The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1) (8 page)

“Do you want a second chance?”

“What?”

“A second chance. Another game and another chance to save a poor girl from the streets. You can give her your winnings and a better life. That’s part of the reason you took the last one.”

“I wanted to help her.”

“Don’t feed me any of your noble bullshit. You wanted to win. To beat me.” The Shark pulled in a deep breath. “You and I aren’t that different. We’re addicted to the game. Knowing the turn of the cards could mean life or death is too much of a thrill for people like us to pass up.”

Kevin rose, glancing at his trembling hand. As much as the idea of killing repelled him, playing again excited him more. Trying to contain his excitement, he said, “Would the same rules apply?”

“They would. You win and I’ll see that the girl lives a long, full life. I’ve let a girl free once before. I can do it again.”

Kevin hesitated, disgusted with addiction and fading remorse.

“Think what you can do for that other girl’s family. You can help them with some of your winnings. Ease their pain. Your pain.”

“I can atone for her death.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.” A calmness washed over him.

“I’ll find the girl this time.”

“Where?”

“I have a source.”

Kevin was relieved. Trolling for the other girl had created a connection between them. This time it would be more impersonal. It was the edge he needed to beat the Shark. “Okay.”

“Meet me at the same place in twenty-four hours. Lady Luck does owe you, doesn’t she?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Thursday, September 15, 4:30 a.m.

Riley rose early, her eyes opening minutes before her alarm. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and willed herself to stand and get moving. After she dressed in running clothes, she passed Hanna’s door and peeked inside. She found the girl sprawled on her stomach across her bed, her hair draped over her face and both arms tucked under her pillow.

As she moved into the kitchen, Cooper rose in his crate, his tail thumping. She grabbed his red tracking line and, opening the crate, hooked his collar. “Ready, Coop?”

She strapped on her headlight as the two headed out the back door. Their initial pace was always slow, but it quickly sped up.

After they looped around the track for four miles’ worth of laps, she tied his line to a fence and then did a set of fast sprints. By the time she was finished, sweat dripped from her body.

As she collected the dog’s leash she stood for a moment, staring at the nearby woods. A sense of unease crept up her spine. Cooper raised his head and sniffed, forcing air from his nose as he did when he picked up a scent. Cooper had also picked up on her tension.

Five years together had taught her to never doubt Cooper. His body, when it tensed, sent a message up the line, vibrating up her sinew and bone. She stared toward the park, wishing now she’d brought her gun.

Feeling exposed, she tugged him. “Let’s get out of here, Coop.”

The dog barked and glared at the woods for another tense second before turning. They jogged across the lot to the street toward her house. She looked over her shoulder several times, expecting to see trouble, but the area around her remained still. But there was no doubt Cooper had picked up something.

Inside the back door she fed Cooper and then hustled into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, her still-moist hair was twisted into a bun at the base of her head and she’d dressed in slim brown slacks, a white shirt, and a blazer. She was cooking eggs and toast when she heard Hanna stumble out of her room and into the shower.

“Shake a leg, kid,” she shouted as she glanced at the clock on the stove. “Your ride will be here in twenty minutes.”

Ten minutes later Hanna sat at the table. “I hate breakfast.”

Riley set scrambled eggs in front of her. “Think of it as a late dinner.”

Hanna stabbed an egg and ate.

“What’s on the docket today?” Riley asked.

“Math test.”

“Ready?”

“Yes. School is boring.”

“It’s the ticket to your future.”

“The classes are too easy.”

“Maybe you’re too smart.” The kid was gifted, often outpacing her classmates and some of her teachers.

Hanna’s morning frown softened with the compliment.

Fifteen minutes later Hanna was out the door as her ride pulled in the driveway. Hanna tossed Riley a wave and slid into the backseat of the van.

As the van drove off, a car parked a half block away headed toward the house. Eyes narrowed, Riley watched as it pulled into her driveway. Her hand slid to the SIG already on her hip.

