Girl Taken: A Detective Kaitlyn Carr Mystery Read online

  Girl Taken

  A Detective Kaitlyn Carr Mystery

  Kate Gable

  Byrd Books LLC

  Contents

  Copyright

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  About Kate Gable

  Also by Kate Gable

  About Girl Taken

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22 - Violet

  Chapter 23 - Violet

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27 - Violet

  Chapter 28 - Violet

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

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  Also by Kate Gable

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2021 by Byrd Books, LLC.

  All rights reserved.

  Proofreaders:

  Julie Deaton, Deaton Author Services, https://www.facebook.com/jdproofs/

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  Savanah Cotton, Cotton's Incision Editing, https://www.facebook.com/Cottons-Incision-Editing-512917856115256/

  Cover Design: Kate Gable

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a word of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  About Kate Gable

  Kate Gable loves a good mystery that is full of suspense. She grew up devouring psychological thrillers and crime novels as well as movies, tv shows and true crime.

  Her favorite stories are the ones that are centered on families with lots of secrets and lies as well as many twists and turns. Her novels have elements of psychological suspense, thriller, mystery and romance.

  Kate Gable lives in Southern California with her husband, son, a dog and a cat. She has spent more than twenty years in this area and finds inspiration from its cities, canyons, deserts, and small mountain towns.

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  Also by Kate Gable

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  Girl Missing (Book 1)

  Girl Lost (Book 2)

  Girl Found (Book 3)

  Girl Taken (Book 4)

  Girl Forgotten (Book 5)

  Girl Hidden (FREE Novella)

  About Girl Taken

  Don’t stop looking…

  When her sister’s friend is found dead, Detective Kaitlyn Carr knows that time is running out. Her sister has been missing for weeks and everyone is starting to believe that she’s gone for good. But Kaitlyn refuses to give up.

  While the FBI and the Sheriff’s investigators collect evidence and run tests, Kaitlyn stays busy with another case back in Los Angeles: the disappearance of a missing couple who were trying to sell their half a million dollar boat.

  Their grown sons insist that their parents would have never left without an explanation, but it’s up to Kaitlyn to uncover the truth.

  Is the missing couple keeping secrets of their own or is their life actually in danger?

  Who killed her sister’s friend and will finding her killer lead to answers about Violet’s disappearance?

  Girl Taken is a suspenseful thriller perfect for fans of A. J. Rivers, Mary Stone, Willow Rose, James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, Kendra Elliot, Ella Gray, and Karin Slaughter. It has mystery, angst, a bit of romance and family drama.

  Girl Found is a suspenseful thriller perfect for fans of A. J. Rivers, Mary Stone, Willow Rose, James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, Kendra Elliot, Ella Gray, and Karin Slaughter. It has mystery, angst, a bit of romance and family drama.

  1

  The sun filters through the window as I let myself wake up slowly. There is no frantic smacking of the snooze button on my phone to give myself a few extra minutes of shut-eye. It is Sunday and I have a day off, a rarity nowadays. I am going to spend it in bed doing nothing, absolutely nothing.

  Regretting not closing the blinds last night and knowing full well that I would have probably slept in much longer had I actually bothered to do so, I rub my eyes and I see him staring at me.

  Luke lies on his side with his hand propping up his head.

  "What are you doing?" I mumble, my voice cracking in the back of my parched mouth.

  "Looking at you."

  "Haven't you ever heard of the fact that some people consider it creepy?" I ask.

  He shakes his head. "No. I can't help myself. I love you."

  "I love you, too, but please stop."

  I push the edge of the pillow into his face, but he just moves it away. I take the edge of my sheet and pull it over my face, but he just pulls it down.

  "Listen, I'm a Federal Bureau of Investigation agent and you have to do as I say,” Luke says, his lips curving up into a smile.

  "Yeah, where have I heard that before?" I say, turning around away from him. But he pulls me closer to him. We're naked under the sheet and after a few moments, our legs are intertwined with one another's.

  I'm not fully awake, but I'm not fully asleep either and this has been the tenth day in a row that Luke Gavinson has spent the night with me. But who's counting?

  He kisses me, li
ghtly at first, softly and then more intensely. Our mouths find one another’s and our legs intertwine. Everything feels so right. Perfect, really.

  Afterward, we take a shower together, argue over who is going to use the shampoo first, and Luke offers to make breakfast if I let him go ahead. Wrapping the towel around his lean, muscular body, Luke makes himself at home in my kitchen, something that I am more than happy to let him do. I can barely boil an egg, while he can make elaborate poached salmon and delicious lemongrass salad with strawberries and toasted almonds.

  I take a little bit of extra time in the bathroom, putting on some eyeliner, mascara, a bit of foundation, and an eyebrow tinter. I let my hair air dry and crawl into a loose-fitting button-down shirt and underwear, my go-to look on a hot summer day.

  I live in a small but expensive one-bedroom apartment on Willoughby Avenue in West Hollywood, second floor walk-up with one parking space downstairs. It has a big set of windows that face the elementary school on the corner, allowing the noise and the gaggle of kids to come in through the windows early when school is in session.

  The air conditioning unit in the window hardly works, and my landlord is a cheapskate who lives in the Valley and rarely fixes anything at any of his properties. It took numerous calls last winter to get him to come and fix the heat, and the only reason he finally called me back was that I mentioned that I was a detective with the LAPD.

  Luke doesn't ask me what I want for breakfast. He knows that I'll eat almost anything that's made from veggies, and he likes taking chances with his cuisine. There was a time that he considered becoming a chef, but he doesn't like to work the evening shift and was looking for more steady employment. We actually had a good laugh about the fact that he thought that working for the FBI would give him a better work-life balance.

