O-kay.
That put a whole different spin on the case.
“In other words, he may have taken the backpack for a weekend getaway with his girlfriend, but he wasn’t planning to disappear.” Cate exhaled.
“That was Gabe Laurent’s conclusion.”
“This is starting to smell like foul play.”
“I agree.”
She furrowed her brow. “How did our people miss that nugget?”
“The boyfriend—Alex Johnson—lived with a grandmother who’s in poor health and a father who comes and goes . . . mostly to the local bar. The PI happened to be at the apartment talking with the grandmother when a financial assistance application from the school arrived in the mail.”
“She knew about his plans?”
“No—nor did the father. Based on what the PI gleaned from the counselor, Alex decided the laborer job he’d taken with a roofing company after high school graduation wasn’t going to lead anywhere and intended to continue his education.”
Uncovering that key piece of intel may have been a fluke—and a huge piece of good luck for the PI—but it was distressing nonetheless.
And Sarge and the lieutenant weren’t the type to enjoy having egg on their face, deserved or not.
Still . . . an undercover operation? Those kinds of resources were usually reserved for larger-scale operations, like the human trafficking setup she’d helped investigate for her first—and she’d hoped, last—undercover assignment.
“So we’re going back to take another look at the case. I get that.” She kept her inflection neutral. “What I don’t get is the undercover component.”
The lieutenant stood and walked over to the window. After a few moments, he pivoted back. “Pressure is being exerted to use every available tool to expedite the investigation. Gabe Laurent wants answers.” The man clasped his hands behind his back, his expression neutral save for a flare of . . . annoyance? . . . that tightened his features for a fleeting instant. “He also happens to be a big contributor to the campaigns of his state representative and the County Executive.”
Ah.
The man had called in favors. Talked to friends in high places, who’d contacted County—not with demands, but to drop a few strong hints that the case might deserve renewed focus.
Yet it didn’t explain the undercover angle.
“Why not just assign more personnel?”
The lieutenant scanned his watch and crossed to the door. “I’ll let Sarge explain the particulars to you. I’m already late for another meeting.” He swung back to her. “I hope we can count on your help with this.”
Without giving her the opportunity to respond, he exited, closing the door behind him.
In the ensuing quiet, her pulse accelerated.
That hadn’t been a request.
He wanted her on this job.
Why?
She laced her fingers more tightly together and redirected her attention to Sarge. “You know how I feel about undercover work.” One taste had been more than sufficient to dim any allure it may have had. Who knew why it had held such appeal for—
Mashing her lips together, she severed that line of thought. It was pointless to revisit history. Her attempt to figure out what motivated a person to live a life of deception and shadows had been a bust, and it was time to move on.
Past time.
“I know, Cate—but we need you on this one.”
She waved his comment aside. “There are plenty of detectives at County who like undercover work. Why not tap one of them?”
“Because you’re the only one who can pass for a seventeen-year-old.”
Her jaw dropped as she processed that bombshell. “You want me to go in as a student?”
“Yes.”
“Sarge.” She gaped at him. “Let’s be serious here. I’m thirty-three. Seventeen is a distant speck in the rearview mirror.”
“Not that distant—and age is nothing more than a number. With appropriate hairstyle and clothes, you won’t have any difficulty convincing people you’re seventeen.”
She shook her head. “This is crazy. I could be a seventeen-year-old’s mother.”
“Cate.” Sarge leaned forward again. “When were you last carded?”
Dang.
He would bring that up.
She cleared her throat and flicked a speck of lint off her slacks. “I don’t drink.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Okay.
Fine.
She did buy wine on occasion as a gift for party hosts—as Sarge knew, since she’d not only brought a bottle to the retirement barbecue he’d thrown last summer for one of the detectives but joked about having to produce her driver’s license for the clerk.
“So I get carded now and then.” Like always if she went makeup-free off duty and pulled her hair back into her usual ponytail. “So what?”
He looked at her in silence.
As seconds ticked by, sweat beaded on her upper lip. The moisture in her mouth evaporated. A wave of nausea rolled through her.
Huh.
Who knew that being backed into a corner would have the same effect on her as being trapped in a small space?
Not the best time for her latent claustrophobia to rear its head.
Chest tight, she rose and began to pace. “Maybe the school has nothing to do with this. Stephanie and Alex could have run into trouble away from the campus.”
“That’s possible—and we’ll continue to work that angle with a conventional investigation. But given the high-level interest in this case, we want to cover all the bases—and you know firsthand how much more you can learn from the inside.”
Yeah. She did.
If she hadn’t befriended the key people in the trafficking case, convinced them she was on their side, the ring would still be operating.
Instead, thanks to the evidence she’d been able to amass, the operation had been shuttered and the leaders rounded up and charged.
“Look at it this way, Cate.” Sarge leaned forward, using his most persuasive tone. “If Stephanie told another student where she and her boyfriend planned to go for the weekend—and you can get that girl to confide in you—we can realign our resources. As soon as we have a trail that leads off campus, we’ll cut you loose. That could be as fast as a week or two.”
She narrowed her eyes. “The trafficking job wasn’t supposed to last long either.”
“It didn’t—not for an investigation like that.”
That might be true . . . but it had felt like forever.
Another reason to write off undercover work.
Hardened as she’d become to violence and gore and man’s inhumanity to man during her decade in law enforcement, it was a whole different ball game to live that seaminess every day from the inside.
But the lieutenant and Sarge had presented a compelling case.
She was the best candidate in the department to pass for a seventeen-year-old.
And if foul play was involved in the girl’s disappearance, as the new evidence suggested, they should use every tool at their disposal to track down the truth whether there was political pressure being brought to bear or not.
She let out a long, slow breath. “You’re not giving me much choice here.”