The Lies That Bind

20: Scavenger Hunt

I would kill for some takeout right about now, she thought, eyeing their bags. Literally.

"Vincent had no reason to leave the immediate area, Calla," Cooper continued quietly, forcing her to brush aside her hunger. "If he needed some fresh air or whatever, there's plenty of it right outside the front fucking door."

The man beside them, his arms full as he cradled his daughter to his chest, scowled in their direction.

"Language," Calla chided under her breath.

Cooper closed his eyes, lashes brushing the curve of his cheekbones. "God, this can't be happening. Not again."

He started to cross the street, light or no light, but Calla held him back, curling her fingers around his sweater. "Cooper. Wait. Breathe." He tried to brush her off, but she steeled her hold on him. "Don't bother. I could pin your ass to the sidewalk and you know it."

He stopped struggling at the reminder. "Language," he said, a mocking edge to the words. But the family at the corner had already moved on, muttering under their breath about college towns.

Once they were out of earshot, Cooper turned to her. "We have to keep looking—"

"We will. But Coop," she gestured down the darkened street ahead, lit in irregular intervals by muted orange light, "there's nothing down there. We're not going to find him by checking every hedge and gutter in the neighborhood. We need to head for...civilization, or something." She released her hold on his sweater and crossed the street adjacent, at the end of which was the more promising glow of storefronts and distant sound of passing cars. "Come on. Maybe someone saw something. We've gotta start somewhere."

Cooper followed without question, fingers brushing hers in silent thanks. Calla knew it would be futile trying to reassure him further; the odds that they'd find someone who'd seen anything out of the ordinary was incredibly slim. More likely than not, Vincent was already knocked out cold, bound and gagged, or worse—dead in the detective's trunk, his corpse slowly desiccating...

She tried to envision Michaels catching Vincent unawares on the brownstone's front steps, but the mental image, while vivid, stirred within her a spark of doubt.

"Hold on." Calla stopped, holding out her arm to halt Cooper in his tracks.

"What? What do you see?" Cooper asked, peering down the street to the convenience store just ahead.

"This doesn't make any sense," she said, looking over at him. "Vincent's a big guy. Assuming Michaels was even following us in the first place, and we have literally no proof of that—"

"Except for the fact that he's followed you everywhere else," Cooper muttered.

"—logistically, it's still a stretch," Calla continued without pause. "So, what? Michaels just snatched Vincent right off the steps?"

"He's probably got a gun," Cooper argued. "It's not that far-fetched. Mike managed it well enough when he dragged Vincent from the Diner, didn't he?"

"Yes," Calla agreed patiently, pulling him toward the convenience store. They paused in the glow of the store's neon WELCOME sign, standing well away from the road. "But that was a nearly empty parking lot, Coop." She made a vague gesture to the passerby on the sidewalk. "There were at least a dozen people wandering around the neighborhood when we left. Not really an ideal night for a kidnapping."

Her words washed right over him. He shook his head, scanning the sidewalk, the nearby buildings, the cars rushing by. "Michaels is crafty. He could've pulled it off somehow."