He laughed warmly. But leaned back, away from her touch. “This is Cy, by the way. He’s a free spirit. Likes Tasty Whiskers and warm places. Hates eighties hard rock. That’s why I wear the headphones now, why I didn’t hear you drive up earlier.”
“Cy? As in Cyclops?”
“Yep. It’s not too obvious, is it?”
“It’s perfect.” Cy rubbed his head against her hand, encouraging her to scratch the spot behind his ear. “But you know, once you name him, there’s no going back. He’s yours.”
Chapter Forty
Will stared at Olivia too long. But he couldn’t help it. She’d surprised him with that one, a piece of wisdom straight from the mouth of Virginia Decker. Maybe that’s why she felt so familiar. She reminded him of the good parts of his mother. The parts her depression had eventually leeched and corroded like battery acid. Until she didn’t work right anymore.
“My mom used to say that. Or she said it once. When we found our dog, Max.”
Cy jumped down, done with them, and strutted to his bed in the corner. Will had upgraded his suite from a pile of old towels to a box with a blanket tucked inside it. He circled a few times before settling in.
“And was she right?”
Will sat up, nodded, careful to avoid Olivia’s bare forearm. Touching her felt like putting his hand too close to a hot stove. Yet he desperately wanted to do it anyway. Which confirmed it. He’d lost his damn mind. Somewhere between her charging right into his crime scene and her telling him to take off his wet clothes.
Glancing sidelong at Olivia, he inched his hand to the right until his pinky rested against hers. Watched the contact register on her face. She didn’t move. Like him, she seemed to be holding her breath, fighting the inevitable. He turned his head slowly to look at her, the way teenage Will would have, every move achingly precise. One mile to every inch of skin.
When their eyes met, he felt pulled toward her, sucked right into her goddamn gravitational field, even as he questioned his own sanity. Just when he’d made up his mind to go ahead and kiss her already, she slid off the tailgate.
“We should probably head back inside. You have to meet JB, right? And I have to get home. Will you call if you hear anything about Shauna?”
The wind knocked out of him, it took a second. “Uh, yeah. Of course.” And another before he realized she’d been flustered too. He’d flustered Dr. Smarty Pants. He fully intended to do it again. Better, next time. “Hey, Olivia…”
She paused at the door, looked over her shoulder toward him.
“Be careful, okay? Whoever this guy or girl is…” The corner of her mouth lifted, showing her dimple. “It’s obvious they have a very specific victim pool. You and Emily are in it.”
He left out the other part that had been gnawing at the back of his brain since he’d reread Drake’s disturbing book. The fourth victim, Dr. Lacey Lawson, decapitated along with the rest. His blood simmered at the thought of Devere writing those words, getting away with his sick fantasies.
She cocked her head, teasing him. “Now who’s worried?”
“Is that allowed?”
But when she answered, her voice came out matter-of-fact. “Only if I’m allowed to worry about you too.”
Will mulled over his regrets. One, he’d let Chief Flack steamroll him into his worst nightmare. Worse even than partnering with Jimmy Wise-Ass Benson. Two, he’d let JB take the wheel as they drove the route Shauna had taken last night. Three, he’d nearly kissed Olivia. Four, he hadn’t. At least he’d finally gotten her number. Even if it was strictly business.
“What do you make of our new teammates?” JB spun out of the Hickory Pit and headed toward Pine Grove Road, kicking up gravel behind them into the cold Fog Harbor night.
Will said nothing, buckling his seatbelt.
“That good, huh?” JB reached over and gave Will’s arm a conciliatory pat, the car veering in the same direction until he jerked the wheel, righting it again.
“Just trying to stay alive over here. This isn’t your Camaro, remember?”
“Puh-lease. My Camaro would eat this Crown Vic for breakfast. Besides, I’m just having a little fun. I haven’t totaled one of these babies since 1994.”
“Not helping.” Will gripped the door as JB veered into the turn. “So, where are the two stooges?”
JB chuckled and revved the engine as they rumbled in the direction of the prison. “I gave them a job. Remember our UBO? I told them they need to figure out exactly where it came from and when.”
