The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1) (18 page)

“Sometimes it feels like yesterday.”

She had never pieced together the details of that first day in town, but she also had never really wanted to until now. “Why were you at the bus station?”

“My volunteers were working the station that day. We were trying out a program of meeting runaways before they landed into real trouble.”

“Was Maria there?”

“Yeah, I suppose. The bus station outreach was her idea. She wanted to get to the kids before the street did.”

“You don’t go to the bus station as often as you did then.”

“The kids seem to find rides by hitchhiking. That’s why we have the youth shelter.”

“How many people have you saved?”

“Not enough. Out of every hundred kids we make contact with, three or four might hang around here for more than a meal, and of those, maybe two a year turn their life around.”

“Why did I trust you?”

“Can’t say that you did. You were spitting mad. You tried to slug me.”

“I did?”

“Kid, you were such a mess. But there was something about you. If not for Maria and me, you wouldn’t have made it five steps on the streets without someone taking advantage.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “What do you remember?”

“Not much. I lost seven days and all I can say is that cigar smoke still makes me sick to my stomach.”

He shook his head as if chasing away a memory. “Whatever you took, you were really high.”

“I’ve never taken drugs. Not once in my life. Someone did that to me.”

“I took you to a doctor. He said there were no signs of abuse.”

“I remember that.” Riley had recoiled at the doctor’s touch. She was terrified. But the doctor was nice and patient, and finally she allowed the pelvic exam.

A sigh shuddered through him. “When I drank, I lost lots of days. Too many days. It’s not a good feeling not knowing what you did or didn’t do. But you have to decide to let it go.”

“I know you’re right.” Riley shook her head and grinned. “I have no idea why I’m letting this case get to me.”

“It’s not like you.”

“You’re right. It’s stupid. I’m fine.” But it was all lies. She wasn’t fine. Someone had left a video documenting her trip to the abyss.

“Maria and I are always here, if you need us.”

“I know. Thanks.”

Cassie’s skin felt like it was two sizes too small as she watched Darla unlock the motel room. Sniffing, she scratched her arm, craving the crack she’d had yesterday. She’d heard it was addictive but figured she could handle it. She was tough, or so she thought. Gristle and bone, her mother used to say.

But living on the streets this last month had tested her each day. Yesterday, the weight of living out here had grown heavy. She was tired of scrounging for food, selling her body, and searching for a decent place to sleep. The nights had been really bad. First there’d been word about Vicky dying, and then Darla had convinced Tony to let Cassie work for one of Jax’s clients. Tony was happy, making $500. He told her to be nice.

Darla flipped on the lights and dropped a plastic drugstore bag on the bed. “You need to hit the shower and wash your hair. I bought hair dye.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“It’s fine, but the client likes dark hair.”

“Most of Tony’s clients like blondes.”

Darla shoved her hard toward the bathroom. “Get in the damn shower.”

Cassie took a step but stopped. “You promised me a taste.”

Darla rustled in the bag for the box of hair dye. “Get cleaned up first. Then I’ll give you a little treat.”

Cassie didn’t like Darla. The woman was all smiles to the clients, but Vicky said more than once she could be meaner than a snake. “I want my taste now.”

Darla lifted her darkening gaze. She fished a knife from her pocket and crossed the room in a split second. The knife pressed against Cassie’s neck, pricking the delicate skin until it bled. “Get in the shower.”

Cassie backed up a step, knowing the woman was crazy enough to slice her throat from ear to ear. “Okay.”

She turned on the shower and washed the sweat, dirt, and stench of men from her body. It had been days since she’d taken a hot shower. God, it felt good.

A fist pounding against wood startled her. “Get out of there now. I need to color your hair.”

Cassie shut off the water and grabbed a couple of towels. One she wrapped around her body and the other, her hair. She stepped out and Darla stood by the sink, gloves on her hands and the foam hair dye at the ready.

The coloring took a half hour, and the next time Cassie looked in the mirror her hair was dark. The darker shade made her look sickly. She didn’t recognize herself.

Darla stared at her, smiling. She fisted a few pills from her pocket and handed them to Cassie. “Here’s your treat.”

“What’s this?”

“Oxy.”

