by Jordan Dane
“Oh, Kaity. I’d know if you were dead, wouldn’t I?” she whispered.
She glanced into the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of black raccoon eyes. Her mascara had made a mess of her face.
“Oh, great. I look like the Walking Dead.”
She reached into the glove compartment of her Subaru and grabbed a packet of tissues to wipe her face, but when she looked in the mirror, she caught the glint of sunlight off glass. A man was parked a block down—sitting in a white windowless panel van—taking photos of her. His lens wasn’t aimed at the burned down warehouse.
The camera had targeted her. What the hell?
She didn’t turn around or let on she’d seen him. She tossed the tissues onto her passenger seat and started her Subaru. If he didn’t follow her, the whole thing could be her imagination. After she pulled into traffic and made her first two turns, she thought she’d lost him—until the white van made the last turn and headed straight at her.
“This can’t be happening.”
Why would he follow her and take photos? Goose bumps rippled over her skin and she gripped the steering wheel tighter. Her heart raced, the beats pounding through her chest. But when she thought of the only thing that had changed—her meeting with Detective Estefan Cruz—the fear that gripped her had vanished and had turned into indignant anger.
“Not cool, Detective. If this is how you wanna play it, then game on.”
She had nothing to fear from a plain clothes cop assigned to tail her. That was the only explanation. No one had known where she’d be, especially after she got picked up by the police. Detective Cruz didn’t trust her.
Well, two can play that game.
Zoey hit the gas and sped around the corner. All she had to do was out-maneuver a van and lose a cop.
Chapter 4
Downtown Denver
Evening
Zoey kept her eyes on the rearview mirror and kept driving. It had been a very long day, but she hadn’t given up on Kaity. Detective Cruz had been right about not borrowing trouble. Unless she knew for sure that Kaity was dead, she had to keep the faith that her best friend was still alive.
When Zoey had needed gas for her Subaru, or something to eat or drink, she’d paid in cash. Since she knew cops tracked credit card transactions, she let her paranoid flag fly high and she’d kept alert and on the move. She had retraced her steps. It’s all she knew how to do.
As dusk faded into nightfall, the lights of the city turned neon. People morphed into black silhouettes without faces. If she couldn’t go home—because home would make her an easy target for the cops to track her—she would have to find a place to sleep and buy a change in clothes. Whenever her cash ran out, she’d hit an ATM, but she’d deal with that when everything else played out.
With Ariana Grande’s ‘Dangerous Woman’ playing softly on her sound system—a favorite of Kaity’s—she drove through the downtown streets searching for her friend, acting as if she had eyes in the back of her head. The urban landscape of Denver metro changed to seedier streets, vacant warehouses, tattoo parlors and palm readers.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end until something from the corner of her eye caught her full attention.
“No, it can’t be.”
She pulled her Subaru to the curb and parked in the closest spot, without losing sight of the diner at the corner behind her. Her heart thrashed in her chest as she leaped from her vehicle, slammed the door shut and locked it. Zoey licked her lips and slowed her pace as she came close to the entrance.
The huge black dog she’d seen at the burning warehouse. It sat on its haunches, still as stone, staring into the diner. She took in every detail. It had to be the same dog. She was sure of it. When she drew closer, she whispered.
“Remember me, big guy?”
People on the street stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. She knew the look and she didn’t care. Seeing the dog had been too much coincidence for her to ignore.
“Why are you here?” She extended the back of her hand to let the dog have a sniff. “Are you with somebody?”
The dog barely glanced at her. He kept his massive head trained on the diner. Zoey turned to see what had the dog spellbound.
One man stood at the cash register. He had his back to her. She couldn’t see his face. He filled out his jeans and had a worn jean jacket on with a hoodie underneath. The hood covered his head and made it hard to see his face from where she stood. The waitress handed him a takeout bag and he paid in cash. When he moved to pay, she saw the snake tattoo on his hand and wrist and it jolted her. The fear from last night came back in a rush.
It’s him.
“Damn.”
She reacted on instinct and ducked into the shadows, keeping her eyes on the dog. There’d been a reason the animal had been at the warehouse last night. His master had tried to kill her—and maybe had started the fire that killed those women. Her throat wedged tight and she felt the burn of tears.
Maybe he had killed Kaity. Oh, God. This can’t be happening.
Her mind raced with what to do. Her throat went dry and she wrung her hands as she stared at the dog that had no interest in her. Should she call Detective Cruz? What would she tell him? If the cops didn’t get to the diner fast, the man would walk and she’d lose him. She would have nothing to tell the police, except that her mystery man—the guy Detective Cruz thought she’d invented—had a taste for ‘cholesterol to go.’
She felt utterly useless, but she had to do something.
Zoey steeled her spine for what would come next, but before a plan formed in her head, the diner door swung open and the dog followed his faceless master into the shadows. Zoey peered around the corner, holding her breath, unsure what to do. She watched him until darkness swallowed him, until every ounce of love she had for Kaity welled in her throat and threatened to strangle her.
