Thread of Revenge (The Joe Tyler Series, #6) Read online

  “I mean, like, in the middle of the night, they just all of a sudden told me we had to go,” she explained. The frustration in her voice was crystal clear. “No warning or anything. Just said we had to go. And we were in a different car then we were in before. We drove like thirty minutes and then came to this new place.”

  “Are you alright?” I asked.

  “Yeah, just confused.”

  “I really don't know why they did that,” I said. “But I've told them to do whatever they felt like they needed to do, and I trust them. So if they did that, there must've been a reason.”

  “They could at least tell me,” she griped.

  Her tone almost made me crack a smile. It was good to hear that she was irritated, good to see her teenage attitude rear its head when things were so completely out of whack and off kilter for her. “Probably a reason for that, too,” I said. “But you're okay now?”

  “Yeah. Fine. We're in a house. It's cool.” She paused. “Did you find Mom yet?”

  The ghost of a smile disappeared. I dropped the window a little more, needing another blast of the fresh air. “No, not yet. Soon.”

  “And then you'll come and get me, right?” she asked. “As soon as you can?”

  “Not a second longer. I promise you that.”

  She sighed. “Okay. This sucks, Dad. It really, really sucks. The not knowing, and all the spy crap. It freaks me out.”

  My shoulders rolled forward in the seat. I felt as old as Stefano. Frail. Weak. Defeated. “I know, kid. I know it does. And I'm sorry we're having to deal with it. I'm sorry.”

  “I'm tired, too,” she said.

  Another twinge of guilt bit at me. “You were asleep last night when I called,” I reminded her.

  “Yeah, but it's a weird sleep. Like I'm barely asleep.”

  A new half-smile found its way to my lips; not because her comment amused me, but because I knew exactly what she meant. I’d spent nearly every night while she was gone sleeping like that, afraid I'd miss a phone call or email or something that would end the nightmare. I still struggled with sleep, as if my body had somehow forgotten how to do it.

  “I get it,” I said. “Just do the best you can.” I changed subjects. “The guys are okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Fine.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I should get moving. I'll call back in a little bit. Alright?” There shouldn’t have been a question, because she didn’t really have a say. But still, adding that, pretending to give her a voice over some small detail in this mess, made me feel better.

  She sighed again. “Okay. I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, too.”

  We hung up and I sat there for a moment, just listening to the cars driving by and the constant hum that never seemed to go away from a downtown area echoing beyond the traffic.

  I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes. I wondered if we'd ever have a normal life again. I couldn't remember what normal felt like. Even after Elizabeth had come home and we all started living like a family again and I made sure that we wouldn't have to fear repercussions, I’d been on edge. And stayed that way. To varying degrees, but I often thought about how it could come crashing down at a moment's notice. I was never fully relaxed, never completely optimistic. I trusted no one, and I looked for the bad...in everything. I didn't know how to change that mindset. I wanted to, but I didn't know how. I didn't want Elizabeth to grow up surrounded by that. She was going to have enough fallout to deal with as she got older, and I wanted to minimize the wreckage in her own home.

  I just didn't know how to do that.

  Especially now.

  THIRTY SIX

  I walked the area around the Foshay Tower after parking the rental in a pay lot. There was nothing unusual about the streets or the block it resided in. Downtown. Hustle. Bustle. Lots of people coming and going. Getting into the hotel wouldn't be an issue.

  The walking did me some good, letting me stretch my tense muscles. A cold breeze blew, gusting between buildings, and most people were still bundled in winter gear – hats and gloves and jackets. The wind didn’t bother me, nor did the goose bumps prickling my skin. Instead, it energized me and helped clear my head, forcing me to think about what I had to do as opposed to what had already occurred. I couldn’t dwell on the past because there was no way to change that. But I could change the future. I thought about Elizabeth, safe somewhere in Phoenix – at least I thought she was in Phoenix – and I thought about Lauren. There was less of an image to draw of her, and my mind tried to take me down morbid paths I wasn’t ready to travel, but I forced those thoughts out of my mind. I would find her, I told myself, over and over as I looped the downtown blocks. I wasn't sure yet how I'd get Anchor to take me to her, but I would find a way. I'd bring Stefano back in if I had to.

