Cold Snap

by Allison Brennan

  And her mother sends the only unattached Kincaid to San Francisco simply because Elle hadn’t returned her phone calls for two days.

  She was going to give her mother a piece of her mind. After she found Kami.

  Elle needed to figure out what to do with Patrick. She wanted his help, but she didn’t.

  “You’re not talking,” Patrick said.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered—”

  “Dammit, Elle, I need information if I’m going to help you.”

  “Look, this is a bad idea. Where’s your car? I’ll drop you off—”

  “I already told you. I’m here, I’m helping, or I’m calling the police about the shooting. In fact, why didn’t you?”

  “I’m sure one of my neighbors phoned it in.” She turned off Howard Street and headed toward the Haight. “If the police know Kami isn’t with me, they’re going to arrest her.”

  “What did the girl do?”

  “What hasn’t she done? She’s a street kid, has been for four years. Tossed out of her house by her father and his girlfriend when she was eleven because they didn’t want her around anymore. She’s been in and out of the system. Shoplifting. Grand theft auto. Lorenzo took her in when she was thirteen and had her pickpocketing tourists at the pier and museums. I met her six months ago through the pro bono work my law firm does and helped arrange a plea agreement to keep her out of juvie. She picked the wrong pocket, the mark was a cop on vacation from Bakersfield who nailed Kami. When the cops picked Kami up again last week, this time possession with intent, she called me. Swore she wasn’t selling, she didn’t know what was in the package she was delivering, but the D.A. wasn’t going to budge because Kami hangs with Lorenzo, a known dealer.” Elle hesitated, then added, “Kami wants to change. We’ve kept in contact, I’ve been helping her study so she can get her GED. She has information about a bastard named Christopher Lee, a philanthropist.”

  She rolled her eyes. That’s what the press called him.

  “Philanthropist?”

  “He just got some stupid plaque from the city for building that new teen center mentioned, near Dogpatch, a depressed area of the city.”

  “Sounds like a rotten bastard,” Patrick said sarcastically.

  Elle bit back a snide comment. “Well, on the one hand he gives homeless and runaway teens minimum-wage jobs in his garment business, and built them this great place where they can do their homework and apply for colleges and hang out. On the other hand, he’s importing drugs that are distributed all over northern California and Nevada. The DEA raided him—once. But they found nothing, and he ended up suing the government. It was settled out of court as far as I know, but he has everyone snowed. If anyone speaks out against him, they end up dead.” Like Doreen. “He has to be stopped, and Kami can do it.”

  “If you really have even a hair of proof, the feds will start an investigation. You don’t need to put yourself in the middle—”

  Elle groaned, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Patrick frown. “Are you really that naïve?”

  “I’m not an idiot,” he said. He was pissed, and Elle didn’t blame him, but he didn’t understand what they were facing here. He was part of the system. The system was broken.

  “Lee has inside information. He’s been raided before. He was nailed for minor OSHA violations, paid a fine, but the feds haven’t been able to prove he’s breaking any laws. The child labor laws are complex, and Lee keeps detailed records. The borderline sweatshops he’s running are more or less legit. But he makes kids disappear when they make waves. No one is going to turn on him.”

  “Still—”

  “Look, I had a girl inside, and she turned up dead last year when she was about to bring me physical proof of Lee’s operation.”

  “And Kami?”

  “She says she has proof.”

  Elle shut up. She couldn’t reveal everything about Kami, and she didn’t want to admit that she didn’t know exactly what proof Kami had. She was an eyewitness to Lee’s drug trafficking, but the D.A. had made it clear that Kami’s statement alone wouldn’t fly. Lee was too powerful and had too much money and had spent too much money in the city—the D.A. wasn’t going to prosecute anyone on the word of a teenage criminal. The only reason Elle had gotten as far as she had was because of her friendship with her ex-husband, Dwight Bishop. If she screwed this up, she’d ruin that relationship as well.

