Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) (12 page)

T
hey shared a dessert and dawdled over coffee, both of them seemingly reluctant to see the evening end. Eventually, though, they left the warmth of the restaurant and stepped outside into a night so bitter that Georgia’s nose and throat felt peppery when she breathed. Jimmy walked her to her car.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “This was really nice.”

Jimmy leaned over, cupped her cheeks in his hands, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Yes. It was.”

She opened the door and slid into her car. He held up his hand and waited until she’d reversed out of the parking lot and turned onto Skokie Highway. As she cruised south on Frontage Road, she smiled. Jimmy
got
her. She was pretty sure she got him, too. It was the first time in—well—a long time. She blasted the heat, turned on the oldies radio station, and started singing along with the Four Tops. She hadn’t done that in a long time.

It wasn’t until she was on the Edens heading south that she noticed the headlights in her rearview were a little too close. How long had they been there? She snapped off the radio and accelerated. The vehicle behind her did too. She slowed down and shifted lanes. So did the headlights. She was being tailed.

It was a clear night, a half-moon bathing everything in silver. Back in the middle lane she peered into the rearview again, trying to make out the vehicle, but the headlights were blinding. They rode high, though, so she suspected it was an SUV or van. The fatal drive-by in Evanston a few weeks earlier had involved an SUV. She pulled out her cell and her baby Glock and laid them both on the passenger seat.

It wasn’t until they were south of Willow that the tail made his move. The car sped up and pulled into the left lane as if to pass her. It
was
an SUV. But she knew the trick. The driver was trying to come abreast of her. She pulled into the far right lane, narrowly avoiding a collision with a truck, whose driver blasted his horn. She let the truck pass and settled in close behind, hoping it would move into the middle lane and block her from the SUV. Unfortunately the truck flashed its turn signal and exited on Dempster. Georgia followed suit, still hoping to use it for cover. The SUV careened up the exit behind them. But the truck suddenly slowed and pulled into a gas station just beyond the cloverleaf. Georgia didn’t have enough time to turn and follow the truck. She was in the open. Despite the cold night, droplets of sweat trickled down the back of her neck.

She flew east on Dempster. Although it was heavily traveled, there were only two lanes in each direction. There wasn’t much traffic, and no snow, so Georgia tried to serpentine between the lanes, but the SUV mirrored her. Her only advantage was that the road was well lit, and in the glow of the streetlights she thought she could see two figures inside.

She had to lose them.

She was planning her next move when the SUV suddenly appeared on the shoulder to her right. She stiffened. The rear window rolled down, and the barrel of a long gun emerged. She floored her Toyota, unable to tell whether it was a shotgun or assault rifle. But Toyotas weren’t great on acceleration, and a second later she saw the flash of a muzzle and heard a cannon-like blast. Her car veered wildly and fishtailed into the oncoming lane, which, thankfully, was free of traffic. At the same time she realized she hadn’t been hit. But her tire was. The SUV peeled off at the next corner and headed south. She wrestled the Toyota to the shoulder and plowed into a snowbank.

G
eorgia thought about calling the cops, then reconsidered. There was nothing they could do now except file a report, and she didn’t want to spend hours repeating the same thing to a beat cop or surly detective who’d been rousted out of bed. Instead she called AAA and waited for them in a twenty-four-hour coffee shop—she was too flustered, and it was too damn cold to change the tire herself—when her cell chirped. It was probably the mechanic who’d been tapped for the job. They were always late. Without checking the incoming number, she picked up.

“Davis.”

“Saclarides.”

She was momentarily distracted. “Oh, hi.”

“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say what a good time I had tonight.”

She wanted to smile, but it didn’t come. “Me too.” Her voice broke.

“Hey,” Jimmy said. “Is everything okay? You sound…strange.”

She blew out a breath. “Someone just shot out my rear tire.”

“What?”

“It sounded like a shotgun.”

“Where are you?”

“On Dempster. East of Lincoln. The car’s on the shoulder. I’m in a coffee shop.”

“I’m on my way.”

* * *

An hour later, she was on her way home, Jimmy following in his Accord. He’d insisted on changing the tire himself. She canceled AAA and when she got home, she started a pot of coffee. She joined Jimmy in the living room.

“Thanks again for changing the tire.”

He waved it off. “You didn’t call the cops.” It was a statement.

