Broken Boys Read online

  “How old is Josh and who has custody?” she asked, thinking she might be able to help this client.

  “He’s fifteen and we have joint custody. Josh lives with his mother but spends weekends and summers with me.”

  The father had equal legal rights. That was important. She wouldn’t risk a possible kidnapping charge without a very compelling reason. “Let’s meet in person to discuss more details, and I’ll consider taking your case.”

  “Thank you. I can see you this afternoon.”

  “Are you aware of my fee?”

  A pause. “I know it’s expensive, but you might as well tell me.”

  “I require ten thousand in cash up front. Please bring it with you this afternoon. If the case has additional expenses, we’ll discuss them as we go along. If I conduct a successful extraction, I get another ten grand. Can you handle that?” She was occasionally willing to negotiate, but only one of her clients had stiffed her on the second payment. She’d also done an extraction practically for free.

  Another slight hesitation. “Yes, I can get the cash today, but I’ll have to liquidate some investments to make the final payment.”

  “You’ll have time.” She might not even be able to find the wilderness camp.

  “Thank you!” Lovejoy sounded relieved.

  “I have a few other conditions.” Rox stood and headed for the fridge, taking the phone with her. “My privacy is critical. You can’t share the location of my office or discuss the details of my services with anyone. If my business is compromised or I’m dragged into court, I’ll be done helping other parents.”

  “I understand.”

  She pulled out a couple of beers. “Meet me at three, and bring photos of Josh. I’ll text you the location and directions.”

  She ended the call and turned to Marty. “Join me on the back deck for a cold one? Maybe some pizza?” She hadn’t had lunch yet.

  “Sure.” He walked over, still scowling.

  She handed him a Rogue Dead Guy Ale, their new favorite microbrew. “What’s your problem?”

  “I’m still mad at you for doing that Idaho extraction without me.” Marty shook his head. “Preppers are always armed to the teeth. Why would you take that risk?” He opened his beer, took a long pull, and headed out to the back deck.

  Rox followed, grateful for the cool breeze. “Once I had the location, I knew it would be easy. The group drinks heavy and sleeps hard.”

  Marty raised a bushy eyebrow. “No guard?”

  “Nope. They’re not true paranoids. Just a bunch of anti-social assholes who use the doomsday bullshit to live outside normal boundaries.”

  “Huh.” Marty gave her one last dirty look. “Don’t do that again. If we’re partners, you have to treat me like one.”

  “That’s fair.” Technically, it was her business, and she only subcontracted with him for help. Or that’s how they’d started. When she was searching for missing people or following cheating spouses, she didn’t need a partner. But so much of her work now involved extractions that she relied on him more than either of them had expected.

  Rox picked up her phone again and ordered a large pepperoni with added sausage on Marty’s half.

  “For MacFarlane, correct?” the clerk asked.

  “Yes, thanks.” They apparently ate pizza more often than she realized. Rox glanced down at her stomach. She hadn’t gained any weight. Being tall had several advantages.

  “What do you think about this new case?” Marty wanted to know.

  “The challenge will be finding the camp. I don’t expect the staff to be armed once we do though.” Unless they worried about wild animals.

  “That will be a nice change of pace.” Marty lifted his glass in a sarcastic toast. He’d been shot during the last extraction he’d helped her with—another reason she’d gone to Idaho without him. That, and the heart disease that was trying to kill him.

  Rox mulled over how they might search for the correction camp, realizing they didn’t have enough information. But they had a meeting with the client scheduled soon. “We’ll probably have to talk to the boy’s mother and see if we can trick or intimidate her into telling us the name of the program.”

  “Good luck with that.” Marty sipped his beer, then ran a critical eye around her back patio. “You need to powerwash those pavers, maybe replace a few.” He got up for a closer look. “I could take care of it for you.”

  Rox laughed. “You gotta stop watching those home-improvement shows. You’re supposed to be retired.” Her stepdad had spent his whole life as a police officer and hadn’t learned how to relax.

