That had all worked out okay, too-again, depending on how you looked at it, since former confirmed bachelor Tony now appeared about to become his best buddys brother-in-law, stepdad to a nine-year-old kid and co-caretaker of one helluva big kitty cat.
Holt had been riding pretty high that day, thinking he had the case as good as sewed up, since finding one sister meant finding both, right? Then the news had come down on him like a ton of bricks: Brenna Fallon had run away from home at the age of fourteen, and hadnt been heard from since. Her sister Brooke didnt know whether she was alive or dead. Holt didnt like remembering how hed felt hearing thatthe cold knot in his stomach, the sense of utter helplessness. This kid-though shed be a woman in her thirties now-wasnt in any system. Shed gone completely off the radar. She could be anywhere. Or nowhere. She could very well be dead, or as good as.
He hadnt given up, though, even then. Giving up wasnt Holts style. In the past two months hed called in every marker, every favor he had coming and then some, and as a result had had people combing through cold case files and unclaimed Jane Doe remains in virtually every state in the union, plus Canada and Mexico. Hed personally checked out more bodies of young women dead way before their time than hed ever expected to see in his lifetime, and armed with DNA samples from Brooke, had eliminated every one of them. Which was good news, he supposed.
But it still didnt give him answers. And three out of four wasnt going to cut it. He didnt think for one minute Cory Pearson would be content to have found three out of four of his siblings. The one he hadnt found was going to haunt him forever.
Nobody knew better than Holt Kincaid what that felt like.
He rubbed a hand over his burning eyes and turned away from the window, and from the mesmerizing sway of eucalyptus branches. Sinking onto the couch, he reached for the remote, thumbed it off Mute and began to click his way through ESPNs late-night offerings, rejecting an old George Foreman fight, some pro billiards and a NASCAR documentary before settling on a Texas Hold em poker tournament. Maybe, he thought, if he could get into the strategy of the game it would take his mind off the damn case.
Hed watched enough poker to know this wasnt a current tournament, more likely one from a few years back. He was familiar with some of the players, particularly the more colorful ones. Others, not so much. The commentators seemed to be excited by this event because of the fact that a woman had made it to the final table, something that evidently had been almost unprecedented back then. It didnt hurt any that the woman in question was young, blond and cute, either. Billie Farrell, her name was, and Holt thought hed probably seen her play before. Anyway, she looked familiar to him.
Damn, but she looks familiar
He felt an odd prickling on the back of his neck. Leaning closer, he stared intently at the TV screen, impatient with the camera when it cut to one of the other players at the table, tapping his fingers on the remote until it came back to the one face he wanted to see.
She was wearing dark glasses, as so many of the players did, to hide their eyes and not give anything away to steely-eyed opponents. She had short, tousled blond hair, cut in layers, not quite straight, not really curly, either. An intriguingly shaped mouth and delicately pointed chin, like a childs.
He really needed to see her eyes.
Take off your glasses, dammit.
He got up abruptly and crossed to the dining room table that served as his desk, half a foot deep now in manila file folders and stacks of papers he hadnt gotten around to putting in files yet. Nevertheless, he didnt have any trouble finding the one he wanted. He carried it back to the couch, sat, opened the file and took out a photograph. It was a picture of a fourteen-year-old girl, computer-aged twenty years. He didnt look at the photograph-he didnt have to, because it was etched in his memory-but simply held it while he stared at the face of the poker player known as Billie Farrell.
He wasnt conscious of feeling anything, not shock or excitement or anything in particular. Didnt realize until he fumbled around for his cell phone and had to try to punch the buttons that his hands were shaking.
It took him a couple of attempts, but he got the one he wanted. Listened to it ring somewhere in the Texas Hill Country while he stared at the TV screen with hot, narrowed eyes. When an answering machine picked up, he disconnected, then dialed the number again. This time a mans voice answered. Swearing.
Okay, this better be an announcement of the Second Coming, or else I just won the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes. Which is it?
Tony. Its me, Holt.
Dude. Dyou know what time it is?
Yeah. Listen, is Brooke there?
Of course shes here. Shes asleep, what did you expect? At least, she was- There was a sharp intake of breath. Wait. Its Brenna, right? God, dont tell me. You found her? Is she-shes not-hey, Brooke. Baby, wake up. Its Holt. Hes found-
Maybe, Holt interrupted. I dont know. I need Brooke-
Im here. Brookes voice was breathy with sleep, and shaky.