She explained why.

He shrugged. “Does that mean you have his plate and you’re going rogue?”

She shook her head. “No plate. No ID. All I know is that it was a dark-colored SUV.” She stopped.

He looked over. “What?”

“I told you about the drive-by in Evanston, right? The Russian or Eastern European guy who got popped?”

He nodded.

“The shooter was in a dark SUV.”

The coffeepot dinged. Jimmy rose and headed toward the kitchen.

“I’ll get it,” she said.

“Sit. Just tell me where the cups are. And sugar.”

She did.

He returned a minute later with two steaming mugs. “Someone who takes potshots at your tires is not good. You need to report this.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing. They were directly across from me in the next lane. They had a clear shot at my head, but they shot out the tire instead. Why?”

“You tell me.”

She shrugged. “No clue.”

“Georgia, for a smart PI, you’re not acting like one.”

“You think it has to do with Savannah?”

“Do things like this happen to you on a regular basis?”

“The drive-by in Evanston happened before I heard about Savannah. And there’s no reason to think the two events are connected. For all I know, this was just some asshole with a gun on a power trip.”

Jimmy shot her a look. “Tell me something. If this happened to one of your clients, what would you tell them?”

“That someone was trying to warn them. Or send them a message. That next time they might not be so lucky. That they needed to protect—”

“Hell, Georgia,” Jimmy cut in. “This was no warning. You don’t shoot out a tire in the middle of the night with snow on the ground and not expect the driver to lose control and get hurt. Or worse. Maybe you should stop what you’re doing. Reassess. Go to Plan B.”

“I can’t. I have a sister I didn’t know I had. She’s in Chicago and she needs me. I have to find her.”

“Not if you’re going to have your head blown off in the process.”

She wanted to tell him the rest, to pour it all out. That she was alone in this world. And that the mere suggestion she had a sibling had triggered a flicker of hope that maybe she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought. That maybe there was
someone
she could call family. That the chance to end the curse of being nobody’s child was so seductive that she couldn’t abandon it. But she kept her mouth shut.

Jimmy leaned toward her, elbows on his knees. “Plus, there’s the fact that I’ve just started to know you, and I want to know you better. A lot better.”

A tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For caring.” She put her coffee cup down, reached out, and stroked his cheek.

He went very still, as if anything he did or said would break the spell.

She dropped her hand. “You know something?” she said softly. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

He broke into a smile. “Neither do I.”

S
avannah thought she was entering the Emerald City. The lights weren’t entirely green, but there were plenty of them, and despite the dark—it had to be after midnight—the city sparkled. Cars glided down streets, bright headlights chased the night away, and a steady hum seemed to pulse through the air. A hazy memory of her childhood kicked in, and she recalled her mother calling Chicago the promised land. Vanna smiled to herself. She’d made the right decision.

The bus entered a tunnel, then lurched to a stop. The sleeping woman beside her, who smelled so vile Vanna had to breathe through her mouth, snorted and blinked awake. Vanna hoped the woman’s body odor wasn’t contagious. As people shuffled off the bus, most of them still sleepy and slow, she grabbed her backpack and climbed down.

Her fellow passengers scattered, some heading through an arch with a sign that led to public transportation. Others, greeted by friends or family, proceeded out to the street. Vanna hadn’t considered what she would do when she arrived; she never thought she’d actually make it to Chicago. But here she was.

She followed some of the passengers out to the street. Huge skyscrapers were illuminated, their lit windows sparkling like stars. A hazy glow suffused the sky, lightening it from black to grayish orange. The Loop, she recalled. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been in big cities before. They’d lived in Tucson, Houston, and Albuquerque, but there was something different about Chicago. She could feel it.

It was late March, and flowers were blooming in Colorado. Here, though, the frigid air had a bite; she was glad she’d “borrowed” her mother’s jacket. She hurried back inside.

The interior of the terminal was as big as a train station, with arcades and shops, now closed, leading off a main hall. The walls were white and spruced up with gaily colored murals; this was not the tiled wall, concrete floor, and shabby ticket booth of the bus depots she knew. The place was well lit, and if you didn’t know what time it was, you couldn’t tell it was the middle of the night. Still, the fluorescent lights gave everyone a slightly green cast. Emerald City—a place where magic dust was dispensed by fairies who never slept. She giggled.

