Wild Captive Read online

  "You and your questions can kiss my ass," she said as she strolled out of the office.

  "Well, she's personable," JD said.

  "Everybody in here is struggling with something,” Edgar said. “Sometimes it manifests itself as abrasive personalities. Don't take anything she says personally."

  "I'd like to speak with Penelope," I said.

  "Sure thing," Edgar replied.

  He slipped out of the office and returned a few moments later with the skinny, long-haired girl. She took a seat where Camilla had been. She wasn't nearly as abrasive.

  "You‘re friends with Violet, right?" I asked.

  9

  "Yeah, we were pretty close," Penelope said. "As close as you can get in two weeks of knowing each other."

  "Did you confide in each other?" I asked.

  "Yeah, sure, I guess. I mean, who else was I going to talk to in here?" Her eyes darted uncomfortably to Edgar, then back to me.

  "Did Violet mention anything to you about leaving the facility before the program was over?"

  She hesitated. "Not really. I mean, I’d rather not be here if I didn't have to." She looked to Edgar again, then her eyes flicked back to mine. "No offense, this place isn’t high on my bucket list of places I want to hang out in."

  "I would imagine she would have said something to you if she planned on running away," I said.

  Penelope raised her hands innocently. "Don't look at me. I don't know anything. If she hatched some big escape plan, I wasn't in on it. But it's not like it's hard to sneak out of this place. Plus, they can't keep you here anyway."

  "That's what Dr. Matheson tells me."

  "I mean, I can leave at any time." She glared at Edgar again. "I can get up and walk out that door, and they can't do shit."

  "Why don't you leave?"

  She sighed. “Because I'm tired of living my life the way I was. It sucks not knowing where your next meal is coming from, where you’re going to get your next fix. Or what you have to do to get it. Plus my dad said he was going to cut me out of the will if I didn't get my shit together. So, there's that."

  "Did Violet ever talk about friends, places she wanted to visit, maybe a boyfriend?"

  “I think she had broken up with her guy before she came in here. That didn't end on good terms, from what I understand."

  "Dmitry?"

  "Yeah."

  "So, you don't think that she is staying with him?"

  "Oh, God no!" she said, her face twisted in disgust. She thought about it for a moment. "I mean, you never know. People go back to shitty exes all the time, don't they?"

  I gave a nod of agreement.

  "You know, I don’t think she was serious about it, but she did talk a lot about wanting to go to Los Angeles to be a movie star. I don't think she really did it. I mean, it was just the dreamy stuff girls talk about. You know, one day I'm gonna be big, you'll see. That kind of stuff."

  My eyes flicked to JD. Maybe Violet did sneak out of here, by a bus ticket, and was in the city of Angels by now?

  "Thanks for your cooperation." I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from Edgar's desk and scribbled my name and phone number on it. "Call me if you can think of anything else that might be useful."

  Penelope took the paper and examined the number. "Yeah, no problem. Am I done now? Can I go?"

  I nodded.

  She saw herself out of the office and my attention focused on Edgar.

  "Looks like you’ve got your hands full here," I said.

  "You don't know the half of it," Edgar replied.

  "Do these girls skip out a lot?"

  "Some of them last a day, maybe two. If they get past the two week mark, they have a higher percentage of finishing the program. It's eight weeks total."

  "When was last time you saw Violet?"

  "I saw her at dinner, then again in the commons area watching TV. They are required to be in their rooms by 9 PM, and lights out by 10 PM. I do a bed check at 10, but in all honesty, it's really 10:15, 10:30 before I am able to make the rounds. Violet was gone by then."

  "You have security here?"

  “We have two guards that patrol the premises. You're welcome to talk to them, but I don't think they saw anything."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Anytime someone bolts, we have standard protocol in place. Dr. Matheson is notified immediately. A staff meeting is called to discuss the absence, and the emergency contact person is called and notified. From my recollection, nobody had seen Violet from 9 PM on."

