Strong, Sleek and Sinful - By Lorie O'Clare Page 0,54
deciding on her response.
“FBI. How may I direct your call?” a man’s voice said in her ear.
I can probably get out tonight for a few, but I can’t leave town. She clicked “send” at the same time as she spoke. “Paul Hernandez, please,” she said.
“I’m sorry. He’s not in the office right now. Can someone else help you?”
“This is Special Agent Kylie Donovan.” She quickly rattled off her ID number. “It’s very important that I speak with him now.”
“I can have him call you.”
“That works.” She stared at the message that appeared in the box.
It will take me half an hour to get to the bowling-alley parking lot in Mission Hills. Be there and don’t be late.
“It’s imperative I speak to him right now. I’m going to need backup.”
“Roger that. Return the call to this number?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll have a callback in five minutes.” The dispatcher said good-bye and the line went dead.
Kylie started to type: What car do you drive? PeteTakesU signed off before she could click “send.”
“Crap,” she hissed, her heart still thudding in her chest. She wiped her damp palms against her shirt that partially covered her thighs and then quickly saved the chat to her personal file, where she could access it later. Then jumping out of her chair, she hurried to change clothes.
Her cell rang as she was pulling jeans up her thighs. Fidgeting with the zipper and button, she pressed the button on her earpiece and answered on the third ring.
“This is Paul. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a meet.”
Chapter 10
One of the worst parts of Perry’s job was talking to parents who’d lost a child. It was just as hard stopping in at the victim’s friends’ homes and interviewing terrified teenage girls while their parents paced nervously behind them. The circumstances around Kathleen Long’s death were heinous. He didn’t bother with e-mail, knowing there was no way he could focus on answering any of it, let alone standing on the delete button to get rid of junk mail. Instead, he went straight to his saved Web sites.
“Son of a bitch,” he hissed, staring at the Web site page he’d shown Rad last week. “It could be her.”
The young girl who pouted at the camera, her hands resting on her knees as she sat on a bare hardwood floor naked, looked a hell of a lot like Kathleen. He printed the page, slipped it into his file, and reached for his cell. Rad’s phone went straight to voice mail.
“Damn it.” Waiting until morning seemed an eternity. Every minute that ticked by could mean another teenage girl might be facing the same terrifying death Kathleen had endured.
Perry paced his den for a few minutes, realizing there wasn’t anything that linked Kathleen to the Peter girls. The Longs had told him they’d forbidden their daughter to meet a boy she’d been talking to online and wanted to meet. When their daughter disappeared, apparently leaving home without their consent, they’d immediately feared the worst. Perry hoped they would be willing to let him search Kathleen’s computer. If he confirmed Kathleen spoke with Peter and had snuck out to meet him, they would have a definite pattern. But Mr. Long had asked Perry to leave when Mrs. Long grew hysterical. They’d been through so much, and now Perry needed to push them to allow him to search into Kathleen’s personal life.
Yet something else he’d have to wait until tomorrow to accomplish.
Hyped up and frustrated, Perry dropped his file on his desk and headed back out his door. He didn’t make a habit of using sex to release adrenaline, but he wanted to see Kylie again. Somehow he needed to convince her to quit trying to play private detective. Kylie wasn’t a teenager, but she was young. He wouldn’t have her sniffing around crime scenes any longer out of mere curiosity.
Taking the exit to Kylie’s house, Perry slowed at the first intersection as another car went through it, heading westbound. He scowled at the green hybrid, squinting in the dark at the license plate. “Where are you going at this hour, sweetheart?” he whispered, turning to follow Kylie.
He kept his distance, trailing her as she stayed off the interstate and took one of the main streets into a commercial district.
“Late-night munchies?” he mused, glancing at the clock on his dash. It was barely ten, definitely not too late to order delivery. Did she intentionally not want to be home if he stopped by again?
He contemplated the possibility that she might intentionally avoid him.