by Karen Rose
Scarlett shrugged her embarrassment away. ‘I don’t,’ she lied. The truth was that she kept an eye on all of them from afar. Especially the young ones. They’d already survived one trauma. She hated to see that experience screw up the rest of their lives. She’d made more than one call to area outreaches, giving them a heads-up when one of the victims started down a wrong road. Sometimes they were able to drag the kids back to the straight and narrow. More often they failed, and the kids fell into the black hole of the criminal justice system.
But she’d tried, and she’d keep trying. Not that she wanted anyone to know it.
Lynda said nothing, waiting with a knowing look that made Scarlett’s cheeks burn hotter.
‘I got dragged to the shelter by Dani and Faith,’ Scarlett said with an exasperated huff. Deacon’s sister and his fiancée had pretended to need Scarlett’s Land Cruiser to transport their newly adopted animals, but she knew they were trying to include her in their girl group. Damned if she hadn’t been sucked right in. ‘They visited Delores after she woke up in the hospital. Her friends had been taking care of the animals, placing the ones they could. But there were a lot of dogs.’
‘Faith got two dogs, as I recall,’ Lynda said, her lips starting to twitch. ‘A three-year-old shepherd mix and a golden-mix puppy.’
‘I know. Deacon’s always muttering about his shoes being chewed up.’ Lynda’s gray brows lifted in startled delight. ‘Don’t tell me you got one too.’
Scarlett rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah. They guilted me into it.’
Lynda’s expression softened. ‘You have a good heart. Don’t be ashamed of that.’
‘I’m not.’ Which was a total lie. ‘I just have a reputation to protect.’
‘Well, your secret’s safe with me. What kind of dog did you get?’
Another roll of her eyes. ‘A bulldog. He’s . . . missing a leg. Nobody else wanted him.’
Lynda stared at her for a long moment. ‘And? How has he adapted?’
Scarlett thought of the way Zat had comforted her this morning when her emotions had dragged her under. Despite living through conditions of abuse for most of his life, he was sweet-natured and loving. And if Scarlett had anything to say about it, he’d live like a king for all the years he had left.
‘Okay, I guess,’ she said briskly. ‘He doesn’t eat as much as I thought. Anyway, I’m meeting Delores later to show her a photo of the poodle. See if she can narrow my groomer search at all.’
Lynda turned her attention back to the screen, still frozen on Tala’s frightened eyes. ‘You said there were two things you knew about Tala. What was the second?’
Grateful to be out of the emotional quicksand, Scarlett reached for her mouse. ‘That you can take Marcus O’Bannion off your potential suspect list. He didn’t shoot her.’ She forwarded the video to the point where Marcus was on his knees doing first aid. ‘Here’s the second shot – it came from behind Marcus. It hits him in the back and he’s knocked flat.’ On the screen, the picture pitched as Marcus was thrown forward from the force of the bullet, then the screen went dark.
‘The camera broke?’ Lynda asked.
‘No, it’s pointing at the concrete. He landed across her body. Her blood was soaking his shirt when I got there. The third shot is also fired from behind him.’
Thirty seconds elapsed, then, on a groan of pain, Marcus slowly lifted his head.
Tala, he muttered. Oh God. The lurch of the camera was punctuated by another, quieter groan as he shoved himself back up to kneel beside Tala’s lifeless body, freezing on the bullet hole in her head. And then the picture began to tremble, because Marcus had begun to tremble.
No, he whispered hoarsely. Goddammit, no. Slowly he leaned forward, reaching one hand to grip the girl’s chin with a gentleness that made Scarlett’s eyes sting. He turned Tala’s head with the same slow deliberation, bringing the exit wound into view.
‘Oh no,’ Lynda whispered. ‘That poor girl.’
Scarlett said nothing, her throat too thick for any words to get through, because she knew what was coming.
He rolled Tala’s head back to its original position with the same gentleness. Then his hands clenched into fists and slowly lowered to rest on his thighs. All while his body shook like a leaf.