  Patrick asked, “What evidence?”

  Elle didn’t say anything. They were nearing the Haight and she looked for a place to park.

  “She has nothing,” Patrick said. As if he just knew the truth.

  “Of course she does.” Elle pulled into a slot on the street.

  “But you don’t know what it is.”

  Elle turned off the car and glared at him. “I believe her, and that’s all I need. But even if she’s lying, Lee thinks she has something, and that puts her in danger. There’s a leak somewhere—otherwise why would those men have shot at us? Someone knows Kami is staying with me, and that she can take Christopher Lee down. I need to find her—and I don’t need you.”

  Elle wished she had shut up. Her mouth constantly got her into trouble, and the truth was she needed help. Her boss had told her to leave this case alone. Dwight had told her she was walking a fine line and had gotten too close to Kami. But she couldn’t leave it alone. Not after what happened to Doreen.

  “You’re a smart woman,” Patrick said. “You know this is a bad situation; you could use the police on your side.”

  “If Kami goes to jail, I lose her. She’ll never trust me again. Or worse, she’ll get killed. Lee is not to be underestimated. I’ve—”

  She cut herself off.

  “Tell me.”

  “Let’s go.” Elle jumped out of the car before she said anything else. Family friend or not, she didn’t know Patrick well enough to confide in him about everything, at least not yet. She didn’t have time to chat while Kami was missing. She was a smart girl, but if Lorenzo turned her over to Lee, she’d be dead.

  Why’d you run away, Kami?

  “Clark Grayson is a friend of mine from college,” Elle said. “He’s a social worker for the city, and also volunteers some nights with Granny’s Kitchen, which serves primarily homeless kids and kids who aren’t getting fed at home. It’s not the largest youth services program, but it gets by. He’s a good guy—Kami might have gone to see him if she was worried about Lorenzo or if she thought they’d found her at my place.” She paused. “Which they might have, considering they shot at us.”

  “Which suggests she was warned,” Patrick said. “If you’re telling me everything you know. Which you’re not.”

  She stopped on the street, turned and poked a finger at him. Damn, his chest was hard as a rock. He didn’t look at all muscle-boy, but he definitely had them under his tall, lean frame.

  She pushed aside the memories of her crush and focused on the here and now. “Look, Kincaid, I told you all the important stuff. I don’t have time to hold your hand through every damn detail. I need to find Kami before she’s killed, and get her to court on Wednesday. End of story.”

  Elle opened an unmarked door. The walkway was narrow and poorly lit. Downstairs was a low-ceilinged room, which by the noise was full: video games, television, chatter. Granny’s Kitchen’s offices were on the main floor, all locked at this time of night except for the library in the front of the building where kids could use the Internet and study. Upstairs was the kitchen where they made hot meals daily. This wasn’t the newest or most modern youth facility in town, but the people who volunteered truly cared, which is why Elle had a soft spot for the place.

  Now that the new teen center had opened, Granny’s Kitchen wasn’t as popular as it used to be. Kids who weren’t tied to the Haight for other reasons had migrated to Dogpat
ch, and that made Elle angry. She’d promoted the new teen center to many of the kids she’d met through either her pro bono work or volunteering. The teen center should be a safe place to keep them off drugs and give them tools to succeed; knowing that Lorenzo was using it as a base of operations for Lee made Elle furious.

  “Hi, Elle.” Two young boys walked up the stairs toward the kitchen. They were brothers and inseparable.

  “Deej, Tom,” she said. “Don’t make your mom worry. She gets home from work at eleven.”

  “I know,” Tom said, “we’re getting a to-go plate for her. Clark said we could.”

  She smiled. They were good boys. She hadn’t met them because they’d gotten in trouble; she’d met them through her friend Clark while he was tutoring Tom in reading. The kid had graduated eighth grade without being able to read. Elle had helped their mom find a second job. They lived a couple blocks from Granny’s Kitchen and ate dinner here almost every night.