  The sidewalk was closed in front of me, a bobcat tearing up the gutter and a dump truck blocking the right lane of traffic, so I walked across the street and went up the stairs and into one of the skyways, the glassed in tunnels that connected all of the major buildings in the downtown area. The skyways were full of business executives, most of them probably headed to lunch in one of the mini malls that catered specifically to the weekday workers. I found a bench in one of the courtyard areas, pulled out my phone, and called Anchor again. I was still angry that he hadn't answered earlier, and I didn't want him feeling as if he had the upper hand.

  He answered this time. “Mr. Tyler. Good to hear from you.”

  His voice made my skin crawl. “I'll bet. You didn't answer earlier.”

  “Didn't I?” He made a clucking sound. “I must've been otherwise occupied.”

  “I'd like to talk to Lauren.”

  “I'm sure,” he said. “I have good news, by the way.”

  I shifted on the bench. “What's that?”

  “I've confirmed that you've told me the truth,” he said. “You did what you said you did.”

  “I already told you that.”

  “Well, sure, but we went through that once before, didn't we?” he asked, and I could tell he was smiling. “I felt it prudent on my part to follow through on your work. Turns out you were telling me the truth this time.”

  “Yeah. I was,” I said. “And now I want Lauren. Like we agreed on.”

  He made a tsk-tsk sound. “I think our understanding of the agreement differed greatly, as we discussed previously.”

  My free hand balled itself into a fist. “Stop fucking around with me, Anchor. You made your point. But Dennison is gone. Lauren has nothing to do with this. Give her to me and let's be done with this.”

  “Are you enjoying Minnesota?” he asked.

  I inhaled sharply. “Not really.”

  “No? I'd think you'd have had seen some sights, given you've been here for awhile now.” He paused. “We missed you earlier. Was hoping to say hello. But I'm assuming you're still in the vicinity.”

  I knew what he was doing. He wanted me to know that he knew I was there. It wasn't a surprise at all, given what I'd already experienced. And it sounded like he wasn't quite sure where I was at the moment. Which was a good thing for me.

  “I'm here for one thing,” I said.

  “Have you encountered any obstacles?” he asked.

  I pushed my fist against the wooden slats of the bench. He was baiting me, wanting to draw me out. Maybe as much for me to give something away about where I was and what I was doing as much to piss me off.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You. I want Lauren back.”

  “Ah, Mr. Tyler. We all want things, don't we?” he said. “Obtaining them is a wholly separate thing, though, now isn't it?”

  I stood and started to pace, the nervous energy taking over. “We had a deal.”

  “Yes, we had a deal,” he said, the tone of his voice changing. It was no longer playful. It was hard, edged, like a blade. “We had a deal and you reneged and then lied about it, Mr. Tyler. Did you honestly believe that would work? Honestly?”

  I didn't h
ave an answer for him so I didn't say anything.

  “I don't think you're a fool, Mr. Tyler, but you certainly acted like one,” he said. “And you had to be aware that the consequences would be...unkind.”

  My hand tightened on the phone. “Is that what happened to Marc Codaselli? Did he become a consequence for my error?”

  “Ah, that's hard to say now, isn't it?” Anchor said. “Maybe collateral damage is the more correct term? I'm not sure.” Something that sounded like snapping fingers crackled through the phone. “Which reminds me. I didn't know you had friends in Arizona.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I said.

  He laughed. “One lie, Mr. Tyler. You could've saved yourself from all this by just doing your job. And not lying to me.” He paused. “But I'm not a monster. I won't destroy your entire family.”

