Too Close to Home (17 page)

Instead of asking, she backed up, pulling the door with her, making room for him to enter.

As he slipped past her, Samantha inhaled his freshly showered scent, watched his shirt stretch taut across finely tuned muscles. He worked out a lot, she knew. She’d wager he’d been spending a lot of time in the gym over the last couple of days.

Not necessarily just to work out, but to work
through
. She hoped he’d been successful. But by the look of his eyes, he had a ways to go. He lowered himself on the couch and looked at her laptop, powered up, the notepad and pen. “Working?”

“Yes. I can’t seem to focus on anything else.”

He quirked her a sad smile. “I know what you mean.”

“How’s Jenna?”

He shrugged. “She’s dealing, I think. I offered to let her talk to a counselor, but she just rolled her eyes and went to her room. She did tell me she was sorry about Andrew, but . . .” He cleared his throat and nodded toward her laptop. “So, did you find anything?”

Sam could take a hint. “Possibly. I have a hunch I’m working on. Here.” She handed him the IP address. “I’ve got this IP address. I’ve put a trace on it. It was on three of the computers. I haven’t had a chance to check the other three yet, but if they all have that in common, my guess is that this guy managed to get into their computers from a remote location.”

“Great work, Samantha. Let me call it in and have someone else trace it, I want you to go with me.” He picked up his phone and dialed, reciting the IP address to the person on the other end. He hung up and said, “Hopefully, we’ll hear something soon.”

“I was just getting ready to call you and ask if we could go talk to Alyssa Mabry. She’s home now and we need to get over there and question her. I feel like she could give us some new insight into what was going on with Miranda. Maybe even give me a clue about going in a different direction with my search of her computer. Although, to be honest, I think I’ve found the biggest clue. This guy was accessing their computers from somewhere. Now, we just need to track down the location and see what we can turn up.”

For the first time since Andrew’s death, a little bit of life sparked in Connor’s eyes. “That sounds like a good idea. I was going to have to track her down today anyway—now’s as good a time as any. I’ve still got her parents’ number in my phone. Let me give them a call.”

Thirty minutes later, Connor pulled into the drive of a well-kept home. The L-shaped ranch sat on about an acre and a half. A huge Saint Bernard languished on the porch, lifting its head to stare inquisitively at the newcomers. Samantha exited the car and Connor followed. The front door opened as they approached to reveal a woman in her midforties, brown hair pulled up in a ponytail, wisps of gray peeking out every now and then.

Samantha wondered if the gray was a new development. The woman gave a tremulous smile and said, “Hello. I’m Bonnie Mabry. My husband’s at work, but I know Alyssa will be glad to answer any questions you have. I called the school and asked them to release her early. She should be here shortly.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Mabry, we appreciate that.”

They stepped into the cool foyer, a blessed relief from the heat outside. Mrs. Mabry led them past a staircase and into an informal den area. “Would you care for anything to drink? I have bottled water or some tea.”

“Nothing for me, thanks.” Samantha smiled.

Connor accepted a bottle of water. The woman left to get it and Samantha eyed the picture on the mantel. The same one she’d seen in Miranda’s bedroom on the memory board. The two girls stood, arm in arm in front of Mickey Mouse. They’d been to Disney World together and looked like they were having the time of their lives.

“Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Connor took the bottle and Samantha heard the back door open, then shut.

“Mom?”

One of the girls from the picture hurried into the den and slung an overfilled, heavy-looking backpack to the floor. “What’s going on? Nobody at school would tell me anything except that I needed to come home and everyone in my family was fine and it wasn’t an emergency and—” She caught sight of Sam and Connor on the sofa to her right. “Oh.”

Mrs. Mabry motioned her in. “This is Detective Wolfe and Special Agent Samantha Cash. They need to talk to you about Miranda.”

Instantly, the big green eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to talk about her. It hurts too much.”

Her mother slid an arm around the girl’s shoulder. “I know, honey, but you’ve got to tell them anything you remember about Miranda’s last moments with you. It might help them find her killer.” A sheen covered the woman’s eyes and she closed them for a moment. When she opened them, she looked at Connor. “Ask her what you need to, please. She’ll cooperate.” She looked back at Alyssa. “Right?”

