Her Winter of Darkness

by Melinda Woodhall

  The men were too easy on the girls, and too lazy with security. He’d tried to teach them how to deal with the girls properly. He’d explained that any sign of weakness gave the girls hope, and hope would give them the courage to try to escape.

  Trying to educate the men who worked for him had proven useless. They were from the bottom of the barrel. Men who’d been leftovers from a Miami syndicate that had been busted the year before. Men who’d been too low within the now-defunct operation for the feds to chase down, although most of them had warrants out in Miami or Tampa.

  But then again, these men had managed to escape the sting operation that had taken down the rest of their crew, and Diablo knew they were able to keep a low profile and keep their mouths shut. Otherwise, they’d surely be locked up by now.

  All his men wanted was to make some money and stay out of jail. They were mercenaries, loyal to the almighty dollar, but not to him.

  I have to remember that. If I start thinking I can trust one of these guys, I’ll end up making a mistake. I’ll end up like their last boss.

  Dismissing the man who’d run the Miami operation, and who was now serving hard time up in Raiford, Diablo had decided to run things his way. He figured the guy had gotten caught because he’d gotten careless. He’d been sent away for decades, creating the perfect opportunity for Diablo to step in and build his own operation closer to home.

  It had been easy to make use of the tall tales that had circulated in the area for years about a vicious underworld boss named Diablo. According to the rumors, the name had been given to a violent kingpin by the men who’d worked for him. They’d sworn their boss was as cunning and evil as the devil himself.

  While the dreaded Diablo had once been a figment of the town’s collective imagination, thanks to the man watching the crowd, Diablo was now very real, and walking the streets among them.

  The reputation of his fictional namesake had grown over the years, and Diablo had taken full advantage of the mystery that surrounded it. He’d used the name to instill fear in the women he wanted to control, and he couldn’t let a girl like Ruby ruin his image.

  Pulling out his phone, Diablo typed in a text to one of his men. They needed to find another girl to add to the Miami shipment now that Ruby had run off and couldn’t be found. He suggested they pick a girl with less attitude, and with more to lose.

  She’ll turn up eventually. And when she does, I’ll take care of her myself.

  Diablo dropped his phone into his pocket and focused his eyes on Veronica Lee. Her reports from the scene of the crime would undoubtedly draw rave reviews.

  Too bad she doesn’t have a clue about what’s really going on.

  Although to be fair, Diablo wasn’t really sure himself what the Professor’s ultimate plan was. All he knew was that the man wanted a favor, and that he’d promised he would deliver a favor in return.

  There’s only one thing I want right now, and I doubt the Professor will be able or willing to help me get it.

  Although there were many women in town who had good reason to hate him, there was one woman he’d treated like a queen before she’d dumped him. A woman who was even now under the misguided impression that she’d gotten the better of him.

  She actually thinks I’ll be willing to just let her walk away.

  Clenching his jaw, he recalled the ugly words coming out of the woman’s beautiful mouth. Her mouth needed to be shut. Forever.

  He still wasn’t sure how he was going to pull it off, but he knew he’d find a way. Eventually, he’d take care of her, and he’d take back what was rightfully his.

  A familiar voice drifted through the chilly air. Diablo turned his head, recognizing Mackenzie Jensen’s curvy figure as she leaned provocatively over the perimeter tape to drill questions at a uniformed officer.

  Poor dope doesn’t stand a chance against a barracuda like Mackenzie.

  The ambitious newspaper reporter had been useful in the past. If Diablo played his cards right, she could be useful again. As long as he was careful not to reveal too much and wasn’t seen talking to her in public too often. People around the little town liked to talk. He didn’t want rumors circulating about him and the young reporter.

  She's sharp and sexy, but she’ll fuck me over if she finds out I’m Diablo.

  If Mackenzie knew his secret, she’d have no qualms about breaking his cover. It would be too tempting for her not to. Her thirst for recognition wouldn’t allow her to sit on a big, juicy story, even if she was screwing around with the main subject.

