Page 66 of High Velocity

“No, the other one.”

“Blessed in the 406? You’re kidding.” She holds the blouse in front of herself. “It’s nice and flowy. Might cover up a baby bump, at least for the summer months.”

“About that,” I redirect. “How are you feeling?”

She drops the top back in the shopping bag and leans back in her chair, placing both of her hands on her belly.

“Fine, I guess. Nothing a cup of ginger tea and a handful of saltine crackers can’t fix.”

“Morning sickness?”

“Yeah. Although it isn’t just in the morning. That’s a big misnomer.” Suddenly she breaks out a big smile. “But I saw my doctor this morning for my first official visit. He asked me for the first day of my last period, which took me a bit to remember. Turns out it was the end of February, but things have been so busy since the snow melted, I didn’t really pay attention. He’s sending me for an ultrasound to confirm, but it looks like this baby is due somewhere around the beginning of December.”

I break out a grin of my own. “An early Christmas present.”

She snorts. “Yeah, one that requires a little work to unpack.”

My phone starts to buzz in my pocket. Ben Vallard’s number appears on the screen. He’s been trying to get a hold of me and I tried calling him after my visit to the salon earlier but was bumped to voicemail.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Janey, holding up my phone. “I’ve gotta take this.”

“Of course.”

I slip out the door onto the front porch before I answer.

“Hey.”

“Sorry, I was tied up when you called earlier. What have you got?”

He gets down to business right away, which I appreciate. I have no desire to engage in social chitchat with him. In fact, I would love if we could get this case resolved and I could get this man out of my hair for good. I have a new life to explore and don’t particularly want to drag old baggage along while I’m doing it.

“Nothing concrete, but I had a chance to talk to Donna Farley, Tracy’s boss. I played the role of Tracy’s new and concerned friend and the woman opened up a little. She admitted Tracy asked her to lie about her whereabouts, but she doesn’t know where she actually is and is worried about her. From what she told me, I got the sense wherever Tracy went, it wasn’t exactly voluntary. Donna suspects the new boyfriend had a hand in her disappearance and my gut tells me she’s right.”

I hear Vallard mutter a curse on the other side.

“Goddammit, that doesn’t really help me much,” he grumbles. “Have you tried just calling her?”

“Goes straight to voicemail,” I inform him. “Which could mean the phone is off, or she doesn’t have service where she is, or calls have been forwarded directly to her mailbox. Either way, she’s not answering my calls either. Your best bet is to ping her phone.”

“I know it is, but I’m in hot water with my boss already. I was supposed to be back yesterday and have been avoiding his calls. I’m not gonna get any help there. I’m on my own.”

“Are you sure you’re on the right track?” I ask him. “Because it sounds like you may be blowing up your career over this.”

I’m one to talk, I’m ready to turn my back on the FBI myself, but that is for personal reasons. Ben is risking his livelihood over a lead on a case that isn’t even technically his. There is no concrete evidence to support his theory Mitchel Laine was responsible for all those robberies across several states. Or even that it’s Laine who took off with Tracy, forcefully or otherwise.

“I’m right about Laine. No doubt about it,” he states strongly. “He’s responsible, he’s here, and he has Tracy. And yes, I’m willing to stake my career on it.”

At the moment I don’t really have a career to stake anything on anymore, but my gut tells me he’s right about Mitchel Laine as well.

“All right then, got any favors you can call in? Any friends in the Bureau willing to bend a rule or two for you?”

It wouldn’t be the first time and unlikely to be the last. Favors are called in all the time.

“I’m not sure I have a lot of goodwill going my way at the moment,” he admits. “And if it gets back to my boss I went behind his back, I’d be on my ass on the street faster than I can blink.”

Fair enough.

I could let it go at that, but the smell of smoke still clinging to the inside of my nose is a reminder I already may be too invested in this case, even though perhaps not by choice. I’m going to have to let my gut do the talking again because I have no evidence either way, but I don’t believe Vallard was responsible for slicing Jackson’s tires or setting the fire last night.

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