  She and Patrick followed them upstairs. Because it was nearly nine, most of the kids had already eaten. The hot food was gone, but the volunteers would make sandwiches for anyone who came in late. She spotted Clark talking to three boys while they ate. He saw her and waved, but she didn’t miss that he looked twice at Patrick.

  Clark motioned for Elle to come over. “What’s up?”

  “Do you have a sec?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  Elle didn’t say anything, and Clark said to the teenagers, “Go back downstairs. I’ll meet you at the Xbox in ten minutes.”

  The kids left, all about sixteen and rough around the edges. That wasn’t unusual, but Elle hadn’t seen these three before.

  “Sit down,” Clark said, motioning to the vacated chairs.

  Elle introduced Patrick. “He’s a family friend from San Diego.” Better than saying a cop or private investigator or whatever Kincaid was now. “I need some help, but you have to keep it confidential.”

  “Of course,” he said, concerned. “Is it about Kami?”

  Elle was surprised. “Yes, why?”

  “I heard that she got arrested again, figured you’d take her case.”

  “I need to find her.”

  “She’s not in juvie?”

  “No. I’m responsible for her.”

  “Elle, I’ve warned you about that—you’re going to get in trouble with the bar if you keep this up.”

  “There were extenuating circumstances.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like stuff,” she said vaguely. “Has she been in here tonight?”

  “No, but I didn’t get in until eight.”

  “If you see her, please tell her to call me. She’s in danger.”

  “How so?”

  “I can’t say, she’s my client,” Elle said, “but I need to find her. You understand, right?”

  “No, but I trust you. I can ask around—”

  “No, don’t do that. But you can help me—where’s Lorenzo tonight?”

  “Stay away from him,” Clark said. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that.” He paused. “Is that why Kami’s in danger? From Lorenzo?”

  “Possibly. She got picked up for possession with intent. She said she wasn’t selling, that she didn’t know what she was carrying.” Elle didn’t believe it. The not-selling part, yes, but Kami had known what she was doing. She probably thought it would help her get the goods on Christopher Lee. She hadn’t told Elle that, but it seemed obvious.

  “I don’t feel comfortable sending you out there—”

  “He’s at the new teen center? Really?” Why was she surprised? If Lorenzo and Lee were tied at the hip like Elle thought, of course Lee would let him use the new center as a base. It simply confirmed what Elle suspected.

  “He has an apartment near the center, but I don’t know exactly where. It’s one of those better-that-I-don’t-know situations.”

  “Thanks.” She got up.

  “Don’t do it.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “The kids’, always. And the best way to stop Lorenzo’s power is to educate these kids and give them opportunities and hope.”

  “The best way to stop his power is to put him in jail,” Elle snapped. She and Clark had gone around and around on this. While Elle didn’t care much for the police, she knew they were the only ones who could truly stop the drug dealer. Yes, others would fill his shoes, but if people like her and Clark were there to help the kids transition from being victims—throwaways, homeless, emotionally and physically abused—to becoming productive, clean-living citizens, they could perhaps take on future leadership roles and prevent people like Lorenzo from gaining power over the desperate. There was no easy solution and the problem would continue as long as Elle was alive. But she looked at it one kid at a time. Save Kami. Save boys like Tom and Deej. Keep them from running the streets or getting killed through violence or drug abuse or prostitution.

  Sometimes, it was so overwhelming she wanted to scream. Usually, she managed okay. Until things happened—like today.

  “I know of two more places she might be,” Elle said. “I’m not going to do anything stupid with Lorenzo.”

  “Good. Be careful.” Clark glanced at Patrick and frowned. Patrick stared back at him. God, men. Testosterone. Impossible.

  She stood, then said to Clark, “I’m going downstairs to see if some of Kami’s friends are here. Okay?”

  “Go ahead.”

  She walked out and turned to Patrick, who started to follow her. “You want to wait here?” She gave him a look that said her question was actually an order.

