Never Let Go Read online

  Then Katelyn Mason leaned forward and began her tale.

  “I came all the way from Texas to speak to you about taking on a project for me,” she said.

  “A Texan, huh?” JT chuckled and winked. “I never would have guessed by your accent.”

  The woman actually blushed and smoothed out her collar. Was JT flirting?

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said. “Why Anderson Consulting?”

  “I read an article about what you’ve accomplished. You’ve done the impossible.”

  Though JT kept a straight face, amusement and satisfaction glimmered in his eyes. “Tell me your story.”

  “Twenty-one years ago my baby girl, Jamie, was taken from me in the hospital. She was only a few hours old.” Mrs. Mason hung her head for a moment, then raised her quivering chin to pin her gaze on JT.

  Lines in his forehead deepened with his frown. “And the FBI? The police?”

  “Failed to find her. It’s a cold case now. Through the years I’ve hired private investigators. They have all failed.”

  “And why are you just now coming to me?”

  “As I said before, I read that you can do miracles. I have . . . I have less than three months to live, so the doctors tell me.” Her voice hitched. “I believe with every fiber of my being that she is still alive out there, and I desperately want to say goodbye to her. I want her to know how much I love her. How much I have always loved her. And I never stopped praying for her. I believe you, Mr. Anderson, are the one to finally bring my baby home.”

  JT cleared his throat. His tender heart must have flooded with compassion. Willow wanted to reach through the screen and comfort him. He got up and fiddled with the GoPro, his anguished face filling the screen. He understood the pain of losing a child. His daughter, Willow’s mother, had been killed in a car accident along with Willow’s father.

  Mind racing, Willow shut the video off.

  Less than three months to live. “When was this interview?”

  “A month ago.”

  Mrs. Mason had less than two months to live then, if her prognosis was accurate.

  But a baby stolen twenty-one years ago? How had JT thought he could help? He’d never done this kind of project, especially one with such a short deadline. Still, Mrs. Mason’s desperate plea for help must have compelled him to take action. Willow understood why he hadn’t been able to say no. She had to think, so she got up and paced the room.

  “You should finish this one. Find that woman’s daughter.” Dana’s voice broke the silence. “It would keep your mind off losing him.”

  “Mrs. Mason believed JT was the one to finally bring home her baby girl. That’s what she said. JT was the one with the skills—the genius behind solving impossible mysteries.”

  “You’re every bit as brilliant.” Dana sighed. “Look, he’s been training you since you were just a kid. Since your parents died. You know he meant for you to take over.”

  “Maybe so, but I don’t have his knack for uncovering clues. Knowing which ones to follow.”

  Dana vehemently shook her head. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

  She flipped through the manila file folder she’d retrieved from the desk drawer. Something flickered in her eyes. What was it? Worry? Frustration?

  “Okay, what aren’t you telling me?” Willow asked.

  A smile quickly replaced the frown on Dana’s face. “No clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Right. I know you well enough to see something else is on your mind.” Willow tried to snatch the file away, but Dana was quicker and held it close.

  “Now I’m sure you’re hiding something.”

  The woman buried the file back in the desk drawer already crammed with folders, then riffled through the same stack of mail Willow had been through minutes ago. “I can take care of these for you. You didn’t have to come in tonight.”

  Willow crossed her arms. “You can’t put me off forever.”

  “Okay, okay.” Dana rolled her head back and groaned. “Before he died, JT called Austin McKade to ask for his help on the Mason case.”

  Willow’s stomach coiled. She pressed her hand against her midsection. She’d had a hard enough time getting over Austin without having to see him again.

  “He did? But . . . why?” Did Austin even know about JT’s death?

  “It’s an FBI cold case. JT had hoped Austin could get information so he wouldn’t have to reinvent the wheel, so to speak.”

  Willow sank into a chair. “That makes sense. Total sense.”

  But she wouldn’t put it past JT to have wanted to use the Mason case to his advantage.

