Got Your Number

thought she was some kind of celebrity. When the buxom lady at the cotton-candy booth discovered that Angora was titled, she asked her to help judge the Little Miss pageant that was being held on the festival grounds. Angora was ecstatic. Roxann took advantage of the opportunity to break away and make a few phone calls. They agreed to meet back at the van in an hour.
    Roxann first suspected that she was being followed as she passed the Ferris wheel. Call it a hunch, but a set of heavy footsteps behind her were too measured, too purposeful. She stopped to buy a small fountain drink, and the footsteps she'd isolated stopped, too. All her defenses went on alert. She turned quickly and scanned the area over the top of her cup, but saw nothing suspicious. She exhaled in relief—her imagination was getting the better of her.
    The fairgrounds were thick with teenagers and the air smoky from firecrackers. Blinking colored lights on the rides cast a fluorescent glow on the faces of onlookers. Thrilling screams from the roller coaster overhead reached a crescendo, then faded as the machine roared past. The funnel-cake booth was doing a brisk business, emitting sticky-sweet aromas. A child's laugh pierced the air, and Roxann couldn't help but smile. When had she turned into a suspicious, cynical woman?
    She headed toward a group of picnic tables near the exit where the noise level would be low enough to make phone calls. She wanted to check in with her supervisor, and call her father again. And she'd been thinking that even Dreadful Dee deserved to know that Angora was safe. A couple of young rednecks walked by and whistled at her appreciatively. She didn't react, but at the ridiculous lift of her spirits, realized that she'd never, ever been whistled at. In fact, in college she probably would have belted the guys. Age changed a person's viewfinder.
    She selected an empty picnic table, used a napkin to brush off leftover popcorn, and sat down facing the crowd. The winner of the turkey-calling contest was announced, and Billy Conley's mother could pick him up at the Lost and Found tent at her earliest convenience, please. Roxann rummaged in her purse for her cell phone, dreading the call to her father. He would be—
    "Alone at last."
    Her heart froze at the menacing tone. She lifted her head slowly while moving her hand blindly in her purse in search of the pepper spray. The stranger was tall and wiry with thin blond hair that hung to the shoulders of his camouflage jacket. His face was raw-boned and gaunt, his eyes too close together. Frank Cape was not an attractive man.
    "Do I know you?" she asked, stalling.
    "No, but I know you," he said, wrapping his bony hand around her forearm like a vise. "Now don't get any ideas about bringing a weapon out of that purse. You tell me what I want to know, missy, and no one has to get hurt."
    Her wrist and fingers were already numb from the pressure. "I don't know what you're talking about." Her mind raced for an escape route—the bench seat attached to the table made her feel trapped.
    His laugh boomed out, and anyone close to them might have thought they were sharing a friendly chat. "Of course you do—you took Melissa and Renita away from me, and I mean to have them back."
    "I only dropped them off at the airport. I don't know where they are."
    "Liar." His grip tightened. "You'd better start talking. I want an address and a phone number."
    "The police are looking for you—they know you broke into my apartment," she bluffed.
    He scoffed. "Your crummy apartment was torn up when I got there. I figured somebody else got fed up with your meddling."
    She swallowed. "Did you leave the message on my computer?"
    "Do I look like Bill Gates?" Leaning closer, he revealed sharp eyeteeth. "Where are they?"
    "I can't help you."
    "Yes you can," he hissed. "Or the people around you will start dropping like flies."
    The blood drained from her face, leaving her lips cold.
    A lascivious smile made his eyes even smaller. "Maybe I'll just take you with me and make you talk."
    "That won't be necessary," a calm voice sounded behind him.
    Roxann looked up to see Detective Capistrano standing wide-legged, munching a caramel apple. As much as she hated to admit it, she was sort of happy to see the brute.
    "Let her go, Cape."
    "Who are you?"
    He took another bite. "The man who's going to shoot you if you don't let her go."
    Cape let her go. "This ain't none of your concern."
    "You're a suspect in a Biloxi