Undeniably Yours

  My phone buzzed. I stepped aside, using the building for balance as I dug around my tote bag to find my cell.

  “Preston,” I said to Aiden as I answered.

  “Bed rest might kill me,” she said.

  “How are you talking on the phone?” I asked.

  “One syllable at a time.”

  I sighed. “I thought Dovie confiscated your phone.”

  “I found it,” she said. “You’re not the only one with locating skills.”

  I could picture her tucked into bed, her blond hair spiked, her cheeks flushed, and a scowl on her face. “Dovie wants to watch ballroom dancing.”

  “Fun!” I said, trying to sound like I meant it.

  “I might have to fling myself into the ocean.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “I want to come back,” Preston said shrilly.

  “Think of the baby. You need to rest. To relax. Heal.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “You don’t want another visit from Dr. Paul, do you?” I said, pulling out the big guns.

  Preston had nicknamed Dr. Paul McDermott, one of the Whiners, Dr. Death. She thought he might be a serial killer. Her stance hadn’t softened, even though he’d saved her and the baby’s life.

  “Fine,” she said. “But I’m not happy about it.”

  She hung up.

  I glanced at Aiden. “She’s having a great time.”

  His lip twitched—almost a smile. “Sounds like it.”

  As we blended into the foot traffic on the sidewalk, the cloying scent of smoke stubbornly clung to the humid air, even though the city’s fires had been extinguished. The warm breeze did nothing to dispel the scent, seeming only to spread it around.

  What we needed was a good soaking rain to wash away the thin layer of ash that seemed to cover the city like an unwanted smelly topcoat and replace the acrid smoke with normal summery scents around these parts. Wisteria, salty sea air, watermelon…diesel fuel. I’d gladly take even the latter right now.

  The television station’s private parking garage was only a three-minute walk, but I managed to break a sweat during the trek there, and my skirt was starting to stick to my legs. A young black man sat in a booth lodged between matching swinging gates that allowed vehicles entrance and exit from the surprisingly airy structure. He watched us warily as we approached.

  I imagined he didn’t get too many walk-up customers.

  A box fan on high speed whirred noisily behind him as he leaned out of a narrow window and said, “Can I help you? Need something?”

  Aiden flashed his badge. “Are you Danny Beckley?”

  “Nope. Over there.” He jerked his hand toward a glass-walled office off to one side, tucked neatly into a concrete wall. Fluorescent lights flooded the space, glinting off the bald head of a man staring intently at his computer screen.

  “Thanks,” Aiden said, then looked back at me as he navigated the curbs and gates to make sure I was managing the obstacle course.

  I was, but not without a couple of grunts and choice curse words beneath my breath.

  Aiden’s sharp knock on the closed steel door lifted Danny Beckley’s gaze from the computer monitor. He motioned us inside, and Aiden stepped back to allow me to go in first. Air-conditioned gusts immediately cooled my heated cheeks. It took everything in me to fight the urge to stand in front of the unit with my arms over my head.

  Beckley rose and held out his meaty hand to me. “Ms. Rodriguez called down to tell me you were coming. Danny Beckley.”

  I eyed his hand as warily as his attendant had eyed us only moments ago. Seeing no other option, I balanced my body weight to let go of my crutch. “Lucy Valentine.”

  As our palms touched, nothing flashed behind my eyes, and I thanked my lucky stars. As Aiden introduced himself, I quickly sat in a metal chair and almost yelped as my legs touched the cold steel. It had to be sixty degrees in here, and goose bumps quickly rose on my arms. My body didn’t quite know how to take the quick change in temperature.

  Aiden sat next to me, and Beckley slid back into his chair, which squeaked under his weight. About fifty, Beckley had narrow-set eyes, plump cheeks, and one of the friendliest smiles I’d ever seen.

  Beckley said, “Strangest thing with Ms. Fitzpatrick—or Ms. Fitz as she likes us to call her. Ms. Rodriguez said she’s missing? Is that right?”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised at how fast Nya had spilled the news, but I was. It was bound to be on the noon newscast for sure.