  This case might have been the excuse he’d needed to call Austin when he had other motives. He had an uncanny ability to convince people to go along with his wishes or what he believed was best for them. He had believed that Willow and Austin should be together. He just wouldn’t let go of it. But JT couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Willow and Austin McKade had already crashed and burned, and those ashes would never be resurrected.

  Chapter two

  MONDAY, 9:12 P.M.

  DENVER, COLORADO

  Austin McKade waited next to his gate in the terminal at Denver International Airport. Outside the window that overlooked the runways and grounded jets, lightning flashed and rain pummeled the asphalt. The storm had delayed his flight to Seattle. All he wanted to do was get home and into his bed. He couldn’t wait for that moment when his head hit the pillow.

  He slumped into one of the uncomfortable seats and dropped his carry-on next to him. The last few days had drained him.

  Nothing like walking in on law enforcement processing a crime scene and seeing your client murdered on the floor. Well, technically, Michael Croft had no longer been a client. He’d fired Austin two days earlier. Michael had believed he was safe after they’d returned from a trip abroad. Who was Austin to tell him otherwise?

  Except Austin had gone back to do just that. He had gone to see Michael one last time to explain that the danger wasn’t over yet. But he had been too late.

  Austin had informed the authorities of his position working with Michael and would likely be contacted to answer additional questions. Though Austin was no longer an FBI agent, he worked with a group of ex-agents termed independent special agents. A laugh escaped.

  A man in a suit across from him glanced up at him, then back to his iPad.

  Independent special agent. Right. Austin still had all the necessary skills to conduct an investigation, but he couldn’t arrest anyone. He was nothing more than a private investigator with the skills and credentials to work as a bodyguard if allowed to do his job. Michael Croft had been safe while Austin had protected him. So why did guilt leave a sick feeling in the pit of Austin’s stomach? He sent up a prayer that the authorities would catch the thugs who killed Michael.

  Austin pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his messages. When he read the email from his assistant, Emma, he frowned. Austin called her. “Hey, Emma, why the cryptic message?”

  “I left you a message to call me. What’s cryptic about that?”

  “Details. I want details.” Austin stood and moved to the window, wishing the storm would subside. In the meantime, at least the lightning flashing in the clouds put on a show for those waiting.

  “Okay, giving you the details now. Your brother called.”

  What? His brother? “Which one?”

  “You have more than one? You never said.”

  No, he hadn’t. Wasn’t like he shared a lot of personal information with Emma. Maybe he should have. “It doesn’t matter. So who called?”

  “Heath. Does that ring a bell?”

  Sarcasm? To be fair, he probably deserved it. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Yes. Your cell number.”

  Palms moist, he gripped his phone. “He didn’t say why?”

  “Nope. He didn’t give any details either. I assumed it was okay to share your cell with him. Ki
nd of strange he didn’t already have it since he’s your brother.”

  Okay, Emma, you’re stepping over the line. Austin reeled in his retort. Emma cared about people, a positive trait he valued. Besides, he liked her spunky personality. He appreciated that she fielded his calls—a refreshing personal touch in this digital age—and assisted with the massive paperwork and research side of this business while he worked in the field with clients, even when a client like Michael Croft took all his time. But he really didn’t feel like sharing his tumultuous personal life with her. She might want to offer her version of therapy. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought he needed help.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. He wanted me to pass on a message. He wants you to call him. Also, Dana Cooper called to let you know since JT Anderson has died, your services will no longer be needed.”

  Austin pressed his hand against the glass and leaned into it. That sick feeling in his stomach progressed to full-on nausea.

  “Is that it?” He’d heard about JT’s death. The accident had happened while he was out of the country with Michael.

  “Yes,” Emma said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll talk to you soon.” Over and out.

