hand to signal her to let him do the talking.

“This is Lucy’s dad, Sam. Thanks for calling us. Did you see who was driving the car?” His gut twisted at the thought of their daughter being drugged, but he kept his tone even so he wouldn’t scare the kid.

“No, sorry. The windows were tinted pretty dark. But Lucy’s head was against her window. That’s how I saw her.”

Isabel gasped, and Micah saw she’d gone pale. He reached over and grasped her hand as he asked, “What kind of car was it?”

“Um, don’t know.”

“What color?”

“Black. Kinda sleek. And it looked fresh. New and cool,” he explained. “A cool design on the front fender. Kinda like a cross.”

“Is there anything else you remember?” Isabel’s nails were digging into his flesh. He clung to her hand, careful not to hurt her. “Any scrapes? Bumper stickers?” Anything to help them recognize the car. Surely, there was something, for God’s sake! “Something hanging off the front mirror?”

“I-I don’t know. But I remember part of the number on the plates—one-two-two-five. You know, twelve-twenty-five, like Christmas Day. Does that help?”

“That helps a lot, Sam.” Even though it confirmed their worst fears.
Oh, God.
Lucy was in the hands of some stranger
. Micah swallowed the bile that rushed his throat. “Thank you for calling us, son. We’re going to talk to the detective in charge of Lucy’s case. Detective Frank Ochoa may be calling you with more questions. That okay?”

“Sure. I don’t want nothing bad happening to Lucy. I’ll be here at Gram’s house until Mom gets off work.”

“Thank you, S-Sam,” Isabel said, her voice shaking now. “And thank your m-mom for giving you my number. If you re-remember anything else, you call me again.”

“Yeah, sure.”

The moment she clicked off, Isabel cried, “No…no…no!”

While his own stomach churned, Micah did his best to keep her calm. “At least we got a decent lead.”

“I don’t understand why Lucy would get in a stranger’s car! She knows better!”

“Maybe she had no choice. The kid said he thought she looked sick. Maybe she was drugged.”

“My God. Someone really took her, Micah! Someone took our Lucy! I was hoping it was all a mistake, that she had wandered off somewhere and would show up—”

“I know. Me, too.”

Micah reached across the console and pulled Isabel to him. She cried against his shoulder. Having his arms around her to comfort her felt so right, like she belonged there. Belonged with him. But their daughter belonged with them, as well.

Thank God for Sam. That the kid remembered the tag numbers was a miracle.

“Surely Ochoa can track down that license plate. We’ll have her back in a matter of hours. I know we will.” But Micah still couldn’t take a normal breath.

Especially when Isabel collapsed into his arms and cried.

…

Isabel looked over Detective Frank Ochoa’s shoulder as he put the partial plate number into his computer database. Micah was pacing the floor behind them. Anxiety was eating her alive.

How many car owners would he have to pursue?

How much longer before they had Lucy safe?

Detective Ochoa turned away from the monitor, his coal-dark eyes meeting hers. “Looks like there are five New Mexican plates that have one-two-two-five as part of the plate number.”

“Five?” Five leads to follow—how long would that take? “What are we waiting for?”

“Hang on. Let me take a look at where the vehicles are registered.”

She felt Micah move behind her. He was barely touching her, but his body heat seared her so that she had to force herself to stay put. Being in his arms earlier had been a huge mistake. But it had felt so good…

“Las Cruces…way too far south,” Ochoa mumbled. “Farmington…too far north. Albuquerque…closer, but doubtful. Taos…same. But number five is most likely our winner. Tim Whitley. He drives a black Ford and lives about a half mile from the municipal airport.”

“What’s the address?” Micah asked.

“Whoa, son.” The detective stood, and while he wasn’t as broadly built as Micah, he was nearly as tall. His short black hair seemed to be bristling, and he aimed his blade of a nose practically in Micah’s face. “You’re not heading this investigation. I am.”

Micah’s face flooded with color. “Lucy is my daughter.”

“Which is why you need to stay out of it. I will keep you fully informed.”

Knowing Micah’s stubborn streak, Isabel put a hand on his arm. “Arguing just means it’ll be longer before we have Lucy back with us. Let the man do his job.”

“Fine.”

“Good. You can wait here and I’ll call it in as soon as I have something.” Ochoa turned to the uniformed officers in the room. “I want a squad following me for backup.” He immediately headed for the exit.

And Micah followed practically on his heels, Isabel nearly running to keep up.

“Shouldn’t we just stay here and wait like he said?” she asked.

“Like hell I will,” Micah muttered.

By the time they got to the truck, Ochoa’s unmarked vehicle had whizzed down the street and the black-and-white was directly behind him. Micah jumped into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine, and was moving by the time she closed the passenger door.

“Seat belt!” he ordered, hitting the accelerator.

They whipped out of the parking lot and quickly caught up to the squad car.

“Detective Ochoa isn’t going to be happy when he sees us.”

“So I’ll stay back, keep a low profile.”

Isabel hung on and prayed Ochoa had chosen the right car and the right man to pursue, and that the guy hadn’t done anything horrific to their little girl.

…

Tim Whitley lived in a housing development of small adobes with little to no landscaping. Micah and Isabel sat in the truck, parked a short distance back from Ochoa. The squad car was on the other side of the street. The detective had already tried the front door with no response. He came over to their vehicle.

“I should have known you’d follow me, Mr. Wild.” He checked his watch. “You ought to go home. It might be a while. No doubt Whitley is still at work.”

“We’ll wait,” Micah said, unwilling to leave now.

“When he comes home, you two stay back. That’s an order.”

“What if Lucy’s inside now?” Isabel asked. “Can’t you go in and find out?”

“Not unless we hear her screaming for help. Need a warrant otherwise. No judge is going to give us one on what we have. We need something more substantial. I’m going to have my men talk to the neighbors, see if they can get someone who’s seen or heard something that will help us.”

Ochoa crossed over to the squad car and signaled for the uniformed officers to get out. “Canvass the block, both sides of the street,” he ordered. “Ask neighbors if they saw the girl, any suspicious characters, or anyone else around Mr. Whitley’s house or car.”

The officers did as he commanded.

Though he didn’t say so, Micah felt in his gut that questioning any locals who happened to be home would be futile. He knew people saw things happening every day that didn’t register. Sam Donovan had been the exception.

Micah gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He wanted to punch something, to expend some of the anxiety building in him. He looked over at Isabel. Her stricken expression twisted his heart.

“Hey, Isabel, this is just a delay, that’s all. You can’t give up hope.”

“I’m not.” She swallowed hard. “I’m just so worried.”

He sat back, reached over, and took her hand in his. They might not be together in their everyday lives, but they were together in this. He could only hope that they would be together in things more often when this crisis was over.

More than that… Well, he knew he would be dreaming.

The minutes ticked by slowly. He kept himself occupied watching the uniformed officers canvass the neighborhood. Only a few times did they find anyone home.

When Micah thought he couldn’t stand the waiting any more, a car finally pulled into the side drive of Whitley’s house. A black compact. It registered on Micah that while this car was the right color, it was nothing like the sleek vehicle that Sam Donovan had described. No cross on the fender, either. He must have another car, then. Where was it?

Whitley, a thin man whose balding head was peeling from too much sun, got out of his car.

Micah said, “Let’s go.”

He and Isabel left the truck.