  “For a couple of days,” Aiden confirmed. “Could you tell us what happened? We heard there was an incident down here a few days ago.”

  Beckley’s expression sobered and his lips turned downward in a deep frown. “Two incidents. Wednesday and Thursday.”

  Thursday, too? “What happened, exactly? Ms. Rodriguez was a little fuzzy on the details.”

  “Wednesday’s deal wasn’t that unusual except looking back on it. It was late—a little past nine p.m. or so—and Ms. Fitz was on her way out when one of my attendants noticed her back tire was real low, almost flat. He put her spare on for her and sent her on her way.”

  “Flat tires aren’t that unusual,” Aiden prompted, echoing Nya’s earlier thoughts on the matter.

  Beckley raised a dark unruly eyebrow. “Truth. But in tandem with what happened Thursday they are…and now she’s missing. I can’t help but wonder if someone messed with that tire. A slow leak would mean that Ms. Fitz would likely have pulled over somewhere on her way home with a flat.”

  If someone had been following behind her waiting for that moment…

  That scenario made the goose bumps on my arms double. I glanced around the garage. The first floor was street level, with only waist-high concrete barriers and tall pillars separating the back of the garage from the street behind it. It would take only seconds for someone to jump that wall and pop a hole in the tire.

  “Did she have her little girl with her?” Aiden asked.

  “Not that night,” Beckley said. “She must’ve been picked up earlier. That happens a lot.”

  “What happened Thursday?” Aiden asked through clenched teeth.

  “It was a little before three, not quite quitting time for Ms. Fitz, but there she was, coming off the staff elevator and walking like the devil was on her heels, her little girl in one arm, her laptop in the other. Didn’t wave to me like usual, just stormed over to her car, then kind of froze.”

  “And?” Aiden pressed.

  “I immediately knew something was wrong, so I went to see. All the color was gone from her face.” He took a breath. “I think the only reason she wasn’t yelling was she didn’t want to scare the baby.”

  Surreptitiously, I looked at Aiden. His lips were once again pressed in a thin line, and I could see his pulse jumping at his temple. His patience was wearing thin with Beckley’s windy storytelling.

  “What was wrong?” I asked.

  “Never saw anything like it, and I’ve been working here for fourteen years now.” He clasped his hands and kept shaking his head. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  “Saw what?” Aiden ground out.

  “There was this doll…” He kept shaking his head.

  “What doll?” I asked, wondering if I had the strength to hold Aiden back if need be. I should have had more breakfast. Wheaties or something.

  “The doll sitting in the little girl’s car seat,” Beckley explained as though we were both as dense as three-day-old donuts. “It was a cute doll, looked a lot like Ms. Fitz’s little Ava, but then I saw the note stuck to the doll.”

  Aiden’s fists clenched. “What did the note say?”

  “Something about worrying about her own kid.” He shook his head again. “I can’t quite remember, but it rattled Ms. Fitz but good. That doll hadn’t been there when she went into work that morning. Someone broke in during the day and put it there.”

  Immediately, Aiden’s head snapped upward and looked around. “You have cameras in her
e?”

  “Of course,” Beckley said. “I figured you’d be wanting to look at the footage, same as Ms. Fitz did.” He swiveled the monitor to face us. “I have it queued up for you. Got it pinned down to when the break-in occurred. A little after noon.”

  Aiden and I watched the screen. The picture wasn’t the greatest but it was easy enough to make out Kira’s SUV parked at the back of the garage. Sure enough, we watched as someone hopped the small concrete wall and stealthily approached the SUV, did something to the lock, and pulled the doll out from beneath a baggy sweatshirt. After closing the door, the person stuck something to the underside of the car.

  My blood went cold. I’d bet it was a GPS tracker. I didn’t even dare look at Aiden.

  “Can you zoom in?” Aiden asked.

  “Yeah, but it just gets grainier. The surveillance equipment in here ain’t the greatest.”