  A guy could only take so much in one day. He would call Heath back tomorrow. Michael’s death, so sudden and brutal, cracked the Kevlar shell he’d put in place. He’d thought about calling his brothers—Heath and Liam. People could leave this earth suddenly. It shouldn’t be so hard to make a simple phone call. So what if they’d had a rough childhood. They’d been close growing up, battling their demons together.

  Their father had been the one to nearly destroy them all.

  Austin hadn’t spoken to his brothers since Dad had gotten himself killed four years ago. Since the funeral. Or maybe he had that backward. His brothers hadn’t spoken to him. Austin was the reason Dad was dead, after all. Not something he should think about tonight, at this moment. He was an expert at compartmentalizing.

  Tomorrow, he’d think about Heath.

  Tonight, while he waited for his flight to Seattle, he’d think about JT.

  He still couldn’t accept that JT was gone. His death was a great loss to so many people, including Austin, though he hadn’t seen the man since Austin and Willow had parted ways two years ago. That JT had called Austin, wanting to involve him in a project, had surprised him. What had Willow thought about that? Or had she even known? Austin hadn’t exactly had a chance to appropriately respond to JT’s request other than to let him know he would talk to his FBI contacts. First he would have to find out the details, but JT had died before he’d gotten the opportunity.

  And Willow. What was she going to do without her grandfather? At the very least, he wanted to offer his condolences for her loss. But he figured she didn’t want to hear from him. Anything less than a personal visit seemed completely inadequate. What should he do? He rubbed the back of his neck, then flinched when lightning flashed brilliant and blinding.

  His pounding heart slowly calmed. He knew what to do, then, and hoped his appearance wouldn’t upset Willow, because he had every intention of offering his condolences in person.

  Chapter three

  MONDAY, 10:07 P.M.

  SEATTLE SUBURB, WASHINGTON

  Willow would take tonight to think about Mrs. Mason’s case. The woman didn’t have much time left. But seeing JT on the video had left Willow unsettled. She and Dana had locked up the office and headed to their respective homes. Willow clomped up the steps and onto the porch of the cottage-style house she’d shared with JT. Somehow she would have to move on. Life wouldn’t come to a stop for her to catch her breath or give her another choice, except to go forward.

  At the dark walnut door, she slipped the key into the hole. The door creaked open with barely a touch. Had she been in such a hurry she hadn’t even secured the lock? Entering the foyer, she flipped on the Tiffany lamp that illuminated the portrait-lined hallway and dining area to her left.

  She set the file folder containing her grandfather’s notes on the dining room table, unsure if she had the ability to read through his messy scrawl regarding Mrs. Mason’s impossible-to-solve case.

  Something shifted at the edge of her vision. A shadowy silhouette. She strode to the window and glanced out. Probably a neighbor walking the dog before the clouds released their payload.

  Exhaustion crept into her bones. She headed upstairs to her bedroom. She would attempt to read through the notes tomorrow before she made the final decision to dash Mrs. Mason’s hopes. Despite Dana’s encouragement to the contrary, Willow couldn’t do the impossible. Not like her grandfather.

  She hardly had the clarity of mind or heart to take on the case. Even the FBI hadn’t been able to locate the child back when the evidence remained fresh. Her grandfather possibly would have succeeded in finding the abducted baby—now a young woman—had he lived.

  With fatigue from the last two weeks finally taking its toll, she fell into bed, leaving her window open so the night sounds could lull her to sleep.

  TUESDAY, 2:36 A.M.

  Willow coughed and wheezed in a state of half consciousness until she finally woke up to an overpowering stench. Thick black smoke accosted her in the four-poster bed. Her throat grew raw, her eyes burned. The smoke alarm blared. How long had it been going off? Why hadn’t she heard it earlier? Flames licked the bedroom around her.

  And panic stole the last of her breath.

  Her limbs froze.

  Please help me, Lord!

  Willing herself to move, she rolled out of bed and onto the floor, jamming her shoulder. She ignored the pain and sucked in a breath. The air grew hotter with each second. She was moments away from being overcome by either noxious gas or explosive flames.

