Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel) (31 page)

With a moan, he closed his eyes.

She shook his shoulders until he opened his eyes again. "I suggest you pay careful attention. This is the best deal you're going to get. You want to hear it?"

He gave a stiff nod.

"You tell me what the hell you're doing here and everything you know, and I won't write you up for resisting arrest." It wasn't exactly a fair trade since she didn't have a reason to arrest him. Plus, she was suspended, so she didn't even have the right to detain him. At this point, she didn't much care. "What do you say?"

"I didn't do anything," he protested.

On her feet again, she pulled him up. "Okay, let's go to the station then."

"No," he cried, and she had a feeling he was familiar with juvenile hall. It didn't sound like it had been a positive experience and she was thankful for the small favor.

The kid slumped back to the ground and rested his face in his hands. From her angle, his lanky figure was all elbows and knees, and she wondered how old he really was.

"Want to talk about it?"

"What choice do I have?" he said in a voice close to tears.

"Good point."

His bag tight to his chest, he snarled in her direction.

"How about you start with the camera?"

He gave her an angry stare. "It was a gift."

"From who?"

His gaze found the ground. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

He looked back at her and spoke softly. "I don't know."

"When did you get it?"

"Yesterday."

Talking to this teenager was like pulling teeth. Now she knew why parents complained so much. "How?"

"In the mail."

"At your house?"

He nodded.

She gritted her teeth. "I'd really prefer if you just told me how the hell you ended up following me and taking pictures."

His shoulders hunched.

A group of kids had piled back onto the empty lot and were playing soccer with a deflated basketball.

Alex looked back at Tim.

"Yesterday morning," he said. "I got the package before school."

"Who brought it? Any return address?"

He scowled. "I thought you wanted
me
to tell the story."

She crossed her arms. "I'm listening."

"I don't know who sent it. My dad just called me into the kitchen and said there was a package for me."

"What was in it?"

His scowl deepened.

Rolling her eyes, she motioned for him to continue.

"It was a box—a camera box. It's not my birthday or anything. Plus, I never got anything this nice. I opened the box and there was an envelope inside. And a note."

"You have it?"

His expression was blank.

"The note. Do you have it?"

He nodded and pulled his backpack onto his lap. Shuffling through it, he put his hand on something and looked up at her.

"Oh, no. Hand it over."

Slowly, he pulled the envelope out. "It's mine."

She snatched the envelope from his grasp and opened it, whistling. "Wow, you're rich!" A stack of perfectly pressed fifty-dollar bills was accompanied by a note. The note open, she read the typed instructions.

Be at the corner of Broadway and Broadway Terrace at nine a.m. with a pen and paper. Answer the phone on the right after the second ring. If you want to keep the money, you gotta earn it.

"The money's mine," he interjected.

She looked up. "Bullshit. It's police property."

"You bitch." He jumped to his feet, and Alex took a step forward. The kid was easily six inches taller than she was, but she could knock him on his ass in four seconds flat if he touched her.

"Stay here. I'll be right back."

"Hey, that's my money," he called after her.

"It won't be unless you stay put and shut up."

The kids on the lot had turned their attention to her and Tim. Maybe they'd seen the money, but she didn't like the way they were starting to drift toward her.

The money tucked into her waist, Alex pulled her gun out of the back of her pants and opened her wallet to her cop I.D. Since she didn't have her badge, it was the best she could do. Holding one in each hand over her head, she crossed to where the kids were standing. "Police business," she said in a firm tone.

Then, waving at them, she said, "Move along."

The largest of the group turned to face her and puffed his chest out like an angry bird.

Alex waved the gun in his direction. "I said, move along."

The kid crossed his arms in an Italian version of
fuck off
and turned his back, strutting across the lot. The others followed like a series of ducklings, each of them mimicking his gesture as they turned their backs.

"Nice."

Alex returned to where Tim was standing, comforted by the softening sound of gravel crunching beneath the feet of the kids as they stormed off.

Tim stretched his hand out toward the envelope.

She shook her head.

He looked angry and stomped his foot. She prepared for a strike.

Instead, he put his hands in his pockets, tucked his chin to his chest, and looked up at her. "Please."

Alex laughed at his attempt. "That work with anyone?"

"Bitch."

"Yeah, yeah. Sticks and stones. You going to give me the rest of the story or what?"

He pointed to the envelope. "You going to let me keep that?"

She shrugged, seeing the fierce desire in his face.

"Depends on how good the story is. And no making stuff up."

His eyes widened, and he showed a smile, a wide gap between his two front teeth. "Really?"

It was the first time she had seen him smile and she was beginning to think she might just let him keep the money. After all, she'd probably be in jail within a few days. And if he got it from the killer, she didn't care if it was returned. As long as he played along, that is. "Spill it."

"Okay. Uh—"

"You were telling me about the note. You followed the instructions?"

"For a cool half-G?" He spread his arms and crossed them high over his chest. "I'm not stupid."

"What about school?"

