Gone Missing Read online

  “I didn’t know the connection with Martin. I want to know what Fiona might be running from—what she might have been involved in—so that we can know where she’d go.”

  “The opposite of what she’s running from.”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe Martin’s enemies are after her,” he said.

  “Was Martin involved in anything shady?”

  Clay gave a short bark of laughter. “I’m pretty sure he was, just from the little I knew about him.”

  She’d need to do some digging on the internet. “I was wondering if Martin talked to her to warn her, and that’s why she ran.”

  “So Martin was helping her?”

  “Wouldn’t you want help against men who rigged your house to explode?”

  “Yeah, true,” he said. “It’s just that I know Fiona wouldn’t get involved in something that would get her in trouble.”

  He was so emphatic. Joslyn said hesitantly, “I don’t think Fiona would do anything like that, but...it’s hard to really know a person.” Look at how much she thought she knew Tomas. “And you haven’t seen Fiona in years.”

  He bent his head, his hair falling into his eyes. All she could see was the outside floodlight glinting in his gold-brown hair. “I know she wouldn’t get into any kind of shady business because...well, that’s the reason she left Chicago. Because of me and my shady business.”

  “The mob family? Fiona told me about that.”

  “She didn’t want me involved with them. We had huge fights about it. Finally she threatened to leave the house we were sharing together.” Clay sighed, raising his eyes to the night sky above. “I was young and stupid. The money was great and it beat having a desk job somewhere. I liked the excitement and the danger, plus I was good at it. And I didn’t think she’d really leave.”

  “But she did.”

  “She didn’t just move out of our house, she left Chicago. I didn’t know where she went—I tried contacting Martin, but he wouldn’t even return my calls.”

  “What?” The word flew out of her mouth before she could stop and think.

  He gave her a strange look.

  She felt heat rising from her jawline. “It’s just...Martin knew Fiona was in Los Angeles. She mentioned to me about meeting with him regularly, since his main office building is there. Why wouldn’t he return your calls just to tell you Fiona was safe?”

  Clay looked away, and she could see the muscle leaping in his jaw. “We didn’t have that kind of relationship,” he said in a tight voice.

  She knew they weren’t close, but that kind of behavior was almost cruel. What kind of man was Martin Crowley?

  She took a deep breath. “You said yourself, Martin loves Fiona. Why would he get her involved in anything illegal that he’s doing?”

  Clay frowned and stared at the ground as he thought about it.

  “I don’t know your history with Martin,” she said. “You probably have a good reason for hating him. But anything that can help us find Fiona is important. Whatever feelings you have about Martin—try to set them aside for now. Don’t let them cloud your judgment.”

  He frowned at her, and she wondered if she’d gone too far. But she continued, “We have to focus on finding Fiona.”

  At that, the thundercloud in his expression slowly blew away. “You’re right.”

  “I don’t think she’s running from Martin. He cares about her. But he may hold the key to finding her. Since we got rid of our phones...”

  “I’ll call him again.” Clay started dialing. He left a message on his stepfather’s voice mail and then hung up, shaking his head.

  “You can’t say you didn’t try,” Joslyn said.

  He nodded. She could clearly see the pain behind his eyes, and so she reached out to touch the back of his hand.

  He flipped his hand over and clasped hers, squeezing once before letting go. He cleared his throat. “It’s late, anyway. I didn’t expect him to be at his office.”

  She noticed the people she’d seen inside the car rental office leaving. “I think we’re clear.”

  “Wait.” He reached out to one of the planters and picked a blue flower, a bachelor’s button. He handed it to her.

  “Don’t pick their flowers.” But she was smiling.

  “This is for you. Thanks.”

  She didn’t say anything. She thought she knew why he was thanking her.

  “I think I’ve been feeling this bitterness for so long, I’ve forgotten how to let stuff go,” he said slowly.

  She understood him. Grief was something she was learning to let go of, but it still seemed to consume her some days.

  He then took the flower from her fingers and tucked it into her hair above her ear. “There. Perfect.”

  But his hand didn’t move away from her face. The pads of his fingertips followed the curve of her cheek, softer than the touch of a feather. She looked up and was captured by his eyes, blue-gray and intent upon hers. She could smell cedar and oranges, all underlaid by the scent of his musk, that essence that was Clay.

  There was a fluttering just under her ribcage, and she found it hard to breathe.

  Then something in his eyes flickered, and he looked away. It was almost like...shame. His hand dropped.

  “Let’s get inside.”

  She closed her eyes, briefly, remembering the touch of his hand. She had to force herself to remember why Clay was all wrong for her, to remember that Clay reminded her too much of Tomas. And look how well that had turned out.

  She shook her head to clear it, then followed him into the rental agency. Fiona was important now. And after they found her, it would be best if she never saw Clay Ashton again.

  * * *

  He’d wanted to kiss her.

