The 6th Target

Chapter 82

SIX-YEAR-OLD CHARLIE RAY had been abducted more than seven hours before, and the kidnappers had not called his parents. The Rays, unlike the Tylers, were in a socio-economic bracket that wouldn't normally indicate a kidnapping for ransom.

And that was a bad thing.

We sat in Captain Jimenez's office while FBI agent David Stanford briefed us. Stanford was a blue-eyed man with a graying ponytail who'd been working undercover on another case before being pulled into this one.

I took a flyer from the stack on the captain's desk, studied Charlie Ray's perfectly round eyes, baby teeth, and short-cropped dark curls.

Would his body be found weeks or months from now in a dump, or in a shallow grave, or washed up on the beach after a storm?

When the meeting broke up, I called Macklin and filled him in. And then Agent Stanford gave me and Conklin a lift to the airport. As we took the freeway exit, Stanford suggested we stop for a drink at the Marriott LAX before our flight. He wanted to hear everything we knew about Madison Tyler and her abduction.

Speaking for myself, I was ready for a drink. Possibly two.

The Latitude 33 lounge had a full bar and restaurant. Over beer and peanuts, we discussed Madison, then Stanford told us about a hideous child-abduction case he'd worked months before.

A ten-year-old girl had been snatched off the street as she walked home from school. She'd been found twenty-four hours later, raped and strangled, left on the altar of a church, her hands folded as if in prayer. The killer still hadn't been found.

"How often do these kidnappings end in a rescue?" I asked.

"The majority of the time, child abductions are done by family members. In those cases, the child is usually returned unharmed. When the kidnapper is a stranger, the recovery rate is about fifty-fifty." Stanford's voice was strained as he said, "Call it passion or maybe obsession, but I believe that the more child predators I can take down, the safer the world is for my three kids."

Chapter 83

"HOW ABOUT KEEPING ME COMPANY over di

Our waiter brought menus to the table, and as the eight o'clock flight to SFO had just departed without us, we took Stanford up on his offer.

The agent ordered a bottle of pinot grigio, and Conklin and I filled him in on what we knew about Paola Ricci's abduction and murder.

"Honestly, we're stuck," I told Stanford. "Our dead ends are turning up even more dead ends. We're in about the fifth generation of dead ends."

Our steaks arrived, and Stanford ordered another bottle of wine. And for the first time that long day, I finally relaxed, glad for the company and the chance to brainstorm while listening to the country-and-western music floating in from the live band in the lounge.

I was also becoming aware of Conklin's long legs next to mine under the table, his brown suede jacket brushing up against my arm, the now familiar cadence of his voice, and the wine slipping smoothly down my throat as the evening flowed into night.

At around 9:15, Dave Stanford picked up the tab, told us that he'd keep us posted after the Rays' phone records were dumped and that he'd alert us of anything that could help us with the Ricci/Tyler case.

We'd missed another flight back to San Francisco, and as Rich and I said good-bye to Stanford, we prepared ourselves for an hour's wait outside the United Airlines gate.

We were almost out the door when the band kicked up something from the Ke

The bar crowd was made up of smashed young road warriors and airline perso

Rich smiled and said, "You wa

I followed Rich's lead onto the dance floor and into a good time, hustling to the music, bumping into giddy strangers, and best of all laughing.

It had been a while since I'd doubled over with belly laughs, and it felt great.

When the song ended, the crooner unhooked the mic from the stand, licked her lips, and sang along with the guy at the electric piano as he played "Lyin' Eyes."

Couples paired up. When Rich stretched out his arms, I stepped in close. My God, my God, it felt so good to have Richie Conklin's arms around me.

The room was spi

When the music stopped, Rich said, "Man, I really don't want to go to the airport, do you?"

I remember saying that a case could be made that at that late hour, after the long workday and, by the way, having drunk a whole lot of wine, we had several bona fide, expense-reportable reasons to spend the night in LA.

Still, I was torn as I handed my credit card to the desk clerk at the Marriott LAX, telling myself this didn't mean a thing. I wasn't going to do anything but go to my room and sleep. That was all.

Rich and I stood at opposite sides of the elevator, a weary couple between us, as the mirrored car climbed ten silent flights. I hated to admit it, but I missed being in his arms.

When we stepped out of the elevator, I said, "Good night, Rich." Then I turned my back on him as I slipped the key card into the slot, aware that he was now doing the same in a door across the hall.

"See you in the morning, Lindsay."

"Sure thing. Sleep tight, Richie."

The tiny green light went on, and the door handle opened under my hand.

Chapter 84

I CLOSED AND BOLTED THE DOOR to my room, my mind reeling with longing and desire, relief and regret. I stripped off my clothes, and a minute later, the blood was pounding in my temples as I stood under the hot spray of the shower.

Clean and glowing pink, I buffed my body with warm terry-cloth towels and blew my hair dry. I toweled the steam off the mirror over the sink and assessed my naked self. I still looked young and good and desirable. My breasts were firm, my tummy flat, and my sandy blond hair cascaded in waves to below my shoulders.

Why hadn't Joe called me?

I wrapped myself in a white hotel robe, went to the bedroom, checked the empty voice mail on my cell phone, much like my stubborn answering machine at home.

It had been six days since I'd seen Joe.

Was it really, truly over between us?

Would I never see him again? Why hadn't he come after me?

I pulled the drapes shut, folded the gold-quilted spread, and fluffed the pillows. Dizzy from the wine and the heat of the shower, I lay down.

Eyes closed, I found that the fading images of Joe were replaced by more urgent fantasies.

I was drawn back to only a half hour earlier, when Rich had held me. I relived the moment when dancing with him had gone from good to too good, when I'd felt him hard against me, when I'd put my arms around his neck and pressed my body against his.

It was okay to have these feelings, I told myself. I was only human, and so was he, and both of us were having a completely natural response to being alone together -.

A tapping at the door startled me.

My heart jumped as the knock came again.