  “If you stop moving, you die.” Marty glanced her way. “Are you going to let me meet with the client this time?”

  She almost relented, then stuck to her policy. “No, it’s best to keep you as anonymous as possible.”

  He grunted his disapproval, then pulled out a pocketknife and dropped to his knees. “I’ll scrape this moss while we wait for the pizza.”

  Rox laughed. “Suit yourself.”

  Chapter 4

  Rox parked in the alley behind her office and headed inside, feeling a little sluggish from the warmth of the afternoon combined with a full stomach. The location in the Kerns area, just south of the freeway, was a little sleazy, but she hated to spend money on space she rarely used. She rented the small unmarked building under the name Karina Jones and tried to keep as low a profile as possible. Entering from the back kept her vehicle out of sight as well. The space was divided into two rooms, with the small foyer in front containing only two padded chairs and a table with a large monitor. Her personal area was somewhat larger but still minimalistic with only a desk and basic office equipment. She didn’t spend much time here and needed to be able to clear out in a hurry. The exit door she’d just come in through served the same purpose—in case she ever needed to avoid a client or a police officer.

  When she’d first set up her private investigator business, the idea of breaking the law had been jarring against her cop background. But after reuniting a young girl with a loving family member—and witnessing their joy—she’d gotten over her discomfort with the process. The work she did was essential. It also helped her make peace with her sister’s death… most of the time.

  At her standup desk, Rox activated the system she used to communicate with clients. The monitor in the front room showed only the top part of her body with her face pixilated. The people who hired her typically never saw her face or knew her real name. The camera view on her side displayed most of the foyer, but she could zoom in on a client’s face if she chose to. Only one person had walked out when he saw the setup. Most of her clients were so desperate for help they accepted her conditions.

  Ten minutes later, Isaac Lovejoy knocked on the outer door, then walked into the foyer. A little shorter than her, he had a broad upper body that looked squeezed into his suit jacket. He’d made an effort to dress well for their meeting, and she liked that. Rox pressed the sound button and said, “Isaac Lovejoy?”

  Unfazed, he sat down in front of the monitor with a zipped canvas moneybag on his lap. “Yes. I assume you’re Karina Jones.” Lovejoy glanced around the room, probably looking for the camera.

  “I apologize for the impersonal nature of the meeting, but I have to protect myself. Some of my methods are less than legal, and if things go badly, you can’t be forced to identify me in court if you don’t know what I look like.”

  “That’s smart.” Lovejoy nodded. “What is your success rate?”

  She smiled. He was a numbers guy, and she liked that too. “I’ve done six successful extractions with only one failure. And that’s because I never found the girl. Her pimp ended up in jail though.”

  “You came highly recommended.”

  She didn’t typically respond to flattery—another quirk of her strange brain. “What do you do for a living?” It only mattered if he worked for the government. Her own decade in the CIA was starting to seem like long ago.

  “I
’m head chef and co-owner of the Steelhead Bistro.”

  A restaurant she’d never heard of. Now that her neurons were firing differently, maybe she’d give it a try. She usually stuck with pizza, salads, and Thai food. And PBJs, Marty’s favorite, of course. She googled the restaurant he’d mentioned as she mentally shifted gears. “Tell me about your son’s situation. Start with how you learned he was taken to a wilderness camp.”

  A wave of pain flashed in Lovejoy’s eyes. “I drove to my ex-wife’s house Saturday morning to pick up Josh like I do every weekend. She answered the door but wouldn’t open it. She just announced that Josh would be gone for the summer.”

  “She used the word gone?” Often, the small details were all she had to work with. Gone meant the camp probably wasn’t local.

  “I asked what the hell that meant and she said she’d sent him to a camp where he would learn to behave.” Lovejoy shifted in his chair. “I was so mad that she’d done it without consulting me. After that, the conversation got pretty ugly and she threatened to call the cops.”