She couldn’t do it. Zoey wouldn’t let him get away. For Kaity’s sake, she ignored the warning siren blaring in her head. She took off on foot to hunt a dangerous man, mumbling justifications under her breath.
“Just find out where he’s staying and call 9-1-1. That’s it.” She quickened her steps to catch up to him. “Give Cruz a heads up. That’s all I have to do.”
Simple, right?
Yeah, real simple.
***
Five Points Historic District
Downtown Denver
The guy moved like a predator. He kept his head down, but that was only a ruse. Zoey noticed he glanced into every glass reflection, giving him eyes behind his head. He would stop unexpectedly, duck into a doorway and come out another way. No casual observer would’ve noticed, but she did. He kept her on her toes, forcing her to fall back and play it smarter.
Zoey watched street signs to keep track of where he took her. When she saw landmarks for the historic Five Points area of Denver, she racked her brain remembering what she’d read about the high crime area. Local news reported a renewed rivalry between the Bloods, who’d taken over Park Hill and Five Points, and the Crips, who dominated Montbello. Gang violence was at an all-time high and she worried that Kaity had crossed paths with someone connected.
She ducked into storefronts and lingered in the shadows. She’d nearly lost him twice, which threw her into a panic until she found him again. Stalking him had been exhausting. Every second felt like an eternity, especially because of where he’d led her—into blocks of deserted buildings and ramshackle houses. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone on the street. Men ogled her and she kept moving, praying.
His dog kept pace with him, sticking tight to his side. If the guy turned, the animal hit his mark and never strayed. The way the dog moved with his master reminded her of a tightly choreographed dance number or the mirror-imaging of synchronized diving. Remarkable.
In her exhaustion, she let her mind wander and in that split second, she lost him again. This time she tried to stay calm, but when the treacherous neighborhood overwhelmed her, Zoey
panicked.
“Oh, no.” She gasped. “No, no, no. Where the hell did you go?”
She quickened her steps and raced to a corner, easing up to it with her back to the wall, and peered down the street.
He’d vanished, dog and all.
“No!” She stomped her foot and clenched her teeth. Zoey spun on her heels and looked up and down the road, into the windows overhead, and ran down the block—nothing.
“Damn it.”
Her predicament sent chills racing across her skin. She stood in the middle of a horror show. The alley he’d led her through was long and narrow, lined with trash and broken glass. A Dumpster reeked of rotting food and puke, and something dead.
She hadn’t given her safety a second thought. After she’d lost him, every shadow played tricks on her eyes and moved in the dark. She took shelter near a trash bin and listened for footsteps, or any noise that warned her she wasn’t alone.
“Who are you?” A low gravelly voice came from behind her.
Zoey jumped and screamed. With her heart hammering, she spun with her fists tight, ready to punch him.
“Stay back. Don’t come any closer,” she threatened. When her voice cracked, she winced. “I saw you at the warehouse. You tried to kill me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stepped out of the shadows. Zoey couldn’t see his eyes or most of his face. “You don’t belong here. It’s dangerous for someone like you.”
“I can handle myself.”
His lip curled into a dismissive smile. If she had blinked, she would’ve missed it.
“If you say so.”
For a split second, she noticed the glint of sweat across his upper lip. Something in his body language or the pallor of his skin sent her a message. As a nurse, she knew how to read sick people. She inched closer to him to play a hunch, with every fiber of her body shivering inside.
“Are you saying you weren’t at the warehouse that burned down?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Then how would I know you have a snake tattoo on your wrist?”
“I don’t have to confirm or deny.” He sighed. “Go home, whoever you are.”
When he turned to go, she grabbed for his arm. He cried out in pain and pulled from her grasp. She’d been right. He had been shot or stabbed.
“Your wound could be infected. You have a fever, don’t you?” She didn’t back down. “I’m a nurse. I can help you.”
“I don’t need your help. Leave me alone.”
He turned his back on her and walked down the alley into the shadows. His dog sprang from the dark and raced to his side, as if they had one mind.
“You have no idea how stubborn I am,” Zoey yelled after him. “I’m coming back here tomorrow. I’ll have meds and gauze and sterile dressing.”
He didn’t say another word and disappeared like mist into the dark.
Zoey didn’t know why she’d offered to help him, until she realized that if she got close enough—if he let his guard down—she could take something from him with his fingerprints on it. Detective Cruz would have to believe her.
Once and for all she’d find out why he had been at the warehouse. He could be her only lifeline to Kaity.
***
Hours later
Zoey’s feet ached from all the walking. She wanted to make a beeline back to her car, but she’d gotten lost twice. The dog whisperer had led her through a maze he knew well, but she didn’t. She roamed the streets until landmarks looked familiar and she stuck to the shadows, avoiding anyone on two legs.
Zoey trudged up the last street, Broadway, dragging her bacon. When she saw the diner sign still lit—On the Corner—she picked up her pace. Her only thought was to get in her car, find a reasonable motel, and take a long hot shower.
But when she walked past the diner, she saw the same waitress who had cashed out her mystery man. Without a second of hesitation, she yanked open the door and stepped into the place as if she’d been there many times.