  How would she get out of this alive?

  She glanced at bright-gold fingers dancing wildly at the window, engulfing the curtains. Could she do it? Could she push through the blazing curtains and out the second-story window? Screams erupted from her throat.

  Is this a dream? A nightmare?

  Except she knew it wasn’t. She wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.

  Willow crawled to the end of the bed.

  There were only two ways out. The door? Or the window? Neither looked promising.

  “Help me!” Her shouts brought on another fit of coughing and she collapsed.

  Paint bubbled on the walls. Black smoke billowed and spilled out the door and window. The stairwell creaked.

  As if conjured by the sheer force of her will to live, a bulky silhouette appeared in the doorway, wearing a face mask and breathing apparatus. He marched through the flames while water dripped from the ceiling and burst through the bedroom window.

  He snatched a blanket from the bed, covered her, and then lifted her into his arms. She braced herself to be dropped out the window and caught by firemen below. Instead, he trudged through the torrid heat toward the stairs.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed they would make it out alive. Then she opened her eyes and tugged aside the corner of the blanket. She had to witness what the inferno looked like before it destroyed everything. Portraits and mementos of her travels and adventures with JT crumbled and fell from the mantel as they passed the living room. She was losing her precious memories on the heels of his death.

  A crash resounded behind them and the fireman picked up his speed, lunging through the front door. She thought he would tumble forward and slam with her against the ground, but he found his footing and kept on running. Cheers erupted around her.

  Voices spoke to her as the EMTs appeared in her line of sight, gripping her, lifting her to a gurney. Someone placed a mask over her face, allowing her to breathe pure oxygen and clear the noxious smoke from her lungs more quickly. The hiss of water conquering the flames brought no comfort. The fire had consumed the house.

  A female paramedic appeared at her side. “You’re going to be all right.”

  Shaking her head, Willow pushed
up on her elbows and tugged the mask out of the way. Her throat raw, she struggled to speak. “No, I’m not. I’ve lost everything.”

  “Not everything.” The dying flames glinted off the woman’s shoulders. “You still have your life. That’s all that really matters. But we need to get you to the hospital now for treatment.”

  Treatment. What was wrong with her? Had she been burned? Exhaustion and grief overwhelmed her, and she rested back on the gurney.

  Nearby, two firemen spoke in quiet tones, and she heard their words just before the EMTs closed the ambulance doors. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Maybe. Are you thinking there’s no way this was an accident?”

  “Yeah. The way that fire took over so fast.”

  Chapter four

  TUESDAY, 4:19 A.M.

  AIRSPACE OVER WASHINGTON

  SEA-TAC APPROACH

  Austin sensed when the Boeing 737 began its descent on the red-eye from Denver. Delayed flights were the nature of the travel beast. He should be accustomed to it by now and shouldn’t complain about the hours he’d waited for the flight to Seattle. Why today of all days? He really wanted to grumble, but nobody wanted to listen.

  Still, he was almost home. Spread out, maybe thirty souls occupied the dark, stuffy cabin, most of them sleeping. The fuselage creaked and shook with the expected turbulence upon descent into cloud cover over Puget Sound. Pressure in his sinuses built up. Awakened from her slumber, the woman in the aisle seat across from him gasped and squeezed the armrests.

  As a former fighter pilot, he shouldn’t be bothered by a little turbulence, but back then, he’d been the one in control. Even after logging too many miles as a passenger on commercial flights, he still hated the takeoffs and landings, the most dangerous parts of any flight. The hazards were relative since, statistically speaking, flying was the safest mode of travel.

  Still, the ascent demanded the most from the plane, and landing demanded the most from the pilot. Like the woman across the aisle, Austin gripped the armrests, only he didn’t cling to them as if they could save his life. Pressing his head against the seat back, he closed his eyes, willing away his own private terror as memories hounded him from his crash in a foreign desert.