Cassie swallowed the pills and soon her worries faded. She slipped on a yellow dress and a pair of high heels. As she moved around the room, she twirled. She felt like she could do anything. Hell, even the colors looked brighter. For the first time in weeks, she was happy.

Darla hovered by the window peering out, taking a big pull from her cigarette. When the john’s car pulled up, she stepped back and put out her cigarette. She moistened her lips and opened the door to a tall man wearing a real nice suit. Three gold rings winked from his thick fingers. The letters embossed on his neatly starched shirt cuffs told everyone he had class.

Darla pulled Cassie forward by her elbow. “Smile.”

Running her tongue over her teeth, Cassie flipped her hair out of her eyes. She smiled like Tony had told her. “You want a date?”

The man studied her closely. “Run your hands through your hair.”

“My hair?”

“It’s dark, like you requested,” Darla said. “Show him your hair.”

With trembling fingers, Cassie carefully brushed her dark hair over her shoulder. “You like it?”

More silence, and then, “It’ll do.”

“I want five hundred more,” Darla said. “Cost me money to get her ready.”

“We agreed on one grand.”

Darla didn’t flinch. “Five hundred more.”

The man hesitated, then reached in his pocket and peeled off five one-hundred-dollar bills. He handed them to Darla, squeezing her hand when she reached for the money. “For twenty-four hours,” the man said. “And if you go to the cops, you’re dead.”

Cassie looked at Darla. “You said an hour.”

Darla gently brushed the wisps of hair from Cassie’s eyes like she was sending off her daughter to the prom. “It’ll be the best twenty-four hours of your life. All champagne and caviar.”

She’d never eaten caviar and didn’t want to try it. She wanted a hit. Twenty-four hours. “Yeah, sure.”

He took Cassie by the elbow and led her to a dark, shiny car with tinted windows. He opened the front passenger-side door for her, and she slid onto the soft leather seats. When he closed the door, she flinched. Seconds afterward, the locks fastened with finality.

Her stomach churned as she became aware of the faint scent of aftershave mingling with cinnamon.
An odd combination,
she thought as he drove, in no rush. A glance in the side mirror caught Darla standing by the open motel room door, shoving the money in her pocket and turning away as if she’d forgotten all about Cassie.

The girl squirmed. A bad feeling knotted in the pit of her stomach. “Where are we going?”

“To a party.”

“A party?” She tamped down the rising panic. She’d been to a lot of parties. “You have a name?”

He tapped a ringed index finger on the steering wheel. “Lenny.”

“Lenny. That’s a nice name.” Sometimes the johns were nicer if you used their names. “I’m Cassie, Lenny.”

“Cassie.”

The lights of the city began to move faster and faster past the window as the car picked up speed, heading out of town. “Where’s this party?”

“In a private place.”

She hitched her chin up a notch. “You paid Darla for twenty-four hours. That includes transport.” Always good to watch the time carefully. Johns were always trying to squeeze a little extra for free.

“We aren’t going far, Cassie.”

She shifted in her seat, her fingers absently running over the door handle.

“It’s a nice place,” he added. “You’ll like it.”

The good thing about a cheap motel was that there were lots of people who could hear her scream if necessary. But where they were going, Cassie wouldn’t be heard.
Oh shit, this can’t be good.

Riley arrived home to the shower running and the radio in Hanna’s room blaring.

“Hanna, you need to hurry. We have to get to school. The bus leaves in an hour.”

“I’m almost ready,” she shouted back.

Riley retrieved the DVD from her room and shoved it deep in her purse just as Hanna came out of the bedroom hauling a large suitcase.

“I might have packed too much,” Hanna said.

“Don’t worry about it. Better to have too much than not enough.” She checked her watch. “Ready?”

“Yeah. You look tense. You okay?”

“It’s the case. Sorry.”

“You’ll solve it. You’re good at that kind of thing.”

Was she? “Thanks.”

Hanna opened her bag to double-check a few items. “What was in the package that came yesterday?”

Riley’s breath stilled. “Nothing important.”

“You looked a little upset.”

“I wasn’t upset.”

Hanna shook her head. “Bull.”

“I wasn’t upset. And there was nothing that important in the package.” Truly, at this point she liked the idea of Hanna leaving for a few days and being away from all of this. Whoever was out there knew about Hanna.

“All packed and ready to go.”

