44
They couldn’t find Monica Diane Beise, now going as Diane Monique Meynardo. She’d changed her name two more times, according to what Jac had found in her access to IRS files. Monica lived in a variety of locations, oftentimes with various men. Most of whom had reasonably high incomes compared to whatever Monica Diane was bringing in. And her social media posts showed a woman who…liked men. Men that ranged in age by thirty years.
Jac didn’t get it. She’d never had an easy time with men. She’d only had two serious relationships in her twenty-nine years, and none of those had lasted more than two or three months. For one thing, this job could really screw with a social life. For another—she had a hard time trusting people enough to let them in.
It was a wasted trip. By the time they got to the address in Nebraska that she had been ninety-nine percent certain was the most current, there was no sign of anyone.
There were signs someone had been there recently. There wasn’t enough dust on the furniture in the small single-wide, for one thing. And it still smelled like cleansers and feminine perfume.
The landlady had had no trouble letting them in once they’d flashed their badges. Well, that and Clint Gunderson shot the woman a smile and asked her politely. That had been enough.
“Is this the woman who rented from you?” Jac asked, flashing the most current driver’s license photo they had for Diane Meynardo. Facial recognition software had matched her to the photo they had from Miranda’s grandmother’s collection.
“Yeah, that’s her.” The woman almost sneered. “Had a real attitude, all the time. And you never knew what kind of guy would be hanging around her, either.”
“Do you know where she might have gone?”
“No. Skipped out on twelve-hundred-fifty dollars rent, too.”
“A month?” Jac tried not to sound like an idiot, but where she was standing was not a twelve-hundred-a-month rental. Far from it.
“Three months. I’d given her ninety days, and only half the late fees. Trying to be nice to her, on account of that kid of hers.”
“She has a child?”
“Has one with her, anyway. Heard the little girl call her Mom and Diane, so I don’t really know. Kid kept to herself and never caused any problems.”
“How old?” Knight asked quietly. He always did things quietly, even though he was a big, imposing guy. Jac was starting to get used to him. He wasn’t as frightening as some of the rumors said, at least.
She hadn’t missed how Miranda had been tiptoeing around him at breakfast that morning, though. It had her intrigued. And planning to give her friend the third degree first chance she got. Payback for Miranda needling her about Max.
“Around nine or ten, I think. Maybe younger, though. Talked big for her britches most times.”
“Was the girl always around?” There had to be another parent somewhere. Which could give them a better lead on tracking down Monica Diane.
The woman shook her head. “Gone just about every weekend, I think. But who the daddy is, if that’s what you’re after, I couldn’t tell you.”
“What was the girl’s name?”
“Danielle, I believe. Something like that.”
Jac made a note. It was a real start. Too bad it had taken them this long just to find out she wasn’t there, though.
She started to ask another question, but her phone beeped with a text.
Clint continued questioning the woman about what she might have observed while Jac turned away to check the message.
—Don’t say a word. Problems. Is Clint with you?
Miranda.
Jac quickly texted back.
—He needs to call Rex Weatherby right now. Now!
Jac asked her why.
—Just have him call. Now!
45
Travis watched as his wife handled emergency first aid on a strawberry-blond woman he had never seen before as Travis himself held a tiny girl of no more than eight or nine months tightly and did his best to soothe her as he had his niece and nephew many times before. They had five minutes before the Lucas Tech jet was taking off, with him, Lacy, and Phil inside.
Phil had his arm around his little niece, comforting her after someone had nearly killed her.
Seeing her like that was bringing back far too many memories for Travis at the moment.
His arms tightened around the little one. She blinked up at him, her eyes baby blue. Soft, downy strawberry-blond hair covered her head.
Her clothing was bloody.
It just looked so completely wrong right now. “We need to get her clean clothes.”
“Go ahead and strip that onesie off of her,” Lacy said as she calmly stitched the wound in the young woman’s—Maggie’s—arm. Fortunately, it had been from shrapnel, and not a bullet like they’d first feared. “I’ll wrap her in one of my tee shirts until we can get her some supplies.”
Lacy had already demanded the jet wait until she was ready for take off. That was his woman—used to taking charge when it was needed.
“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done—if Miranda and that redheaded woman—I…” The woman hadn’t completely broken down, but she was holding herself together. Tyler women were tough cookies; Travis had suspected that before.
Carrie—who looked a lot like her sister, Travis’s brother’s wife—was currently on her phone, making some sort of arrangements Travis hadn’t quite caught while he was focusing on the little one in his arms.
“That woman is a good friend of mine. Your uncle Phil has stayed with us—and her sister—many times. You are safe, we promise,” Lacy said firmly. “No one will hurt you or the baby.”
“I just…hope I’m doing the right thing,” Maggie said on a sob. Travis tuned back in just as Phil assured her she was.
“You did,” Phil said. “You have to stay safe, Maggie-girl.”
“Clint…I’m taking his baby. I just took Violet. I’m taking her out of the state, to strangers.”
“No. You’re protecting her. He’ll understand that.” Phil looked at her. Poor kid was just about ready to have a full-on panic attack right