  Truth, as he would say. The zoom added nothing to the image of the culprit except static. At first I couldn’t even tell if the person was a man or a woman. On the tall side, medium build. Black baggy sweatpants. Dark sweatshirt with hood up to help obscure any facial features. Which wasn’t all that successful. “Pause there,” I asked.

  The frame froze on the face. It was grainy, sure, but it was enough to see that it was man, maybe mid-twenties. I didn’t recognize him.

  “I wanted to call the cops, but Ms. Fitz didn’t want to wait around. The baby was getting fussy—probably feeling the tension in the air.” Beckley gave me a knowing look. “Little ones pick up on stuff like that. Anyways, she asked me to save the video, and that she’d get in touch with the police. I gave her car a once over to make sure her tires were good and she left. I’m kicking myself for not calling the cops then and there.”

  Aiden said, “There’s nothing else you can remember from that note on the doll?”

  He shook his head, then his eyes lit. “But I have it. You want it?”

  “Wait,” I said, excitement surging. “You have the doll or the note?”

  “Both.” He shrugged. “Ms. Fitz was in such a hurry to leave that she left without them. I put ’em aside for her, figuring she’d be back for them after she contacted the cops. You want ’em?”

  I thought Aiden might spring out of his seat and kiss Beckley on the lips. For the first time all day, I saw him loosen up, if only for the briefest of moments.

  Beckley stood even before receiving an answer and turned to a closet behind him and reached inside.

  “Wait,” Aiden said, standing. “You don’t happen to have gloves, do you? Or a plastic bag?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Trash bags.”

  “They’ll do.” Aiden waited while Beckley went to another closet—clearly one used to store maintenance odds and ends. He handed a bag to Aiden, who slipped it over his hand and reached into the closet.

  There was nothing to prepare me for the gut reaction of seeing the doll in his hand. I sucked in a breath as my heart lurched then raced.

  The small doll was a sweet thing—full cheeks, blond hair. Very lifelike but soft and cuddly as well. I could easily imagine Ava loving on the toy. As easily as I could imagine Ava as the doll. Except for the size, they were nearly identical, all big blue eyes and baby-fine hair.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “What does the note say?” It was stuck to the doll’s chest with a safety pin.

  Beckley said, “I’ve seen some bad grammar in my days, hell, I’m probably one of the biggest offenders, but that note is something.”

  Aiden placed the doll on the desk, and I leaned in to read.

  U SHUD B MOR WURRIED 4 UR OWN KID

  Aiden’s eyes sparked dangerously, and I wondered what was going through his head. Even though he hadn’t known Ava long, he’d formed an attachment. The note was a blatant threat against her.

  “I need to take this with me,” Aiden said, sounding hoarse.

  “Take it, take it,” Beckley said, backing away from the doll as though he wanted nothing more to do with it. “Anything to help find Ms. Fitz. She was a nice woman.”

  Was. Did he even realize he’d referred to her in the past tense? It was very telling. He’d subconsciously spoken what we were all undoubtedly thinking.

  It wasn’t looking good for finding Kira alive.

  Beckley rubbed a hand down his face and let out a gusty breath. “It’s an evil world out there. Us good people are just living in it.”

  5

  As Aiden and I ambled down Beacon Street toward the Porcupine, our lunch destination, I kept thinking of what Danny Beckley had said about the world being an evil place.

  The perception ate at me, gnawing painfully. I knew many good people, but on the whole, were we surrounded by evil? Some days it felt that way.

  Days like today.

  Especially as we neared the Porcupine, which was housed on the first floor of the Valentine, Inc. building.

  “Jesus,” Aiden whispered as we neared.

  Grateful for my crutches to lean on, I gazed at the building. It was my first time back since the fire two days ago.

  The Porcupine, fortunately, had been spared from the flames, thanks to the fire-proofed walls. A little cleaning, and it had been good to go. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the building.

  As a hot breeze blew down the sidewalk, the scent of smoke was nearly overwhelming. Across the street, at the Common, people walked dogs, ate picnic lunches, played Frisbee. So normal when life for me right now seemed anything but.

