Retribution Page 8

  “No, I found it on the day we were there.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” Corbin asked in a loud voice.

  “I didn’t know what I had.”

  “You had a bracelet.”

  “You know what I mean. Lots of people fish along that river, and I’m assuming some of them are female.” Delgado leaned forward and put his arms on the rail. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to drag you into something that likely crossed a legal line.”

  After a long moment of silence, Corbin said, “I understand. You sure it’s the same one?”

  “Ninety percent. Both are silver, and both have two small charms.”

  “Right from the start, I suspected she might be alive. Think about it. She wasn’t in the truck. She wasn’t in the river.”

  “Why hasn’t she come forward?” Delgado asked.

  Corbin took another pull on his cigar. “Maybe she’s injured.” He looked at Delgado. “Or maybe it wasn’t an accident.”

  “So what are you saying? You think the whole thing was staged?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know,” Corbin said. “But I’m not buying the whole ‘he got drunk and ran off the road’ thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was this guy’s uncle’s place. I’m sure he’d been there many times.”

  “Good point.”

  Corbin gave Delgado a sideways glance. “Besides, do you really think Drenna would be dating a drunk?”

  Another good point. It was impossible to see Drenna Steel dating someone so reckless.

  “If it wasn’t an accident and it wasn’t staged, then what was it?” Delgado asked.

  “That’s the million-dollar question.”

  Delgado wanted to push Corbin but decided it was time to wrap things up. Instead, he asked, “So what are we going to put in our report? Sprague told me he wants it on his desk as soon as possible.”

  “I say for now, we try to put him off as long as we can. In the meantime, we keep looking for more information.”

  “Should I tell him about the bracelet?”

  “Not yet. He’ll go ballistic.”

  “Let’s get back, and I’ll start typing up what we have so far.”

  Corbin dropped the cigar onto the cement. After smashing it with the tip of his foot, he looked at Delgado. “We keep this between us for now.”

  Delgado nodded then turned and led him back into the apartment. They went through the place one more time but found nothing of interest. It was clear she had used the apartment at some point. What wasn’t clear was how often she was there and where all of her things were. Delgado made a mental note to look for other possible places she might be living. He would start by pulling a credit report to look for landlord or mortgage company inquiries.

  After they exited the apartment, Delgado turned to Corbin and said, “I forgot to lock the patio door.”

  “Who cares? It’s on the seventh floor. I don’t think anybody is going—”

  “I’d just feel better if we locked things up tight.”

  “Whatever. I’ll be down at the elevator.”

  As his partner walked off, Delgado reentered the unit. After locking the door behind him, he walked over to a painting that hung on the wall next to the patio door. He had selected it earlier when conducting his search of the room. A typical modern painting, it consisted of unruly splotches of several different colors. It was just the kind of painting he hated, but it would be perfect for what he had in mind.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flat, round object about the same size and shape of a coat button. He flipped it over and removed the thin strip of paper off the back, revealing an adhesive pad underneath. He turned to the painting and found a place in the bottom left-hand corner that was covered with a splotch of black paint. He pressed the tiny device tightly against the canvas until the adhesive set.

  With the device in place, Delgado pulled out his phone and tapped on the application he had installed earlier that morning. Once it opened, he clicked on View. The cursor spun in place as the app linked to the tiny device. Seconds later, the link established, and a white dress shirt appeared on the screen. Delgado realized he was standing in the way. He took two steps to the left, and the door to the apartment appeared on the screen. The feed was in black and white, but it was sharp and crisp. Delgado zoomed in on the door then set the camera to record when motion was detected.

  Perfect.

  If someone came in, he would know it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Reston, Virginia

  Drenna entered the shopping center’s parking lot at a little past two o’clock in the afternoon. After a brief search, she backed the rental car—a white Hyundai Elantra—into a spot shaded by several large oaks. The space was on the periphery of the property and would allow her to observe the store from a distance. More importantly, it would also allow her to quickly exit if she changed her mind about going in.

  After killing the engine, she placed both hands on the steering wheel. She stared at the dashboard, unable to lift her gaze toward the stores. As she sat silently, her left hand trembled for the first time in years. Interestingly, it was always her left hand that trembled when she was anxious. Never the right. It was a physiological mystery that she would have to ponder some other time.

  She gripped the wheel more tightly, hoping it would stop her hand from moving. It didn’t. She had been fine during the drive over, but now she was being hit with a tsunami of emotions.

  Go. Now. While you still have the chance.

  She reached for the vehicle’s start button then withdrew her hand. She couldn’t do it. Not now. Not after coming so far.

  Over the years, Drenna had gone online to look at the girl’s social media posts. Just a quick peek, then she got off. It seemed harmless, and she had been disciplined in making sure she never went past that.

  But this was different. Miles different. Light years different. If she took this step, she was crossing a line. This wasn’t a brief look at a picture on Instagram. She would be projecting herself into another person’s life without their permission. Still, something about it didn’t feel wrong.

