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Eric hung up and turned toward Nick. “Call all the motels again. See if Larry Belka is staying at any of them.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
With a shaking hand, Mark lifted the bottle of tequila to his lips and drained the last drops. The child lying on the bed stirred. “I should just put my hands around your throat so you never wake up.”
He staggered to the bathroom to pee. Above the sink, a rust-dotted mirror hung. He studied his reflection. At one time, admiring his face had been a pleasurable obsession. Now he recoiled from his image. His face was framed by a receding hairline, and scars zig zagged over his weathered complexion. He sniffed back tears. Fame, money, the life Mark desired, was all Eric’s. And now the kid, the one thing Mark could claim as his own, belonged to Eric, too.
“I’m so sick of losing out to you. So sick of seeing your face everywhere.” The crushing despair that caused him to snivel like a lost child lifted, and Mark swiped at his tears. Fury wiped away his sorrow.
He stepped from the bathroom and loomed above the child curled up on the bed. Baring teeth in the manner of an animal, he circled his prey.
****
Oblivious to the bedlam and chaotic sounds of phones, radios and voices, Jenna sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed. She clutched a mug of tea she had yet to take a sip from. Randi was at her side staring vacantly. An officer occasionally knocked on the door to tell them no news had been reported, but everything possible was being done to find Janie.
In a voice hoarse and dry from crying, Jenna turned to Randi. “He’ll know.”
“Who, Jen…know what?”
“Mark. Mark will know. He’ll know Janie is Eric’s and he’ll hurt her. As soon as he looks into her eyes he’ll know.”
A new stream of tears ran down Randi’s face and she hugged Jenna, holding tight. Nested between them was a small, stuffed puppy that usually lay by her daughter’s pillow. Rocking, she held it to her breast and a keening moan spilled from her throat. “Please, God, please don’t let him hurt my baby.”
Through her tears, she looked toward her daughter’s dresser. Trophies, ceramic statues, and photographs cluttered the surface. On weak limbs, she stumbled forward and picked up a frame. It was a dance recital portrait with Janie’s small face enveloped in pink satin, tulle, and sequins. Jenna traced the image and sank to her knees.
She was still hugging the frame when the strong arms of her brother enfolded her. “I’m here, sis. I’m here.”
****
Both Nick and Eric lunged for the phone, not allowing the instrument to finish the first chords of the ring. It was Jack calling with information. “Chambers flew in today, on standby out of Chicago on Midwest Air. He landed in LaGuardia. The ticket was bought at the airport and paid for in cash. Here’s the interesting part, two tickets were bought at the same time, one for Chambers and one for a Stephen Powers. There’s a private investigator out of L.A. with the same name.”
Eric pounded his fist against the table. “Jesus fucking Christ. That’s the same detective Stark used years ago to dig up dirt on me.”
“It’s got to be the same Powers. Do you think he hired the guy to find Jenna?”
“No.”
“Chambers then?”
Eric braced his hands on the top of a chair, holding tight for balance. “The only person I know vindictive enough to drag Mark Chambers back into our lives is Bree.”
Jack gave Eric more of the information he’d garnered from the F.B.I. consultant—car rental, return flight, and Powers’ cell number. “He’s booked on the last flight back to L.A. on United. Hopefully, you can catch him before he gets on the plane, and he can tell you where Chambers is.”
Eric scribbled the flight number. “I need you to find out one more thing for me.”
“Name it, kid, anything.”
“I need to know if Larry Belka is here in New York. He’s that sleaze photographer who used to harass Jenna before he moved on to me. Call Nick’s cell when you find out.”
“You got it, buddy…Tell her to hang in there. If anyone can save her kid, it’s you. I’m speaking from experience.”
Eric nodded as if he could be seen through the line. He’d saved Jack’s daughter Meghan from an overdose a decade ago. He swallowed what felt like a gritty stone and squeezed his eyes tight. He whispered a faint thank you and broke the connection.
Ina brought a mug of coffee over and ordered Eric to drink. His spine was rounded and his chest rose in staggered bursts as he breathed. He was fading.
A dozen calls to Stephen Powers’ cell netted the same voice mail recording. The phone was either out of range or out of juice.
Nick hurried over with his own phone hidden within the bulk of his hand. “A guy fitting Belka’s description has been at a place called The Trails End all week.”