  Clay drove along the almost empty highway, an eye behind him for any headlights. He was tired, but his body was tense and on high alert. Joslyn had said it would take time before the two men they now knew as Met and G could figure out they’d rented this new car and headed toward Sonoma, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

  In the midst of all this danger, he’d wanted to kiss her. He’d known her for fewer than twenty-four hours, but with everything that had been thrown their way, he’d become more and more impressed by her. She was smart. What was more, she was logical. She was the complete opposite of everything he was.

  He’d still wanted to kiss her.

  She was beautiful, and capable, and confident, and yet there were signs that someone in her past had hurt her. He recognized that look because he’d met other women in situations like that. As a bouncer at a night club, he was friends with the waitresses and bartenders, many of whom were women, and once in a while, one of them would come in with bruises barely hidden by makeup. He’d sometimes walk them to their car or drive them home, but at the end of the day, he always felt helpless.

  The thought made his hands clench around the steering wheel, but then he realized that might alarm Joslyn and he relaxed his grip.

  He looked over at her. She was finally asleep, her head leaning against the window. She looked soft and vulnerable, not like the woman who’d pulled a gun, ready to fire at the two thugs after them and all the Mexican gang members in that parking lot. She’d been scared, but she’d been ready to do what she had to in order to protect them.

  If he’d had a normal life and a normal past, he wouldn’t mind getting to know her, all the facets of her personality, from her vulnerable side, to the woman with a Concealed Carry Permit, to the woman who had been hurt in her past.

  But he didn’t have a normal life—he’d worked for a mob family. He’d done terrible things that he couldn’t undo. He’d gone to prison. He’d even chased away the only person who loved him, his half sister. He wasn’t someone Joslyn ought to know.

  Whi
ch was why he hadn’t kissed her, even though everything inside of him wanted to. He protected people—sometimes the wrong people, like the criminals he’d worked for—but it was what he was best at. And so he knew that in order to protect Joslyn, he had to stay far away from her. There were too many things in his past that would horrify her.

  She slept until he stopped for gas at a small town in central California. They’d made good time through LA because of the late hour, although there had still been traffic on the freeways, even after midnight. However, he’d been careful to avoid the larger gas stations in case it made it easier for the men to track them, and had picked this small mom-and-pop where he would pay with cash.

  She stretched as he got back into the car. “What time is it?” She didn’t wait for an answer and looked at her own cell phone, then yelped. “You’ve been driving the entire time?”

  “It’s okay, I couldn’t have slept anyway.”

  “I’ll drive from here on out,” she said, unstrapping her seatbelt.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Even if you were, I know how to avoid the traffic cameras in the Bay Area and in Sonoma.”

  She had a point. He unbuckled his belt and hauled himself out of the driver’s seat. Once he’d sat in the passenger side—sliding the seat back to accommodate his longer legs—she had already adjusted her seat and the rear and side mirrors.

  “Do you really think those guys could tap into the traffic cameras?”

  “I’m not sure.” She started up the car. “Their tech was pretty impressive, but traffic cams require a different type of hacking. Or illegal access.”

  “I think it’s safe to assume they’re financed pretty deeply. And wouldn’t blink an eye at finding illegal access.”

  She said something in reply, but he didn’t hear it because he was fast asleep.

  When he woke, the sun was up and the briny scent of the ocean drifted into the car from her open window. They were on a freeway arching above city streets, and in the distance he saw the big cranes used to unload the containers from large ships.

  “Clay.”

  He realized she’d called his name a few times. He was instantly awake. “What is it?”

  “I think we’re being followed.”

  SEVEN

  In a flash, Clay had loosened the slack on his seat belt and twisted around to look out the back window. “Which car?”

  “I think it’s the white van. It’s been behind me since San Jose.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Oakland.”

  He wasn’t familiar enough with California geography to know exactly where they were, but the ocean made him think they must be around San Francisco. “How far away from Sonoma?”

  “About an hour.”

  There were a fair number of cars around them for midmorning, although it wasn’t stop-and-go traffic.

  “How’d they find us? Did they hack into the LoJack on our rental?” he asked.

  “If that’s the case, we would only be able to lose them temporarily, like in Phoenix. They’d find us again pretty quick.”

  The only way they’d lose their tail was to ditch the car. Which meant a cab or public transportation. Wait a minute...“Oakland, you said?”

  She nodded.

  “Head to the Oakland Coliseum.”

  She gave him a bewildered look.

  “It’s a major sports arena, so I’m betting there’s some type of public transportation station nearby. We can park the car and catch a bus or a train.”

  “Oh! You’re right. There’s a BART station near the coliseum.” She signaled right to change lanes.

  “Don’t signal,” he said. “Just go.”

  “Oh, right.” She took a sharp breath, then cut left, in front of a speeding Jaguar.

  A horn blared, but she ignored it and sped up to pass the car that had been ahead of her. She cut right in front of a Buick and then right again. She exited the freeway with only a few yards to spare before the exit lane diverged.

