Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel) (26 page)

Alex couldn't help but break a smile. "No." It would be one thing to lose her job, but she wasn't taking anyone else down with her. "I'll check in with you. I just wanted someone to know where I was. Greg's done too much already."

"He's crazy about you, girl."

Alex smiled self-consciously. "I know."

"I'm having lunch with David tomorrow. I'm hoping to get some stuff from him."

David was a detective who had always had a crush on Brenda and had made it perfectly clear despite her husband. "I appreciate it."

"Is there somewhere I can call you?"

"I don't have my cell phone anymore."

"I heard."

"I'll check messages here."

"You're not telling James?"

"No. And you can't, either."

"You sure you want to do this alone?"

She laughed. "That's a loaded question."

"Damn right it is. I want you to think before you go"

"Thanks, Brenda. I've thought it through—this is my only option."

"If you're sure—"

"I am."

"Anything else?"

Gamble's legs came to mind and she wondered how badly he was actually hurt. "There's one more thing..."

"Shoot."

Fingers massaging her temple, she considered what Gamble would tell the captain. "It's a long story, but when the captain starts ranting about Gamble being laid up in the hospital, will you tell him Gamble had it coming?"

"Woman! You shot him?"

Alex broke a sheepish grin. "Of course not. He's probably fine, but there's a chance I broke his leg."

Brenda gasped. "You broke his leg?"

"Okay," she confessed. "Maybe both. He had it coming—bastard came on to me."

"He did not!"

"Did, too."

"And you broke his legs? You go, girl!" Brenda exploded into laughter and her husband groaned in the background. "That is too funny," she whispered. "When?"

"It's a long story. You'll hear all about it tomorrow, I'm sure."

"You can't leave me in suspense."

"Believe me, it'll be worth the wait. I'll call you in a couple days."

"You'd better. You be careful now."

"Thanks, Brenda." Alex hung up the phone and headed out the door.

* * *

After a careful detour through the side streets of Oakland and Berkeley, Alex was confident she wasn't being followed. If someone had been behind her, he either would have lost her or been seen. Now, crossing the Bay Bridge, she could just see the Ghiradelli sign, PacBell Park, and the Transamerica Building against the white misty fog as she passed Treasure Island. Living and working in the East Bay, she came to the city less and less often. Looking over at the lights and the water, she remembered why she loved it so much.

The bridge always gave her the sensation of freedom, one she didn't feel as strongly now. She only hoped on her way back from Palo Alto, she would feel it again. Despite the hour, a steady stream of cars still occupied the freeway, and Alex kept a close eye on which exited and which remained around her. It was hard to imagine that someone had followed her, but after the past few days, she knew she had to be extra careful.

Turning up the radio, she felt the click, click, click as her tires crossed over the metal divides on the bridge's surface. The continuing debate in the city was about retrofitting the bridge for earthquake safety.

As she passed through the city and headed down 101 south toward Palo Alto, she hoped she wouldn't have trouble finding a reasonably priced room when she arrived. She didn't have her cellular phone and she wasn't going to stop to call around.

Her bankbook couldn't take too fancy a hotel and the one credit card she kept had a limit of only five hundred dollars. She had never been comfortable with buying things she couldn't pay for.

The desire to sleep tumbled upon her, and she rolled down the window to fight the force of gravity working on her eyelids. She stayed in the far right lane of the five-lane freeway, moving only to pass an occasional turtle-like driver. The speed limit was sixty-five, but even in the slow lane the traffic moved at about seventy-five.

The whole way down, she tried to reason out how a six-year-old could have killed a grown man. The report hadn't disclosed the method of Androus's death. All she knew was that he had died from a gunshot wound. She assumed more detail was missing because it involved a minor and those records would be sealed. But the file had said that the children's hands were bound and they were blindfolded. How could she have gotten his gun? Even if the blindfold had fallen off and he had set the gun beside her, how could she have steadied it to shoot him? She couldn't come up with an answer for that one.

It was nearly one o'clock when she arrived in Palo Alto, exhausted. Her eyelids felt like they now weighed more than her duffel bag. She turned off and found a Red Roof Inn, pulling her car into the closest spot, praying the half-empty parking lot was an indication that they would have a vacancy.

The night auditor looked like a member of the Addams Family, but he checked her into a eighty-dollar room without a problem. Thankful for the prospect of sleep, Alex headed for the stairs after a last glance out at the parking lot. It was silent. Her room was five floors up, but she hated elevators. Suddenly, she caught herself blaming each of her faults and fears on whatever had happened when she was six years old.

She found her room and let herself in. Dropping her bag on the bed, she drew the shades, bolted and chained the door, and checked the bathroom and closet. Satisfied, she took off her jeans and bra, did a rough brush of her teeth, and crawled into bed in her T-shirt and underwear, still wearing her socks.

For once, sleep hit her like a freight train.

Chapter 20

White fabric billowed around Alex's head, the face before her a dreamy blur she couldn't focus on. What was happening? She couldn't see the bad man. Where had he gone?

The cool floor was suddenly warmer as something held Alex close, wrapping her in thick white wings. She could smell her daddy again. She breathed in the smell and tried to see him. The blindfold covered all but a corner of her eye and she tried to push it off without using her hand. It was cold and she could feel the outside breeze against her bare arms.