Okay. Holt took a breath. Told himself to be calm. I need you to turn on your television. ESPN. Okay?
Okay. Her voice was hushed but alert. Shed been married to a deputy sheriff once upon a time, so Holt figured maybe getting phone calls in the middle of the night wasnt all that unusual for her.
I dont know which channel, he told her. Just keep clicking until you find the poker tournament.
After a long pause, she muttered, Okay, got it.
Watch for her-the woman player. Okay, there she is. Tell me if-
He didnt get the rest of it out. There was a gasp, and then a whispered, Oh, God.
He felt himself go still, and yet inside he was vibrating like a plucked guitar string. Is it her? Is it Brenna?
He heard a sniff, and when she spoke in a muffled voice he knew Brooke was crying. Oh, God, I dont know. It could be, but she was just a little girl when sheIts been so long. Im not sure. I cant see her eyes! If I could just see her eyes And then, angrily, Why doesnt she take off the damn glasses!
Holt held the phone and listened to soft scufflings and some masculine murmurs of comfort while he waited, eyes closed, heart hammering. After a moment Tonys voice came again, gruff with emotion.
Hey, man, Im sorry. She cant tell for sure. Its been what-eighteen years? She says it might be her. But youre gonna go check her out, right?
Yeah, Holt said, Im gonna go check her out. He picked up the remote and clicked off the set.
An hour later he was in his car on I-15, heading east toward the rising sun and the bright lights of Las Vegas.
He hit the jackpot right off the bat. The casino manager at the Rio was new, but Holt found a couple of dealers whod been around awhile, and had actually worked the poker tournament hed been watching on ESPN reruns.
Although, even if they hadnt, they would have remembered Billie Farrell.
Sure, I remember her. Cute kid. Pretty good poker player, too, Jimmy Nguyn said as he lit up a cigarette and politely blew the smoke over his shoulder, away from Holt and the other dealer. Jimmy was a guy in his late thirties with a Vietnamese name and an Americansize body-five-eleven or so and hefty. He had a cardsharps hands, though-big and long boned, with nimble, tapered fingers. He wore a pencil-thin moustache and his hair slicked down and looked like something out of a 1930s gangster flick.
The other dealer snorted and moved upwind of the smoker. She was a tall, angular woman with sun-damaged skin and long blond hair she wore pulled up in an off-center ponytail. Shed told Holt her name was Cricket. Now she popped a piece of chewing gum in her mouth, tossed the ponytail over her shoulder and said, Come on, Jimmy, she was more than pretty good. She looked over at Holt. She had talent, that one, plus charisma up the wazoo. That year, the one youre talking about? Came this close to winning a bracelet. Woulda been a big star in the circuit, if shed stuck around.
Stuck around? Holt felt his stomach go hollow.
Cricket shook her head. Quit right after that tournament you saw, didnt she, Jimmy? Thats the way I remember it, anyway. I guess it wasI dont knowpretty hard for her to tough it out, after what happened.
What did happen? Holt kept his voice low, hiding the despair that was rolling over him like a bank of cold Pacific fog.
She shrugged and shifted around, looking uncomfortable. Okay, well, she had this partner
It was Jimmys turn to snort. Guy was a real scumbag. He dropped his cigarette onto the parking lot asphalt and ground it to dust under his shoe as he said musingly, Miley Todd was his name. Never did get what a young pretty girl like that saw in him. The guy cheated and got caught, he explained to Holt. Got himself banned from the casinos for life.
Billie was clean, though, Cricket put in.
Jimmy lifted a shoulder. Yeah, okay, the kid probably was clean. But thered have been talk. Theres always talk. Rumor and innuendo-you know how it is. Carries a lot of weight in this town.
I dont think thats why she quit, the blond dealer said, quick to jump to another womans defense. Billie was tougher than that. Tough as nails. What made her such a good player. If shed wanted to stay, she would have.
Jimmy held up a hand. Im just sayin
Cricket gave him a dismissive look and focused on Holt. All I know is, she won pretty big that night-finished in third place-and she took her money and split. Thats the last the poker world saw of her.
Holt hauled in a breath. Okay, then, thanks for your time. He couldnt turn away fast enough. It was all he could do to keep his disappointment in check, and what he wanted more than anything was to slam his fist into something and cuss until he ran out of words bad enough. To come so close. And now it looked like he was right back at square one. Well, maybe not square one, since at least he had a name and a town.
Hey, Cricket called out to him as he was about to open the door of his car, you asking about Billie, Im assuming youre looking to find her, right?