  She finally lifted her gaze and looked through the windshield. The upscale shopping center looked much like the street view on Google. The modern structure held a variety of boutiques, jewelers, and small cafés.

  Drenna moved her eyes to the left, toward the store at the end. She read the sign across the awning: Duck’s Frozen Treats. The shop’s logo was a duck holding an ice cream cone.

  Her heart beat a little faster.

  Maybe they closed at two. And if they are closed, then I can just leave and never come back.

  But she knew they were open. She could see all the people—mostly teenagers and a sprinkling of soccer moms—sitting in front of the store underneath the little red umbrellas. Even from where she sat, Drenna could see them licking cones and dipping spoons into cups.

  She had only one question left—was she working today?

  Drenna reached up and flipped down the visor. Her long dark hair was washed but a little messy looking. It would have to do. This wasn’t about making a good appearance. There would be no conversation. No revelation. She would simply go in, buy something, observe, then walk out. And she didn’t need her best hair for that.

  Drenna took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. After counting to ten, she opened the door and got out.

  As she walked across the parking lot, Drenna noticed her hand had stopped trembling. Her stomach seemed to have calmed as well. She guessed the physical movement was suppressing her anxiety. Who knew, maybe the whole thing wouldn’t be as traumatic as she thought.

  As she approached the store, Drenna reminded herself to get in and out as quickly as possible. If she was going to cross the line, she at least needed to do so in a way that was less intrusive. She would buy her ice cream and get it to go. No lingering. And certainly no starin
g.

  She entered the shop to a wave of cold air-conditioning. The place looked much like any other ice cream store around the country. On the left side were a dozen or so tables. Only three were occupied. On the right was a long glass counter that displayed a multitude of ice cream buckets.

  Two employees stood behind the counter. They wore khakis and white polo shirts with the duck logo emblazoned on the front. The nearer employee was a teenage boy with pale skin, a splash of acne, and a mop of unruly dark hair. He handed samples to a heavyset woman and her daughter. The other employee was a girl who appeared to be in her late teens. She had a tan complexion and blond hair.

  Drenna felt a small ripple of disappointment run through her. She’s not here. It was possible she was on break, but two employees sounded about right for a small ice cream shop on a weekday afternoon.

  Drenna moved down the glass counter. She had thought about walking out and going back to her car but figured she might as well get something while she was here.

  The blonde behind the counter addressed her. “See something you like?”

  Drenna had been so focused on other things that she hadn’t given it any thought. Then again, she didn’t really need to give it any thought. When it came to ice cream, there was only one choice. “Do you have vanilla bean raspberry?”

  “Of course we do.”

  “Great. I’ll have a medium cup.”

  Drenna needed an emotional lift, and vanilla bean raspberry ice cream always made things better.

  A voice spoke from close by. “That’s my favorite too.”

  At first, Drenna thought the blonde had spoken, but she was bent over, her head inside the freezer as she scooped the ice cream.

  “It’s weird ’cause not many people order it,” the person said again. “I thought I was the only one.”

  Drenna suddenly realized the voice had come from behind her. She turned and saw a young girl standing a few feet away. She was at one of the tables, a bottle of cleaning spray in one hand and a white towel in the other. Like the two teens behind the counter, she had on khakis and a white golf shirt.

  Drenna studied the girl’s appearance. She had long straight brown hair that was parted on the side, causing some of it to hang across her right forehead and cheek. She had beautiful brown eyes that were vibrant and expressive.

  She’s beautiful, so beautiful.

  Drenna’s eyes moved down to the tag clipped to the front of the girl’s shirt. She read the name, even though she already knew what would be printed there.

  Miranda.

  Drenna’s heart pounded against her chest.

  After a few seconds of awkward silence, the girl smiled. It was a lopsided grin. Drenna felt a wave of emotion wash through her. She had seen that same smile many times. In photographs. In her own mirror.

  Her eyes began to well. No, don’t do it. Don’t let her see you like this.

  “Ma’am, are you okay?” the girl asked.

  Drawing on what little emotional strength she had left, Drenna forced a smile. “Yes, I’m so sorry. I just don’t run into many people who like that flavor.”

  “I guess we’re special.” The girl sprayed some cleaner on a nearby table and started wiping. “Maybe we should start a club or something.”

  “Yes,” Drenna said with a laugh. “Yes, we should.”

  “I can take you right down here, ma’am,” the blonde said as she moved toward the cash register.

  As Miranda moved off to other tables, Drenna went over to the register. She paid for the two scoops of vanilla bean raspberry using cash. She then asked for a cup of water. For whatever reason, ice cream always made her thirsty.

  Once she had everything, Drenna made her way to the front door then stopped before stepping out. Miranda stood a few yards away, pushing chairs back into place under a table.

  Drenna stared at her. Should she say goodbye or just leave?

  As if sensing she was being watched, the girl looked in her direction.

  Drenna smiled and waved at her. “Goodbye.”

  The girl returned the smile. “Goodbye.”