  "What do people do when they skip out?" I asked.

  "Honestly? If they’re bailing on the program, the first thing they do is go get a fix. I can't tell you the number of people that leave here, score, then OD and die. It's really sad. They dry out, their tolerance goes down, and they go back to taking the same amount as they did before and it's too much."

  "Must be tough to do this job."

  "I try not to get emotionally attached to the guests, but sometimes you meet people that you just connect with. It's really sad when you find out they’re not around anymore." A solemn frowned tugged his lips. "I hope I'm wrong, but I think you're gonna find that girl in a dumpster or a back alley somewhere."

  "Let's hope not," I said.

  We talked to the security guards before we left, and they didn't have anything to add. Big Tony had been blowing up my phone for the last few hours, and I had been avoiding his call until I had something more concrete to tell him. I finally swiped the screen and answered the call. I told him everything we had learned so far, which wasn't much. His voice was thin, and his breath was heavy. I could hear the concern in his voice. He was starting to go to that dark place where Edgar had already gone, fearing the worst.

  I tried to reassure him. "We'll find her. Don't worry. Don't get yourself to worked up yet."

  JD gave me a sour look. When I hung up the phone with Big Tony, JD said, "Don't go writing checks you can't cash."

  10

  "Swing by Cycle Universe," I said. "It's just around the corner."

  JD looked at me like I was crazy. "Try not to crash this time."

  I sighed. "I was trying not to crash last time."

  We zipped around the block and pulled into the parking lot.

  "I'll wait for you," JD said. "Let's get some lunch, then go talk to the daughter's friend and maybe that ex-boyfriend of hers."

  "Sounds like a plan." I grabbed my helmet and gloves from the backseat. Then, I climbed out of the Porsche and pushed into the showroom—the door chimes ringing behind me. The familiar smell of fresh rubber, metal, and oil filled my nostrils.

  Ray greeted me with a wide smile. "Good to see you still in one piece."

  "I'm trying to stay that way."

  We shook hands.

  Ray handed me an invoice, and I peeled off a fat stack of hundred-dollar bills. "Keep the change."

  Ray smiled. "We like cash customers."

  He slipped the money into his pocket, then picked up the phone and dialed Jorge's extension. "Can you bring Mr. Tyson's ride around front?"

  We shot the shit for a moment. I thanked him, then stepped outside. The rumble of the sport bike filled the air as Jorge cranked it up in the garage. A moment later, he rounded the corner and pulled to the curb. He set the kickstand and climbed off the magnificent bike. "She's all yours. Good as new!"

  "Thank you," I said, eyeing the X6 as it sparkled in the sunlight. My heart beat faster just looking at it. A mix of excitement and fear coursed through my veins. Everything about my crash came flooding back. The bike had bitten me, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little shy about getting back on. But I wasn't going to let a little fear stop me. I swung a leg over the bike and straddled the seat. I pulled the snug helmet over my noggin, fastened the chin strap, then pulled on the gloves. Wearing my shorts and T-shirt, I had no protection. If I put the bike down like this, the asphalt would peel flesh from bone. I had no desire to ever scuff the paint on my bike again, much less myself.
/>   My hands gripped the handle bars, and I twisted the throttle, revving the engine a few times. The sound of it put a smile on my face.

  With a nod to JD, he knew I was ready to rock 'n roll. He backed out of the parking space and rolled through the lot. I eased out the clutch and followed behind him. The Porches flat six roared as he pulled out of the parking lot and sped down the two-lane blacktop. The car vanished in the distance. I think he was egging me on, just fucking with me.

  I slowly turned onto the highway and tried to keep the beast under control. Even a light twist on the throttle rocketed the bike forward. The machine was ready to run and stretch its legs. It had been caged in that garage for several weeks and now it was playtime. I shifted gears, and I was doing 80 miles per hour in no time, and I didn't even realize it. I backed off the throttle and brought the bike down to a more reasonable 55 miles an hour.

  Just a leisurely cruise.

