Girl, Sought (Ella Dark #24)

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Ella’s smartwatch told her that her pulse was running at ninety – twenty beats per minute higher than usual. Luca and his bright ideas were going to be the death of her.

‘Call Gabriel Thorne?’ she asked. ‘And say what?’

‘Whatever we have to.’

Once was a time when Ella wouldn’t have flinched at the idea of calling a suspect and tricking him into revealing his whereabouts. But now, with Ripley no longer here to call out her risky ideas, someone had to be the voice of reason.

‘And what if he busts us? Or realizes the cops are onto him and he hauls ass?’

‘You got a better plan? Clock's ticking, Ell. We gotta roll the dice sometime, might as well be now. Plus, if his voice matches what we heard on the CCTV, we’ll know it’s our guy.’

She bit back the snarky retort perched on the tip of her tongue. She didn't like the idea, but he wasn't wrong. They were grasping at straws, and Gabriel Thorne was the only one floating within reach.

Ella grabbed a cable out of her laptop bag and slid it across the desk. ‘At least hook your cell up to Stingray, see if we can get a read on his location in case he doesn’t fall for it.’

‘On it.’ Luca connected his cell to his laptop then activated the tracking software. ‘Just keep quiet. I’ll do the talking.’

‘What are you going to say?’

‘I’ll just lie. Lying’s easy. Ready?’

‘Whoa, hang on. He’s going to ask the obvious questions. How did you get his number? Why aren’t you calling the CVG instead? What item do you need appraising?’

‘I’m a good liar,’ Luca said. He punched the number off Gabriel’s business card into his cell, hit dial and turned it to loudspeaker. ‘I’ve never actually had Boston baked beans in my life.’

The phone's ring cut through stale air. One ring bled into two, then three. By ring number five, Ella had cataloged fourteen ways this could go wrong. By ring seven, she'd added six more to the list.

Then the line clicked.

‘Gabriel Thorne speaking.’

Luca sat up straighter and met Ella's eyes over the phone with a look that said 'game on.' She could practically smell the bullcrap he was about to shovel.

‘Mr. Thorne? My name’s David Cross. Got your number from a friend who said you're the man to talk to about appraising collectibles.’ Luca's voice was as smooth as a con man's patter, but Ella heard the faint tremor beneath it. He was flying by the seat of his pants, and she prayed Thorne was the trusting type.

Silence stretched between them. When Thorne spoke again, his tone had shifted two degrees colder. ‘I don't give my number out lightly, Mr. Cross. Who exactly gave it to you?’

‘Guy at an auction house down in Norfolk.’ Luca's lie came gift-wrapped in false confidence. ‘Said you were the go-to guy. Apologies if I’ve got it wrong.’

More silence. Ella could hear Thorne's brain cataloging inconsistencies, checking stories against known facts, searching for the trap hidden in casual conversation.

‘Understood, Mr. Cross. And yes, I can help you if you need something appraising. Where are you based?’

Ella tried to match the voice to the one they caught through Alfred Finch’s CCTV, and she had to admit that there were clear similarities. Pure Richmond, with its casual disregard for the letter U. Did it match perfectly? Definitely not, but cell acoustics were different from CCTV acoustics. She couldn’t be sure.

‘I’m in Chesapeake. Right now.’

‘Where about?’

Luca looked at Ella blankly. She mouthed Great Bridge. So much for Luca’s winging skills.

‘Great Bridge.’

‘I see. Well, I can set up a meeting with you, if you like. My offices are-‘

‘Uh, I’m kind of in a rush, to be honest. Any chance we could do it today?’

Another beat. ‘Today? Mr. Cross, I’ve learned that anyone who’s in a rush to sell their collectibles is hiding something.’

The question caught Luca flat-footed. His poker face cracked as he scrambled for a response. 'No, sorry, I mean, I'm only in Chesapeake until tomorrow morning, and I've heard you're one of the best in the game. There's nothing sketchy about my item.'

Ella gritted her teeth. Poor Luca had violated rule number one. Never use an adjective with a negative connotation, even with the word not in front of it. Only a creep would say I’m not a creep.

‘Well, my schedule’s jam-packed until the end of the week. Would you be returning to Chesapeake in the future?’

‘Uh… no.’

‘Then maybe I could visit you in…?’

Luca shot Ella a panicked look. She shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek to stop her jumping in to try and salvage this mess he’d made.

‘Massachusetts,’ he said. ‘Forty miles outside of Boston. It’s a long trip, so don’t worry, I’ll just stick with the appraisal value I’ve already had.’

Ella could feel this conversation coming to a close. She leaned in and strained her ears for any background noise that might give away his location, but the line was clean. She snapped her fingers like mousetraps in the air. She mouthed: Location. Get his location.

I’m trying, he mouthed back.

‘Your item’s been appraised already?’ Thorne asked.

‘Yeah, but I think I got lowballed. Two-hundred grand. I think I can get more than that.’

Thorne coughed. ‘Two hundred thousand dollars? What for?’

Luca caught Ella’s eye. She saw his mouth twitch, like he couldn’t decide which lie to shoot for. ‘Air Jordans, 1985. Size 7, red and white. Worn in the third game of the 86 season.’

Ella bit back a groan. Of all the collectibles in all the world, Luca had to pick something basketball related. It would have been charming if it wasn’t so predictable.

But then something changed in Thorne’s tone.

’85 Air Jordans? Signed?’

‘Black ink, right on the heel.’

Silence stretched again. Ella’s blood pressure spiked. Come on, you son of a bitch. Take the bait.

‘And they’ve already been appraised for two-hundred?’ Thorne asked.

‘Yes. I’m looking to sell them to the right buyer too.’

Thorne hemmed and hawed. 'Interesting. My fee structure is straightforward. Ten percent of final valuation for items under fifty thousand, eight percent for anything higher. Our appraisal process can take several weeks, but we offer a lifetime certificate of authenticity. I might also be interested in taking those shoes off you myself for the right price.'

Got him. Ella clenched her fist in triumph, then turned it into a keep going motion. They still needed this bastard’s location.

‘Perfect,’ Luca nearly shouted. ‘Want me to come to you? I’m on the road right now, and these Jordans are already packed up nice and tight, got 'em nestled in one of those fancy-shmancy display cases and everything. Just point me in the right direction and I'm there.’

‘Well, I suppose I could squeeze you in. I'm over at the Chesapeake U-Stor at the moment, doing an on-site appraisal for another client. Unit 1121. If you can meet me there in, say, an hour?’

Chesapeake U-Stor. They might have just located their killer.

‘We’ll see you there,’ Luca said.

‘We?’

‘Uh… I’ll see you there,’ Luca corrected.

‘Very well, Mr. Cross. See you shortly.’

Luca jabbed the END CALL button, then looked at Ella with a grin. She was already on her feet before the echo faded.

‘Jesus jumped up Christ,’ Luca said. ‘That was…’

‘The most half-assed bit of improv I’ve ever seen, but damn if it didn’t work.’

‘It’s harder than it looks. You try improvising collectibles under pressure. Now we’ve got an hour to get to the U-Stor before he disappears.’

‘Ready to go?’ she asked.

Luca checked his weapon and gave her the nod. ‘Let’s nail this guy today and get back to D.C. before nightfall.’

Ella wished she shared his optimism. But optimism was for people who hadn't spent their careers crawling through humanity's darkest corners. She'd learned the hard way that hope was just disappointment that hadn't happened yet.

Still, they had a name. They had a location. They had a chance to catch their collector between transformations - in that vulnerable space between the mask he showed the world and the monster he'd become.