  For a moment, I thought it was all for show, and now that he'd demonstrated he could do whatever he wanted, he was going to be done and let me off the hook and I'd be rid of him forever. I could feel relief nearly washing through me. It was so close.

  “But you won't ever forget you lied to me, Mr. Tyler,” Anchor said. “I promise you that.”

  My phone vibrated in my hand, but I ignored it. “If you hurt her, I'll—”

  “You'll what, Mr. Tyler?” he asked. “Hurt me? Kill me? Please. You've already demonstrated that you don't really have the stomach for that kind of thing, haven't you?”

  He laughed again and there was a different quality to it this time. Colder, harsher, so much so that I shivered when he finished.

  “Here's what I'd do if I were you,” Anchor said. “You might want to write this down. Do you have a writing utensil?”

  I didn’t. I was standing in a skyway, people buzzing past me, my heartbeat roaring in my ears. “Yeah.”

  “Excellent,” Anchor said. “Rent a boat. And start searching the Great Lakes. Just pick one. She's in one of them.” He chuckled again. “Goodbye, Mr. Tyler.”

  THIRTY SEVEN

  I stumbled to the bench I'd been on, my legs giving way beneath my weight. I fell hard onto it, my back slamming into the back of it. I couldn't catch my breath and my hand was locked around my phone.

  Was he serious? Or was he baiting me again?

  My phone vibrated in my hand again and I glanced down at it.

  There was a text from a number I didn't recognize.

  I tapped it with my thumb.

  There were no words in the text, just what appeared to be a video.

  Something resembling a jagged block of ice settled into my stomach.

  My hand shook as I raised my hand, and I touched my index finger to the screen.

  There was no sound to the video. A woman lay on the back end of what looked like a pontoon, her back to the camera. The camera panned up and scanned slowly across an endless body of water. There were small white caps and the boat bobbed up and down, and if I hadn’t been in Minnesota, hadn’t heard the ominous words Anchor had just uttered, I would have thought it was an ocean. There was nothing else in the picture but water and sky, both a dull gray.

  A hand reached down and rolled the woman onto her back. Her eyes were closed, her hands and ankles bound with duct tape. She wore a light blue sweater and black dress pants, her stockinged-feet shoeless. Her face was pale and I couldn’t tell if her pallor was from the cold or because she wasn’t alive.

  The hand reached down again and rolled her back onto her side.

  Then a foot – a man's black dress shoe – stuck its toe into the woman's back and rolled her forward and off the edge of the boat.

  Her body rotated again as she splashed into the lake, the water quickly washing over her face and body, swallowing her whole as she disappeared from view, sinking to the bottom of whatever body of water she'd been pushed into.

  The video ended.

  I stared at my phone for a long time. I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I could barely breathe.

  I could only do one thing.

  I could only see Lauren's face disappearing into that water over and over again.

  THIRTY EIGHT

  On the sixty-second day that Elizabeth had been missing, I finally allowed myself to cry.

  Up until then, I'd refused the temptation because it felt like crying meant grieving, which would've meant I was accepting that she was permanently gone. As Lauren and the other people around us cried, I remained resolute. I refused to believe she was gone, and no matter what the police were telling us and what the statistics were telling us, I wasn't going to let go of my belief that she was still very much alive.

  But on the sixty-second day, I read an article on the Internet about the small percentage of missing persons cases that were solved after sixty days. It was miniscule at that point because any evidence or clues had more than likely disappeared, families had often lost hope, and investigators were forced to move onto newer cases. Acceptance became easier.

  I saw all of that going on around me as we entered the third month of Elizabeth’s disappearance. Lauren was attempting to move forward. She'd gone back to work. Our friends were no longer forming search groups. The flyers with Elizabeth's face were gone from the bulletin boards and storefronts. The investigators weren't calling each day.

  I was home alone and I looked at the calendar and I counted off the days she'd been gone.

  Sixty-two days.

