Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) (26 page)

“What happened?!” I asked. She wasn’t crying, and she looked okay.

“He said he was gonna get me!” she said. “I don’t want to play that game!”

“Did he touch you?”

“No.” She shook her head. I didn’t know how to make the sign of the cross, or even what it meant, but my instinct was to do it. My thankfulness was beyond words.

I pulled her into my lap for a cuddle. Tears were in both our eyes. “I’m so sorry, honey. He’s gone now.” I wanted to tell someone to get him, but I wasn’t leaving Sophie. Hopefully security cameras somewhere had captured the boys’ images. Yet it wasn’t like I could report a crime.
Hello, 911? Someone tried to play tag with my daughter at Pizza Arcade! With high-tops on!

“Did he say anything else?” I asked her.

“No. But I called him ugly. His teeth were gold and scary and gross! And he tried to grab me. But I kicked him. Hah!”

“Then what happened?”

“He went away.”

“Good for you. Well, you’re safe now. Let’s get out of this thing.” I was starting to think—and worry—about Jack’s whereabouts.

“I don’t want to leave,” she said.

Maybe she was afraid. “You don’t want to leave the tube...or the party?”

“Both,” she answered. “I want to play.”

I decided the best route was bribery, not arguing.

“Don’t worry. You’re going to get a lot of playtime,” I promised. “We’ll get lots of tokens. But let’s find Grandma first.” And an ugly teen in need of dental work.

Twenty-Five

Sophie was determined to exit via the slide, so I dutifully followed, shocked by the scene at the bottom. Three moms surrounded the kid, encouraging him to explain himself. His friend was nowhere in sight. Meanwhile, the play area was strangely quiet. A male employee blocked the exit, armed with a hand stamp and black light.

“What happened?” one of the moms asked me. “Is your daughter okay?”

Sophie ran to my mom and Jack, who were standing nearby.

“She’s fine. That guy was just chasing her.” I pointed at him. “It was really weird.” I wished I could add,
And I’m being chased by a gang, so I was extra freaked out
, but I didn’t think that would go over well. “What were you
doing
?” I asked him directly. “Bothering a little girl.”

“Is Pizza Arcade,” he said with a Spanish accent, raising his hands in innocence. His teeth were nightmarish. “Is playtime, right?”

“Hey,” said another male employee, who broke into Spanish and gave the teen a hard time.

“Please ask if you can see his ID,” I said to the man. “I’d like his name.” I turned to the kid and held out my hand. “Can we see your ID?”

The employee translated my request.

“No, man,” the teen said. “I leave. No problem.” He looked at me for a long moment. “But she need to watch herself. She don want nobody hurt.” He brushed past everyone and out the door. This had definitely spoiled the party atmosphere.

“I’ll be right back,” I announced.

I saw Mom’s shoulders sag.

I hurried after the guy I was already nicknaming Gold Tooth, sure I wouldn’t catch him, but hoping to see a glimpse of him pulling away. I wanted a license plate number or something concrete.

After being indoors, the sunlight was blinding, and I could barely see. I held my hand over my forehead as my eyes watered in protest. The lot was still full. Logic told me to look for the sports car that had pulled away from my house Friday night. Instinct turned me toward the exit, which was next to a stoplight. There, at the red light, was someone who looked like Gold Tooth, staring out the window of a battered, navy SUV. I was too far away to do anything, but I ran toward it anyway as the light turned green and the SUV pulled off. I couldn’t make out the license plate except that it started with an X.

Lately, I’d been terrified in open spaces, but turning back toward the party, heart pounding and sweaty, I felt like the enemy was moving out of reach, and it was upsetting. I wasn’t scared; I was pissed.

Mom met me in the lobby with the kids. It was comforting to see them holding hands.

“Nicki!” Mom said. I braced for a reprimand. “You’re going to be so proud of me!”

Huh?
“Why?” I asked.

She held up her cell phone. “I got a picture.” Gold Tooth was proclaiming his innocence, hands in the air.

“You don’t know how to do that!” I said.

“Well, that didn’t stop me. And Megan’s mom got video. I told her to. She’s emailing it to you. We’ll text this picture to your phone.”

“Mom, I’m beyond proud of you. And when did you even learn to text?”

“Megan’s mom is teaching me. I get the concept, but I don’t know how to do it yet.”

Pretty much how I felt about a lot of things.

After the adrenaline drained from my system, I thanked Megan’s mom and the restaurant staff, and Mom insisted I report what had happened to the necessary people. I couldn’t imagine leaving Sophie and Jack for a moment, but I knew what I had to do.

“Can I spend the night at your place tonight, Mom?” I asked while we stood near the exit. “I don’t want to be away from the kids all night.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked in a low voice. “What if someone follows you or something?”

She was right, and it hurt so much I got teary. Someone could even follow her from here. The tears came faster. I covered my face with a nearby napkin and pretended to blow my nose, hoping the kids wouldn’t see I was crying. How could I keep them safe?