  Clay had held tight while she drove, but he’d gotten used to reckless driving in Chicago, before he’d gone to prison. However, he saw that Joslyn was white-knuckled as she gripped the steering wheel.

  “They didn’t follow us,” he told her, lowering his voice so it would be more soothing. “It’s okay.”

  She nodded but didn’t speak.

  “Pull into that McDonald’s,” he said. “We’ll switch.”

  “Please.”

  She parked, and Clay jumped out and swung around to the driver’s side. He opened the door for her and saw that her hands were shaking as she got out of the car.

  He grabbed her hand. “You did great.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “I hate driving.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I like it.” He squeezed her hand and felt her squeeze back.

  He followed her instructions to get them to the Oakland Coliseum, praying there wasn’t an early A’s game today. If there was, traffic was going to be a bear.

  They were in luck. He followed the signs to the Oakland Coliseum BART station and parked the rental car in the first space he could find. “Come on.”

  They got fare tickets and headed for the nearest outdoor platform.

  “Where are we going?” She turned to look at signs.

  “Anywhere that leaves here the soonest.”

  She met his eyes. “Oh. Gotcha.”

  While they waited for the train, Clay tried to keep himself from fidgeting. His body felt taut like a guitar string wound too tightly, and he kept his eyes roving the platform, everywhere he could see, looking for any suspicious behavior. There were still a lot of people since morning rush hour was only just ending, but he didn’t see Met and G.

  Had they been far enough ahead of the tail? There was a chance G would step onto the platform and start firing his gun any minute. Clay clenched his hands. He’d deal with that scenario if it happened. He had to focus on observing everything around him right now.

  Which was how he was able to notice the man in the leather jacket.

  Clay hadn’t particularly singled him out when he stepped onto the platform, coolly walking down its length without looking at anyone, solely focused on his smartphone. But then Clay noted how his steps were too deliberate: he didn’t slow, he just continued toward them.

  Clay turned away from him, feigning disinterest. But he kept him in the corner of his eye.

  It enabled to him to react a split second before the man grabbed his arm.

  Clay sent an elbow back into the man’s nose. He jerked backward and toppled to the ground, more out of surprise than from the blow.

  “Oh, sorry about that,” Clay said loudly. “I didn’t see you.” He quickly went to his knees and snatched the man’s gun from the shoulder holster under his jacket before he could react.

  As he paused to stow the gun in his waistband, the man recovered enough to grab Clay by the collar and slam his forehead into Clay’s face.

  Clay saw darkness and light. And pain. He could almost see his own pain in front of his eyes like stars. He dimly registered a blow to his torso, followed by distressed cries from someone nearby.

  His vision cleared and he saw people backing away from him and the man. He was on his side, curled up as the man was quickly getting to his feet, probably to aim a kick at Clay’s head.

  Clay lashed out with his legs in a move that brought his opponent crashing down to the ground again. Before the man could regain his bearings, Clay leaped for him and caught him in a guillotine choke hold.

  “Clay!” Joslyn shouted. But it wasn’t a cry of worry. It was to get his attention.

  He looked up at her and she pointed. There were two trains approaching, one on this side, and one on the platform on the other si
de of the track.

  He understood her silent plea. “Go!” he told her.

  She ran, heading for the stairs to the other platform.

  The man twisted, fighting the choke hold, but Clay didn’t let up. After another few seconds, the man passed out. Clay leaped to his feet and followed Joslyn. Every footstep jarred his bruised stomach, but he sprinted for all he was worth.

  He’d only gotten to the stairs when he skidded to a halt. Joslyn was struggling with a second man who had both her wrists in his hands. She kept him so occupied that he didn’t even see Clay come up behind him and knock him down with a blow to the back of his neck.

  They raced to the other platform. The train had already arrived and people were filing inside. They found seats next to each other, and Clay twisted to look out the window, surveying the area. He hoped the train wasn’t one of those that would wait too long before leaving the station.

  Or even worse, he hoped someone hadn’t called security and they’d be here to drag Clay off the train. Clay scanned the crowd, and most people were ignoring them, some reading books or looking at their smartphones. One or two people saw him looking at them and glanced away quickly. Were they embarrassed to be caught staring or was it nervousness because they’d seen Clay fight with those two men?

  Then the doors whooshed shut, and Clay found he was able to breathe again. Beside him, Joslyn gave a sigh of relief, too. When the train started, he slumped in his seat.

  “I didn’t consider them sending a different team to follow us,” Clay said. “They must have sent them from San Francisco or Los Angeles once they were able to track the rental car.”

  “How many resources do these people have?” Joslyn said.

  “I wasn’t thinking.” Clay pounded his fist into his knee, and the injured tendons twanged. “I underestimated them.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” Joslyn said. She’d jumped a little when he hit his knee, but her voice was calm.

  “I’ve worked with men like them enough to have guessed what they were capable of.” Then he discreetly reached unto his waistband and passed her the man’s gun. “Took this off the guy with the jacket.”