  “I’ll go to the car. I need to call my sister anyway.”

  She handed him her keys. “Thanks.” She turned and headed down to the basement.

  Patrick watched Elle leave, then returned to the dining hall. Clark wasn’t at the table they’d just vacated, but he saw the guy in the kitchen with a phone in his hand. As soon as Clark saw Patrick, he pocketed his phone.

  “Kincaid, right?” Clark said. “Can I get you something?”

  “Why did you lie to Elle?”

  Clark’s expression darkened. “I don’t know who you are, but Elle and I have been friends for a long time.”

  “That makes lying to her worse.”

  Clark sneered. “Who are you to sit there glaring at me for the last ten minutes, then accuse me of—”

  Patrick cut him off. “You know more about what’s going on with Kami than you told her. Lies of omission.”

  Patrick wasn’t wrong about this, every instinct he had told him Clark had been fishing for information—subtly, but clearly. Elle didn’t realize it because they were friends, but it was in his body language, how he worded his questions, the way he let it “slip” where the drug dealer Lorenzo was hiding out. Elle might be in danger because of someone she trusted.

  Clark made a move to leave and Patrick stepped in front of him. Patrick was several inches taller and in much better shape than this weasel. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw the kitchen volunteers look both wary and suspicious.

  Clark said, “Are you a cop?”

  Elle hadn’t introduced him as anything more than a family friend, and Patrick didn’t want to fill in any gaps. Let Clark think what he wanted. And by the look on Clark’s face, he didn’t like cops. “I care about Elle, and I don’t trust you.”

  “I honestly don’t give a fuck what you think of me, asshole.”

  Patrick smiled, though he didn’t take his eyes off Clark. “I’ll find Kami, I’ll find out what you’re hiding, and Elle will know you’re one of the bad guys.”

  Clark leaned forward and poked Patrick in the chest. “Tap her ass while you can, because when I’m through with you, she’ll never speak to you again. Elle and I have been friends for years. She trusts me a lot more than some domineering prick from—”

  Patrick grabbed Clark’s finger as it came down on his chest a second time. He applied pressure on a critical nerve, mentally thanking his brother J
ack for teaching him some tricks of the trade.

  “Don’t be crude.”

  Clark’s eyes watered as Patrick continued the pressure, but he practically growled when he said, “You certainly don’t know her well, do you?”

  “Hey!” Elle’s voice came from the doorway. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Patrick dropped Clark’s finger and stepped back. He wasn’t prone to temper, but right now he knew if he had been a cop, he’d have arrested this bastard just on general principles.

  “Let’s go,” Patrick said. Elle’s confused expression silently asked him a myriad of questions, but he wasn’t going to explain. She was holding back on him, he didn’t need to share his unproven suspicions about Clark Grayson. “Anyone see her?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “There’s another place I want to go, over by—”

  “Great,” Patrick interrupted. He didn’t want Clark hearing where they were going. He needed to do a background check on Elle’s friend.

  He steered her out. He’d been concerned after the near-miss attack at her loft, but now he knew something else was going on—and Elle had tunnel vision. All she wanted to do was find Kami, and maybe that was the first step, but there was more to this situation than one street kid who might have information on a drug dealer.

  As soon as they were at Elle’s car, she took the keys from Patrick and said, “What was going on between you and Clark?”

  “Guy talk.”

  “Oh, please.”

  Patrick weighed keeping his thoughts to himself, but decided to tell her. “I don’t trust him.”

  “You don’t know him!”

  “I was a cop for a long time, I’ve been a PI for years. I don’t have to personally know him to understand him.”

  “What the hell does that mean? You have some supercop power that lets you instantly judge someone as being a good guy or a bad guy? Geez, I thought you were better than that.”

  “He was fishing for information—he wanted to know what you knew.”

  Elle rolled her eyes. “I swear, every cop I’ve ever met is either paranoid or has it out for people.”

  “That’s not fair.”