Scarlett clenched her jaw, steeling herself for the low cry of pain that sounded like it came from a wounded animal rather than a man. He’d been so in control by the time she’d arrived. So . . . unmovable. Invincible. Seeing him – hearing him – had left Scarlett shaken as well, every time she’d watched the video.
Lynda sighed quietly. ‘His brother Mikhail was also shot in the head, wasn’t he?’ she murmured.
Scarlett nodded. ‘Marcus and his brother Stone found him.’ Buried in a shallow grave. ‘Mikhail was only seventeen.’
‘Just like Tala.’
On the screen, he knelt beside Tala’s body for another fifteen seconds, panting like he’d sprinted a mile, then pushed to his feet with a groan of pain. He looked behind him, but the lens picked up nothing, the shooter long gone.
Scarlett stopped the video. ‘He went to look for the shooter, but there was no one there. I’ll have the lab check to be sure there isn’t something in the background that I’m missing. Marcus voluntarily surrendered a small pistol he’d holstered at his ankle,’ she added.
‘Deacon said that you both think O’Bannion had a gun that he didn’t surrender.’
That Deacon had called Lynda with his initial report was no surprise. Scarlett had done the same after she’d showered and cleared her throat about a million times, not wanting her boss to notice that she’d been crying.
‘Yes,’ Scarlett said. ‘And before you ask me – yes, that bothers me a helluva lot. Marcus O’Bannion is definitely hiding something, but that something isn’t involved in Tala’s murder.’
‘Find out what it is,’ Lynda said. ‘I don’t want any surprises coming out in court if he does prove to be our star witness.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Scarlett wasn’t keen on surprises either. She’d dig until she discovered exactly what he hadn’t told them, then she’d decide if he was the kind of man she could even consider trusting.
She checked her email, saw that she had no new messages from Marcus O’Bannion, so still no list of threats. She didn’t think he was holding on to the list just to be difficult, or because he was embarrassed or ashamed. He’d given up the video files so easily, so quickly, with no demand for discretion, even though they revealed severe cracks in his emotional armor.
The list was probably irrelevant with regard to finding Tala’s killer, but it just might give Scarlett insight into the man himself. Either way, it gave her an excuse to talk to him again.
So that I can start looking for whatever it is that he’s hiding, she told herself sternly.
That she’d hear his voice again was simply a bonus.
Six
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 7.15 A.M.
The buzzing of his cell phone drew Drake’s attention from the TV in his bedroom. Ever since Stephanie had dropped him off at home, he’d been channel-surfing the news while periodically searching online for any mention of what had gone down this morning. So far, nothing more than a few vague reports of shots fired in the ghetto downtown. Of course the reporter would never call it ‘the ghetto’. That wasn’t PC.
He rolled his eyes. The media was overrun by liberals with their heads up their asses, where it was so dark that they couldn’t see what was really happening in the world, or – luckily for Drake – even in their own city. They’d mumbled about ‘unidentified victims’ whose status was ‘still undetermined’. Idiots. Their status was dead. D-E-A-D, dead.
There had been no mention of Tala or the man she’d been with. Not yet, anyway.
He rolled his eyes again when he saw the caller ID on his cell phone. Stephanie. Probably wanting to be reassured. Picking up his phone, he frowned, annoyed that his hand still trembled. The adrenaline high had crashed h
ours before, leaving him a little on the shaky side. He needed some food, but there hadn’t been anything in the fridge except beer.
The phone in his hand stopped buzzing. He’d stared at it too long, and Stephanie’s call had gone to voicemail. He considered calling her back, but knew there was no need. Too OCD for words, Stephanie would try him again in a few minutes.
Drake’s stomach churned, bile bubbling up to burn his throat. Dammit. I really need some food. Especially since he’d gone ahead and drunk all the beer. His older sister was gonna shit a ring when she came home tonight to the empty fridge. So I’d better refill it before she gets home. Not because he was afraid of her, but just so he didn’t have to hear her bitch.
Stephanie would give him the money for more beer. He wasn’t worried about that.
What did worry him was that he’d drunk the entire six-pack and his hand still trembled. Both hands, actually. Okay, fine. He was shaking all over, like a damn leaf.
