That part had made her smile, but she’d known right away something was up. That car didn’t belong in this neighborhood. And judging by the way the officers were guiding the woman’s head into their cruiser, they thought she was off, too.
They didn’t seem in a hurry, though. Chances were good the dog-walking woman wasn’t the baby-napper. Could be she was a nosy reporter.
Let’s find out.
Hunter grabbed the little notebook sitting on her passenger seat, got out of her Toyota and moved quickly away from the vehicle. She’d parked five blocks away.
Her car didn’t belong in that neighborhood either.
She was also wearing a sheriff’s uniform. Cops weren’t supposed to arrive in foreign cars they’d won in a poker game on their way from New Hampshire to Florida.
She reminded herself not to let anyone look too closely at her uniform, because she’d bought it from a specialized role-play escort service in New York. More specifically, she’d bought it off the hooker they’d sent to her motel room. She didn’t want the lap dance but she did want the uniform. She’d given the pale, freckled hooker four hundred dollars and the information of a place upstate she could go if she wanted to leave the life. Hunter suggested leaving with the money she’d overpaid for the uniform would be a good start. So would the window in the motel room’s bathroom, which would allow the girl to avoid the enormous man waiting in the running Chevy out front. The girl had seemed on the fence, until Hunter threw in the keys to her car, also parked out back.
Which is why later that evening she had to insist that stupid college kid put up the keys to his Toyota during the poker game the spoiled brat should have never been playing.
She paused for a moment as she passed the old Volvo in which Yorkie Girl had arrived and jotted down the license plate number in her notepad. She peered inside. Nothing unusual.
Hunter strode to the Bennetts’ house and was about to open the gate into the front courtyard, when she heard a loud throat-clearing bark from her left.
She stopped and took a step back. The old man the girl with the Yorkie had been talking to was standing on the edge of his property, staring at her.
“Can I help you sir?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice her uniform wasn’t quite the right style for the area. Or at least she hoped he wouldn’t notice the pants were tear-away. That would be a dead giveaway.
“Oh sorry,” he said. “It’s just you look like an older version of the girl they just took away in the police car.”
Older. Hm. Thanks for that.
Hunter smiled. “Coincidence.”
“Well, twice the coincidence,” he said as she tried to continue on her way. She stopped and rocked back again.
“Twice?”
He nodded. “She said she was looking for someone who looked something like her. And here you are.”
Hunter hung her thumbs in her plastic gun belt and squared up with the man. “You think she was looking for me?”
He shrugged. “Seems like it.”
“Did she say why?”
“No. I told her about the blind baby and she headed right inside there. I guess—”
Hunter held up a palm. “Blind baby?”
The man raised his hand to cover his mouth. “Oh, looks like I did it again. You didn’t know the baby was blind either? I keep thinking everyone knows. Especially you folk.” He motioned to her uniform.
Hunter shifted, uncomfortable with the critical eye he’d cast on her costume. “The kidnapped one, or the returned one?” she asked, moving her hand from her side to her face so he would follow it to her eyes.
“What’s that?” he asked, as if now staring at her face he was talking to a different person.
“Which baby was blind?”
The old man chuckled. “The new one, of course. Who would kidnap a blind baby?”
Hunter grimaced. Delightful.
“Well, thank you for letting me know.”
“Do you want me to let you know if she comes back? Officer, eh...” He leaned down to squint at her badge. “Firebush?”
Hunter glanced down and realized she’d never looked at the nametag.
The hooker had been a redhead.
“Sure.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her little notebook. Between the pages she found one of her last remaining cards from her time in New Hampshire and handed it to the man. “You can call me here.”
He studied the card, no doubt confused by its simplicity. It wasn’t the sort of business card a real officer would have, but she didn’t mind the idea of the man alerting her if the girl came back.
“It just says Hunter.”
“Right. That’s my first name.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
Hunter nodded and headed back to the gate. She knocked on the door and the man she assumed was the father of the kidnapped child answered the door.
“Hello, I’m officer—” Hunter winced a little. “—Firebush. They asked me to come and take your statement one more time.”
“Everything?” asked the man. “But we’ve gone over everything a thousand times already.”
She softened her expression to show she empathized. “You’d be surprised what comes back to people.”
His shoulders slumped. “Fine. Come in.”
Hunter nodded and stepped into the home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Come with me.” Angelina crooked her finger in Croix’s direction.
Croix looked at her as if she’d come off her tracks, which the smartass girl did three or four times a day, so it didn’t slow Angelina for a second.
“What about my post?”
“I’ll have Bracco cover it.”
Croix blinked at her. “You’re kidding.”
“What? He’ll be fine.” She turned to the doorman. “Bracco, watch the desk.”
Bracco tipped his cap. “Nightingale.”
Croix grimaced and walked out from
