Read Online Made To Love Her by Z.L. Arkadie - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Z.L. Arkadie
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answer.”
There’s a loud beep.
“Over here,” Jack says.
I follow him to a flat-paneled monitor. He powers it on and works the keys. Robert’s face comes up. It’s a mug shot, and the side text says that he was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct in 2013. A picture of me from the A&Rt directory comes up as well. Vince’s photo follows, then there’s one of a burly man with thick jaws, a bald head, and hard eyes.
“Bingo!” Jack starts reading his rap sheet, which is two pages long. “Assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, vehicular manslaughter…” Jack snorts. “This guy’s a pawn.”
“What do you mean?”
He glances at me then continues to grimace at the man’s image. “Douglas Randall’s rap sheet is not his own.”
My frown intensifies.
“He’s a man for hire,” Jack clarifies.
“How can you tell that by reading his rap sheet?”
“It’s pretty heavy for him not to be behind bars. He never got convicted for any of it. And here’s why.” He pulls up another list, which details court dates, attorneys, and judges. “Every one of them is dirty.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know,” he says confidently.
I’m standing here, looking at Jack, but I feel as if I’m spiraling down a rabbit hole. I shake my puzzled head. “What are you? Some kind of secret agent or something?”
He types on the keyboard. “I told you, Mags. I can’t answer that question. I’ve already shown you too much, but I’m choosing to do whatever it takes to find Vince, and the first forty-eight hours are crucial to finding him alive and well.”
I clutch my stomach. A sinking feeling rolls around inside it. I’m tempted to ask the one question I’ve been dreading. But the longer I stand behind Jack as he works on his control center, the closer the question inches toward the tip of my tongue.
“Pennsylvania,” Jack says. He rushes over to the phone on the wall and picks up the receiver.
He winks at me as he waits a second or two for someone to pick up. “How far are we from Teterboro?” He’s nodding. “Good.” He pauses. “How soon?” He pauses. “Then redirect.” After a beat, he hangs up.
“We’re going to New York?” I ask. My heart is beating a mile a minute.
“Yes.” Jack places another call. This time, he places it on speaker. After two rings, the caller answers.
“Jack?”
I already recognize the voice.
“Gray, Maggie’s here with me,” Jack says.
“Maggie? Hey, Maggie.”
It takes me a moment to process Gray Lansing’s 360-degree turn from being surprised that I’m here to being cordial about it. He’s done work for me for Mo&Ma. I always figured he was an undercover super hacker by day and a trust fund baby by night. I figured he hacked and spied to get his kicks and he just happened to be good at it. But here he is part of Jack’s clandestine operation.
“Hi, Gray,” I say.
“Jack, I pulled the shots you were looking for, but after you sent me a query request for Douglas Randall, I figured this is all you’ll need.”
Suddenly, images of a bald, burly man in a black jacket fill the screen.
“Got them,” Jack says.
He and I study the images from top to bottom. In one of them Douglas Randall is walking out of the car rental office, looking over his shoulder. In another shot, he and two other slimy-looking men get into a black car with tinted windows, which is the same kind of car Robert saw Vince standing next to. One of the guys slide behind the wheel, and the other two get into the backseat with Douglas.
“Did you pull the details on the two others?” Jack asks.
“Sending them through right now,” Gray says.
That sick feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifies, and I have to throw up, but I make myself keep it in. There are shots of the car driving down the highway, passing a gas station that I’ve seen many times while taking the road to Anne’s house.
“They’re in Anne’s neighborhood,” I say.
“The
There’s a loud beep.
“Over here,” Jack says.
I follow him to a flat-paneled monitor. He powers it on and works the keys. Robert’s face comes up. It’s a mug shot, and the side text says that he was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct in 2013. A picture of me from the A&Rt directory comes up as well. Vince’s photo follows, then there’s one of a burly man with thick jaws, a bald head, and hard eyes.
“Bingo!” Jack starts reading his rap sheet, which is two pages long. “Assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, vehicular manslaughter…” Jack snorts. “This guy’s a pawn.”
“What do you mean?”
He glances at me then continues to grimace at the man’s image. “Douglas Randall’s rap sheet is not his own.”
My frown intensifies.
“He’s a man for hire,” Jack clarifies.
“How can you tell that by reading his rap sheet?”
“It’s pretty heavy for him not to be behind bars. He never got convicted for any of it. And here’s why.” He pulls up another list, which details court dates, attorneys, and judges. “Every one of them is dirty.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know,” he says confidently.
I’m standing here, looking at Jack, but I feel as if I’m spiraling down a rabbit hole. I shake my puzzled head. “What are you? Some kind of secret agent or something?”
He types on the keyboard. “I told you, Mags. I can’t answer that question. I’ve already shown you too much, but I’m choosing to do whatever it takes to find Vince, and the first forty-eight hours are crucial to finding him alive and well.”
I clutch my stomach. A sinking feeling rolls around inside it. I’m tempted to ask the one question I’ve been dreading. But the longer I stand behind Jack as he works on his control center, the closer the question inches toward the tip of my tongue.
“Pennsylvania,” Jack says. He rushes over to the phone on the wall and picks up the receiver.
He winks at me as he waits a second or two for someone to pick up. “How far are we from Teterboro?” He’s nodding. “Good.” He pauses. “How soon?” He pauses. “Then redirect.” After a beat, he hangs up.
“We’re going to New York?” I ask. My heart is beating a mile a minute.
“Yes.” Jack places another call. This time, he places it on speaker. After two rings, the caller answers.
“Jack?”
I already recognize the voice.
“Gray, Maggie’s here with me,” Jack says.
“Maggie? Hey, Maggie.”
It takes me a moment to process Gray Lansing’s 360-degree turn from being surprised that I’m here to being cordial about it. He’s done work for me for Mo&Ma. I always figured he was an undercover super hacker by day and a trust fund baby by night. I figured he hacked and spied to get his kicks and he just happened to be good at it. But here he is part of Jack’s clandestine operation.
“Hi, Gray,” I say.
“Jack, I pulled the shots you were looking for, but after you sent me a query request for Douglas Randall, I figured this is all you’ll need.”
Suddenly, images of a bald, burly man in a black jacket fill the screen.
“Got them,” Jack says.
He and I study the images from top to bottom. In one of them Douglas Randall is walking out of the car rental office, looking over his shoulder. In another shot, he and two other slimy-looking men get into a black car with tinted windows, which is the same kind of car Robert saw Vince standing next to. One of the guys slide behind the wheel, and the other two get into the backseat with Douglas.
“Did you pull the details on the two others?” Jack asks.
“Sending them through right now,” Gray says.
That sick feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifies, and I have to throw up, but I make myself keep it in. There are shots of the car driving down the highway, passing a gas station that I’ve seen many times while taking the road to Anne’s house.
“They’re in Anne’s neighborhood,” I say.
“The
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