Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense) Read online

  The only other exit out of that room led to a storage area where the suspect apparently lured the girl and then took her outside from there. Exactly where the blind woman said the girl would be.

  Sam said, “There isn’t a camera at the back door. They figured with the door wired for the alarm, they didn’t need it. The suspect knew what he was doing. He knew the layout of the store and how to cut the wiring on the door without tripping the alarm.”

  Max said, “Could be someone on the inside. An employee or former employee. The manager is pulling all employee records for us now. We’ll start by running background checks, see if anyone has any priors. We’re also pulling the records of all recently convicted child molesters in Palomera. We’ve got Sarasota doing the same, and they’re putting out a bulletin on the girl over there, too. Fliers are being made now, and they’ll be distributed all over the region.”

  “Hopefully we’ll see something on the security video,” Sam said as he led the way into a small conference room.

  Max waved the guards in, and they gathered around the television with the Toyland’s chief of security. Bob Thornton was a tall, thin man whose balding head reflected the overhead fluorescent glare. “We rewound the tape to when the store opened. This is the one facing the entrance. We have another camera pointed toward people leaving the store.”

  Max said, “Fast forward it to right before lockdown.” He turned to Sam. “There’s something I want you to see.”

  Everyone in the room leaned forward as the grainy black and white film sped ahead in fast motion.

  “Who’s that?” Sam asked when someone in a Santa costume walked in.

  “That’s our Santa, Claude Fernley.”

  Max nodded. “We’ve verified that he was upstairs doing his Santa gig when the girl was taken.” He glanced at Thornton. “Keep going.”

  The people coming and going seemed perfectly normal…until the woman ran into view. “Stop and rewind a little,” Max said. “This is it.”

  The woman approached from the north and gestured crazily, but unerringly toward the rear of the store. The guards spoke with her, one putting his hand on her arm.

  Max said, “This woman came in warning the guards about the missing girl. Get this, before anyone knew she was gone.”

  Sam leaned forward. “Whoa, that’s something. What’s she saying?”

  As the guards relayed the woman’s words, Max watched her movements. She had long, dark hair that swung with her frantic gestures. He couldn’t see her face clearly, but she looked attractive and well dressed. Her dog, tethered on a leash by a harness, cowered. They watched the guards escort her outside.

  The beefy guard said, “She tried to get someone outside to help her. You have to understand, we just thought she was crazy. Holidays bring that out sometimes. We didn’t know a girl was missing yet. We watched, ready to subdue her if necessary. Then she left.”

  The thinner guard said, “A minute later, the girl was reported missing, and the store went into lockdown mode.”

  Max watched the woman walk away when no one would help her. “Where did she go?”

  “I think she crossed the street,” the other guard said.

  “You ever see her before?” Max asked.

  “Not that I remember, though I just moved here,” one guard said.

  “I’ve never seen her.”

  Max ran his hand over his face. He turned to the officer who was in the room with them. “Okay, let’s get both tapes down to the station and have our people analyze it. Have them look at everyone who came in and match them up with everyone who came out. The one who never came out is our man—or woman. Odds are, the suspect’s a guy and went in alone. I want a print of the woman’s face, as close as we can get. We’ve got to find out who she is.”

  One of the officers knocked on the open door. “Got someone you should talk to.” He brought in a lanky young man wearing a green smock with the bookstore’s logo on it. “Tell them what you just told me.”

  “When the officer asked if we’d seen anything unusual, well, this definitely fell into that category. It’d be kinda cool if she was involved, and I had the missing piece that got her.”

  “All right, let’s hear it,” Max said.

  “I was helping this blind woman buy a book, and she kind of freaked out at the counter.”

  “A blind woman?” Max repeated, getting out of his chair at the same time Sam did. “What’d she look like?”

  “Medium height, long, dark brown hair. Nice-looking, too, probably in her late twenties.”

  Sam was already instructing Thornton to put in the tape again. “Is this her?” he asked a moment later.

  “Yeah, that’s her all right.”