“That sounds like the proverbial needle in the haystack.”
“Exactly. Should keep ’em busy for—oh, I don’t know—the next couple years.”
A few minutes later, Will pointed up ahead, to the sign illuminated in the headlights, the pole leaning forward so it nearly touched the grass. “Hey, look at that. Just like the caller said.”
JB eased off the road and into the ditch, and they got out to examine it up close.
“She hit it, alright,” JB said, looking on while Will touched the streak of yellow paint that had transferred onto the metal. “It explains the cracked headlight and the scrape to the front end of the Mini.”
“Did you find out what happened with the DUI call?”
“Never located her. Then the lazy ass went off duty.”
“That makes no sense. Jane said she told the dispatcher exactly who to look for and that she lived with her grandmother off of 187. What kind of moron cop couldn’t figure that out?”
JB gave Will’s back a congratulatory slap he feared was anything but. “The kind of moron we’ve got on our team now, buddy. Officer Graham Bauer.”
“Man, I hate this part of the job.”
JB hung his head as they sat in the car outside the Ambroses’ old Victorian, the light blue paint peeling as if the house had decided to shed its skin. In the front yard, an inappropriately jolly plastic Santa grinned at them. Will wished he could cover its face. He knew Christmas for the Ambrose family would never be the same. Grandma Adele’s Cadillac collected leaves in the driveway. Next to it, a shiny rental car with Arizona plates.
Shauna’s parents had arrived, and Will had nothing to tell them. Still, he cracked the door anyway, resigned.
“Let’s sit for a minute.” JB reached across the console and into the glove compartment, retrieving a package of Twinkies.
“Never figured you for a softie.” Will shut the door, grateful for a moment’s reprieve. One more minute until he had to face Glenda and Paul Ambrose, their devastated eyes. Their expectations.
JB shrugged. “That’s the thing about being a cop. It’ll harden your heart to stone before it turns it to mush again.”
“Give me one of those.” Will didn’t wait for JB’s permission. Just grabbed the snack cake and ate it in two bites.
“Oh, Jesus. Now we’re in trouble. City Boy’s eating real sugar.”
“I didn’t have a chance to grab dinner. Olivia came over and—”
JB paused, mid-chew. “Hold up. Is that how you found out about Shauna’s little secret? The throwdown between Riggs and McMillan? Olivia told you.”
Will cursed himself. He should’ve kept it quiet, but he had to face facts. He needed JB’s help. Chief Flack hadn’t been wrong. They were both in over their heads.
“Or did she come over for some other reason?” JB wiggled his eyebrows while he washed down the rest of the Twinkie with a swig of soda.
“Just don’t say anything, okay? I don’t trust anybody at the prison. Not Hank Wickersham. Not James McMillan. Not the COs. Not even the—”
“Holy cow.” JB smacked the steering wheel. “Did you kiss her?”
“No. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Because she pulled you over to the dark side, man. The Area 51, Bigfoot, second-shooter conspiracy theory dark side. You think the warden’s in on this.”
“I don’t know what I think. The whole case is a mess. But I do know the Oaktown Boys are in the middle of a t
urf war with Los Diabolitos, the Mexican street gang. And Blevins picked a side.” Will pulled his cell phone from his pocket, opened the bookmark on his browser, and handed it to JB. “Read this.”
*
San Francisco Post
“Correctional Lieutenant Hailed as Hero after Record Contraband Bust”
by Nicola Perido
San Quentin Lieutenant Lester Blevins was honored by California Governor Miriam Zaruba with the 2017 Medal of Valor at a ceremony in San Francisco this weekend. According to Zaruba, Blevins was instrumental in exposing a sophisticated criminal enterprise involving inmates affiliated with the Los Diabolitos street gang. According to prison officials, members of Los Diabolitos conspired with five correctional officers over the course of several years to smuggle cellular telephones into the institution. Blevins was described as a hero, after he intercepted a drone delivery of wire cutters, a machete, and one thousand dollars in cash which had been arranged through the illegal use of a cell phone. As the result of Blevins’ actions, twenty Los Diabolitos members were arrested both inside and outside prison walls. Information obtained from the confiscated cell phones also yielded a major cocaine seizure at a warehouse in Oakland.