  Feeling his phone buzz in his pocket, Diablo dug it out and stared down at the display. His hunch was right; the Professor was still in town, and he wanted to meet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Veronica waited for Jack’s cue that she was off the air before lowering her microphone and letting out a deep sigh of relief. She’d spent much of the morning giving live updates and recording footage to use in later segments; her nerves were on edge. All she wanted now was a long drink of water and a few minutes to decompress.

  “I’m going back to the van,” she told Jack. “I need a break.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  Jack studied her face with fatherly concern.

  “Make sure to get some water while you’re there. I’ll stay here and help Finn get more footage of the crowd and the crime scene.”

  Keeping her head down, Veronica skirted around the edge of the square and out the gate.

  She was still a few yards away from the big news van when she saw Hunter and Gracie approaching from the other direction. Her heart dropped at the grim look on Hunter’s face.

  As Gracie trotted up to Veronica and sat at her feet, Veronica bent to scratch the dog behind her ears. Her intuition was telling her she would need all the comfort the Lab could provide.

  “Okay, Hunter, what’s wrong?”

  She raised her eyes to his, but he was looking down at Gracie.

  “I just went to see my father. It seems he’s hoping to use the FBI task force as a way to show the town he’s tough on crime. As if he had anything to do with setting it up.”

  Veronica stepped closer, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. Hunter knew his father routinely used underhanded tactics. The mayor’s tendency to bend the truth to suit his own self-interest was one of the main reasons they’d fallen out.

  So, why was he so upset about this new revelation? And why was Hunter getting involved in his father’s campaign strategy anyway?

  “We both know we can’t be involved in the campaign.” Veronica tried to soften her words with a smile. “Even if my mother wasn’t running against your father, we’re still reporters, and we need to be unbiased so we can report objectively on the race, right?”

  Finally meeting her eyes, Hunter sighed.

  “You’re right. I was just worried my father would do something that would end up hurting you or your mother,” he admitted. “But that isn’t what’s really bothering me.”

  He pulled her toward him, as if he wanted to comfort her, but Veronica backed away, suddenly scared.

  “What is it, Hunter? What can’t you tell me?”

  “Let’s sit in the van,” he suggested, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to do this out on the sidewalk.”

  Nodding in numb agreement, Veronica waited for Hunter to slide open the door to the back. She climbed inside the van and perched on a folding chair, staring at the racks of equipment and video monitors.

  She picked up a bottle of water and took a long drink as Hunter settled in beside her, but her mouth was still dry when he turned to take her hands in his.

  “Nessa told me something in confidence.” His hands tightened around hers as he spoke. “It hasn’t been confirmed yet, but she’s pretty sure the woman they found is Astrid Peterson.”

  For a minute Veronica couldn’t breathe. She stared at Hunter without moving, not knowing what to say.

  “I know how much you wanted to help her.”

  “How co
uld we let this happen?” she whispered, her throat tight and her mouth dry. “She needed help and we all just stood around and did nothing.”

  Hunter sat back and shook his head.

  “This isn’t our fault, Veronica. The man who killed Astrid Peterson made sure no one could find her. He’s the one to blame.”

  Knowing his words were true, Veronica tried to quell the guilt and remorse that filled her chest.

  Why didn’t I find a way to help? I could have given a special report, or…

  Hunter’s next words interrupted her self-recrimination.

  “The man who kidnapped and killed Astrid may still be in Willow Bay. He might know that Astrid sent you that comment.”

  Lifting a gentle hand, he brushed a strand of long, dark hair off her face, his fingers warm against her cold skin.

  “You could be in danger,” he said, his voice low. “He’s already killed one woman. I doubt he’d hesitate to kill another.”

  “Skylar!” Veronica gasped, pushing his hand away and reaching for the handle to slide back the door. “He’s still got Skylar.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Nessa was standing behind the crime scene tape talking to Detective Vanzinger when Veronica finally spotted her.