"Whatever. You know anyone who wouldn't cut school for a day for a half-grand and a camera like that?"

"Good point. So I take it someone called you."

"Yeah, this guy called and told me to get a pen and take notes." He looked up, his brow furrowed. "It was weird, like he was watching me, too, 'cause after I said 'Okay,' I waited, and like a second later, he told me I needed to take paper out and write or the whole deal would be off."

"What did he have you write?"

"Directions to here, that I was supposed to follow you and take pictures, find out where you went, who you talked to. Told me you were his woman."

"His woman?" Thoughts raged inside her head like angry bees. Why would he take the time and money to send a kid down here? Surely, he had to know she would spot him. "Why would he send you?"

The kid shrugged. "I asked him the same thing. Why pay me to take pictures if you're his woman? Why not take them himself?"

"What did he say?"

"He laughed and said he couldn't 'cause he was working on a really big surprise for you."

Alex didn't even want to consider what the surprise might be. But to buy a kid a brand-new camera just to take some pictures didn't make sense. "He just left you this camera?"

The kid nodded. "The camera was in the box with everything else."

She stared at the camera. It was brand new. Someone had paid a lot of money just to get a few pictures of her. She thought about the pictures that Loeffler had. "Did you take the other pictures of me? The ones you said you found in Sandy's stuff?"

He shook his head. "No. I told you at the station I didn't take those."

"You know who did?"

"Bill did."

"Bill Loeffler? You're sure?" she asked.

The kid nodded. "His wife, Sandy, told my dad he admitted he did. He said it was for an old case, but she didn't believe him."

Why had Loeffler taken pictures of her? Because he knew she was a survivor? Why not just come to talk to her? "And you swear Bill took them?"

He nodded.

What the hell was going on? Alex looked back at the camera the kid had.

Maybe she could track where the camera had been purchased. She motioned to Tim's bag. "Where's the camera box?"

He shrugged. "I threw it away."

"Where?"

"Same place as my notes."

She shook her head. "What notes?"

"On the phone, he said to write everything down and study it on the way here and then to throw the paper away at the gas station across from the Holiday Inn."

"He told you to do that?"

Tim nodded. "And he said he'd check to make sure I did it. If I didn't, I couldn't keep the money."

"But you
have
the money."

"He said he could get it back and get me in a lot of trouble with the police."

His reference to the police made Alex think about the killer again. What contact did he have with the police? Why risk them knowing? "And you have no idea who this guy is?"

"No. I got no idea."

Grabbing the kid by the shirtsleeve, she tugged. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" His voice was shaky.

"To this garbage can. Give me your keys." She didn't want him going anywhere.

He stared at her, wide-eyed.

She motioned them over. "If you behave, I'll give them back and I'll let you keep the money."

He narrowed his gaze. "You promise?"

"If you behave."

Nodding his head, he dumped a heavy set of keys in her hand.

She drove and the kid directed. He led her to a Union 76 station, and pointed to a garbage can over by two pay phones and an air and water station.

Alex jumped from the car and pulled the top off the can. Cigarette butts, a half-full Coke can, a McDonald's bag, and some candy wrappers. With a deep breath, she began to move things around, searching for the camera box.

Tim came over and looked in the can. "It's not there. I put it right on top."

"Where the hell would it be?"

He shrugged.

"He told you exactly where to put it?"

Tim nodded.

"Maybe he planned to come back for it," she said to herself.

Her head up, she scanned the area. Was he watching her right now? She spun back to the kid and instinctively he leaned away from her.

"What were you supposed to do with the film after that?"

"After what?"

She rolled her hand in agitation. "After you took the pictures of me."

"Oh. Uh—drop it off at a post office here in town."

"You have a return envelope?"

He shook his head. "A box."

"A box? What type of box?"

"Like the ones at the post office."

"A post office box?"

"Yeah."

Hot adrenaline seared her stomach. "Here?"

"Right on University."

"What's the box number?"

He smiled. "Twenty-seven forty-two."

"Then where's it written?"

Pointing to the garbage can, he shook his head.

Her jaw clenched, she nodded. "Right. You memorized it. Let's go to this post office."

His expression hesitant, he scrunched his nose. "I think I should tell you something else first."

She looked around. "What?"

Tim tilted his head. "There was something else he told me to do."

She closed her eyes. "What?" she repeated.

"He told me where you were staying, your room number and stuff."

Her jaw dropped. "Where I was staying?"

"And he told me to find a way in and put something in your room."

"What?"

He unzipped his pack and pulled out a film canister.

Her fingers shaking, she snatched it from him. The canister reminded her immediately of Nader, a photographer. She should have thought about him earlier, when she saw the expensive camera. "Oh God," she whispered, dreading what might be there. She opened it and looked inside.

Tim leaned over her. "It's some piece of paper soaked with something that stinks. And there's a note."

The scent hit her, and she stepped back.

"Didn't seem like much of a surprise to me either."

It smelled like film developing chemicals.