Pretty Little Girls Page 6

  After she hit send with Emma’s photos attached, Victoria opened an email from Connelly with the surveillance video. She watched Emma walk through the mall, studying the girl’s body language, building her understanding of the young teen. She tried to read her lips in the lobby of the underground garage. She caught a few words, but nothing to indicate who she was with or where they were going. Mostly Emma smiled, giggled, looked self-conscious—all normal behaviors for a fourteen-year old girl. Perhaps another round of questioning Emma’s friends might turn up a lead. Someone might remember her mentioning a new friend from another school, or a new crush.

  That was all Victoria could do for now. The Mannings were preparing to liquidate assets in the event they received a ransom demand. With the parents’ permission, Connelly and his crew were going to access the family’s emails, which would hopefully reveal a treasure trove of information.

  It was a good head start. She hoped it would be enough.

  Victoria stripped and stepped into a hot shower. She scrubbed her face and let the hot water cascade over her shoulders, washing away the long day of traveling, and the lingering unpleasant feelings that came from spending time with the girl’s parents. She didn’t like them. It felt good to admit that to herself, but she wanted to help Emma just the same.

  After her shower, she dressed and returned to her laptop, pulling up the live video feeds coming from her home’s security system. She switched from room to room, watching her dogs sleeping like the dead, some sprawled across their beds and others on the furniture. She discovered Ned reading a book on her couch. Eddie’s head lay across Ned’s leg. Victoria picked up her phone to call him but kept watching, unable to keep herself from just admiring him for a bit. He wore shorts with a sweatshirt. His long, muscular legs were stretched out on an ottoman. One hand held his book open, the other absentmindedly patted Eddie’s neck.

  This was wrong, watching him. Smiling, she quickly closed her laptop and called him.

  “Hi. How is it going there?” She hit the light switch and plunged her room into darkness.

  “Good. Dogs had sardines, kale, and pasta with their dinner and chased each other around the yard. We’re ready to hit the sack for the night.”

  “Um, I happened to check my security videos a second ago. Looks like they’re already out.”

  “Hey—were you spying on us?”

  “Maybe . . . not intentionally.” A warmth crept across her cheeks. “But you do look awfully handsome in your sweatshirt.”

  “Hope I didn’t pick my nose while you were watching.”

  “I wouldn’t have told you I was watching if you did.” She laughed. “I would have wiped the memory from my mind and pretended it never happened. But you know, I see some awful things with my job, your nose-picking wouldn’t have a chance of making my worst-things list.”

  “Good to know.” He chuckled. “How about you? Everything okay there?”

  “I’m picturing your eye brows lifting right now, the way they do whenever you ask a question. Did you know that? Your mouth also turns up into an irresistible smile.”

  “Irresistible, you say? I’m going to start asking more questions.”

  Smiling at the confident tease in his voice, she slipped under the covers, curling her legs underneath her, and pulling the top sheet up to her chin. This playful banter and the accompanying giddiness were all new for her. She looked forward to more of it in the future. “I’m helping on a case that might not even be a case yet. If it resolves itself, it’s possible I could be on my way home tomorrow.”

  “Excellent. But do what you have to do. One step at a time until it’s over. Hey, great football there this weekend. Maybe they give out complimentary tickets to FBI agents. You know, like they give the police discounts to Disney.”

  “It’s not my thing. A little overwhelming. Hope you don’t fantasize about taking me to watch football with you.”

  “No, I promise, that’s— that’s not what I fantasize about.”

  “I’m aware of the games, though. Impossible not to be. Lots of coverage on the news. All the uptown hotels are full. I was lucky to get a room here. It worked out though. The place I’m staying at happens to be right near—um—right where I need to be.”

  “Can’t tell me or you’ll have to kill me?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” She laughed and curled her toes up under the covers. “I can tell you, but it’s not what I want to talk about. You and the dogs are like my happy place. I don’t want to mess it up talking about work.”

  “Got it.”

  “Did you work at the clinic today?”

  “Yes. Busy day eliminating reproductive capabilities. A few animals came in thinking I was their friend. Not sure if they thought so when they left. Janice still hasn’t figured out the computer system but she’s incredibly determined.”

  Victoria laughed again. “I love that you volunteer there. Have I told you that enough?”

  “Tell me again. I’m listening.”

  “I’m picturing that irresistible smile again.” Victoria’s own smile stretched farther. Speaking to Ned was the next best thing to being with him.

  They talked about nothing important, random things, just what she needed, and then said goodnight. She turned on the television. When the picture came to life, a group of emaciated donkeys huddled together behind a fence.

  A male reporter’s solemn voice captioned the scene. “Barnyard of horrors discovered in Cleveland County.”

  Victoria raised her head, propping herself up on her elbows.

  “Animal rescuers from the Hopeful Heart Rescue have taken in a herd of miniature donkeys and need your help. The group says it’s one of the worst cases of neglect they have ever encountered.”

  Victoria grabbed her phone off the nightstand.

  “Getting any of them adopted in their current conditions will be difficult. People interested in adopting them are asked to email the organization.”

  Victoria snapped a picture of the information on the television.

