Stolen Lives : The Lives Trilogy Book 1 by Joseph Lewis Read Free Book Online

and left.
    The dark man stared out the window.  He watched Frank as he drove around the circular drive and down the mile long, tree-lined driveway.  He continued watching long after Frank had disappeared, then stubbed out his cigar and sat down behind the desk.  He took out his cell and punched in the numbers.
    “Yes?”
    “I have a job for you . . .”
                 

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Pete was restless, waiting for word—any word—on the three men who killed Tyler Hart in the desert and the other kids across the country.  The descriptions of the men given by George Tokay and drawn up by a police artist were circulated to law enforcement agencies in California, Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado.  Nothing so far, but it was early. 
    The license plates drew a dead-end.  The plates on the van had been stolen from a driveway in Scottsdale and had been substituted by ones stolen from a parking garage in Phoenix, which had been substituted by ones stolen from a parking lot in Flagstaff.  Unfortunately, that was where the dead-end occurred, because the owner, Ralph Owens, knew his plates were stolen because none had been substituted for them.  They were just taken.
    In retrospect, it wasn’t a real dead-end, because the trail led somewhat northeast, possibly from California.  But who really knew?  And, California was a big motherfucker of a state full of assholes.  At least, that was Pete’s opinion.
    Summer had flown to Cincinnati, Ohio to speak with the parents of Tyler Hart.  She could have had the Cincinnati office handle it, but because she took an active—perhaps, too active interest in the kids’ lives, she felt obligated to deal with the endings, the deaths.
    Pete worried about her involvement, cautioning her about crossing the line of objectivity, but she stated angrily, if not coldly, “They’re kids, for God’s sake!  Parents deserve to hear it from me and not from a suit with a canned speech.”
    Pete felt equal parts of pity and admiration for her sense of duty, maybe a little guilt because he couldn’t bring himself to face the parents.
    “Chet, you have anything yet?” Pete asked.
    Chet blinked at him, rubbed his eyes, shrugged and shook his head.
    “What’s taking so long?” Pete yelled in frustration, shoving his chair back into the wall behind him with a crash.  “It shouldn’t be this hard.  We have faces, heights, weights and shoe sizes for chrissake.  Even some sort of goddamn mole or scar on one guy’s face, covered with a beard.  We have one fat fuck, one baseball player-type, and one guy wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.  Isn’t there some sort of data bank of known perverts we can get into?”
    “I’m doing that, but it takes time,” Chet answered through clenched teeth.
    “We haven’t got time, Chet, because these guys are already planning another kidnapping and maybe already stole a kid off some street.  We’ve got to work faster, Chet.”
    “I’m working as fast as I can!”
    Pete rubbed his hand over his flattop and sighed.
    “I know, I know,” Pete said sadly.  “It’s just so frustrating to be this close.”
    “We’ll get ‘em, Pete.  I promise you that,” Chet said as he turned back to his computer, stabbing at the keyboard.
    Pete slapped the younger agent on the back, got up and left the bullpen head down and deep in thought and walked into another agent carrying a stack of papers, sending them to the floor in a jumbled mess.
    “Jesus!  Watch where you’re going!” the agent yelled.
    But Pete was already down the hallway and into his office.
    “Jerk!”
     
    *                                          *                                          *
     
    Summer sat on a park bench watching a mother push her daughter on a swing.  The girl laughed and giggled; the mother smiled and laughed along with her.  The happy scene made Summer even