  The wind whistled through my helmet, and the highway blurred underneath me. The bike felt rock-solid. No shimmy, no wobble, no shake. It felt exactly the same as it had before the crash. Most of the time, when you wreck a vehicle, it never drives the same. I was pleasantly surprised to find the bike didn't suffer from any ills. The real test would be when I brought the bike up to high-speed. An unnoticeable shimmy at 50 MPH becomes a nightmare at 150.

  I followed JD to Flip Flops. It was a cool little restaurant on the beach that served subs, sandwiches, and burgers. Crispy onion rings, curly fries, cheese sticks, potato skins. Anything and everything that will clog your arteries. We sat on the patio at a table with an umbrella. There was a nice breeze, and the midday sun baked the island. We watched sailboats on the water as we chowed down on burgers.

  Somebody had left a copy of the Key Times on the table next to us. I grabbed the paper and flipped through it while I let my burger digest. I didn't have a subscription to the paper, and I rarely read anything in print. Most of my news came from the web, and I read everything on my iPad or my iPhone.

  An article caught my eye about a girl who had gone missing not long ago. She was Violet’s age, 18. She'd been missing for a few weeks, and her family feared the worst. A picture was included with the article, and she had similar features to Violet—pretty, blue eyes, fresh face. Gabriella Atkinson. She was from Key Largo. She had headed south to Key West using a ride-share app. She was supposed to meet up with friends vacationing from out of town. The ride share driver was interviewed and cleared. He was no longer considered a person of interest. Her friends said she never showed up.

  Another article focused on a sex trafficking bill introduced by Senator Andrew J. K. Haklen that would increase the minimum penalties and expand the law to encompass activities that facilitated these crimes. The bill had received some pushback. There was controversy stemming from the broad terminology used in the wording of the bill. Under the current iteration, if someone watched a movie and was then inspired to commit a trafficking crime, the producer of the movie could be held criminally liable.

  That was the fear, at least.

  We settled our tab, and I left the paper for someone else to read. In the parking lot, I climbed on the bike, and cranked the engine up. I never got tired of hearing that sound.

  "Let's see if we can catch Violet's best friend, Autumn,” JD said. “See what she has to say.”

  I nodded and strapped my helmet on, then followed him out of the parking lot.

  Autumn lived under the watchful eye of her parents, who were currently vacationing in the south of France. Their home in the Keys was a luxury villa on the beach with an infinity pool that overlooked the surf.

  JD and I parked on the street and walked up the drive to the main entrance. The hedgerows were trimmed to perfection, and the grounds were immaculate. The red Ferrari Spyder with tan interior was spotless. The personalized plates read Seasons—a play on Autumn’s name.

  JD rang the bell.

  The chime echoed through the house.

  With no answer, we peered through the privacy glass looking for movement inside.

  JD rang the bell again.

  After a few minutes, there was still no answer.

  It seemed obvious that Autumn was here—pop music and the cackle of laughter from the backyard filtered around the house.

  JD and I decided to venture around the premises and locate the source of the laughter.

  What we found was eye-opening.

  11

  Two bikini-clad beauties lounged by the pool, their skin glistening with oil. They sipped on strawberry daiquiris and listened to pop music.

  JD and I strolled to the gate, flashing our badges.

  "Excuse me, ladies," I said.

  Their faces crinkled.

  "What do you want? You can't just come on my property without permission," Autumn said.

  "I'd like to talk to you about Violet Scarpetti."

  Autumn sat up. "What's wrong? Is she dead?"

  "I was hoping you could tell me," I replied. "She went missing a few days ago from the rehab facility."

  Autumn was a striking brunette with tanned skin that contrasted a white bikini. Large Chanel sunglasses covered her eyes. She had a diamond belly button piercing that sparkled in the light.

  Autumn shrugged. "Maybe she ran away?"

  “Maybe,” I said. “You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

  "No, why would I?"

  "You two are friends, aren't you?"