  The donkey rescue story cut to a tanned female news anchor. “A local student is missing after a trip to the Charlotte Mall to meet friends.”

  Three different photos of a smiling Emma Manning appeared on the screen.

  “Anyone who has seen the missing girl since yesterday, please call the tip line below.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The tenth grader had a looming Algebra exam on Monday and no chance of passing it. He attempted to reread the chapters and study the notes he jotted down in class. It shouldn’t be so hard, but it was. Might as well have been Chinese. Needing to distract himself so he didn’t go to bed feeling doomed, he grabbed his remote and turned on the television to play a video game.

  Before he switched the input, a reporter’s serious tone said something about a fourteen-year old girl from Charlotte and images of someone who looked about his age filled the screen. Something about her made him pause. She was sort of pretty, in that snobby, private school girl way—yeah, she went to Charlotte Day School, that was obvious from the insignia on her field hockey uniform, but why were her pictures on the news? It took him a few seconds to register the rest of the information.

  Emma Manning. Missing. Long straight reddish-brown hair. Black shirt. Burgundy pants. Black ankle boots. Have you seen her?

  The images struck a familiar chord. He had seen her all right. He was sure of it! Not her face exactly, but the hair, the clothes, someone just her size. He grabbed his phone and captured a picture of the number to call on the bottom of the screen.

  Then he needed time to think. What did he remember? He’d seen the missing girl on Thursday night at Resling Corporate Park. It was growing dark, but the street lights had yet to come on. That was his signal to go home because it wouldn’t be too much longer before his mother got home from her shift at work and put something in the microwave for their dinner.

  The buildings in that complex were empty. For Lease banners hung across the fronts. The empt
y parking lot was perfect for skateboarding. He’d just failed on a heel flip over stairs and fallen hard. His whole right side stung. He was leaning against a railing waiting for the pain to subside, holding his skateboard under his arm, when a dark sedan drove past and parked across the lot in the shadows between the vacant buildings.

  A big, muscle-bound, bouncer-type guy emerged and hoisted a girl out of the back. The guy was too old to be the girl’s boyfriend, too young to be her Dad, but he could have been an older brother. The girl’s head lolled back like she was drunk or drugged . . . or dead. Her black shirt fell down her shoulder. There may have been something covering her face, but he wasn’t sure because as she lifted her head, the man turned, blocking the view. He could say for certain that the big guy had a buzz-cut and wore a dark sweatshirt and jeans . . . maybe. But most clearly, he remembered the girl’s black boots flopping beneath her like a puppet as the man carried her toward the building, until the flopping changed to kicking. That’s when a cold tingle spread over his scalp and he knew something strange was happening.

  A second car arrived moments later. A BMW. An old dude climbed out. Around his father’s age. He wore a suit.

  What make of car did the first guy have? The cops might want to know that, too. It was nothing special or he would have remembered, like he remembered the beamer. So, it had to be one of those makes and models that practically everyone drove. Honda? Hyundai? Mazda?

  Would he be on the news? Was there a reward? Pleased with himself, which made up for all the bad feelings generated by the upcoming Algebra test, he dialed the tip line number.

  Chapter Nine

  Victoria slept poorly, waking from and returning to a bad dream. In the dream, she was on vacation, hiking somewhere far from home. Eddie, her sweetest and goofiest dog, ran off the trail after a squirrel and never came back. She stayed in the woods until the sky turned an inky black, calling his name over and over until her voice was no more than a raspy, croak. Eventually she had to drive home, heartbroken because he was out there alone somewhere—cold, hungry, afraid, and would never find his way back to her. The dream seemed very real and continued to unsettle her long after she woke with the rising sun.

  Before getting out of bed, she checked through new messages and emails on her phone, deleting anything she didn’t need. There were no new messages from Connelly, so she sent him one. Any news?

  When she started the day away from home, she often experienced a bit of homesickness in the mornings. Entering the bathroom minus a canine entourage, their absence hit her in a wave of melancholy. Perhaps I’ll find out today that Emma returned to her family, and I’ll be on my way back to Virginia.

  She dressed in work-out clothes, put a towel down on the carpet, and scrolled through her YouTube feed of exercise videos. She selected a Navy Seals ultimate-mat-workout and hit play. On top of the dresser, the television played the local news on mute. When she looked up from her phone, the words Breaking News flashed across the bottom of the screen. She paused her exercise video, shifted her attention to the news, and turned up the volume.

  A blonde woman was reporting. “Employees at three separate Charlotte locations found handwritten notes with bomb threats. The threats appear to have been delivered overnight. With an estimate of over a hundred thousand people visiting for the upcoming sporting events, local authorities are taking this threat very seriously.”

  Victoria wiped her brow with one of the hotel’s hand towels.

  The report switched to a live press conference and Victoria went back to doing crunches. There wasn’t much more that could throw a city into panic and chaos than multiple bomb threats on a weekend with major organized events. For Charlotte authorities, today would be an all-hands-on-deck kind of day.