  Miranda Blake stood at the front glass and watched as the dark-haired woman limped her way across the parking lot. Most wouldn’t have noticed the barely perceptible twitch in her gait, but Miranda always noted important details about people when her antennae were up. And her antennae were definitely up.

  But it wasn’t the apparent injury to the woman’s leg that had drawn Miranda’s attention. There was something mysterious about the whole encounter. For one, there had been a flash of emotion in the woman’s eyes when the two of them spoke. It was brief but noticeable. Why would someone have that reaction to a mundane conversation about ice cream?

  Then there was the odd way in which the woman’s eyes had immediately gone to Miranda’s name tag and held there for several seconds. Miranda talked to people in the store every day—it was something she liked to do to pass the time—and no one ever looked at her tag. Well, a few of the young guys did. But a grown woman? Never.

  Miranda thought the woman looked vaguely familiar, and yet at the same time she was almost certain they had never met. Maybe she was someone famous, an actress or someone in the news. There were a lot of politicians in northern Virginia. And a position of significance would fit because the woman seemed to have a strong inner composition, despite her very brief show of emotion.

  A moment later, the woman opened the door of a sedan and slid into the driver’s seat. The car was parked on the far side of the parking lot. Miranda thought that was odd as well. Why park so far from the shop, especially on a hot day?

  Miranda had a strong ability to recall things in great detail, so she made a mental note to never forget the mysterious woman who had visited on April the twenty-sixth.

  And she also made another note to herself. If the woman ever came back, Miranda would start the process of unraveling the mystery of who she was.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Arlington, Virginia

  Drenna drove into the parking deck on North Glebe Road at 4:37 p.m. After taking her ticket from the machine at the entrance, she drove four levels up before finally locating an open space. Parking decks around the nation’s capital were filled with security cameras, so she put on her wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses before getting out and taking the elevator back to the ground level.

  She emerged onto the street and looked in both directions. Modern office buildings, expensive hotels, and retail shops rose in every direction. As was generally the case on a weekday, the urban block was a beehive of both pedestrian and vehicular activity, which made it even more difficult to spot a tail. Even though Drenna didn’t see anyone who looked out of place, she decided to circle the block twice. She stopped at several retail shops and pretended to gaze at the display windows while using the reflection to examine those behind her. She also doubled back twice to see if anyone turned along with her.

  After confirming that she wasn’t being followed, she entered the Glebe Food Hall, an indoor complex of restaurants, cafés, and pastry shops. Once inside, she made her way to the Roast Café, a coffee shop she frequented whenever she was in town. She ordered a large vanilla cinnamon latte, which she took to a booth at the back. Only then did she remove her hat and sunglasses.

  Before arriving in downtown Arlington, Drenna had stopped by her true residence, a small one-bedroom apartment in Fairfax that she leased under a fictitious name. The CIA had provided her with a flat in an upscale Arlington tower, but she used that only on rare occasions. Although she had no reason to believe she would ever be betrayed, she had always thought it better to stay off the grid when she came back to the States. With the benefit of hindsight, that seemed to have been a wise decision.

  Drenna had tried to focus on who might want her dead. Unfortunately, the emotional trip to the ice cream shop in Reston had crowded her thoughts to the point that she couldn’t think of anything else. The brief interaction had shaken her.

  Even now, she
found it difficult to push aside the image of her daughter’s face. She was so beautiful in every way—the big brown eyes, the perfect complexion, and the long brown hair that looked so much like her own.

  As she looked back on their brief conversation, Drenna realized that her daughter had been raised well. She had kindness in her eyes and a genuine friendliness Drenna didn’t always see in teens working retail. Roger and Madeline Blake were undoubtedly quality people, and Drenna took comfort in that.

  Drenna smiled as Miranda’s words echoed in her thoughts: “I guess we’re special. Maybe we should start a club or something.”

  She seemed playful, and Drenna wondered where that came from. Was she normally that way, or did being in the presence of her biological mother somehow trigger it?

  Despite all the pleasant memories from the meeting, Drenna knew she had made a mistake in visiting the shop. She might have given birth to Miranda, but the Blakes were her parents. They were the ones who had raised her. Even though Drenna deeply regretted it, she had given up her rights to raise Miranda, and she needed to respect the legal boundaries that had been established.

  She had hoped that meeting Miranda would satisfy the emotional cravings that had built up inside, but she knew the selfish act might have the opposite effect. It was possible she would want even more contact after having been in her presence. The bond between mother and daughter was strong, even after years of separation.

  Drenna took a sip of her latte then committed to focusing on her work. She needed to get back to the business at hand. The first task on her list was to call Elena. She had left a voice mail letting her sister know that she was alive and well, but Drenna also knew her sister would still be worried sick. Elena had always been prone to anxiety, and in this case, Drenna couldn’t blame her.

  Placing a call to a family member would be risky, but it had to be done. Drenna needed to let her sister know that she was still safe, and she also needed to reinforce her previous instruction to keep their communication a secret. No one could know that she was still alive. Not the West Virginia authorities. Not the FBI. Not anyone.