  “All of this was through the door?” Rox switched gears again and opened up a background-check website and entered the client’s name.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Is your ex-wife afraid of you?”

  “No. Don’t think that.” Lovejoy shuddered. “We divorced because she cheated on me. I’ve never hurt her. And I didn’t threaten her that morning. But I was on her front porch shouting, and she didn’t want to deal with me.”

  Lovejoy’s report came up on the screen. No arrests, but a restraining order filed by Carrie, his wife. “When did your ex file the complaint?”

  “Right after that confrontation. But her fiancé probably pushed her to do it.” Lovejoy’s jaw tightened. “The damn correctional program was probably his idea too. Carrie and Josh were getting ready to move in with the guy, and he’s a control freak.”

  The ex-wife might simply be covering her own custody violations with legal paperwork. “Can’t you go to court and file a petition to get Josh removed from the camp?”

  The frustrated father closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve consulted a lawyer, but he says it could take months and that a lot of judges actually send kids into the wilderness programs. So I can’t expect to be successful. I sure as hell can’t leave Josh out there all summer.”

  She didn’t blame him. Rox looked at her notes. “Carrie never mentioned the name of the camp?”

  “No.”

  “Where would she learn about the program? From a friend? Someone at work? Her mother?”

  Lovejoy rolled his eyes. “It was probably someone from her fellowship.”

  A bolt of worry shot through her. Religious camps and cults were often the most secretive and therefore the hardest to find. “What church?”

  “I think it’s called Common Community Fellowship, and it’s not really a church. Well, it is, but it’s not that religious. That’s where she met the guy she had the affair with.” Lovejoy pulled a phone from his pocket, searched online, then added, “Yep. That’s the name. There are two branches. Carrie goes to the one on Powellhurst.”

  As much as Rox disliked the idea of attending any kind of service, at least she had a place to start her search. Or maybe she’d ask Marty to go instead. “Tell me about Josh. What’s he like?”

  Lovejoy gave a tight smile. “He’s a good kid, the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back. But he struggles with depression, and his mother doesn’t believe in taking medication for mental health.” The man’s shoulders sank. “So Josh started self-medicating with pot and pills, but lately he seems more distressed than ever. His mother just thinks he’s got an attitude problem.”

  The addiction aspect made her nervous, and Rox had second thoughts about taking the case.

  Her hesitation must have worried Lovejoy because he pleaded, “Please help me. Like I told you on the phone, Josh could be in withdrawal and suicidal.” The client made a small noise in his throat. “They could be beating him daily. I’ve heard those camps can be brutal. And Carrie doesn’t believe in sparing the rod. That was one of the things we fought about.”

  Rox was back on board. Physical and sexual abuse of kids was intolerable. She had no desire to ever be a parent, but she had no sympathy for people who made that choice, then messed it up. “What else can you tell me? Did Carrie ever talk about the wilderness program when you were still together?”

  “No. She started with the Fellowship near the end of our marriage, then met Curtis Fletcher. He’s an asshole.” Lovejoy’s face tightened. “I went to my lawyer about six months ago and asked about getting full custody of Josh, but he wasn’t optimistic about that either.”

  “Did she mention anything about the logistics? Such as driving Josh to the camp? Or putting him on a bus?”

  “No. She just kept shouting at me to do Josh a favor and let him get the help he needed.” A catch in his breath. “I’ve never wanted so badly to hurt someone, but I kept it together.”

  “Would Josh cooperate with his mom if he knew she was taking him to a camp?” Rox was trying to assess the boy’s state of mind and how he might respond to an extraction. Some people came to believe they deserved to be abused or oppressed. A young girl she’d rescued named Mia came to mind.

  “I doubt that. Carrie can’t control him. That’s why she sent him away.” Lovejoy sucked in a breath. “You think she drugged him to get him there?”