You’re rattled. It’s okay. It’s not every day you kill someone. Someones, actually.
It still didn’t seem quite real. I killed two people.
He hadn’t really planned to – especially not the guy. The big dude dressed in black had moved like a cop, but he hadn’t been arresting Tala. He’d been talking to her, a serious expression on his face.
Probably just trying to convince the bitch to give him a blow job.
But Drake knew it was a helluva lot more likely that Tala had planned to tell. Now he’d never know – nor would anyone else. The only thing he knew for sure was that she’d arranged to meet the guy, whoever he was, because she’d used Drake’s cell phone to send him a text. She’d thought she’d been so clever, slipping the phone from the pocket of the jacket he’d left on Stephanie’s living-room sofa. Of course he had left it there on purpose, just to see what she’d do.
Served her right for thinking she could keep secrets. He’d felt the business card through her bra when he’d come up behind her, grabbing a breast in each hand. He would have had the card out of her bra a second later had Stephanie’s father not picked that moment to walk into the room.
Drake huffed a chuckle. Stupid bastard. Stephanie’s old man actually thought he could keep Tala all to himself. Drake had lost count of the number of times he and Stephanie had proved the old man wrong. But Stephanie didn’t want to piss her father off, so they played along when Papa was in the room. Which meant that by the time Drake caught up with Tala again, she’d hidden the card and neither he nor Stephanie had been able to find it. So he’d set her up and Tala had taken the bait just like he’d known she would, thinking she’d pulled something over on him by borrowing his phone.
Stupid backward bitch. He and Stephanie had set the trap by telling Tala that they’d be going out that night to get Steph some coke. Tala had texted someone to meet her a few blocks from the homeless shelter where Drake and Stephanie always bought their blow. Tala’s text was no longer on his phone. She had immediately deleted it, thinking she was safe.
Well, tonight she’d been educated, hadn’t she? Drake had simply used his laptop to open the app that synced his phone, tablet and computer.
He only wished he’d been able to stay to watch her bleed, but he hadn’t had the luxury of time. He’d made sure that he’d finished the job by putting a bullet in her skull before running like hell. And not a second too soon. He’d escaped those sirens by five seconds. Ten tops. Way too close for his liking.
But at least Tala wasn’t a problem anymore. And even if she had told the guy everything, it didn’t matter. They were both dead and wouldn’t be talking to anyone else.
His phone buzzed again, startling him, sending his pulse rocketing up. It’s just Stephanie. Who would freak if Drake wasn’t calm and in control. So calm the fuck down so she doesn’t freak. Answer the phone like it’s nothin’ special.
‘Yeah?’ He injected a note of bored impatience into his voice. Like he had a million things better to do. ‘What is it now?’
‘He knows.’ Stephanie’s whisper was harsh.
Drake’s heart gave a little stutter. Stephanie’s father shouldn’t know anything yet. ‘There’s nothing on the news,’ he said smoothly. ‘So how did he find out?’
‘I didn’t tell him. I swear. The alarm went off.’ Stephanie was talking way too fast. ‘The ankle tracker had a tamper alarm. I thought we’d disabled it on my dad’s computer when we hacked into his system, but we didn’t. He had it set so that the alarm went to his phone and the house alarm. It went off hours ago. This is the first chance I’ve had to call.’
Drake closed his eyes. How the fucking hell had they forgotten about the damn tracker strapped to Tala’s ankle? They were always so careful when they took her out to play, disabling the old man’s tracking software on the household’s server so that the girl’s temporary absence wouldn’t be detected. Stephanie’s father would only notice if he specifically went into the logs to check Tala’s position, and there had been no need to do so as long as they returned her to her pallet on the floor before the other servants woke up.
‘I didn’t know it triggered the house alarm. It was loud enough to wake the . . .’ Stephanie faltered. ‘It was really loud.’
‘Somebody had to have cut the tracker off her body,’ Drake said quietly. Damn. He hadn’t thought of that when he’d left her body behind. But taking her with him had never been an option. ‘What did he say to you?’
‘He only asked me if I knew where Tala was. I told him no. I don’t think he believed me, though. He gave me the look.’