  She grunted. "Were."

  "You're not friends anymore?"

  "I'm not friends with addicts."

  I gave her a sharp look. With friends like Autumn, who needed enemies?

  "Don't look at me like that,” Autumn snapped. “Violet couldn't handle her high." She paused. "I don't mean to be callous, but they say that you're a combination of your five closest friends. I don't need friends like that."

  "So, you're on a course of self-improvement?" JD said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  Autumn sneered at him. "I am. You should look into it."

  JD snarled at her.

  “When was the last time you talked to Violet?" I asked.

  Autumn shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe a week or so before she went into rehab. We pretty much stopped hanging out. She was just no fun to party with anymore. The girl didn't know her limits."

  Autumn’s full lips wrapped around a straw, and she slurped on the daiquiri.

  "What about her boyfriend? Do you think she might've gone back to him?"

  "Why don't you ask him and find out?"

  "That's on our list of things to do."

  "He's a total loser. Cheated on her all the time."

  "Is that why they split up?"

  "What do you think?" Autumn stared at me in that annoyed way that only a teenage girl can do.

  She took another sip of the daiquiri and laid back on the lounge chair, soaking up the sun. She was bored with the conversation, clearly.

  "What else can you tell me about her relationship with Dmitry?" I asked.

  She sighed, exasperated. "They fought all the time. They were no good for each other. I told her it was a good thing she caught him cheating. A little heartache now saves a lot of heartache later."

  JD nodded in agreement.

  "Did she ever say anything to you about going to California?"

  "Yes, all the time. She wanted to be a movie star. I told her that was silly. There are no real movie stars anymore. Just celebrities. I told her if she went out to LA she’d probably end up in porn."

  "Do you think that's where she may have gone?" I asked.

  "No. No way."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "She would have called me."

  "I thought you weren’t friends anymore?"

  "Yeah, but she would have called to rub it in my face." Autumn thought for a moment. “A girl we graduated with moved to LA not long ago. Last I heard, she was stripping at some cheesy club in the valley and couldn’t even get an agent.”

&nbs
p; A condescending chuckle escaped her plump lips.

  “What’s the girl’s name?”

  “Mary Wilson.”

  “Do you happen to have her number?” I asked.

  Autumn’s face crinkled. “Why would I?”

  “She’s a friend, isn’t she?”

  “I said we graduated together. I didn’t say we were friends.” She sipped her fruity drink. “I follow her Instabook account for entertainment purposes. She’s always begging for people to come see her at the club.”

  “What’s her handle?”

  Autumn told me, and I looked her up on the social media app.

  “Is this her?” I asked, showing the profile to the bratty teen.

  “Yep, that’s her.” Then Autumn muttered. “Skank.”

  Autumn took another sip of her daiquiri. The straw rattled as she slurped the bottom of the glass, sucking down the last of the sweet beverage. She held the glass in the air and wiggled it. "Would you be a doll and refill me?"

  A daiquiri machine rested in the shade under the awning of a pool-side bar. The house was made for entertaining.

  The girl was 18. I wasn't keen on contributing to the delinquency of the bratty teen.

  "Refill me, and I'll answer your stupid questions."

  JD took the glass, strolled to the bar, and twisted the lever on the daiquiri machine. The strawberry liquid swirled into the glass. JD pulled another glass from the bar and filled a second daiquiri for himself. He topped it off with a straw and a little umbrella, then strolled back to Autumn.

  "Thank you," she said with a smile as she took the glass.

  I shot JD an annoyed look.

  "Oh, did you want one?"

  I scowled at him, then refocused my attention on Autumn. "Can you think of anywhere else she might have gone?"

  The brat thought about it for a moment. "Not really. When they put you in rehab, you don't have any money, no credit cards, no cell phone. They try to cut you off from the outside world. It sucks, trust me."

  "I take it you’ve been a few times?"

  Autumn shot me the evil eye. "Once."

  "I see that worked out," I snarked.