She shivered, moving in tighter as she turned and tried to make out a face. She caught a glimpse, but no image came.

Behind her, the two boys squirmed and whimpered, their blindfolds still fastened across their eyes. Hers had slipped down around her nose and she could just see through the gap between her bangs and the loose blindfold. Moving further from them, Alex saw the gun before she realized what it meant. The gray black of the dull metal contrasted against the white sheet. She stared at the bad man then back at the gun again.

It felt heavy and cold, its tip pointed to the ground.

"You have to shoot him, honey," the voice beside her said. "You have to shoot him or he'll hurt you. Do you want him to do that?"

Alex shook her head, words trapped beneath her fear.

The bad man's eyes stared at her.

Her body shook with a mixture of chill and terror.

"What are you doing?" he screamed.

The gun fought in her hands as she struggled to hold it up. "It's too heavy," she cried.

"You can do it," the voice assured. "Do it for Mommy and Daddy."

Alex tried to look at the angel. "Daddy?" she whispered.

"That's right, baby. Do it for Daddy. Don't worry. I'll be right here until it's all over."

With all her might, she lifted the gun from the ground. Her hands shook as she steadied it. Strong hands helped her, holding the gun out.

"What are you doing?" he screamed again. "Jay, you can't!"

The gun exploded in her hand, knocking her backwards. Her head hit the floor with a thud, and she couldn't move.

It seemed like a long time before she could sit. The boys' crying dragged her up. She rubbed her head and looked at the bad man. He didn't move. He looked asleep, but his eyes were open. People didn't sleep with their eyes open.

Alex looked around. Where was her daddy?

Alex woke with a jolt at six, her stomach in a series of hard knots. The dream skittered by in pieces. Remembering what Judith had said, she found a pad of paper in the drawer. She scribbled "angel" on the top piece and stared at it blankly.

An angel? She closed her eyes to bring the image back in focus, but it was gone. Frustrated, she threw the pad and pen to the floor and got out of bed.

By quarter after, she was showered, dressed, and downstairs. She informed the night auditor that she would be back, paid for another night, and headed down the freeway to University Avenue.

As she pulled off the freeway, she took in the immediate area. The off-ramp divided Palo Alto into east and west and also split San Mateo and Santa Clara counties. But more than that, the off-ramp acted as an invisible Berlin Wall.

East Palo Alto was poor and crime-ridden. Police often warned West Palo Alto residents about the dangers of the area, but some still paid no heed. A well-heeled college student was recently beaten to death by a group of boys just for walking on their streets.

Alex saw the dilapidated buildings and beat-up cars left abandoned on the streets. Several people stood on stoops, drinking from bottles hidden in paper bags. From their disheveled appearances, it was impossible to tell if they were just getting up or hadn't yet been to sleep.

The roads were riddled with potholes, many almost gravel from neglect. Not a single tree struggled through the black pavement.

Alex turned right and headed west, immediately struck by the incredible difference. This side was filled with magnolia trees, their trunks thick, their branches reaching out to provide shade to the wealthy. A few even seemed to bow over the houses.

Large Spanish-style homes lined the streets, their yards carefully pruned. The cars were securely tucked away in three-and four-car garages. Even the leaves had been swept up. A bike lane took up part of the road in each direction so people could enjoy the beauty on a leisurely Sunday morning ride.

About four miles down University, she began to see small shops and restaurants. She turned on Bryant Street and parked next to Restoration Hardware. She crossed the street to Starbucks, thankful that caffeine would soon be coursing through her veins. She bought a plain bagel at the Noah's next door and took a brief walk to get a sense of the neighborhood.

Stanford students roamed the streets, stopping to greet classmates or buy coffee before study groups or games. They looked much the same as Berkeley students—shorts and tennis shoes, sweatshirts for the dewy morning chill, and baseball caps to hide the fact that they probably hadn't showered yet on a Saturday morning.

But unlike Cal, Stanford didn't have the outward personality that came with Berkeley cultures—the punks, hippies, and homeless didn't come to Palo Alto. Or if they did, they hid themselves well.

For a moment, Alex missed the comforts she had always found in Berkeley's diversity. This homogenous neighborhood seemed much too peaceful for something as heinous as Androus's crime—and must have been even more so thirty years ago.

Eyeing the nicely dressed people, she wondered which of them harbored thoughts of murder or rape. People assumed their neighbors were all upstanding, successful businesspeople and concerned citizens. But some of them weren't. As a cop, she knew it better than most.

Caffeine beginning to seep through her system, she drove to the city hall and parked, wondering what, if anything, she might find. The building stood like an immense piece of candy—the white stripes of its beveled columns next to the dark stripes of its deep blue windows. The building sat in the center of a courtyard with grass and black benches that looked freshly painted.

The police station occupied the backside of the courthouse, a smaller, shorter version of city hall, with the same blue reflective windows and modern architecture. She entered through the station's tinted glass doors and found herself in a light yellow room with dark wood furniture and light blue accents that looked more like a doctor's office than any police station she had ever seen.