  Adrenaline shot through Max like intravenous caffeine.

  The kid said, “When she was checking out, she got all weird and slumped against the counter.”

  “Did she say or do anything just prior to, er, freaking out?” Sam asked.

  “We were talking about stuff, you know, just normal stuff. I was asking her how she knew what bills were what, that kind of thing. She seemed real nice about it. Then she checked her watch by pressing a button, and it said the time. It was right after eleven, I remember, because I was thinking, cool, it’s only an hour before my lunch break.”

  Max and Sam traded looks. She was sounding exactly like a planned distraction, checking the time, getting ready for a rendezvous. Sam asked, “Then what happened?”

  “That’s one of the weird things.” The kid made sure he had their attention. “She said, ‘He’s got her. Oh, God, he’s got her.’ Like she was in pain or something. Then she said she had to get to the toy store.” He smiled triumphantly when the officer lifted the bag he’d been holding. “That’s the book she bought. She left it.”

  Sam took it and pulled out a book—and a receipt. “Credit card. Smith, run a trace on it and take the security tapes back to the station with you.”

  The officer carefully took the bag and the tapes and left.

  All right, maybe this case wasn’t going to be so hard after all. Then Max remembered something the kid had said. “You said ‘one of the weird things.’ What was the other one?”

  “Well, she’s blind, right? Has the dog, had me lead her to the book section and describe what was in the book. When she was freaking out, wanting me to tell her how to get out of the store…she called me by my name.” He touched the nametag pinned to his apron. “And I’m sure I never told her.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Olivia Howe has no criminal past, no driver’s license,” Sam told Max once they’d pulled out of the station a short while later. “She just moved here about a year ago. But here’s something interesting: she recently filed a restraining order against Terry Carlton.”

  “The Terry Carlton?”

  “Yep.” Terry Carlton was a hometown boy who’d made it to the NFL. After a short career, he’d blown out a knee and come home the local hero. “I doubt it fits into the case, but it sure makes me wonder what the story is.”

  Max didn’t care. All that mattered was the missing girl. His gaze shifted to her picture and information on the car seat between them. Her name is Phaedra. Phaedra Burns. She’s not just a victim! Phaedra’s father’s voice resounded in his head, shrill and to the point. He’d overheard Sam referring to ‘the victim’ at the station. Bad move on his part. Families couldn’t understand that cops had to keep their emotions out of it so they could concentrate on the facts. Something Max had had trouble with until two years ago. But this case…

  Every passing minute wrenched his gut. He already felt close to the edge just looking at the girl’s picture. Dammit, she looked like Ashley: long brown hair, brown eyes, with a touch of baby fat around her cheeks and chin.

  Sam was clenching his fists. “We need this to be a lead. We got nothing else so far.”

  “We’re going to play it cool, right? Finesse her a bit, see what she knows,” Max said as he drove into the Waterfront section.r />
  Five years earlier, the area had consisted of a few warehouses. Then someone with foresight and big bucks bought up the land, scraped it clean, and built six buildings, stacked two deep in three rows, running along the waterway. They looked European, maybe Mediterranean, hell, he didn’t know. He guessed they were supposed to look like a Venetian village. Soon other developers moved in and eventually created a whole new upscale area of town.

  Sam said, “What would be really nice is we find the girl at Howe’s place along with the guy who took her. One neat, tidy package, and everyone gets to enjoy the holidays.”

  “It never happens that way, and you know it.”

  “Ah, ever the pessimist.”

  They were pretty sure the guy wearing the maintenance clothing was the suspect. He wasn’t on the tapes that they could tell and wasn’t an employee. Max found the building Olivia lived in: the center one closer to the road, third floor. He lucked into a spot and killed the engine. Time to face the girl’s picture.

  It’s not Ashley.

  He knew that. Ashley was gone, in one quick instant of heat and flames…gone. Then why were his hands shaking when he held up the picture? Her features were the same, but she didn’t have Ashley’s fragility. Probably didn’t have all of Ashley’s other problems either.