  With my makeup done, I waltz out of the bathroom and head toward the dining room table right off the small kitchen surrounded by bookcases. Much to my surprise, I don't see my laptop in its usual place on the table, but rather on the counter next to the chopped onions and Luke crowding himself over the screen.

  "What are you doing?" I joke. "Checking my social media? You have nothing to worry about."

  I roll my eyes at the possibility that he might think that I might be cheating on him. If that were the case, then he would be a completely different person than I think he is.

  But he shakes his head no, taking what I said as the joke that it was intended to be.

  "I had to download this report and it wasn't working on my phone. And then I saw…this.”

  I lean over and glance at the screen. He’s reading my novel.

  Our eyes meet. He looks uncertain.

  “You have no right to read that,” I snap.

  "This is really good," Luke says. "The language is just fluid. It's like you're right there.”

  "I appreciate the compliments, but it doesn't undo the breach of trust.” I close the laptop, on top of the tips of his fingers.

  "Look, I know you said that I couldn’t read it, but it was open when I went to get my email. I just started reading and I couldn't stop."

  Still feeling peeved, I cross my arms in front of my chest.

  "You already gave me the first chapter to read."

  "That was edited."

  "I know it's a first draft, but I couldn’t put it down. It’s so captivating. Her brother is missing. I have to find out what happens next.”

  "You're not going to find out the end in the first couple of chapters,” I say, my voice full of disappointment.

  "I know. I know, but..." Luke puts his hands up in a sign of defeat. "Look, I'm sorry. I apologize, really. I shouldn't have read it." He tilts his head to one side and then takes my hand and pulls me close. "Do you forgive me?"

  I hesitate. I'm not really mad. I want him to think that I am, but I'm not. I did give him the prologue and the first chapter to read, and that's because I went through them with a fine-tooth comb, checking for every single mismatched comma and dangling modifier.

  "I guess someone has to read it, right? If I were to ever put it out there."

  "You should. I mean, you have a definitive voice. The story is very easy to follow. It makes it hard to stop reading."

  I shrug, taking a deep breath, uncertain as to where to go from here. I go over to the pan and help myself to a spinach omelet with feta cheese. We sit across from each other at my four-person dining room table from IKEA and eat in silence. Luke brings over a pot of coffee, milk, and sugar, and I help myself to that as well.

  "Look, I'm not really mad.” I finally come clean. "I'm just... I don't know. I guess it's a natural thing or something, but I've never let anyone read my work before so I want it to be perfect. I have been going over it way too much, over-editing, and it is sort of getting crappier with each version."

  "Yeah, I’ve heard of that happening.” Luke nods. "You should stop. Put it away for a while, work on something else."

  "I'm not done with it. I don't have an ending."

  He knows that I've been working on the novel obsessively in all of my time off. There's something about being in Luke's presence that has filled my well, so to speak. It's like I have extra energy.

  We spend a lot of time together, but it's enough just to be in his presence. We can be doing other things.

  Besides, working on this project has helped me make more sense of Violet's disappearance.

  Violet Carr is the elephant in the room. It has been months since my sister has disappeared coming home from a friend's house, and no one knows where she is. Another girl, her friend, has gone missing, too, under similar circumstances, and Luke and the FBI were called in to help find the missing girls, without much success.

  "How much of Violet's story did you include?" Luke asks, finishing the food on his plate and taking a big gulp of coffee.

  "At first, hardly any. But with every additional edit, I just kept putting in more and more details in and at this point, it's just this big, jumbled mess of things that only partly make sense."

  "Look, I know that you're trying to work out what happened to her through fiction, but this story is a different story. You have to think of its own ending."

  "I know. I want to. I want to write more of these books. It was really cathartic and a good experience. It kind of made me make sense of my life a little more. But I can't write an ending. If this character’s brother is found dead, it's like I'm wishing Violet dead as well. And if he's found alive and well and all this time later Violet’s not, I won’t be able to deal with it. I don’t know. It just feels wrong either way," I say.

  "I know." Luke nods and reaches for my hand. Our fingers intertwine and he pulls me closer, giving me a small kiss on my palm.

  My phone rings. I glance at the screen and know immediately it’s the department. It's my day off, and they're only supposed to call me if there's some emergency that no one else can handle.

  I'm tempted to let it go to voice mail, but I know that I can’t. I'm also in need of an escape from this conversation with Luke.

  "Answer it," he says, nudging me gently along.

  It's Captain Medvil. "We've had a couple of calls about a missing couple. Did a welfare check, but nothing seems to check out. Need you to get in touch."

  "Can't someone else do that?" I ask, and there's a short pause on the other end and I realize that I've made a mistake.

  "Everyone's busy, but the family's very concerned. The couple rented an apartment not too far away from you. Should be a quick trip."

  He hangs up, knowing that I don't have much of a choice one way or another.

  2

  I arrive at the four-story apartment building half an hour later. It was built in the 1920s and located in the heart of Hollywood, quite an unlikely place for a soon-to-be retired couple in their early sixties to move to. This is just supposed to be another welfare check, but a nervous young man meets me downstairs, pacing back and forth and smoking one cigarette after another.

  He introduces
himself. “Terry Islington, son of Deacon and Ruth Islington.”

  Terry is in his thirties, dressed in a leather jacket and heavy pants for such a warm day. When he follows me upstairs, we knock on the door and no one answers.

  "I was already up there," he says. "I tried last night and this morning, nothing, and I haven't been able to get in touch with them for three days already."

  I make a note of that in my notebook and double-check the spelling of his name. We head downstairs, and I see the sign on the door for the building manager, who also doesn't answer. I'm not sure what we can do. I make my way downstairs, getting more details from Terry. He has a crew cut, and a nervous kind of energy, where he keeps cracking his knuckles as he talks. And as soon as we step outside, he grabs for a cigarette.