  Yellow caution tape was stretched across a piece of plywood that covered the scorched doorway leading to the upper floors of the building. Soot darkened the brick façade of all three levels, and the windows above us had been sealed with plywood as well—some broken to fight the fire, others broken in a fight for life.

  In my mind’s eye, I could easily imagine the first floor vestibule. The cherry-wood stairs with an elaborately carved bannister. The old-fashioned elevator.

  And just as easily as I imagined what it used to look like, I could picture it how I’d last seen it. The flames. The heavy smoke. Charred wood. Embers glowing. The face of evil.

  The second and third floors were slightly better off than the first—heavily smoke damaged, but the flames had been mostly contained by the time they reached the upper levels. Some structural work would be needed—and a complete fire restoration.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said, more to myself than to Aiden.

  The building was more than a hundred years old. History had been lost with the destruction of the old craftsmanship, but my parents would do all they could to preserve what remained. No matter what, renovations were sure to be extensive. I had no idea when we’d be getting back to work.

  Right about now, I rather missed my job as a matchmaker. I, along with Sean, ran Lost Loves, which focused on reuniting (appropriately) lost loves. Between Sean’s PI work and my psychic abilities we had a good track record going, and it was often rewarding. Seeing people fall in love all over again was something I never took for granted. That kind of joy was hard to come by in this world, which made me yearn for it that much more. Happiness was possibly the best weapon to battle the world’s evils.

  But, of course, reuniting lost loves wasn’t the only way to find joy. It was everywhere if one looked for it. Even here. In the shadows of this charred, scarred building. It was in the sense of renewal. Of survival. Of knowing what was truly important in life.

  It wasn’t things. Not fancy old elevators or carved woodwork.

  It was people.

  Good people.

  My gaze swung to the restaurant, and through the big plate-glass windows I could see Raphael, my surrogate father of sorts, busily wiping off a counter as his fiancée Maggie took an order.

  I tugged on Aiden’s sleeve to get his attention. “Let’s go in.”

  He held the Porcupine’s door open for me. Cool air swirled as I crutched inside. Even though it was a little early for lunchtime, the restaurant was packed. Raphael glanced up
from wiping the counter and a smile spread across his face, his slightly-crooked teeth flashing bright against his olive skin. Soft wrinkles spread from the corners of his brown eyes as they filled with happiness.

  This. This was joy. I couldn’t help but smile back as he came toward me, tucking a hand towel into the waist of the white apron tied low around his hips. He pulled me into a crushing hug, crutches and all.

  He pulled back to scan for any new injuries, searching for wounds that weren’t so easily visible. Apparently, he didn’t like what he saw. He cupped my cheeks with warm strong hands and said in a dulcet soothing tone, “Mi Uvita.”

  Shit. Only when feeling especially emotional did he resort to the use of “mi Uvita,” translated to “my little grape.” I must really look like crap.

  “I’m fine, Pasa,” I returned using my nickname for him. Raisin. The names had been coined back in olden days when, at five years old, I pitched a hissy fit on a field trip. He claimed I turned the color of a purple Concord grape. I’m not sure exactly when I began calling him Pasa, but the names stuck, becoming more and more endearing as years passed.

  Unofficially, my parents had shared custody of me from the time I was four years old. A fifty-fifty split. My time with my mother was…free. She raised me to be nothing if not independent. Though she loved me fiercely, she often did her own thing and expected me to do the same.

  My father…well, he didn’t know what to do with me at all. So, he left my care to Raphael, who until recently had been my father’s full-time valet. He’d cut back his hours only after falling in love with Maggie (thanks to a little matchmaking), and here he was, working by her side at her restaurant and happier than I’d ever seen him.

  Raphael had been in my life for as long as I could remember. He’d been my caretaker. My playmate. My teacher. My friend. My partner in crime. The one person in my life I knew without a doubt I could count on. He’d been the one to bandage scrapes, to shop with me for school supplies, to take me to museums and zoos. He’d been the one to teach me to drive. He’d dried my tears when my heart was broken. It was his wallet I’d found that revealed my ESP after I thought all my powers were lost.