“You know what? Let’s all meet at a hotel tonight and collect ourselves,” Mom said brightly. “That would be fun.”

I let the idea sink in. If we stayed at a high rise and were careful with our room numbers, it was doubtful anyone would follow us by elevator. And I could sleep with the kids by my side.

They showed their approval by jumping up and down and yelling, “Yay! A hotel!”

“That’s a pretty good idea,” I said.

“Then I’ll make arrangements,” Mom offered.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll do it.” My brain was already working on how to keep us incognito. Pay cash. Use an assumed name. I wasn’t taking any chances. Plus, I wouldn’t feel right about Mom paying. “Do you have a hotel preference?” I asked her.

She didn’t, but her tastes, I knew, could afford to be nicer than mine. I’d have to find somewhere upscale enough to have security and big enough to hide in.

We stayed at Pizza Arcade long enough for Sophie to fulfill her dream of spending $20 worth of tickets on a lollipop she’d been eyeing. Instead of taking the kids to camp, Mom left straight for her condo, where she could personally keep an eye on them. I notified the camp and agreed to check in with Mom when I’d made a reservation. I also called Sgt. Dwyer with a full update. He said he’d make a special trip to Pizza Arcade and see if they had footage to add to my picture and video.

I was dying to text April the picture of Gold Tooth to see if he looked familiar, but I felt like it should stay in my possession. So I drove to her house after making sure she was home.

“Do you know this guy?” I asked when she answered the door. I handed her my cell phone and wished it had a bigger display.

“I totally know him. That’s GT.”

“GT?”

“Yeah. Short for Gold Teeth.”

“Makes sense,” I said. I’d been close.

“Where’d you get this?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you, but I need to know what you know about him first.”

“Well, he’s high up in a gang,” April said. “It’s called Los Reyes.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Totally. Everyone knows him. Look at the burn mark on his shoulder if you don’t believe me.”

I saw three dark circles on his shoulder. “That’s their thing?” I asked.

“Uh huh.”

“They’re rivals with Marcus’s gang, C-16, right?”

“Right. That’s who was fighting when Marcus got shot. So where did you get this picture?”

I told her the basics.

“That’s crazy. Pizza Arcade?”

“Crazy,” I agreed, shaking my head.

Would one gang kidnap another gang member’s pregnant girlfriend? That’s what I was wondering when I called George from the car to update him on the latest development, hoping I wasn’t already driving him nuts.

“There is no such thing as too much information, Nicki,” he assured me. “In fact, if you don’t think something’s likely to be important, tell me about it anyway,” he said. “We don’t want to overlook anything.”

“How often do you check your email?” I asked. “Because I can email information instead of calling.”

“I check it constantly.” He recited the address I’d seen on his card.

He had one investigator heading to West Virginia soon, he explained, and another would watch Marcus’s house—and hopefully Marcus himself—by the next morning. My job, he said, would be to stay safe.

“You need to lie low,” he said.

“That’s hard to do. But now that you’re helping, I can relax a little.”

We promised to keep in touch.

I checked my email to see if Megan’s mom had sent me the video. She had, so I forwarded it to Dwyer and George without even seeing it. Downloading or watching it was impossible on my old cell phone. Belatedly, I realized I was probably in it—coming down the slide flat on my back, awkwardly slipping off the end, obviously not looking my best. I hoped George didn’t lose respect. Or forward it to Dean.

Instead of driving all the way home, I parked a street away to see if anything looked suspicious. I was totally uncomfortable with guns and worried that if I owned one, it might be used against me, but the PI Academy was having an effect on me. Lots of PIs, especially if they were retired law enforcement, had concealed weapons permits. There was constant talk about firearms courses and firing range practice. Right now, the thought of “carrying” was scary, but tempting. The image of Marcus’s gun flashed through my mind. What were the logistics of being an armed gang member? How did you learn to shoot? Did you practice anywhere? Or was your first shot always at a victim? Thinking about it made me want to get rid of guns, not buy one. It was so confusing.

I chose a parking spot where I didn’t know anyone living in the surrounding houses. I didn’t feel like explaining my actions to anyone. I turned on the baby monitor and listened in silence, hearing nothing but the sound of a neighborhood dog barking.

After about five minutes of that, I tucked the monitor into my purse and got out.
You’re fine,
I assured myself.
It’s broad daylight. Nothing’s going to happen.

I hustled down the street with sunglasses on, peering behind me and hoping I didn’t look as paranoid as I felt. A familiar car approached from the opposite direction, not Dean’s Aston Martin or the Mustang seared in my memory, but Marcus’s mom’s car, and it slowed in front of my house. I couldn’t stop in my tracks, and I didn’t think I should turn around and miss what was going on.

Should I hide behind a tree?
I wondered. I looked around, knowing there wasn’t a public bench nearby, but hoping for one anyway. So I kept moving forward—very, very slowly—stopping once to pretend something was stuck in my sandal. The car revved forward. I’d been spotted.