Cellular telephones have been an ongoing problem for many California institutions, as the devices enable inmates to carry out crime from the confines of their cells, including ordering violence on the streets, planning escapes, and dealing narcotics. In the weeks since receiving the award, Blevins was appointed as Warden of Crescent Bay State Prison, a maximum security facility, where cell phone use has become so rampant officers collected over 2,000 contraband devices just last year.
At the Medal of Valor ceremony, Blevins eschewed the term hero. “I grew up on the mean streets of Oakland, not so different than the inmates I supervise. I understand the challenges these men face in reforming their lives, as many of them have never been afforded the opportunity to have a positive male role model. I became a correctional officer both to ensure public safety and to promote an environment of rehabilitation where change and hope can thrive. As Warden, I plan to continue that mission at Crescent Bay State Prison.”
Chapter Forty-One
Back at home, Olivia slipped into her pajamas and joined Emily on the sofa, with a generous glass of wine and a bowl of Cheerios. The dinner of champions.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked, as Emily flipped through the channels, settling on her second-favorite reality show set aboard a luxury yacht. They’d both been quiet on the drive back, lost in their own thoughts. Olivia’s as scattered as beach shells.
“Better. I’m glad we talked to Will. I like him.”
Olivia shoveled in a heaping bite of cereal, stalling. She remembered Deck next to her on the tailgate, leaning in. His kind, brown eyes asking her a question. A question she hadn’t answered. Though she’d desperately wanted to say yes, she’d run away instead.
“It’s okay to admit you like him too. I know you do. You told him about Dad. You never tell anyone about Dad.”
“I just wanted him to give me my due. To realize I know what I’m talking about. I lived it.”
Emily paused the television, her head swiveling toward Olivia. Eyes rolling, hard.
“Okay. You’re right. I like him.”
“A lot.”
“Don’t push it.” But Olivia couldn’t contain the twisted smile she knew gave her away.
Emily hit play, absorbed in an instant by the show’s manufactured drama—the yacht’s chef crawling into the bunk of the younger chief stewardess, his lower half blurred by the network’s censors. Olivia half watched as she downed her wine, hoping it would knock her out, down for the count tonight.
Emily surprised her when she spoke. Her little-sister voice, trying to be brave. “So what now?”
“Now, we wait. We hope Shauna’s okay. We don’t assume the worst.” Though Olivia already had. Every time she pictured Shauna, she saw that same denim blue garrote around her neck. Pictured her ivory skin, gray. Her blue eyes, cold as marbles.
“What about Dad? I still think we should talk to him.”
“Let me think about it, okay?” Olivia felt relieved when Emily nodded in agreement. “Most of all, we have to be careful. You have to be careful, Em.”
“I am careful.”
Olivia’s eyes rolled. “Says the girl who drove five hundred miles to meet an online catfish in Seattle.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t seriously hold that against me. I was only eighteen. And that guy’s pictures were smokin’ hot.” Emily chuckled. “So, he ended up being a she. Who lived in Texas. No harm, no foul.”
Olivia remembered it differently. Her panicked mother on the telephone. How helpless she’d felt. Then, hours later, her drunk mother sobbing about Emily being as reckless as their father. Olivia had to call in a favor with the Feds to unmask model Damian Osgood as supermarket clerk Donna Milenchuck.
“Just promise me you’ll be alert. Aware of your surroundings. That kind of thing.”
“Duh.” One glare from Olivia, and she added, “I promise.”
Olivia finished the last of her cereal and deposited the bowl in the sink. It could wait until morning. Her eyes heavy, she headed for bed, thinking Emily would follow to her own.
“I guess you’re not tired, huh?” Olivia asked. “You must’ve slept pretty hard on Deck’s sofa.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.” Emily shot her a mischievous grin. “I was giving you two some alone time. Hopefully, you didn’t waste it.”
Olivia sighed and shook her head, but she smiled the whole way to her bedroom.
