“Let me talk to my contact at BPD. That’ll probably give us the best starting point.”
Nick nodded. “Thanks. One other thing. I wondered if I could borrow some equipment to sweep her house for electronic surveillance devices. I’m meeting a locksmith over there in about an hour, so I could kill two birds with one stone if I could borrow it this afternoon.”
Miguel steepled his fingers. “Where does she live?”
“A block off Patterson Park.”
“I’ll do ya one better,” Miguel said, sitting up and placing his arms on top of the desk blotter. “I’ll come with ya. I could use some fresh air. Two pair of hands can sweep a house faster than one.”
It was just like him to offer. “I’m gonna take you up on that.”
Miguel slapped his hands on the desk. “Good. We’re gonna make a full-blown PI out of you before it’s all said and done.” He winked, and Nick gave a rueful smile. Miguel had been after him about this for a few months, but he couldn’t help feeling like it was something else he’d fall into, rather than choosing it for himself.
Forty-five minutes later, Rixey pulled onto Becca’s street, Miguel following behind in his nondescript dark sedan—affectionately known as the stakeoutmobile. They parked, and Rixey met Miguel at his trunk.
Three pieces of equipment sat within. A briefcase-sized plastic box held a non linear junction detector, which looked a lot like the metal detectors people used at the beach and could sense radio signals or transmitters inside walls, baseboards, and ceilings. A smaller case held an electronic field detector, a handheld device that identified audio and video signals. The third kit held a thermal imager that could read heat signatures thrown off by electronics hidden in walls and ceilings. Olivero had other pieces for cases specifically focused on countersurveillance, but he thought these would likely do the job. And Rixey trusted his judgment.
Rixey retrieved all three cases into his arms.
“You don’t have to be such a hotshot,” Miguel said, slamming the trunk with a wink.
“The grunt work’s the least I can do.” Nick led their way to Becca’s front door.
“Let’s put the stuff inside and then we’ll do an exterior sweep to start.”
Nodding, Rixey fished the keys from his pocket. Finding the right one took him a few tries, but then the key finally turned and he pushed the door open. He stepped back to let Miguel through.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God.”
Frowning, Rixey stepped into the little foyer behind him. “Sonofafuck.” Brazen assholes had come back after all.
The place had been tossed. Nick dropped the cases to the floor and drew his gun. Olivero was right there with him, gun drawn and at the ready. The older man nodded, and they moved in unison to clear the first floor and the small basement.
Making their way back through, Rixey saw that the rear door stood open a crack. He resecured it. Heart thundering in his chest and adrenaline flying through his veins, all Nick could think was thank fuck he’d made Becca leave last night. Shit, the thought that she might’ve been there when someone did this . . .
Drawers dumped out, books knocked off shelves, cushions tossed and torn. Destructive, but about what you’d expect if someone was looking for something. It was the other damage that filled his gut with dread. Pictures and figurines smashed, plants knocked over, the dirt spilled everywhere and then tracked through the carpet. Looked like two, maybe three guys by the different-sized prints. Seemed like a lot of damage for the sake of damage.
Rixey nodded toward the stairs. Weapon at the ready, he leaned into the stairwell, gave a quick looksee, then hightailed it up. A clear sight into the bathroom told him the room directly ahead was clear. He signaled to Miguel to cover him and darted across to Becca’s room.
Jesus.
The floor was a veritable debris field, with clothing and books and jewelry and seashells underfoot. Fuckers had smashed her guitar and emptied out her drawers and closet.
All this damage made no God-given sense. It had taken time and potentially risked the stealth of their actions—and the intent seemed punitive, terroristic. His gut dropped to his boots when he imagined Becca’s reaction. And that he was going to have to be the one to break her heart with the news.
He rejoined Miguel in the hall and made quick work of ascertaining the last room was also clear.
“As a crime scene, this place makes no friggin’ sense, Nick,” Miguel growled, echoing Rixey’s own thoughts as he looked over the disheveled piles of papers covering every surface of Becca’s office. The full weight of Miguel’s gaze lifted to Rixey’s, and the man didn’t have to say a word. This wasn’t any ordinary B&E. And it wasn’t any typical missing persons situation. This was something organized, deadly serious, and royally pissed off, by the looks of this place. Way too much emotion involved in all this destruction to read it any other way.
Becca. Jesus Christ, she was out in the open, completely unprotected—and unsuspecting. “I have to go get Becca.” Nick backed to the door. “I don’t know what this means, but no way I’m letting her take the bus home by herself.”
Miguel nodded. “I’ll stay here and handle this.”
“Locksmith should be here soon. Tell him to install the highest-grade locks on every exterior door,” Rixey said, alarm pounding against the inside of his skull. “Windows, too. I don’t care what it costs. And thank you, Miguel.”
“Go get your girl, son.”
Rixey turned and jogged down the steps, already pulling his phone from his pocket. The crap-ton of oh shit parked on his chest made it impossible to analyze what all this meant, how it was all connected. He just couldn’t see the forest for the trees, and he wouldn’t be able to until Becca Merritt was back in his presence and under his protection, safe and sound.
BECCA SAT DOWN on a bench in the small outdoor courtyard with a diet Coke and a pack of peanut butter crackers. Not because she was hungry but because she hoped they would settle the upset stomach she’d had all day.
As she nibbled at a cracker, her gaze traced over the open rectangular space. Surrounded on three sides by the towering hospital, it was a favorite hangout for staff seeking a bit of fresh air and a short reprieve from the demanding pace inside the hospital. Here and there, people filled benches, talked on cell phones, or clustered around the one corner where smoking was permitted.
Just another hour left to go. Which was good, because being at work instead of out looking for Charlie was making her crazy. With everything that was going on, her brain had struggled all day to remain present. And being distracted was always a bad thing to be in the ER.
She cracked open the soda and took a sip. Thank God she didn’t have to stay into the evening. Weekend nights were always the worst. By 5:00 p.m., the crap would really start hitting the fan, but she’d be long gone by then. Maybe Nick would take her to meet his PI friend, or they could go talk to Charlie’s neighbors. She just needed to do something. Anything, really. Then later, would she be staying at her house or Nick’s? She’d have thought her preference would’ve been clear, but she found herself thinking about how nice it was to eat dinner with someone, and have somebody with whom to share the day ahead over breakfast.
It had been a long time since she’d had anything close to that in her life. Becca dated occasionally, when she had the time, energy, and inclination—which hadn’t happened often since her father died, truth be told. But even before then, she just hadn’t met anyone who really made her feel.