“Right.” Her chin quivered. “But I can’t promise not to cry.”

Samantha’s heart hurt for the girl even as cold fury at the individual who was causing all this pain gripped her hard.

Connor asked, “Did you go with Miranda when she was supposed to meet with that guy from the modeling agency?”

Surprise lit Alyssa’s eyes. “Yes, I did. How did you know she met with someone? I don’t remember telling anyone that, because she didn’t want her parents to find out. I mean it wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong, but they thought the modeling stuff was dumb and wanted her to focus on school and . . .” She trailed off.

Samantha almost groaned out loud. Important information and the tight-lipped loyalty of a teen. A deadly combination in this instance.

If Connor had the same thought, he didn’t show it. Eager now, he leaned forward. “Could you tell us what the guy looked like? The one that she met?”

“No, I’m sorry, but I never saw him.”

“What? What do you mean? You just said you went with her.”

“I did, but he was late. Miranda and I were sitting in the food court, eating, drinking, talking. Finally, I had to go to the bathroom. Miranda did too. But she didn’t want to take a chance on missing the guy. So, I went by myself. When I came back, she was gone.”

“And she didn’t leave you a message or anything?”

“She texted me saying she was leaving for a little while and for me to go on home.”

“She texted you? Did she use her own phone or a different one?”

A puzzled expression twisted Alyssa’s pretty features. “A different one. One that he’d given her. But how did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter. What happened next?”

“I texted her back a couple of times. She answered me once, saying she was fine, not to say anything to her parents and she would see me soon.” She bit her lip. “But I was a little worried . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence, her eyes darting toward her mother, then back to Connor.

Sam said gently, “You were worried because . . .”

“She . . . wasn’t . . . um . . . feeling too well. She was really pale and said she felt a little sick.”

“And do you know why she felt sick? Some bad food, maybe?”

Connor knew perfectly well why Miranda wasn’t feeling well. The question was, did Alyssa know? Samantha’s gut told her Alyssa had probably gone with Miranda to get the abortion. One didn’t have to be an expert on body language to read the shifting feet, twisting fingers, flitting eyes. The girl was nervous and afraid, and she had a secret.

“Alyssa.”

Sam’s quiet voice had the desired effect. Alyssa looked at her and stilled.

“We know why Miranda wasn’t feeling well. Now we need every detail.”

16

She was good. Connor looked at Samantha in surprise, then didn’t know why he was surprised. After all, she’d gone through the FBI training academy just as he had. But she was definitely a natural interrogator. Reading the person being questioned, picking up the verbal and nonverbal cues like a pro, honing in with the right tone of voice.

Alyssa dropped her head into her hands and started crying, quiet, massive sobs that shook her shoulders as she rocked back and forth. Her mother rushed to her and slipped her arms around her.

She looked at Connor, concern, fear, a little bit of anger mixed in her expression. “I think that’s enough.”

“Ma’am, your daughter is our only link right to the missing girls. Please, let her get her composure and permit us to continue talking to her. She may be the only hope these other girls have.” He didn’t need the woman’s permission, but tried to phrase his words in a way that would make her feel more in control of the situation.

Mrs. Mabry swallowed hard, looked at her hiccupping child, and sighed. She leaned forward to touch Alyssa’s head with her own. “Come on, Alyssa, darling. You’ve got to tell these people what you know. Miranda would want you to. It might mean saving another girl’s life. Pull it together, sweetie.”

A shuddering groan escaped Alyssa’s throat, and Connor felt her anguish deep in him. Andrew would . . .

He almost groaned himself from the shaft of agony that ripped through him.

“She’d had an abortion,” Alyssa finally ground out between clenched teeth. Ignoring her mother’s horrified gasp, Alyssa went on. “That day. She’d found someone who would do it pretty cheap and she didn’t have to have parental consent.”

“Where?”