Eddie Potter rose out of the car. “Trooper. Looks like I caught you heading out. Figured you’d take it easy on your day off.”

“Mr. Potter. You know my schedule and you tracked me to my home.” Not illegal but an invasion.

“I understand you identified the girl murdered near here.”

She hesitated, wondering if he was telling her the truth. “No comment.”

“Her name is Vicky Gilbert,” he said.

Her spine stiffened as she wondered who was feeding him information. Barrett? Sharp? And why hadn’t she gotten a call? “I can’t comment, Mr. Potter. Contact the public information officer for state police.”

“I’ll be running the story about the girl at the midday and evening news slots. It won’t be long. Maybe a minute. If I could interview you, it would get more airtime.”

“No.”

“I’d like your take on the human trafficking angle. The story might raise awareness.”

“Talk to the public information officer. She’ll call me with an interview time.”

“Can’t we cut the red tape?”

“No.”

“Does this murder bother you because you once ran away from home?”

“Excuse me?”

“I did a little digging into your past. A friend told me you’re from New Orleans and you ran away from home.” As her scowl deepened, his grin widened. “Curious by nature. And in today’s dicey world of journalism, you need to be willing to hit a nerve.”

“How about you give me your friend’s name? I’d like to have a chat with him.”

“I’m not willing to throw this guy under the bus. Wouldn’t be fair. Just doing my job. It’s in the DNA.”

She wondered what else he’d dug up, but she refused to open that can of worms. Shit. She didn’t need anyone digging into her past. “Get off my property.”

“If you don’t help me write the story, I’ll come up with my own angle.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Potter.”

Bowman’s drive into Washington, DC, took less than two hours, plus another thirty minutes before he found himself at the end of a cul-de-sac ringed with three old brick homes. He checked the address and parked in the driveway. Out of his car, he tugged on his jacket as a warm wind blew through the thick oaks. The faint scent of boxwoods wafted, hinting of old money and power.

Riley’s stepfather, William Charles, was based in New Orleans, but as it turned out, he spent a great deal of time in Washington, DC, as a lobbyist. Charles could trace his roots back to the Revolutionary War, and he attended Columbia, earning a law degree in spite of mediocre grades. He joined his father’s law firm and spent most of his career shuttling between New Orleans and DC. Riley’s mother had been a newly divorced mother of a two-year-old daughter when she’d joined the Charles law firm as a secretary. She’d quickly caught Charles’s eye, and the two were married the following year.

Bowman walked up the front steps and rang the bell.

The faint click of heels echoed in the house and, after a slight hesitation, the door opened. Standing before him was a tall, dark-haired woman in her early thirties. Her build was slim, and she had a look similar to Riley’s.

“May I help you?” No hint of warmth in her voice.

“My name is Clay Bowman. I’m with Shield Security and investigating an old criminal case. I’m here to see Mr. Charles.”

“Mr. Charles isn’t here.”

The tech guy at Shield Security, Garrett Andrews, wasn’t the easiest to work with, but he was damn good at his job. And according to Andrews’s monitoring of Charles’s cell phone, the man was here, now. “Tell Mr. Charles this is about his stepdaughter, Riley Tatum.”

Manicured fingers curled into a fist. “I don’t know her.”

“He does. Tell him.”

“Look, Mr. Bowman, I don’t know what you’re selling, but my husband has not seen his stepdaughter in a dozen years.”

“Audrey,” a deep voice said from a side room. “Show him in.”

“Of course, William.” Audrey, not happy about being overridden, forced a smile. “Please come in.”

He stepped inside and turned toward the sound of the voice. He entered the library as a tall, thin man rose from a seat. He had sharp gray eyes, a nose that hooked like a beak, and neatly cut white hair that thinned at the top. A hand-tailored white shirt with crisp edges matched the creases of his dark trousers. “You’re here to tell me about Riley?”

“I’m here to talk about a case that involved a man we came to call the Shark. He killed four girls in New Orleans. Only one victim, his last, escaped.”