It idled parallel to me, and I could see Marcus with one hand on the wheel. I stepped back from the curb, ready to roll down a nearby hill if threatened. He put down his window and let a tattooed arm hang out.

“Hey, Miss,” he called.

“Yes?” I said. I wasn’t ready to show recognition.

“You know me, right?”

“What’s your name?” I stalled. I did a furtive look around to see if potential help was anywhere close. Nope.

“Marcus,” he said. “Come on. I been looking for you.”

How did you find me?
I wanted to know. I asked something more critical instead: “Why?”

“Somethin’s going on you should know. You helped me. I’m payin’ you back. Get in.”

“I can’t,” I said. “Just tell me here please.”

He glanced at an oncoming car behind him. “It ain’t safe. Come on.”

I shook my head. “Pull over and park.”

Where could we talk that was out of sight but safe? I saw wrought iron chairs on someone’s lawn. The driveway was empty. Maybe the owners wouldn’t notice, and if they did, I’d be glad someone was around. I could tell them I was exercising and got too hot. Come to think of it, I was feeling woozy at the thought of talking to Marcus.

“I’ll meet you over at those black chairs,” I told him, pointing. “In that yard.”

Confusion crossed his face, but he nodded his okay.

While walking quickly, I surreptitiously called Kenna and left a fast-talking message. “If anything happens to me,” I said, “I want you to know I’m meeting with Marcus in our neighborhood.” I glanced up at the house number and relayed the address. “We’re gonna talk on the lawn with iron chairs,” I said. “I was on a walk when he pulled up. Maybe he wants to talk about the shooting,” I said. “I think it’ll be okay.”

I clicked off as Marcus approached. Instantly I regretted it. I should have let her voicemail record our conversation.

“Looks like you’re healing well,” I said. “I’m so glad. But why are you here?”

“Stop playin’,” he said. “You know people are after you, right?”

“If you say so. Why? Can you help me?”

“I dunno. I gotta try. At least warn you. You had my back. Now people want you dead ’cuz of it. That’s not right.”

Dead?
I knew they wanted me
scared
. But
dead
?

“So is it Los Reyes that’s after me? Because I saw you get shot?”

He nodded.

“Some guy named GT?”

“Could be.”

I took in his appearance—blue basketball shorts, white T-shirt, backward cap hiding his fresh scar.
Thanks for the warning
, I thought.
Better late than never.
“I appreciate your concern. But I don’t know what you can do. People think I know who shot you, but I really, really don’t. I wish I did, but you probably know a lot more than I do.”

“I’m workin’ on it.”

“With the police?”

He laughed under his breath. I couldn’t blame him. The guy was armed and dealt drugs. He didn’t keep the police on speed dial.

“Marcus,” I said, trying a different tactic. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He cocked his head and squinted at me. “You live a dangerous life,” I continued. “Don’t you ever want out?”

“Lady,” he said, shaking his head, “That’s an effed up question. You’re askin’ if I wanna leave my family. People who take care of me.” He stood up. “I gotta go.”

“Wait. Don’t go.” I held out a hand and motioned for him to sit again. “Hold on,” I said. “Please. I’m sorry. Let me hear you out. How did you want to help me?” He put a hand on his hip.

“I’m just warning you, this is serious shit, and you better stay outta the way. That’s about it.” He turned and started walking toward his car.

“Do you think anyone would actually kill me over this?” I called.

He turned back. “You wanna find out?”

Maybe I was starting to fall for Marcus’s charm, but I thought he was trying to do the right thing. Either he had a sense of justice or another motive I couldn’t identify—I just wasn’t sure which. If he had a conscience, too, maybe Beth was okay.

I desperately wanted to ask about her and gauge his response. It might be my only chance to question him again. But if I scared him, and he was keeping her somewhere, he might hurt her, and he’d certainly steer clear of me. I decided on a positive approach.

“I believe you’re trying to protect me. Honestly. That’s extremely admirable. I hope you’ll let me help you, too.”

“I told you I don’t need help. I’m good.”

“Well, I heard a rumor your pregnant ex-girlfriend is missing. Maybe kidnapped. Is that true?”

He shifted back and forth on his feet, sniffed, and looked away. Sweat glistened on his forehead. He wiped more from his upper lip.

“You heard that, huh?”

“I was asking about you, and it came up a couple times, actually. I guess it’s old news.”

“You know, you better back off. You’re gettin’ in a lotta people’s shit.”

Whoa. I’d hit a nerve. “Okay,” I backpedaled. “I just figured you’d be worried about her and especially the baby.”

“No shit. But it’s not your fucking business.” He pointed at me. “Stay. The fuck. Out of it.”

Oh my gosh. He was convincing.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to help you, Marcus, like you did me. I see you have a good heart. I know you’re mixed up in some stuff. But you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have good intentions.”

“You’re the one in trouble,” he warned again. “Good luck.”