  Detective Connelly hadn’t responded to Victoria’s message by the time she left the hotel for a run. Quite possibly, he had been pulled into helping with the enhanced security measures. Under a cloudy sky with fog billowing through the streets, she ran around the perimeter of the South Charlotte Mall. An employee unlocked the front doors and she entered with a group of mall walkers.

  She found her way to the giant Christmas display in the center of the mall and took the escalator to the lobby below.

  She stood where she remembered Emma standing and studied the area.

  Where did Emma go from there? Was she lured? Tricked?

  Victoria would be angry if the girl had run away or gone to stay with a new friend and not told anyone, causing all this stress and worry and wasting valuable resources. However, that scenario would still be her number one preference. Any other possibility made her shudder for poor Emma Manning. A disturbing memory from a previous case flashed through her mind—a girl in the trunk of a car. She pushed it away.

  She left the lobby and walked through the surrounding parking garage. Had Connelly or one of his colleagues tracked all the cars that left the parking garage shortly after Emma was seen in the lobby? That’s what she would have done. Surveillance cameras were clearly visible hanging below the ceiling. Avoiding all of them would require a precise and convoluted orchestration of steps, but it was certainly possible.

  She checked her messages. Still no word from Connelly, but Ned had sent her a photo of the dogs staring up at him with their big round eyes while he prepared breakfast. Feeling lucky and missing all of them, she ran another mile to an empty office-parking area.

  A car slowed down as it passed. Hanging his head and shoulders out the window, a teen yelled to her. “You can run after me anytime!” Hoots and laughter followed as the car sped away.

  It happened. Even when people knew she was an agent.

  She sprinted across the length of the lot, took a quick break, and sprinted back, pushing through the burn in her muscles and lungs. She repeated the exercise three more times, and ended sucking in giant gulps of breath with sweat beading every inch of her body. Having done enough, she returned to her hotel room to shower, dress, and call Sam.

  “Good morning. How’s Charlotte?” As always, Sam was gracious and pleasant, like a hotel concierge, even though, no matter the day or time, he had multiple agents making demands and urgent requests. Everyone in the bureau wanted their information as soon as possible. She didn’t know how Sam dealt with the constant stress, but he did it well. Victoria made a mental note to send him a gift of some sort, anonymously, something to let him know how much his work was appreciated.

  “Charlotte is fine,” she said, pulling on clean socks. “Bomb threats this morning.”

  “I heard. I grew up near there, you know. It’s changed a lot. Grew like wildfire.”

  “I didn’t know that about you. Well, I’m not sure if I’ll be here very long.” There were voices and shouting in the background, her home office was already busy. Murphy’s voice rose above the others. Then she heard Rivera. “Sounds hectic there.”

  “Hold on one second.” More muffled sounds filled the wait until Sam returned. “Agent Rivera says hello.”

  “Tell him I said hello back, please.” She wondered if Rivera had been assigned to a new case yet. “Any chance you have some time?”

  “I don’t have time—I make time—and I can make as much as you need.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Did you see my email from last night?”

  “Yes. Your search is already up and running.” Victoria heard another commotion in the background and thought Sam might have to go. Instead, he asked, “Do you have a forensics person scanning her social media?”

  “Her phone and laptop are missing, but the detective on the case has people accessing her calls, emails, and social media.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you immediately if I find anything, meanwhile, just let me know if there’s anything else I can help with.”

  “Thanks, Sam. You’re awesome. Have a good day.”

  She brushed her blonde hair back and gathered it in a ponytail, placing her cap over her head. After a quick breakfast at the hotel’s buffet, she drove her rental ca
r back to the Mannings’ house, leaving a message for Detective Connelly on the way. He still hadn’t responded to her earlier text. For all she knew, Emma might already be back home, punished for the foreseeable future, but safe and sound. Surely Connelly would have let Victoria know if that was the case, but maybe not. Maybe he had too many other things going on now, thanks to the recent bomb threats.

  A Channel 14 news van was parked to the side of the Mannings’ gated neighborhood. A reporter stood at the end of the drive, using the neighborhood entrance as his backdrop.

  Victoria waited for the news team to wrap up their segment, then checked in with the guard on duty. He signed her in and opened the gate.

  A long trailer with landscaping equipment occupied the road in front of the Mannings’ house. In the circular driveway, Connelly was stepping out of his car. He waited for Victoria to park, made eye contact, and shook his head. “I’ve got no new news. Let’s see if the parents have heard anything,” he said, walking alongside her. They passed two men edging the flower beds. A third man drove a riding mower.

  Victoria found it interesting that there were no other cars in the driveway. No other friends, family, or neighbors gathering to offer the family support. Usually they swarmed like flies, some of them purely nosy, but offering to help in any way and arranging for meals to be delivered to the family.

  Connelly rubbed his eyes. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you. We had a briefing uptown and I didn’t have time to check in with the Mannings yet. That’s what I’m doing now. Hoping for closure on this.”

  Magda opened the door again. She saw them and her eyes lit up. “Do you know where Emma is?”

  “No, unfortunately, we don’t.” All hopes that Emma was home had just been dashed. “No word from her here, then?”

  “No. Nothing.” Magda reached toward her neck and clutched the collar of her shirt. “What about from the tip line?”