  Ducking under the tape, Veronica hurried toward the chief of police, ignoring the surprised shout from Andy Ford. She reached Nessa’s side just as a hand fell on her shoulder.

  “It’s okay, Andy, I’ve got this.”

  The young officer dropped his hand, and Nessa waited for him to return to his post before waving Veronica and Vanzinger to the side and out of the way of the crew working the scene.

  “I guess Hunter didn’t waste any time telling you who’s in that tent,” Nessa said with a scowl. “I told him it was off the record.”

  “What about Skylar?” Veronica asked, in no mood for a lecture. “If that is Astrid Peterson, then what about the other girl? What do we do to find Skylar before she turns up dead, too?”

  Vanzinger spoke up before Nessa could reply.

  “We couldn’t find anything about a girl named Skylar who’s gone missing,” he admitted, a frown creasing his forehead. “There’s nothing in any of the databases, national or local. Detective Jankowski and I looked everywhere we could think of.”

  “Keep your voices down.” Nessa glanced over her shoulder. “None of this information has been released yet and you never know who might be listening.”

  Following Nessa’s eyes toward the scene perimeter, Veronica saw Mackenzie Jensen. The journalist gave Veronica a hard stare, then bent her head to scribble on the notepad she was holding.

  “If Mackenzie Jensen gets wind that you know the victim’s identity before she does, she’ll be screaming about preferential treatment and police corruption,” Nessa moaned. “We’ll be on the Gazette’s front page by tomorrow morning.”

  Veronica dismissed Nessa’s worry about the journalist. She didn’t have time to engage in a petty rivalry with Mackenzie Jensen. Not when the woman who had reached out to her was already dead, and another woman might still be in danger.

  A tall man in a dark jacket approached the scene perimeter and ducked under the tape. When he removed his sunglasses and looked around, Veronica recognized Special Agent Clint Marlowe.

  Marlow caught sight of Nessa and Vanzinger standing to the side. He began to walk toward them with an impassive, almost bored expression that irked Veronica.

  He doesn’t seem very concerned that a woman on the FBI’s missing persons list has just been discovered dead in the middle of town.

  She felt Nessa stiffen beside her. The police chief put a firm hand on Veronica’s arm.

  “He doesn’t know it’s Astrid Peterson over there,” she murmured. “And it isn’t your place to tell him. I’ll handle this.”

  Veronica looked into Nessa’s tired, blue eyes, suddenly noticing that the chief didn’t look well. She nodded reluctantly.

  “I thought the press was supposed to stay on that side of the tape, Chief Ainsley,” Agent Marlow said, raising an eyebrow. “Or do things work differently in Willow Bay?”

  “I was just leaving.” Veronica’s cheeks grew hot with anger at the condescending tone he’d used to speak to Nessa. “But now that you’re here, Agent Marlowe, would you mind answering a few questions for viewers who are concerned about the increase in criminal activity in small towns throughout South Florida?”

  Marlowe’s eyes narrowed at Veronica’s request.

  “Yes, I’d mind,” Marlowe said, his voice hard.

  “Well, then would you mind telling me exactly what progress your trafficking task force has made thus far? Could the crime here today be related to the crimes your task force has been investigating?”

  Prodding Veronica toward the perimeter, Nessa cleared her throat.

  “I thought you were leaving, Veronica,” Nessa said, lifting the tape so that Veronica could slip under. “I’ll follow up with you on our discussion later.”

  Marlowe turned his back on Veronica, apparently done with her questioning, but he stopped when she called out again.

  “Agent Marlowe, do you have any comment on the claims that an organized crime network is operating here in Willow Bay? Are you investigating an organization calling itself the Diablo Syndicate?”

  Turning to Veronica, Marlowe pointed a big finger in her direction.

  “Be careful, Ms. Lee. You don’t want to run up against any of the organizations the Bureau is investigating. These groups are usually dangerous, and they don’t like people who ask too many questions.”

  A deep voice spoke up behind her.

