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“You did what? Oh shit!” Seized by more shaking, Larry began urgently throwing his equipment in their cases. “You’re fucked in the head. And I have a big news flash for you. She isn’t your kid.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mark’s lips hung slack and he belched again to sour the already dank air. “The whole world knows she’s my kid.”
The handles of Larry’s bags slid against the clammy moisture on his hands. His suitcases bulged, fat as whisky casks, because items were wadded up inside instead of neatly folded. “Look, Chambers, I made my career taking pictures of Eric Laine. I can tell you how many eyelashes the guy has. Trust me, the kid is his. Do yourself a favor and get the hell out of here.”
Larry hurried from the room, jumped in his rental car, and zoomed away.
****
Eric sat in the limo, quiet and tense, as he tried to form a plan. Jenna’s admission pounded inside his head. He dropped his face into his hands, remembering with clarity how he felt when he’d first seen Janie. She’d been a tiny bundle in a bassinet, just an hour old. Though the moment had been glancing, he’d made the decision to love and care for her as his own. Three days later, she was gone from his life, and he had never gotten the chance. He had never gotten over the hurt or the loss. His pain now was tenfold, so acute he had no choice but to push it from his mind. He had to find his daughter, and tuning into Mark’s depraved way of thinking was the only way to do so.
“Where to?” Nick asked.
“Ina’s. She knows this area better than those cops do.”
Nick sped to the farmhouse, screeching the limousine to a halt and spraying gravel at the clapboard. The lights were still burning and Ina came rushing out. It was clear something was wrong. Eric told her and she didn’t dedicate one moment to alarm. “What can I do?”
“Coffee, caffeine will clear the cobwebs,” Nick suggested.
Eric added his own appeals. “I want you to give Nick the name of every liquor store and bar in the area, and every cheap motel from here to the city. Nick, call all of them to see if anyone fitting Mark’s description was there.”
Ina fed Nick the names of places while he retrieved websites and numbers from his phone and called. Eric picked up his cell and tapped one of his contacts. The whirring ring on the line sang to him before Jack Morrissey answered. “Hey kid, what’s up?”
Again, Eric delivered the news with no lead-in.
“Holy Mother of God. What do you need?”
“The F.B.I.” Eric scratched at the back of his neck as barbs stung his skin. “You worked with a couple of consultants when you filmedThe Bureau.Do you think you can get a hold of them?”
“Give me about ten minutes, and I’ll have anything you need to know.”
Eric asked Jack to find the flight Mark Chambers was on and the make and model of the car he rented.
“Consider it done.”
“Bingo,” Nick shouted. “No luck with the motels but there’s a package store over on Route 55. Sounds like Chambers was there. I have the manager on the phone.”
Eric took the receiver from Nick and said a quiet prayer that the person on the other end might supply some useful information. A man came on the line. “You’re looking for someone who was in here tonight …blond fellow, scars on his face?”
“Yes, sir, I am. It’s very important. Can you remember anything at all about him? What time he was there or the car he was driving?”
“Well…it was at least two hours ago, maybe more. He bought an expensive bottle of tequila and paid with a hundred. That’s why I remember him…that and the yellow hair of course. The wife bought a kit one time and ended up with the same color, and boy what a sight she…”
“Sir! Please. Did he say anything?” Eric was pleading, his heart hammering while the man on the line continued to speak. The laidback blather made Eric’s temples throb and his chest tighten.
“Well…I gave the hundred a good going over and that seemed to tick him off. Made a nasty crack about our wine selection, too.” The man stopped speaking and sighed. “Nervy son of a bitch.”
“Sir! Did you see his car?”
“Sure did. White, mid-sized, looked new.”
“Thank you…”
“Hold on now. The guy did say something that might be important. He said he was meeting up with a photographer from Los Angeles. Claims I’m going to see him on the cover of all the big magazines. I laughed right in his face…seen prettier fish inField and Stream.”
“Did he say where the meeting was?” Eric’s heart was pounding so loud it competed with the phone at his ear.
“No, he didn’t, sorry.”