“Be with you in a minute, honey. Sit anywhere you like.” The waitress smiled and the etched lines on her face folded like an accordion playing a polka. She looked like someone Zoey would like to call friend.
The diner was a throwback to the fifties with its red vinyl booths, black and white tiled floor, and chrome finishes. A counter stretched the length of the diner, along the kitchen serving window, with spinning stools for people who dined alone or wanted to read the paper without interruption. It smelled of pies, burgers, fresh coffee, and a Bruce Springsteen classic played on a vintage jukebox. The patrons were an odd mix of the elderly, body builders, and hookers. Real homey.
Zoey slid into the closest booth, away from the nearest ears, and waited for the woman she’d come to see.
“We’re out of the special, but there are plenty more good things on the menu. Take a look.” The waitress handed her a plastic covered list of offerings. She wore a black T-shirt with the diner’s name across the front—On the Corner—with jeans, sneakers, and an apron with pockets. A badge bore her name, Charlotte.
Zoey leaned into the table and lowered her voice.
“You know anything about the guy with the black dog? He was in here earlier.”
It took Charlotte only a moment to recall.
“Oh, you mean Mr. January?” She shrugged. “Not a thing, except for what’s important.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means his dog eats better than he does, honey. He buys a burger, but his dog gets steak.” She grinned and winked. “You can tell a lot about a man who knows how to take care of his dog.”
Low and gravelly, Charlotte’s voice made her sound gruff, but the twinkle and mischief in her eyes made Zoey smile.
“Why do you call him, Mr. January? Is that his real name?”
The waitress blushed and grabbed a damp rag off a nearby workstation. She wiped down Zoey’s table as a distraction. Blotches of red colored the pale skin on Charlotte’s cheeks and down her neck. A shy smile transformed her face and made her look years younger.
“If I were doing a calendar of gorgeous men, he would be my January man,” she whispered.
Charlotte heaved a sigh and stared out the darkened windows of the diner.
“A woman needs someone to melt the chill in the dead of winter,” she said. “He’s cool on the outside, but smoking hot where it counts. He would be my Mr. January. Now what can I get you?”
She ignored the woman’s question.
“Do you have any idea where he lives?”
“Not a clue. Why?” She narrowed her eyes.
“No reason.” Zoey had never been a very good liar. The woman smirked and gave her a motherly look.
“Sometimes wild things need to stay untamed, honey. He doesn’t strike me as someone who should be or wants to be domesticated. That one’s a loner, certified.” Her face softened in sympathy. “He could be dangerous. Just because I have fantasies about him being calendar worthy, doesn’t mean he’s okay for someone like you. You look like a sweet girl, but Mr. January has a razor sharp edge to him. My two cents, for whatever it’s worth.”
Zoey didn’t know what to make of Mr. January. He scared the hell out of her, lived like a homeless man, and had tried to kill her. He’d been hurt and didn’t go to a doctor. Only criminals did that. Gunshots or stabbings would get reported to police. If Charlotte thought he was dangerous, taking care of a dog didn’t put him in the zip code of normal.
She handed back her menu and grinned.
“I’ll have breakfast. The works…and coffee. I’m suddenly hungry.”
After Charlotte took her order and left, Zoey stared at her reflection in the window. She looked exhausted with a pinch of maniacal. She ran a hand through her straight dark hair, but nothing helped. She needed sleep and a good soak, but one thought lingered and carried weight.
She believed in fate.
Zoey had driven by this diner at the exact right time for a reason. She saw the dog. His dog. The guy ate at
the On the Corner diner on Broadway. Zoey would find a motel nearby and tomorrow she would do as she promised and bring medical supplies.
She’d trust her gut and she would hunt for Mr. January. He’s all she had.
Chapter 5
Department of Environmental Health
Office of the Medical Examiner
Next afternoon
Detective Estefan Cruz walked through the sliding glass doors at the entrance to the governmental offices off Bannock Road, with its sleek blue glass and stone exterior. He knew his way through the maze of the impressive 100,000 square-foot crime investigation and forensics labs and headed for the third floor with his hands full of Starbucks goodies.
Cruz remembered when the coroner’s office had been located next to St. Joseph’s Hospital, but when the accommodations became cramped, the city built the new premiere institute off Bannock. At the old location, a banner day might be six autopsies. With the new state-of-the-art facility, they could do up to sixteen, which made a difference with mass casualties.
“I got you a double shot espresso and a blueberry scone,” Cruz said to the man he’d come to see. “I know how you need a late afternoon pick-me-up.”
Coroner, Dr. Jeffrey Baxter, wore his full white spatter gear with blue latex gloves. The man’s eyes lit up as he smiled under his mask.
“Aw. You’re a good man, Detective. Thank you.”
Cruz placed the coffee and the pastry bag on a counter near the sliding glass doors. The autopsy bay glistened in stainless. A bank of refrigeration units, used for body storage, ran along the perimeter of the room. The coroner had one body in front of him covered in a white sheet. Tools of his trade were gleaming on a cart with wheels next to the autopsy table—a bone saw, rib cutters, skull chisel, and a Stryker saw that would be used to remove the brain.