“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” a male voice said behind her.

The giggle died in her throat. Startled, she spun around. A man was checking her out. He had thick dark hair and dark eyes. He wasn’t bad looking and was probably somewhere between thirty and forty. But he was nicely dressed in a white shirt, brown leather jacket, and khakis. Her gaze went to his shoes. Her mother always said to check a stranger’s shoes. If they were in good shape, the person cared about their appearance. His were shiny black loafers that looked almost new. A good sign.

“Well?” he said, a smile on his face. He had the trace of an accent. She couldn’t place it.

Vanna hesitated. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew she wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. But this guy wasn’t the sort of bum who lurked around bus depots looking for a handout or a drink. In fact, she wondered why he was at the bus station at all. He looked like the type who should have been flying. Then again, she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Did all the men in Chicago look like this? If so, this hadn’t just been a good decision—it was a fucking awesome one. And who knew? Maybe he had some blow.

So she gave him that “maybe I’d like to know you better” smile and answered his question. “What’s funny? Nothing. I’m just so fucking glad to be in a real city.”

The man’s grin widened, and he nodded. “I know what you mean. Where are you from?”

“Colorado. What about you?”

“Originally? Poland. Kraków. But I live here a lot of years.”

“Why Chicago?”

He waved his hand. “Look around. You can do anything you want. Get anything you want. Even in the bus terminal.”

“Anything?” She ran her hand up her arm.

He folded his arms. “What do you want?”

She favored him with the smile that made the boys back in Colorado get hard. “What are you offering?”

When he smiled back, she could tell from his expression that she’d roped a winner.

V
anna realized later she never had a chance. Men like Lazlo were vultures waiting to swoop down to snatch their prey. At the time, though, she thought it was luck. She was due for a break. She kept flirting with him, and he flirted right back, making veiled references to a party and the fun they could have. Finally he came in for the kill, although she didn’t know it then. She was only fifteen, for Christ’s sake.

“So what is your name, sweetheart?”

“Vanna.”

“Ha! Like the TV show, eh?”

She grinned. “Don’t I look like her?” She twirled in a circle, letting him get a good look.

“Better.” His gaze turned calculating. “You must be hungry.”

She smiled seductively. “Starving. How did you know?”

He laughed. “Come with me. I buy you food.” His arm went around her shoulder.

She shrugged. “Okay.” Just like that. She was on her way. In a new city. Not hard at all.

They left the bus station and started walking toward the skyscrapers. Despite the frigid air and dark sky, the city threw off a throbbing, pulsing energy just waiting for Vanna to own it. No wonder her mother and sister—it still sounded weird to say that word—loved the place. A block into the walk, though, even with her mother’s jacket, she started to shiver. She’d have to get warmer clothes. Maybe Lazlo would spring for them.

In a few blocks they came to a twenty-four-hour greasy spoon. Lazlo led her inside and bought her a hot dog and a Coke. She’d been hoping for something more substantial, maybe steak. At least pizza. But this was better than nothing. She wolfed down the food.

“Ah. You were hungry,” he said.

She peered at him from under her eyelashes. Some fashion magazine said it made a woman look sexy. “What’s for dessert?” She made her voice sound throaty and suggestive, another trick the magazine advised.

He looked at her and smiled. “We have dessert someplace else.”

“Good.” She settled back in the booth. “But you should know…I only like certain flavors.”

His brow creased as if he didn’t understand.

She was trying to telegraph that she did blow. Not smack, not angel dust, not Ecstacy. Just blow. “You know, the white stuff.”

He still looked puzzled but spoke as if he understood. “Yes, white. You will see. Only white.”

He led her out of the hot dog place. She still wasn’t sure if he got it. “So. You got any wine?”

“Wine?” He frowned again.

“I like white. They go together. White and white,” she said.

“Oh yes. We have white.”

“Great.” She looped her arm through his. They kept walking toward the skyscrapers. They were getting so close she imagined she could reach out and touch them.

“Is your place nearby?”

“Of course.” He patted her arm.

They turned right and started down the street. This street wasn’t so well lit, and the sidewalk was cracked. Vanna had to keep her head down so she didn’t trip. After a couple of blocks, she said,

“How far away are we? I’m cold.”

“We almost there.”