  I curled up on my bed, shut my eyes, and cried for close to two hours, my body and my heart succumbing to the idea that my daughter might be gone forever and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

  Now, as I sat on the bench in the skyway, my phone clenched in my shaking hand, I felt that wave of helplessness building inside of me.

  I pushed myself off the bench and forced my legs to carry me to the elevator and down to the street. My feet felt heavy, clumsy. I spotted the rental through my blurred vision. I fumbled for the keys in my pocket and squeezed the fob, unlocking the doors. I collapsed into the car and pulled the door shut behind me. I dropped my phone on the seat next to me.

  And my body shook as I ducked my head and cried for Lauren the same way I'd cried for Elizabeth.

  Except, this time, I knew there was no hope.

  THIRTY NINE

  Eventually, my body stopped shaking and I stopped crying.

  I don't know how long it took, but like with all other things, it finally came to a halt.

  And I felt the anger rising up to take its place.

  I could always count on the anger.

  I cleared my throat and wiped at my face. I dried my hands on the thighs of my jeans. I picked up my phone.

  “Mr. Tyler,” Dominic Stefano said after the phone rang one time. “I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon.”

  “Do you have contacts inside the hotel?” I asked, my throat raw and aching. “Where Anchor goes?”

  “I would think so, yes.”

  “Okay. I'm going today. This is what I need from you,” I said, and then explained what I was looking for.

  “May I put you on hold for a minute?” Stefano asked.

  “Yeah.”

  The line went mute and I sat there, staring out my window but seeing nothing.

  Not wanting to see anything.

  “Mr. Tyler,” Stefano said. “I think I can accommodate you.”

  “Good. And let me be clear,” I said. “This isn't a favor or a deal or any of that shit. This is part of our original agreement. You're never going to hear from me again and I don't want to hear from you.”

  “Fair enough,” Stefano said. “Has something happened, Mr. Tyler? Besides Marc?”

  “My wife is dead,” I said, the words slicing at my mouth as they came out.

  “You know this?”

  “Yes.”

  I could hear him breathing through the other end of the phone. “I'm sorry.”

  I didn’t want his sympathy, his words of condolence.

  “I will make sure things are taken care of in the hotel,” he said. “You'll
be able to get in and out without trouble. You'll know when you are clear.” He paused. “And I will have people in behind you to take care of the situation. Just leave when you're done and that'll be it.”

  “And he really goes in alone?” I asked.

  It was the one question that had been bothering me since I'd read through the dossier Stefano gave me. Anchor was paranoid and careful, so I was having trouble wrapping my head around the idea that he would make himself vulnerable and open at any time.

  “He's accompanied by an associate,” Stefano explained. “He waits outside the room. But unbeknownst to John, this associate enjoys the bar on the top floor of the hotel. He generally leaves as soon as John is in the room and then returns before John is finished. Complacency, I suppose. But you have my assurance it will not be an issue.”

  I didn't know how he was going to do it, but I was going to take his word for it. I had no other choice and at that moment, I really didn't care. “Okay.”

  “I'm assuming you'll be leaving town immediately afterward.”

  “Yes.”

  “'Alright. I will also make arrangements to...I don't want to be insensitive here, Mr. Tyler. But your wife's death, if reported as suspicious, could point authorities in your direction. The questions they might ask could lead them back to Anchor. I don't believe that's what you want.”

  I wasn't afraid of being held accountable for my actions, but I was afraid of being separated from Elizabeth again. I couldn't bring Lauren back, but I could make sure Elizabeth was taken care of. I knew Lauren would want that. She'd expect that.

  “Agreed,” I said.

  “So please understand that my people might have to make some things look differently than we know them to be,” he said. “Do you follow me?”

  “I do,” I told him. “And I understand.”

  “If you need anything else, please call me immediately,” he said.

  I punched off the phone without saying anything else.

  I wasn't going to need anything else from Dominic Stefano or anyone else in Minnesota ever again. I had just a few hours left in the state and then I'd leave it behind. I only needed one thing.