Free The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) by William Casey Moreton Page A

he said, struggling to not let them pull away.  
    Who were they? What did they want? How might they be connected to Tatum’s disappearance, if at all?
    He was losing them. The Land Cruiser simply didn’t have that kind of muscle under the hood. He eased off the gas and eased onto the side of the road, watching the Mercedes vanish into the heat shimmer in the distance. Then he called Webb from his cell phone and woke him up.
    “I’ve got a plate number for you,” he said. “Get back to me ASAP.

    * * *
    The disappearance of a celebrity kid always created chaos. The LAPD had already fielded hundreds of crank calls, including death threats and ransom demands. The problem was every single one had to be taken serious until vetted, and this chewed up precious police resources that could have served more effectively elsewhere. It was a waste of time and manpower. The more the story was featured in the media, the more exposure it got and the more the crazies came out of the woodwork looking for attention. It was an exhausting process.
    Webb was smart enough to ignore the great bulk of anything the LAPD passed on to him. He was skilled at seeing through the rubbish. He was very good at his job, and hadn’t gotten good by chasing every rabbit that ran out in front of him. Part of the science of his job was to be patient, insightful, discerning, highly skeptical, and always pay very close attention to the tiny voice in the back of his head.  
    Webb was at the office with his third cup of coffee, combing through e-mails as he listened to the speakerphone on his desk. A friend across town was running a trace on the plate number Archer had given him. His office door was open and he could see Rosemary seated at her desk. She was wearing a skirt and was showing plenty of leg today. She had amazing legs. Webb took a sip of coffee and enjoyed the view in his peripheral vision.
    “Is it going to be any time today ?” Webb asked.
    “Not with that attitude,” Jerry Ving said over the speakerphone. “Maybe I can take care of this some time after lunch.”
    “It’s not even nine AM, Jerry,” Webb said.
    “Precisely my point,” Ving replied with a hint of a northern accent.
    Archer had described the encounter with the Mercedes near Smith’s house. Webb was both concerned and curious. Archer had clearly been stalked, and not by run of the mill crazies. The two men he described seemed to have been well financed and well trained. The encounter reinforced Webb’s suspicion that Tatum Cloud had indeed been abducted. He expected an authentic ransom demand to roll in at any time.
    “I’m not getting much back on this one,” Ving said. “There’s an address for Salt Lake City, Utah, and that’s about it.”
    “What about a name?”
    “Nope. The registration doesn’t list anything other than what appears to be a business address.”
    “Give me the address,” Webb said.
    Ving read it from his computer screen and Webb ran a Google search of it. He clicked the mouse several times to zoom in closer. The address was located at the outskirts of the city at the edge of the mountains. It was not near any major highway. It was big—a long, wide rectangle.
    “What is that place?” Webb asked.
    “Got me,” Jerry Ving said.
    “Looks like a warehouse or something.”
    “What do you see?”
    “Looks like a big flat-roofed building. I’d guess close to a million square feet.”
    Ving whistled through his teeth.
    There was a paved expanse on all four sides, and there appeared to be freight trucks parked in neat rows in front and back.
    “Is there a company name attached?” Webb asked.
    “Negative.”
    “Keep looking. I’ll call back later.”
    Webb called Archer to deliver the news.
    “Keep digging,” Archer said.  

FOURTEEN

    It was morning prayer time, and Alexander had read scripture with Tatum before giving her some private time alone with God. He closed the door and went to the kitchen to oversee the preparation of her