  “Maybe. I know it happens.” In the course of her business, she’d learned more than she wanted to about cults and methods of controlling people. And she’d started researching wilderness boot camps right before coming to the office. “Josh was most likely taken by force. If a parent grants temporary guardianship to a transportation service, or even to the program, they can literally kidnap the kid.”

  “Transportation service? What the hell is that?” Lovejoy’s shock was palpable.

  “Just like it sounds. It’s for parents who can’t deal with their kid’s opposition or distress. Or they don’t have time to make the trip, which can be across the country. So they hire professionals to pick up their child and take him or her to a behavior camp or military school or whatever they have in mind.”

  “I can’t believe that’s legal.”

  “Yep. It’s all part of the tough-love industry.” She decided to officially take the case. Josh Lovejoy was young and vulnerable and needed her help. “To be clear. You’d like me to locate the camp, extract your son Josh, and bring him to you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Show me the photo of him, then leave it, please.”

  Lovejoy complied. The boy was dark-haired like his father and shared his wide brown eyes, but his face was thin and unhappy.

  She had sudden doubts about whether she could succeed. “If I can’t find the camp, I’ll refund half your money.” She paused to let him process that.

  He hesitated. “Okay.”

  “But since your ex is the one who knows where Josh is, I have to start with her. Give me Carrie’s phone number and address, then tell me her full name, where she works, and anything else that seems important.”

  Rox mentally repeated the contact numbers as she heard them, and they were instantly embedded in her memory. But she would have to google the street name, not recognizing it. That surprised her. She’d lived in Portland most of her life, except for her stint in the CIA.

  “Carrie Louise Lovejoy, and she works at the Columbia YMCA, mostly front desk stuff.”

  Easy access! “Anything else I should know?”

  “She runs hot and cold and is completely unpredictable.”

  Her least favorite kind of person. “Good to know. I’ll be in touch about my progress as I go along. Try to be available by phone in case I have questions.”

  Lovejoy breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He glanced around. “Where should I leave this money?”

  “On the table is fine. Just lock the door on your way out.”

  He stood
, hesitated, then finally laid down the canvas bag. “Do I get some kind of contract or guarantee?”

  “Nothing on paper. But I can put you in touch with a satisfied client if you’d like.” She rarely had to follow through on that promise—but she could.

  Lovejoy let out a small chuckle. “It’s kind of late now. I should have asked for a reference before I brought the money.” He stepped back. “Work quickly, please. Josh’s life could depend on it.”

  “I will.”

  Lovejoy turned and walked out.

  Rox tapped the camera with the view of the front parking lot to see what her client drove. She also wanted to make sure he had left before she crossed into the foyer to pick up the cash. Lovejoy headed toward a white truck with a camper, not what she’d expected for a chef-business owner. Before her client could climb into his vehicle, a police car pulled into the lot and an officer jumped out, heading straight for Lovejoy.

  What the hell?

  Chapter 5

  Rox watched the officer handcuff Lovejoy, put him in the back of the patrol car, and drive away. Had she made a mistake in taking his case? Her client’s background check had come up clean, and the restaurant’s website listed Lovejoy as the main owner, so he seemed decent on the surface. The arrest could be about anything, but most likely it involved his ex-wife and her restraining order. Had Lovejoy minimized the altercation with his ex-wife? Maybe he’d actually assaulted Carrie—or had a history of violence that wasn’t documented in the system. She couldn’t rescue Josh from the camp just to deliver him to an abuser. More information was needed.

  Rox hurried into the foyer, grabbed the zippered bag, and stuck the cash into the floor safe in her office. She put the smaller photo of Josh into her shoulder bag and slipped out the back door. In her car, she pulled on her headset and called a friend in the Portland Police Bureau. Ernie Bowman had been Marty’s squad partner for his last twelve years on the job, and she’d gotten to know him well over pizza dinners. She counted the rings as she waited for him to answer. Bowman picked up on seven. “Hey, Rox.” A pause. “Is Marty okay?”