As they moved to the car, Riley asked, “Tell me again, when does the bus arrive in Atlanta?”

Hanna rolled her eyes. “We’ve been through this a million times.”

“Try a million and one.”

“It’s a twelve-hour drive. We arrive after dinner. Check into the hotel and then our meet starts the next day.” Hanna dumped her bag in the backseat.

“You’re going to have fun.” She dug in her back pocket and handed Hanna $200 in cash. “Take this.”

“I have money.”

“I know. It’s in case of emergency or if you see something fun.”

Hanna glanced at the money as if she didn’t feel she deserved it. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to. This is going to be a good time for you, and I don’t want you counting pennies.”

Hanna hugged Riley. “You’re the best.”

Riley held her tight. “Be careful.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sunday, September 18, 10:45 a.m.

Riley drove deeper into the countryside, barely noticing the clear sky. On a good day she admired the gently rolling land and the lush green fields. But today, as she traveled into the country toward Bowman’s house, the remoteness reminded her of vulnerability and isolation.

She found twin brick pillars that marked a driveway cut into a stand of old oaks. She made her way under the canopy of thick trees, which opened to a field with an old plantation-style home in the center.

She double-checked her address, trying to reconcile the man with the house. Out of the SUV, she leashed Cooper and he climbed out. They climbed the wide front steps and crossed the ten-foot-deep front porch. To her left and right were stacks of drywall.

When she raised her hand to knock, she heard determined footsteps moving toward the door. He knew she was here, but she knocked anyway. The door snapped open to Bowman. He’d changed out of his suit and now wore a clean white shirt and pants, but no tie.

He studied the dog and then rubbed him behind the ear. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“No. GPS did the trick. Kinda off the main road, aren’t you?”

“Never had a chance to put down roots and now that I do, I’m going for it.” He stepped aside so she could enter.

“Looks like you bought some real history. Let’s hope it isn’t a money pit.”

“I think of this as a challenge.”

“Your carpentry skills on par with your tracking skills?”

A massive banister curled at the base of a sweeping staircase. Over the foyer hung a large lantern-style fixture, more quaint than functional. It cast a light onto the hallway that ran through the center of the house separating the two rooms on the east side from the two on the west. The room on her right was set up like an office, but judging by the boxes, he’d done little unpacking.

“Impressive,” she said.

“Go big or go home.”

“Right.”

“Come on back to the kitchen. I’ve coffee and bagels.”

“You’re okay with the dog?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks. Coffee sounds great.”

“You don’t eat?”

“Not when I’m wound up.”

Neither spoke as they moved into the kitchen that dated back to the seventies. An inspection of appliances told her this room would also need massive work. But there was the morning light and a tremendous view of rolling green fields.

She walked to a large picture window that offered a stunning view of the river. This alone would be reason enough to buy the house. “How’d you find this place?”

“Out driving one day and saw the ‘For Sale’ sign.”

“I suppose it fits. You strike me as a traditional kind of guy.”

Lines at the corners of his eyes creased when he smiled. “And you’re not traditional?”

“I might have been born into it, but it didn’t take.” Despite her upbringing, she’d never imagined herself living in a house like this one. She reached in her bag and pulled the DVD out. “I’m not sure why I’m trusting you with this.”

“Why are you?” His body was relaxed, but tension hummed behind the words.

“You might be my best chance to solve this.”

She handed him the DVD, which she’d dropped into a zip-top bag. His fingers barely brushed hers as he accepted it.

He hesitated before he touched the disc. “Should I wear gloves?”

“My prints are all over the exterior package, but I put on gloves before I touched the DVD case and disc.”

He put on latex gloves without a word, moved to a DVD player, carefully inserted the video, and hit “Play.” Slowly he stepped back and stood next to Riley.

Instinctively, she tensed, bracing for the image and his reaction. She feared he’d see her as a victim. She feared he’d treat her differently. And she wanted no one’s pity. Especially Bowman’s.

Her image appeared. Behind her were the cream-colored drapes, thick carpet, and a Queen Anne table overlooking a glittering skyline. Music played soft and delicate in the background.

Folding her arms over her chest, Riley forced herself to breathe as she watched Bowman’s jaw clench. He flexed the fingers on his right hand as if he wanted to punch the screen.

He hit “Replay” and watched the recording again.