Drake rolled his eyes. ‘He always has that look. Like he swallowed a lemon.’
‘No, this was different. He knew I was lying.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ he asked smoothly.
A slight pause. ‘What am I going to do?’ she asked quietly. Too quietly, actually. ‘You’re the one who killed her. What are you going to do?’
Her calm rattled him a little. She was supposed to be terrified. Girls always got terrified when there was trouble. They squealed and begged him for direction. Stephanie would too. She just didn’t know it yet.
‘What we’re going to do is hang loose and pretend like we don’t have a care in the world. And what we’re going to do is remember that we were in that car together.’ He hardened his tone, made it menacing. ‘Right?’
‘Right.’ A deep breath and a decidedly less aggressive tone. ‘Right. Whatever you say.’
‘Good answer.’ And if Stephanie folded? Drake might just have to up his killing tally to three.
Somehow the idea didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have.
Besides, Drake was not afraid of Stephanie’s father. He had insurance. He had the flash drive in his underwear drawer. On it, he’d burned a copy of Stephanie’s father’s files every time he accessed the man’s computer. Every time they took Tala out to play.
When the old man saw what Drake had on him, he would never bother them again.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 7.45 A.M.
‘Mr Sweeney? Do you have a minute?’ Ken’s secretary’s voice came through the intercom. At the office, Alice Newman always called him Mr Sweeney. Any other place, he was simply Dad. Alice had never been a Sweeney – mostly for her own protection, especially when she was a child. Ken made too many enemies to allow either of his children to be made into targets by association. Then again, Ken hadn’t been born a Sweeney either. None of his team used the names they’d been born with. It was tidier that way.
His daughter with his first wife, Alice had graduated with honors from the University of Kentucky’s law school and was learning the business from the ground up. Ken hoped she’d take over soon so that he could meet his goal of retirement to a sunny beach by the time he was fifty. Luckily Alice was a quick study, because Ken had only two years to go. ‘One of your employees would like to talk with you,’ she added professionally.
Ken looked up from the P&L statements he was revie
wing. The profits were lower and the losses were higher than they’d been a year ago. Combined with the morning surprise from security and the fact that Reuben had as of yet failed to report, he was not in a good mood.
‘Who is it, Alice?’ he asked impatiently.
‘Gene Decker. He, um, says it’s important.’
Ken frowned. What the hell? ‘Tell Decker to route any accounting concerns through his boss. And tell Joel that he needs to keep his people busier so they don’t have time to bother me. And where the fuck is Reuben?’
‘Mr Blackwell hasn’t called in yet. And Mr Decker says it’s not about accounting. It’s related to the call he made to you this morning.’
Fuck. Decker was supposed to have gone back to the accounting office and minded his own business. ‘Send him in,’ Ken said coldly.
‘Thank you, Mr Sweeney,’ Gene said respectfully a minute later as he came in and closed Ken’s office door. He didn’t come in any farther, taking a military stance – staring straight ahead, his feet spread wide, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘I appreciate your time, sir. I know you’re busy.’
Ken blew out a breath, trying not to snap. ‘Come the hell in and sit down,’ he said, pointing to one of the leather wingback chairs on the other side of his desk. He silently observed the man’s fluid movements as he obeyed.
‘It looks like your injury’s healed,’ he remarked. ‘Your limp is gone.’
‘Yes, sir. Mostly, anyway.’ Decker lowered himself into the wing chair gingerly, as if afraid his weight might break it. Had the chair been of lesser quality, he might have been right. Built like a linebacker, he’d surprised them early on by demonstrating the speed of a sprinter and the footwork of a boxer. The combination had made him one hell of a bodyguard, a fact to which Ken could personally attest. Ken wouldn’t be sitting at his desk today if Gene Decker hadn’t been so fast on his feet. Unfortunately the accident had robbed Decker of some of his speed and agility. He wouldn’t be returning to personal security anytime soon.
Decker’s loss had been the company’s gain, though. Skilled bodyguards were a dime a dozen, but a man with Decker’s creative accounting skills? The young man had quite a future ahead of him.