  The bag containing Olivia’s book crinkled as he grabbed it and got out of the car. He squinted up at the building; he’d forgotten his sunglasses again.

  The small lobby was simple, just one bland painting above a table laden with a silk flower arrangement opposite the elevators. They took the stairs to the third floor and followed the brass plaques to the last apartment on the left. A low, sultry voice asked, “Who is it?” a minute after Sam knocked.

  “Detectives Max Callahan and Sam O’Reilly with the Palomera Police Department.”

  The door opened after she’d unlocked a deadbolt and chain. He felt a hitch in his chest at the sight of her, and the jolt of seeing someone he knew but hadn’t seen in a long time. He was sure he’d never seen her before, other than on the surveillance video. She was nice looking, with long, brown hair, pale skin, and eyes an unusual shade of hazel. She wore a yellow shirt and vivid blue pants, no make up.

  “You’re not from the singing telegram company, are you, pretending to arrest me for stealing Terry Carlton’s heart again?” she asked.

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “No, ma’am. You left your bag at the bookstore. We’re here to return it.”

  “You’re really cops?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can I see your badge?” she asked.

  See? Max’s eyes narrowed, and he held it toward her. Her soft fingers touched his arm first and followed it down to his hand. The movement was graceful and reminded him of the ballet dancers his daughter had loved watching. He tried to ignore the sensual shiver that rippled through him. As she ran her fingertips over the grooves of the badge and worn edges of black leather, it felt as though she were still touching him.

  She dropped her hand and seemed to look right at Max. “You’re here about the missing girl, aren’t you? I heard the special report on the news. I’ve been waiting for an update.”

  The television was tuned to one of the main stations, now showing a soap opera.

  “Have you found her yet?” she asked.

  “No, not yet.” Max set the bag on a nearby table.

  Sam closed the door behind them. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

  The apartment was simply decorated, though the furniture was first class. Butter-soft leather covered the low, sleek couch and matching chair. The solid oak coffee and end tables were covered in a high sheen, as were the wood floors. No pictures or other decorations, just one lamp in the living room that wasn’t turned on. Only the sun coming in through the closed blinds shed dim light into the front room. Max smelled vanilla and had to stop himself from leaning close to see if it was her perfume. Her dog was standing at her side giving Max a curious look with its light blue eyes. She had an interesting mix of colors, mottled brown and gray on her head and a mixture of gray, white and brown on the rest of her coat.

  He knelt down to the dog’s level. “Beautiful dog. What kind is it?”

  “Anastasia’s an Australian Shepherd.”

  “I thought guide dogs were usually German shepherds or golden retrievers,” Sam said, not masking his suspicion.

  “A woman in Deltona trained Aussies as seizure alert dogs and started training them for sight assistance, too. How can I help you?”

  “Let’s sit down.” Max said.

  The cushion nearly swallowed him in luxurious, velvety leather. Even Sam couldn’t help running his hand over the surface. She perched on the stuffed arm of the chair. Her gaze was aimed just past Max without focusing on anything specific. She was fidgeting, her fingers twisting around each other. Despite that, she sat up straight, regally.

  Anastasia sat at Olivia’s side, glancing from her to him and back again. Even the dog looked nervous. A computer tone voice said, “Three-zero-one.” Olivia had pressed a button on her watch, though he wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or as a result of her fidgeting.

  A wisp of smoke trailed from a candle on the end table. Ah, so the vanilla scent wasn’t her.

  “You keep asking about a missing girl,” Max said. “What do you know about her?”

  “You saw her get abducted?” Sam said.

  She lowered her head and massaged her temples. “Yes.”

  Sam got up, jammed his hands into his pockets, and casually walked across the living room. “And yet you’re blind. Isn’t that interesting?”

  Max raised an eyebrow: Keep it cool. To Olivia, he said, “How long have you been blind?”

  She was tracking Sam’s movements with her head. “Since I was eight.”

  “And yet,” Sam said in a cynical voice, “you told those two security guards at the toy store that you see things.”

