A Trace of Hope

“And I also remember the dark days after Evie was taken, when I started drinking scotch instead of water, when Stephen divorced me for sleeping with everything that moved, and the university dumped me for corrupting one my students.”

“We don’t have to hit every pothole on memory lane, Keri.”

“I’m just saying, who was it that pulled me out of that pit of self-loathing, dusted me off, and got me to apply to the police academy?”

“That would be me,” Ray whispered softly.

“That’s right,” Keri murmured in agreement. “See? Knight in shining armor.”

She rested her head on his chest, allowing herself to relax, to ease into the rhythm of his breathing as he slowly inhaled and exhaled. As her lids became heavy and she drifted off into sleep, one last coherent thought passed through her head: Ray hadn’t actually ordered two police cars to patrol the neighborhood. She’d checked out the window as she’d changed earlier and counted at least four units. And that was just what she could see.

She hoped it was enough.

CHAPTER NINE

Keri gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying not to let the sharp curves of the mountain road make her more nervous than she already was. It was 7:45 a.m., just over sixteen hours until her daughter was supposed to be ritually sacrificed in front of dozens of wealthy pedophiles.

She was driving through the winding Malibu hills on a chilly but clear and sunny January Saturday morning to the home of Jackson Cave. She hoped to convince him to return her daughter safely to her. If she couldn’t, this would be the last day of Evie Locke’s life.

Keri and Ray had woken up early, just after 6 a.m. She hadn’t been very hungry but Ray had insisted she force down some scrambled eggs and toast to go with her two cups of coffee. They were out of the apartment by seven.

Ray spoke briefly to one of the patrol officers outside, who said that none of the units had reported any suspicious activity during the night. He thanked them and sent them on their way. Then he and Keri got in their cars and drove separately to Malibu.

At that hour on a Saturday morning, the normally clogged Los Angeles roads were virtually empty. Within twenty minutes, they were on the Pacific Coast Highway, catching the last remnants of the sunrise over the Santa Monica Mountains.

By the time Keri was white-knuckling it up Tuna Canyon Road high in the Malibu hills, the splendor of the morning had given way to the grim reality of what she had to do. Her GPS indicated she was close to Cave’s place so she pulled over. Ray, who was right behind her, eased up next to her.

“I think it’s right up past the next bend,” she said through the open car window. “Why don’t you go ahead and set up a little further down the road. He’s the type of guy who will have surveillance cameras all around so we don’t want to be driving up there together.”

“Okay,” Ray agreed. “The cell service is really spotty up here so once you’re done I’ll just follow you back down the hill and we can debrief at that diner we passed at the PCH turnoff. Sound good?”

“Sounds like a plan. Wish me luck, partner.”

“Good luck, Keri,” he said sincerely. “I really hope this works.”

She nodded, not really able to think of a meaningful reply at that moment. Ray gave her a little smile and drove on ahead. Keri waited another minute, then eased her foot onto the gas pedal and made the last curve before Cave’s house.

When it came into view, she was surprised to find it looked modest compared to other homes in the area, at least from the street. The place had a bungalow appearance to it, almost like an elaborate version of something one might find at a South Seas resort.

Then again, she knew this wasn’t even Cave’s main Los Angeles residence. He had a mansion in the Hollywood Hills, which was much more conveniently located to his downtown high-rise office. But it was common knowledge that he liked to spend his weekends at his Malibu “retreat,” and she’d checked around to make sure that was where he’d be this morning.

Keri pulled into the short gravel driveway just off the road and hopped out. She walked slowly up to the security gate, taking in the impressive privacy measures Cave had employed. The house might not be massive but the safety precautions were. The gate itself was wrought-iron and easily fifteen feet high, with curled spikes that pointed outward toward the street.

A twenty-foot, ivy-covered stone wall surrounded the property as far as the eye could see, with what appeared to be three additional feet of electrified fencing above that. She counted at least five cameras mounted on the walls and attached to high branches of several trees just inside the property.