“A place just outside of town.” She shuddered. “It was horrible. Just a little one-room place that didn’t look like it had been there very long.” Connor made a note to get directions from her and have that checked out right away. “I tried to talk her out of it, I promise, I really did. I told her she would get some kind of infection or disease. But she wouldn’t listen. I . . . waited in the car, refused to go in, but I . . . couldn’t just leave her there. And if I hadn’t taken her, someone else would have. At least I could kind of keep an eye on her, but then . . .”

She pushed her palms down her jeans, then rubbed her hands together like they were cold. Taking a deep breath, she swiped a few stray tears. “When she came out, she was stumbling, weak. I had to help her into the car. I took her home, and when she got out of the car, there was some blood on the seat, not a lot, but enough to make me worry. I asked her if I could take her to the doctor, a
real
doctor. She said she just needed to lie down. I left, then about two hours later she called me and said she had to meet someone at the mall and would I go with her.” “How did she sound on the phone?”

“Weak, sick, but excited too. I told her no way, she needed to rest. I was worried she was going to bleed to death or something.”

Connor flicked a look at Samantha. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, shaking her head. He turned back to Alyssa.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone this after she was found?”

Alyssa looked to the ceiling. “I thought . . . I didn’t want to make it worse. She was dead and . . .” She shrugged. “What difference would telling that to someone make?”

“Wait a minute. Make what worse?”

She groaned and briefly closed her eyes. “Her reputation. All the kids at school were talking about her behind her back, laughing at her, calling her names. And Charlie, he was the father of the baby, he wanted Miranda to keep it, but said there was no way he was ruining his life with a kid. She was on her own. When he told her that, she made up her mind. And once she made up her mind, there wasn’t much anyone could do to change it.”

Connor’s notebook was filling up fast. He flipped the page. “So, you took her to the mall. Went to the bathroom, came back, and she was gone.” He looked at Samantha. “Are there any security cameras in that food court?”

“I’ll check.” She got up and walked into the kitchen to make the call.

“Okay, Alyssa, just a bit more. We found an IM on one of the girls’ computers saying she needed to bring a complete medical history to the meeting. Do you know if Miranda got her medical records?”

Alyssa’s eyes lit up. “Yes, I know she did because she was excited that they were ready that day. We actually swung by the office and picked them up before going to the mall to meet that guy.”

Connor wrote down the name and address of the doctor’s office. “Anything else you can tell me?”

Tears welled again. “Um . . . maybe. I don’t know if this is important or not, but she was a little put out because she had to have a complete physical. Like a pap smear and everything. She wanted to know what that had to do with walking down the runway. Anyway, that’s when she found out she was pregnant and got really scared. That was about a week before she . . . disappeared.”

“Scared that if her parents found out, they’d be mad?”

“Yes, them and Charlie and what this was going to do for her modeling chances, her scholarship. Everything. But she made up her mind that she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She’d have the abortion and get on with her life and career.”

Well, they knew one thing. Miranda had the abortion before the meeting at the mall. “Thank you, Alyssa, you’ve been a big help.”

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you all this before.”

“You’ve told us now and that’s what counts.” Not really, but he wasn’t going to let her carry that burden the rest of her life. She was a scared teen who’d just lost her best friend. Connor could relate. “Oh, one more question. Where did she get the money for the abortion?”

“From the modeling guy. He sent her a thousand dollars as a kind of down payment thing, I guess. He told her to use it to buy a dress for the photo shoot. She . . . um . . . used part of it for the abortion.”

Connor sharpened his gaze. “Sent it to her? How?”

Alyssa shrugged. “Through the mail, I guess. The money came the day after the doctor’s appointment, not the abortion appointment, but the first one she had. She was thrilled and scared all at the same time.”

Samantha came back in the room. “Five cameras working, one not.”

Relief flooded him. He made a note about that first doctor’s appointment, then called in their location, their destination, and ordered a team out to the address where Miranda had gotten her abortion. Dakota would report back anything found there.

He looked at Samantha. “Let’s go find out what this guy looks like.”

The Agent sipped his coffee and turned the page of the newspaper he had spread out in front of him. He’d made the front page again. And the article was so long it was continued on page three. A summary of the missing and dead girls read like a police report.