When the camera moved closer to the chair and focused on her tied hands, Bowman looked away from the screen and studied her reaction. “When did this arrive?”

“Last night.” She nodded. “Watch.”

Old hands reached for the girl’s chin; her dark hair fell back, and looking at the camera was a seventeen-year-old Riley.

He paused the frame and stepped closer to the screen. For a long moment he said nothing.

Riley chewed the inside of her cheek, clamping down the rise of fear and nausea that rushed her each time she saw this. The young girl in the video moaned. She forced herself not to hear. Her throat tightened.

“How did you receive this?” Bowman demanded.

“It was waiting on the front porch of my home.”

“You found it?”

“No, Hanna did yesterday.”

“Did Hanna open the package?”

“No. She left it on the kitchen table for me with a note.”

“You’re sure she didn’t see the video?”

“Yes. The package was undisturbed, and when she came home, she was her normal self. Nothing out of the ordinary for a teenage girl.”

“Do any of your neighbors have security cameras around their houses?”

“Not that kind of neighborhood. Working-class folks don’t have that kind of money. But I made a point to check for cameras along the block this morning when I walked Cooper.”

“Did you talk to your neighbors? Did anyone see anything?”

“No. But I can follow up today.”

“I’ll do that.”

“But these are my neighbors.”

“I’m impartial. Better from me. I’ll find a way to leave you out of it. Any memories of how you landed in that room?”

“I have no idea. I have seven missing days. I was accepting something to drink one minute, and the next I was stumbling off the bus in Richmond a thousand miles away.”

“And you gave the cards to Sharp?”

“Yes. But I took pictures of them.” She scrolled through her phone and showed him the spread.

“A royal flush? There are four possible royal flushes out of 2.6 million possible hands. To say you were lucky would be a huge understatement.”

“I knew it was good. Didn’t know it was that rare.”

He studied the photos she’d taken of the back of the cards. “Just like the ones we found on the victims in New Orleans, except no writing on yours.”

“Like the ones I found in Vicky Gilbert’s backpack.” She tumbled through the facts of the Gilbert case as Bowman viewed the pictures. “Vicky and I share similarities. Runaways, but neither of us had been on the streets long. We do look alike. I didn’t realize how much until I saw the video. I’d forgotten how long my hair used to be.”

“You haven’t changed that much.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “Please don’t say that in public. Looking like a teenager doesn’t help my badass image unless I’m going undercover at the local high school.”

“Understood.”

Energy buzzed in her body, creating a wave of panic. “I thought it was all behind me. But the Shark is circling back, isn’t he?”

“You’re not alone in this, Riley.”

Her gaze shot up, searching for some kind of resolution. “It’s ironic I track fugitives and now I’m on the receiving end.”

“You aren’t prey.”

Tears threatened, which only stoked her anger. “The hell I’m not.”

He closed the gap and laid a hand on her arm. More energy surged up, but this time it didn’t snap and burn. It tingled. In a good way.

Slowly, she pulled her arm away, knowing she didn’t need to complicate what was already pretty damn complicated. Though she’d broken the connection, he didn’t back away.

Her phone hummed so she checked the screen, grateful for the interruption.

Sandy had sent her a text.

Cassie is missing.

Riley typed:
How long?

Since last night. She texts me every hour.

Frowning, she pictured the young runaway girl she’d met at the truck stop a few days ago. She looked up from the phone and found Bowman’s gaze full of questions.

“Homicide?”

“I hope not. I interviewed a couple of the runaways when I was looking for Darla. Sandy and Cassie. Sandy says Cassie is missing.”

“Does she fit the profile?”

“No. She has blond hair. Small. ID says eighteen but I doubt it.” She texted Sandy for details. “Sandy says that Darla cut a deal with Tony for the girl.”

His chest rose and fell with a sigh. “She’s blond.”

“That’s fixed with a bottle of hair dye,” she said. “Darla already had a connection to this network. I need to find Sandy and find out what’s going on.”

“I’ll back you up.”

She shook her head. “No thanks, I have this.”

“Did you note the lack of a question mark at the end of my statement?”

“Jesus, Bowman, you helped me out on the mountain. And now, on the streets?”

“Technically, it’s your day off. If anyone were wondering, we could simply say we were out for a stroll.”