Olivia looked down at her feet, confused. They were small, clad in the white Keds her dad’s friend’s son, Termite, had stolen from the mall in San Jose. She knew they were stolen because they didn’t come in a box. He’d brought them into the apartment slung over his shoulder in a plastic bag like a badass Santa Claus. She liked Termite—he was seventeen and had a cute smile—but she didn’t like stealing. Still, she’d worn them anyway because the bright white canvas made her happy and all the other girls at school jealous.
Olivia felt queasy, like she might upchuck on the steps in front of her. The three floors up to Apartment E in the Double Rock. When she planted her Keds on that first step and gazed around her, she realized: This is a dream.
For one, the Double Rock had never looked this good; no cigarette butts or beer cans. The grass in the courtyard was a vibrant green, the color of life, not that burnt-out brown it actually was. Two, you could only hear birds singing. Not the loud music that usually stabbed at her ears or the couple in Apartment B who never stopped yelling. But most of all, because when she caught her reflection in a window, she looked like a girl of eight years old. Inside, though, she felt old, and she knew things. Things that hadn’t happened to her yet.
Olivia knew she had to walk up those stairs and open the door. In every version of her life, she’d done it. Opening that door was inevitable. So, she put one foot in front of the other and before she blinked, she’d arrived at the light blue door with the gold letter E hanging crooked in the center.
Though it was practically summer, the knob felt cold in her sweaty little hand. It turned with ease, giving in to her will. Olivia closed her eyes, knowing exactly what she’d find inside. Her father, standing over Tina. Next to him, Termite. It was safe to think his name in her dream. But she could never say it out loud.
Olivia had seen Tina before, hanging around the Double Rock. Tina had pretty hair, long and cherry red, even if her mom said it was as fake as a three-dollar bill. Tina had given her a stick of Big Red bubblegum her mom made her throw out later. Tina carried a fancy purse and had pink toenails and lots of guys liked her.
When Olivia told her eyes to open, something wasn’t right. Her father froze there open-mouthed, the knife in his hand, dripping. Termite’s face had turned a pale white that matched the walls. But the girl on the ground had strawberry-blonde hair and soft curls that framed her face.
Olivia looked down at her feet to remind herself: This is a dream.
She wore boots now, not Keds. Black designer boots she recognized as Bonnie’s. The heels clacked against the tiles as she ran inside, pushed past her father and collapsed to her knees. The floor, slick with blood.
She leaned in, already opening her mouth to scream. As if she already knew.
The girl, not Tina, not Bonnie, not Laura, but Emily. Her little sister, dead.
Chapter Forty-Two
When the early morning DJ announced, “Just five days till Christmas,” Will felt blindsided. The days since Bonnie’s body turned up had collapsed together into one never-ending saga of coffee, uncertainty and sleepless nights. No rest in sight, he’d been out the door and on the road by 4 a.m., heading to the station. Better than lying in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Most of the media vultures hadn’t opened their beady little eyes yet. A few stragglers roamed the parking lot, but they looked as exhausted as Will and stayed out of his way.
Inside the nearly empty station, the cubicles where he and JB set up shop were still dark. He shrugged out of his coat, his mind still in a fog.
It took nearly five full seconds for him to notice the box on his desk. Innocent as a stapler and wrapped in brown paper. It had his name, Detective Will Decker, printed on a Christmas tag in black marker. Probably some junior officer getting a jump on the Secret Santa. He picked it up—heavier than he would’ve guessed—and unwrapped it without thinking.
Will gasped, dropped the box to the floor. He stared down at it and, for a moment, wondered if he’d dreamed it. But it didn’t disappear, and he didn’t wake up. He spun around to find the office still empty.
He knelt down and examined the box more closely, the dry piece of toast he’d eaten on the way in threatening to come back up. He’d seen worse. But this was personal. Inside lay a seagull. Its head twisted at an unnatural angle, the neck broken. A note had been pinned to its feathered body and signed with the symbol of the Oaktown Boys.
Watch Her Vanish: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller (Rockwell and Decker Book 1) Page 23
