Innocent Prey

The inning ended, and during the approximate lifetime it always took for the teams to change sides, toss balls around and warm up the pitcher, I leaned closer to Mason. “So what did you find out about Jake?”

We’d gone our separate ways after we’d questioned Stephanie Mattheson’s ex-boyfriend. Mason had dropped me at home, where I’d played on Facebook and Twitter instead of writing my daily ten pages, changed clothes and walked Myrtle. He’d gone back to the PD to talk to the chief and run a background check on Jacob Kravitz.

“He did eighteen months in Attica,” he said.

“Shit, you were right.” I clapped a hand over my mouth and glanced down at Josh, but he was oblivious. On the ground now, rubbing Myrt’s belly in just the right spot to make her leg go, and laughing like a freckled hyena. “What did he do?”

“Pissed off Judge Mattheson.”

I frowned.

“Turns out that when Stephanie and Jake ran off together, she wasn’t quite eighteen yet. They crossed state lines. The judge made sure Jake got the maximum.”

“That motherf— That prick.”

He grimaced at me. “Not much of an improvement there, Rache.”

“It’s a slight improvement. So then Jake has good reason to hate the judge.”

“Yeah. And to keep his distance from Stephanie. He’s also got a pretty powerful motive for wanting revenge.”

I nodded. “You think he’s hiding her somewhere? That the two of them planned this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or that he did something to her? For payback?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think he’d hurt her. Maybe he’s gonna hold her for ransom, only maybe she’s in on it, too, and they’re going to run off to Tahiti together once the judge pays up.”

He stared at me like I’d sprouted a unicorn horn. “What?”

“I’m telling you, Aunt Rache, you’ve got a novel in you.” Misty had moved three levels down and was sitting behind us, leaning her head down between ours. “Now, what’s all this about kidnapping and ransom?”

“Hello? Private conversation here.”

She gave me an exaggerated pout and still managed to be gorgeous. “Then have it somewhere private.”

“She’s right,” I said to Mason. “We shouldn’t be working at a game. Baseball is way more important than work.”

“Is that from one of your books, Rachel?”

“No, but it should be.” I pulled out my phone, tapped the little blue birdie.

“You’re Tweeting?” Mason asked, using the same tone he might use to say “You’re reproducing by mitosis?”