That prompted a laugh. “That’s the last thing anyone would picture us doing.”

“I can’t control what they believe.” He tapped his finger on the DVD case. “Can I keep this? I have a tech guy who can analyze it. He can separate out background sounds, reflected images, and do things you and I couldn’t imagine.”

She’d laid bare her darkest secret to him without knowing much about him. It wasn’t like her to be open, but urgency tilting toward desperation had forced her hand. The frozen image of her drugged face stared back. “That cannot go public. None of your buddies at the FBI, CIA, or anywhere else can see it.”

“Just my people will see it. They are always discreet.”

She cringed. “I might regret this, but fine. Keep it. But if you find anything that will help Sharp’s murder investigation, I want you to give it to him.”

“Of course.”

Rising, she drew in a breath. Cooper stood, looking up at her and waiting for his next order. She took a small step back, folding her arms. “I don’t like having it in my house anyway.”

Bowman followed her to the door, opening it for her. “Payback for this killer is coming, Riley. Just a little more time.”

“I hope so.”

Floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight. “I’ll be there.”

She looked up at him. “I’m betting a lot on that.”

“Where are you going to meet Sandy?”

“There’s a truck stop off the interstate where a lot of the girls are working now.” She gave Bowman the location.

“I’m five minutes behind you.”

“You were an hour behind me in the woods and caught up. How’d you do that?”

“I was motivated.”

“Why were you there at all?”

A smile tugged the edge of his lips. “Civic duty.”

“Does Shield Security do these things often?”

“From time to time.”

“Why this case?” she asked.

“Lucky for you, I suppose.”

“Luck?” She opened the door. “No such thing. How long has Shield known about me?”

He hesitated, considered her. “He saw you on the news a couple of years ago. He thought you were the fifth victim. He did a little digging and found out you were from New Orleans. He’s kept an eye on you ever since.”

“My guardian angel.”

Bowman’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “He’s determined to solve this case, and you’re a part of it.”

The notion that Mr. Shield had been watching her like the Shark was unsettling. “I need to get back into town.”

“After you.”

She got in her SUV, glanced back at Cooper, and headed toward town. Several times during the half-hour drive, she looked in the rearview mirror expecting to see him trailing behind her, but when she looked he was never there.

When she pulled up to the diner near the bus station, she spotted Sandy. She was leaning against a van, her hands hovering close to a warm cup of coffee, clearly waiting for her next date. There was no sign of Darla, but people like her didn’t need to be physically close to control their girls. The pimps were good at manipulating their prostitutes with drugs, threats to their families, beatings, and sleep deprivation. Most girls simply followed orders sent via text without question.

The girl shoved her hands in her pockets and stomped her feet as if trying to stay awake. No doubt she’d not slept well in a while.

“Be right back, Coop.” Out of the car, Riley crossed the graveled lot in long strides.

Sandy looked up, her face a mask of composure. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

“Sorry. Traffic.”

The girl looked around, then pushed away from the van. “Feels good to rest. My feet are killing me.”

“Want to go inside? I’ll buy you a meal and you can sit.”

“Tempting, but that wouldn’t be the smartest move.”

“When is the last time you ate a real meal?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Tony around?”

She grabbed her cell phone from her pocket. “He’s always texting.”

“Can you eat and respond to texts?”

“Sure.”

“So take fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Let’s go inside. Can I have eggs and pancakes?”

“You bet.” A glance toward her vehicle showed a dark SUV parked beside her. A shadow passed across the front windshield, making it hard to see inside, but she knew it was Bowman because the hair on the back of her neck was standing up.

Riley and Sandy crossed the lot into the small diner that smelled of fried eggs, bacon, and grease. The floors dated back fifty years and the counter was a throwback to
Happy Days
. A guy slinging hash at a well-seasoned grill turned, glanced at Riley, and nodded to the “Seat Yourself” sign. She chose a booth close to the back and sat in the seat against the wall. Sandy slid in across from her.

The dude behind the counter raised his spatula. “You can’t sit and just drink hot water.”

Riley raised her hand. “I’m buying.”

The cook glared at Sandy. “No hot water.”

Sandy hunkered lower in her jacket as the few people in the diner stared while a heavyset waitress with a coffeepot turned over the two stoneware mugs and filled each with fresh brew.