  “The press has a right and an obligation to investigate and report on crimes that impact the community,” Hunter called out, moving up to stand next to Veronica. “And from what I’ve seen today, the people in this town are in very real danger. They want answers.”

  Veronica saw Mackenzie Jensen walk up behind Hunter, her pen scribbling on her notepad as she listened.

  “Agent Marlowe, the women I’ve been interviewing as part of Channel Ten’s reports on trafficking are still living in fear,” Veronica said, picturing Ruby’s frightened eyes. “I’m sure our viewers would like to hear what the joint task force is doing about it.”

  Shooting an annoyed look at the crowd behind Veronica, Marlowe stepped closer and lowered his voice.

  “Any woman who feels she’s in danger should contact her local police department, not her local television station.”

  “These women are scared, Agent Marlowe.”

  Veronica’s voice trembled with outrage.

  “They’ve been threatened by the men who have abused them, and they’re terrified they’ll be arrested if they go to the police for help.”

  The crowd suddenly fell silent and began to part, making way for Wesley Knox. The brawny forensic technician appeared, pushing a metal gurney toward the tent. No one spoke as the wheels rattled against the rough concrete path, and then crunched through the leaves.

  As the tent flap closed behind Wesley, Veronica realized they must be getting ready to take Astrid Peterson’s body to the medical examiner’s office for autopsy.

  With any luck the M.E. will find something during autopsy to help them find the bastard who did this, because the FBI doesn’t have a clue.

  Looking back to where Agent Marlowe had been standing, Veronica saw that he and Nessa were gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nessa pulled on protective coveralls and booties, then held her breath, preparing to face the stench of decomposing flesh. But when she opened the tent flap and stepped inside, only the damp scent of dead leaves greeted her.

  The dead woman’s body was already on the gurney, her legs and arms slightly bent, and her strawberry blonde hair falling back to reveal the snow-white skin of her face, silent and frozen in a pose of eternal sleep.

  Looking up as Nessa approached, Iris pulled a thin white sheet up to cover the pitiful figure. A frown settled between the medical examiner’s
kind brown eyes as she met Nessa’s gaze.

  “It’ll take another twenty-four hours for her to thaw out enough for a proper autopsy,” Iris said, her tone apologetic, knowing the delay would be an inconvenience. “I’m pretty sure we can get it done tomorrow, but I’ll have to let you know a time once I get her back to our facilities and we see how long it takes.”

  The fleeting thought that she was going to have to miss Cole’s Saturday afternoon flag football game came and went as Nessa and Iris waited for Wesley to back up the medical examiner’s van as far as the gate.

  Soon the gurney was being rolled back over the grass and onto the walkway. The crime scene crew had moved back the perimeter and cordoned off a wide path from the tent to the gate.

  Within minutes the gurney had been loaded into the medical examiner’s van, and the big vehicle pulled away from the curb.

  Standing on the sidewalk, Nessa stared after the van until she felt her phone begin to vibrate in her coat pocket. She groaned, tempted to let the call roll to voicemail. She needed to get something to eat and wanted a few minutes to think about what to do next.

  But the possibility that it might be Jerry calling prompted Nessa to pull out her phone and glance down at the display.

  Where are you? Starting press conference now at City Hall.

  The text from Tenley Frost started Nessa’s feet moving along the pavement. She’d forgotten that, against her better judgement, she’d agreed to support the media relations officer at a press conference about the dead body discovered in Old Willow Square.

  Why the hell did I say I’d talk to the press now? We haven’t even gotten a chance to plan out a statement. What is Tenley going to say?

  As Nessa approached City Hall, Tenley’s sleek auburn bob was visible behind a cluster of reporters and their camera crews surrounding the podium. Vanzinger and Jankowski stood stiffly behind her. Neither man looked happy to be there.

  Most of the bystanders who had flocked to the square at the report of a dead body, had already wandered off now that the body had been taken away. Nessa saw that, other than the press corps, only a few dozen people had made the effort to walk the block to City Hall.