Keri pushed the “call” button on the keypad next to the gate and waited.

“May I help you?” a middle-aged female voice asked.

“Yes, Keri Locke here to see Jackson Cave.”

“Does Mr. Cave know you’re coming, Ms. Locke?” the voice asked.

“I doubt it,” Keri said. “But I suspect he’ll still be willing to see me.”

“Just a moment, please.”

Keri stood by the gate for another thirty seconds, staring at the ocean in the distance, listening to the wind whistle through the leaves of the trees. She hadn’t seen a single car pass by in the time she’d been there.

“Please come in,” the voice finally said as the heavy gate slowly creaked open.

Keri drove her car just inside the gate, parked, and walked toward the front door of the bungalow. As she got closer, she saw that her initial impression of the place had been wrong.

What had appeared to be an unassuming one-story cottage on a cliff overlooking the Pacific was actually a multi-tiered home built into the cliff itself. From where she stood, she could see at least three floors and an indoor/outdoor pool, but it was possible there were even more below.

The front door opened and Jackson Cave stepped out to greet her. Apparently he was just finishing up a call as he was putting his phone in his in pants pocket. It was not quite 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning and yet he looked immaculate. His thick black hair, with sunglasses nestled softly in it, was already slickly combed back like he was channeling Gordon Gekko in Wall Street.

He wore tight, light blue jeans, a black sweater rolled up to his elbows to reveal his wiry, tanned forearms, and laceless black loafers. He smiled at her with his disturbingly white teeth, which made his over-bronzed face seem even more unnatural. His smile always came across as a sneer but that might just have been for her. Maybe he had a more genuine smile for other people. Somehow she doubted it.

“Detective Locke,” he said, spreading his arms wide in welcome, “had I known you’d be stopping by, I would have prepared breakfast.”

His voice dripped with all its usual smarm, but she noticed something she rarely saw in his piercing blue eyes – uncertainty. He didn’t have any idea why she was here. She had him off-balance.

She was tempted to come back at him with a snarky reply. It was her default position. She was as good at getting under his skin as he was at infuriating her. But that wasn’t the goal today. She needed to appeal to, if not his sympathy, at least his self-interest.

She needed to persuade him that if he was able to return Evie to her, she would leave him be. She needed to convince him that she was not his enemy; that she was not, as Anderson had put it, the “bad guy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cave,” she said, trying to sound pleasant but not unctuous. “That’s very kind. But I actually already ate – pounded back two coffees too.”

“Ah, well come in then,” he said, visibly surprised by her innocuous reply. He’d clearly been expecting something more biting. “You can tell me what brought you so far west so early on a weekend morning.”

He held the door open for her and she stepped inside a vast living room that was as warm and welcoming as Cave was not. The Polynesian-themed design with bamboo-style paneling was charming, as was the wicker-inspired furniture and the open indoor fire pit. The entire room was windowed with views of the ocean and mountains in every direction.

“This place is gorgeous,” she marveled despite herself.

“Thank you,” he said. “I designed it in conjunction with a hotel magnate client from Fiji. He builds private estates in this style over there. This is a hut to him.”

“If I were you, I’d live here all the time,” Keri said, meaning it.

“Bit of a commute though,” he said, unable to keep the sarcasm from dripping into his voice.

Keri bit back the urge to suggest he just have a helipad built. It would be counterproductive and it was possible he already had. Instead, she looked around the parts of the house that were visible. The kitchen was massive, with a center island larger than her entire apartment kitchen. Part of a dining room could be seen off in a corner with a table that looked to be made of marble.

She saw a hallway that must have led back to the bedroom wing and thought she heard voices coming from that direction. A Hispanic woman in her forties with her hair tied back in a bun opened a sliding door and stepped inside from the small deck.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked, and Keri recognized the voice from the gate intercom.

“No thank you. I’m good.”