Charles tugged at starched cuffs. “Again, what does this have to do with me or my stepdaughter?”

“I believe the last victim was your stepdaughter.”

The annoyance in his eyes mellowed a fraction. “Riley escaped a serial killer? I never heard about that.”

“This attack would’ve happened twelve years ago, shortly after she ran away from home.”

The tension around Charles coiled like a snake. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Riley never told me about any kind of attack.”

“As I understand, you two didn’t have any contact after that point, correct?”

“What’re you getting at?”

“I’m trying to find a killer who chooses girls that look very much like Riley.” As he spoke he shifted his gaze to Audrey. Her expression reflected a superficial shock.

“I wouldn’t know anything about murdered girls,” Charles said.

“That would have been the summer your wife died.”

“Don’t bring my late wife into this.”

“She was Riley’s mother.”

“Yes. They were very close.”

“What kind of relationship did you have with Riley?” Bowman asked.

“I became her stepfather when she was nearly three. She was more like a real daughter to me than a stepchild.”

“So you two were close?”

“Did she send you to talk to me? What’s this about?” Charles countered.

“You are the only link I have to her past in New Orleans.”

“I’m not going to talk about her to a rent-a-cop.”

Bowman bared his teeth into a grin. “Did you know Riley has lived in Virginia for the past twelve years?”

“You need to leave.” Charles shifted under Bowman’s hard gaze. “I was always good to her. I treated her like she was my own child. It wasn’t my fault that Riley could be difficult to manage and ungrateful.”

“Why did she run away?”

“She didn’t—”

“I know she ran away.”

“
Run away
is a harsh term. It’s very dramatic, like her.” He stiffened. “Basically, she didn’t like the house rules. Her mother and I expected her to accomplish a lot. When her mother died, she stopped caring. And I think if you have any other questions, you may take them up with my attorney.”

“I didn’t realize there was a need for attorneys.”

“I’m not a fool.”

“You have a reputation as a gambler. You’ve had years when you’ve lost heavily.”

“You don’t have access to that kind of information.”

He didn’t, but the man’s defensive tone told Bowman he’d been right. “Were you ever in a high-stakes game that involved runaway girls?”

Charles’s face whitened. “I don’t know what you are talking about. And now I must insist you leave.” He moved toward the door.

“If you were losing big and you had a chance to win it all back, would you have staked Riley’s life on a bet?”

“Get out.”

In no rush to follow orders, Bowman took a moment to survey the room. Noted the large portrait of the woman hanging above the fireplace. Her hair was dark, cascading around her shoulders. Her green eyes held a hint of amusement, as if she knew a secret.

“That’s a nice portrait of Riley’s mother.”

Charles bristled.

“Riley looks just like her.”

Charles fisted his fingers but said nothing.

“Nice that you still honor your first wife.”

“I loved her very much, and I can’t toss the portrait away just because she’s gone.”

Audrey’s body tensed with anger, but she stayed silent.

“I do understand that,” Bowman said with real honesty. “How did she pass away?”

“Cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Must have been hard on Riley.”

“She was a difficult kid before her mother’s death. Afterward, she became impossible. She ran away before I could throw her out. And if she’s in trouble, then she brought it on herself.”

“Staking her life in a high-stakes game would kill two birds with one stone. Troubled teen gone. Debt wiped free.”

“Leave or I’m calling the cops.”

“Count on me returning if I have more questions.”

“You don’t know who you’re harassing or you would be afraid.”

“I could say the same to you, Mr. Charles.”

Bowman stepped outside as Charles slammed the door behind him. Tugging on his white cuffs, he moved down the steps at a leisurely pace.

His relationship with Riley was complicated, and when he would tell her about this visit, it would become contentious. But he was back in her life and he’d do what it took to protect her.

“Yes, we did get a hit on Jane Doe’s prints. Who told you?” Dakota Sharp’s graveled voice rattled over his shoulder at Riley as she raced to catch up to him, crossing the Virginia State Police parking lot toward the building’s front entrance.