Page 27 of Girl Long Gone

He chuckled and mentally slapped himself for questioning her abilities. She was smart, sexy, and when this was all over, he’d find a way to make her his. “Good. Try to stay inside. Ben and I have some things to do, and then we’re going to keep a set of eyes on Gabriel. If we can trail him, he might lead us where we need to go.”

“Why don’t you do that first?”

“I need to do the work and follow the trail. Get the evidence. When I’ve done all that and have nowhere else to go, I’ll follow him. He’s a slippery sonofabitch. If I bank on him taking me to my sister, he’ll lead me to the last place on Earth I want to be.”

13

The rain stopped by the time Connor reached the apartment building of Gene and Beatty Wilson, but the inky, ominous sky remained. He took the steps to the second floor, unwilling to wait for the elevator.

A few seconds passed then the door opened to a woman with kind brown eyes behind metal-framed glasses. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, Mrs. Wilson. My name is Connor Mitchel. I went to school with your son.” The lie dripped from his tongue. No way Gabriel’s parents would talk to him if he told them he was a detective with a missing sister.

Mrs. Wilson opened the door wider, and her smile grew. “I don’t think I remember you. Did you graduate together?” Polished sophistication flowed from her, but not in an insincere way.

“My family moved away at the beginning of high school. I haven’t talked to Gabriel in years, and I was in the city for a few days. I know it’s probably a long shot, but I thought I’d stop by. I don’t have a number for him, but I remember coming here and building cars with him sometimes after school.”

Delight lifted the muscles in her face. “He has always loved building things. I’m sorry I don’t recognize you. Would you like to come in? I can grab Gabriel’s number for you. I’m sure he’d love to see you. He doesn’t have a lot of time for friends.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Connor followed Mrs. Wilson into an apartment that screamed old money.

Dark wood covered the floor, as well as the far wall of the living room where a fireplace took center stage. The similarities between this apartment and Gabriel’s house were uncanny. The leather-bound books, the hardwood floors, even the color scheme reflected in the furniture and decor matched Gabriel’s house. Either he had the same interior designer as his parents or he didn’t want to move past the memories of childhood.

Connor stepped closer to the fireplace. Intricate carvings lined the mantel, giving the impression of a fireplace one would find in the palace of Versailles. He ran a finger along the grooves of the fine cuts, tracing the fleur-de-lis patterns that sat in perfect symmetry around a scalloped flower.

“Isn’t the craftsmanship beautiful?” Mrs. Wilson bustled into the room and handed him a piece of paper with a number scrawled across it. “Gabriel always amazes me with how handy he is. He’s always loved to make his little beauties.”

Connor dropped his hand from the mantel, accepted the slip of paper with a smile, and shoved it in his pocket.

“He made this?”

“Oh, yes. Replacing the original was a headache, but well worth it.”

“Hard to imagine Gabriel moving from making match cars to this. Impressive.”

Mrs. Wilson waved away his words. “Don’t be silly. He had a whole host of other projects between those little cars and this.”

“What about his good friend Simon? Are they still in touch? Simon liked to hang around and watch Gabriel make cars, too.”

The front door opened and an older man with a full head of thick gray hair and hardened hazel eyes faced him. “Who the hell are you?”

Mrs. Wilson hurried forward, her slender hand extended toward Connor. “This is Connor, an old friend of Gabriel’s.”

The hard-set jaw and rigid stance of Gene Wilson told Connor the man didn’t buy his half-baked story. “Gabriel didn’t have many friends over, and I think I’d remember a big guy like you.”

Mrs. Wilson laid a hand on her husband’s arm, patting gently against the water-slicked tan jacket. “You know how kids change their looks. Connor told me he came by here to help Gabriel with his cars when they were younger. Him and that nice boy, Simon.”

If Connor hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed the subtle tightening of muscles in Mr. Wilson’s neck. The lines around his eyes relaxed for a second as he glanced at his wife, then he returned his narrowed gaze to Connor. “I don’t remember a boy named Simon, either. Gabriel didn’t have time for friends then, and he sure as hell doesn’t have time for them now. My wife might be foolish enough to let a stranger into our home, but I’m not. It’s time for you to leave.” His heated gaze stayed locked on Connor as he grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open.

“Thanks for the number, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll call Gabriel right away and try to see him.”

Mr. Wilson had the same cold, calculating eyes as his son. He couldn’t blame the man for being unhappy about finding a strange man in his house, even with his lame story of knowing Gabriel from school, but there was no denying the pulsing tension he’d tried to keep at bay when Simon’s name was spoken.

Connor might not have gotten all the answers he needed in his short visit to Gabriel’s childhood home, but he’d gotten plenty to consider.

Mainly the idea of Gene Wilson as Gabriel’s accomplice.

He walked a block to where he’d parked his car on the street, unlocked the door, and hopped into the driver’s seat. He inserted the key, started the engine, and some sort of black material pressed underneath his windshield wiper caught his eye.