  “I’m telepathic,” she said, facing Max. “Telepathy is direct mind-to-mind communication. You’ve probably heard at least one story where a mother gets a strong sense that her child is in danger. Some women have actually ‘seen’ their child even though they’re miles away. One mother, for instance, saw her daughter get hit by a car even though she was nowhere nearby. In that same way, I saw her get taken in my mind, only I saw it happen through Phaedra’s eyes. I was…hoping the guards would check it out and stop the guy.”

  Sam leaned next to Olivia’s face, making her jump. “You say ‘the guy.’ You’re sure it’s a man.”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “I didn’t see his face clearly, just a quick succession of images.”

  “That’s convenient,” Sam muttered.

  “That’s how it works,” she said through rigid lips. “I…I think I saw a cap. He was wearing a cap.”

  “What color?”

  “Gray, I think.”

  Max said, “When you said, ‘He’s got her. Oh, God, he’s got her,’ that was when the guy grabbed her?”

  She nodded, lacing her fingers together so tight, her knuckles went white. “The connection comes suddenly.” She seemed to be staring at her hands, but then she lifted her face to his. “Do you have any idea who took her? Where she is?”

  Sam said, “You’d have a better idea than we would, being psychic and all.”

  She lowered her lashes as her face tightened in anger. Just as quickly, she regained her composure. “She’s been knocked out with chloroform. I can’t connect to her when she’s unconscious. Hopefully I can find out more when she wakes up.”

  “Would you mind if we take a quick look around?” Max said, getting to his feet.

  “Why?”

  “You have to admit, it seems pretty odd, you warning the guards about a girl who hadn’t even been reported missing yet.” And knowing the guy was wearing a gray cap.

  She let out an impatient breath and rose to her feet. “Go ahead, but please hurry. Don’t gi
ve him time to hurt her.”

  This time her voice did betray an emotion, but it wasn’t guilt. It was the same urgency that pulsed through him. His instincts were screaming that she was involved, but they also warned him to take her slowly. He wasn’t going to tell her that she was their only lead so far.

  The room where they’d talked was the living room. Nearly half of that large room was set up as an artist’s studio. An easel held a partially finished abstract painting that looked vaguely like two fiery eyes. Eerie.

  The wooden floor was covered with thick sheets of opaque plastic splattered with paint. Two other paintings leaned against the wall, swirls of colors that looked like eyes of all shapes and colors. He recognized the smell of acrylic paint.

  Sam was going through her kitchen, quietly opening and closing cabinets. “Without turning to him, she asked, “What exactly are you looking for in there? Do you really think I stashed her in with my spices?” Sam looked a little chagrinned as he closed the cabinet.

  “Who’s the painter?” Max asked, wondering if there was a boyfriend in the picture. A boyfriend who had a reason for taking a young girl.

  “I’m the artist.”

  “Really?” A blind artist? Oh, yeah, he’d gotten the hint: artist, not painter.

  “Yeah, well, I wanted to be an airline pilot, but I didn’t like all the travel.” She’d delivered the line totally deadpan.

  Sam waved to get Max’s attention and pointed to a custom bookcase filled with videotape collections of Shirley Temple movies and I Love Lucy shows. She also had another bookcase filled with books in Braille. Magazines, too. Max walked over. She had an impressive collection of music CDs, all labeled in Braille. His fingers ran over the raised dots, and he wondered how anyone could decipher them. He was tempted to test her, but he didn’t want to put her on the defensive any more than Sam had already done.

  Everything in the apartment was neat. The desk in the dining room was organized, with a stack of unopened mail in one corner, a computer in the center, and what looked like a copier beside it. A talking clock sat on the other corner. An open newspaper covered half of the dining table. To the left of the table was the kitchen, which was divided from the main room by a long counter. Late afternoon sun slanted in through French doors, where beyond was a stone balcony that held two wrought iron chairs and a small table. All the appliances sported worn blue Braille labels on the buttons. A Dymo labeler sat on the corner of the counter.