“So, Lazlo, why were you at the bus station? Did you just get into town yourself?”

He answered two beats later. “I come from Milwaukee.”

“What were you doing there?”

Again a hesitation. “Business.” His tone grew less charming. Even gruff. Vanna stole a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead, not at her.

Two blocks later they came to a shabby door front above which a neon sign flashed, “Hotel Leon. Rooms by the Week.”

Vanna swallowed. This wasn’t the kind of place she was expecting. Where was the penthouse? The spacious condo? He opened the door and guided her in.

“This is where you live?”

“Sometimes.”

They walked into a narrow lobby with a small elevator at the back. The front desk occupied one side of the room, but no one was behind it. A warren of tiny cubbyholes held keys with plastic labels attached. An occasional pink message slip peeked out. Lazlo already had a key, so they took the elevator to the third floor.

The room, small and musty, was one step up from a fleabag. A queen bed with a floral spread sat against the wall, and there was a desk with a chipped surface that was marred by several circular white rings. The bathroom flooring consisted of tiny tiles, the kind they used before she was born. She’d been in worse places, but she was disappointed. She thought Chicago hotels would be bigger, better, more upscale. She flopped down on the bed.

“So. Here we are. The party begins.” His smile was cold, almost a sneer.

Vanna forced herself not to recoil. She knew what he wanted. It would be no big deal after he gave her the blow. “I thought we were having dessert,” she said.

“We do.”

She tried to smile. “Hmm. You said you had my flavor.”

He started to unzip his pants.

“Hey. Wait a minute. Where’s the blow?”

He looked over, the smirk still on his lips. “Yes. You will.”

She stood and planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t think you understand.” She frowned. “First the coke. You said you had coke.”

He laughed. “Coca-Cola. Sure, I get you one. After.”

Was he being stupid on purpose? “That’s not the kind of coke I mean. You know that.”

“You’re not choose. I will.” His English suddenly deteriorated, and his accent grew thicker. What was going on?

“Lazlo, I want to score some blow. Cocaine. That’s why I came with you. I thought you knew.”

His expression turned grim. “Come here, Vanna.”

A ripple of fear streaked up her spine. She covered it with bravado and pointed her finger at him. “Listen up, dude. Unless you have what I want, this party is over.” She tried to head toward the door, but he was faster and got there first, blocking her way.

She scowled at him. “Get away from that door.”

“Take your clothes off.”

“What the fuck for? You welshed on our deal.”

His face took on a malicious leer. “Deal? I tell you deal. You take off clothes. Right now.” He stepped out of his pants. He wasn’t wearing underwear. Fondling his cock, he lifted it up for her to see. Engorged and throbbing and huge, it wasn’t circumcised. Again, no big deal. In any other situation, she’d be thrilled with his erection. She’d made it happen. She was in control. The little blond fuck angel.

Not this time.

She tried once more to shift the balance of power. “First, you give me what I want.” She ran her fingers lightly across his dick. “Then I’ll give you what you want.”

Vanna wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Lazlo belted her across her face. She staggered back, her head exploding into a mass of pain. She felt her eyes roll up, and she listed to one side. Her arms involuntarily flailed out, as if hoping he would steady her. But he just stood there. She covered her mouth with her hand. When she pulled it away, her palm was bloody. A tooth felt loose.

“Now!” Lazlo crossed his arms. “Take off your clothes.”

His eyes gleamed with a frenzy that frightened her. She tried to back away, but his hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing so hard she almost sank to the floor. She tried to shake them off, but he had her pinned.

“Fuck off. That hurts!”

He slapped her again. The pain reverberated around her skull. Her cheeks stung, and her heartbeat thudded through her temples. She groaned, too dizzy to focus.

“You do what I want.”

She tried to struggle, but she was no match for him. With his hands still gripping her shoulders, he shoved her back onto the bed. He tore her clothes off. Then, making sure his weight was on top of her, he slipped off his shirt. He had a lot more hair on his chest than the boys in Colorado. Too much. An oily, sweet smell oozed from his skin, as if he’d overdosed on cologne to mask the odor of not bathing. She squirmed, but he pressed down on her with enough weight to make her efforts useless. She had no choice.

“Okay. All right.” She panted. “What do you want?”

He grunted, straddled her with his knees and elbows, and shoved his cock in her mouth.