by W. L. Dyson
Together, they walked out of the building and climbed into Nick's SUV.
4
Tuesday, 11:55 a.m.
East Baltimore
With Conner riding shotgun and Rafe in the backseat, Nick eased the black SUV down the trash-littered street, passed the house he was targeting, and then up to the curb. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still as gray as a banker's suit and as heavy as his need for profits.
A long time ago, the brick row homes on Livingston Street had been a thriving community. The women hung their wash while chatting over the small hedges that divided the backyards. Children had run the streets, knowing that every home had an adult who would watch out for them. The men had all arrived home about the same time each day from the factories and shipyards nearby, signaling the dinner hour and driving everyone inside. The homes had been well cared for— lawns trimmed, shutters painted, and windows sparkling.
Now, most of the lawns were dirt, few of the homes had shutters at all, and the majority of the windows were either boarded up or covered by metal bars. Desperation clung in the air, and poverty haunted like a specter. What was once a sanctuary for wholesome living was now a trash dump.
The three men emerged from the SUV, carefully watching the house. Nick assessed every shadow, every noise, every movement.
The men gathered in front of one of the duplexes and split off. While Rafe and Nick moved in a crouch along the front porch, Conner crept through the garbage-littered yard to the back door. Nick figured if anything went wrong and Borden tried running out the back door, he'd hit the brick wall named Conner and find himself flat on his back, wishing he had stayed put.
Nick flexed his hands, encased in fingerless leather gloves, as he climbed the steps to the front door. Tension tightened his muscles, sending little sparks of adrenaline through his bloodstream. He eased his Mace out of his pocket, while Rafe pulled his gun from his holster.
Cautiously, Nick opened the warped screen door, glancing quickly over to his partner. With Rafe's nod, he took a deep breath, counted to three, and then knocked lightly on the door. A few moments later, it opened.
A young woman answered—presumably Borden's latest girlfriend. She was a tiny thing, barely standing five foot, with short black hair streaked with red and purple. She had a bruise forming on her cheek, and the realization that Borden had hit the girl was enough to make Nick's blood boil.
“I need to talk to Borden. Where is he?”
She looked over her shoulder with a mix of reluctance and relief. “He's still passed out. Been down here doing them drugs all night and still at it this morning.” Wringing her hands, she glanced up at Nick. “I don't know if I should let you guys in.”
“We just need to ask him a few questions. That's all.”
After another moment's hesitation, she stepped back, letting Nick and Rafe into the house.
Sure enough, Borden was passed out, sprawled across the sofa as if he didn't have a care in the world. As Rafe pulled out his cuffs and prepared to deal with Borden, Nick turned to the girlfriend. “I have a man at the back door. His name is Conner. Could you let him in for me? And do you have any coffee made?”
“I'll make a pot.”
He and his team had no need for the coffee, but it would keep the girl out of the way for a few minutes. As she disappeared into the kitchen, Nick glanced over at Rafe, who had one of Borden's hands cuffed and was standing there staring down at the man who was still passed out, unaware that his world was about to turn upside down.
“Ready?”
Rafe nodded. “Oh yeah. I'm ready.”
Nick stepped over, grabbed Borden by the shoulders, and flipped him to the floor. He landed on his face, and by the time he realized something wasn't right, both his hands were cuffed behind him.
“Who are you?” Borden mumbled against the carpet.
Rafe knelt down, his knee pressing into the small of Borden's back. “Prodigal Recovery. How ya doin’, Larry?”
Borden cursed as he struggled. “I didn't know nuthin about a court date.” Rafe must have dug a little harder with his knee as he stood up, because Borden wailed.
Nick leaned over and grabbed an arm, helping Rafe lift Borden to his feet. “Ya hit your girl, huh?”
Borden glared at Nick. “Ain't none of your business what I do.”
“Wrong answer, Larry.” Nick's cell phone vibrated. With his free hand, he checked the Caller ID. It was Jessica. Again. Didn't the woman have any patience?
Just then, Borden must have had a brain cell go AWOL, because he lurched forward, jerking out of Rafe's and Nick's grip and lunging for the door.
Nick ran after him, but just as Borden entered the foyer, Conner appeared. Borden tripped over Conner's foot and hit the hardwood floor with a thud and a scream. Conner reached down and hauled Borden up by the collar with one massive hand.
Borden continued to struggle, flailing against Conner's grip.
Nick stepped forward and leaned in close. “I'm going to ask you nicely. Where is Richie Carver?”
“In jail, idiot!”
“Wrong answer. Where is he?”
“Last I heard, he was doing time. I swear. I ain't heard nuthin.”
Borden tried to jump to his feet and run, but Nick grabbed him by the shoulder, sending him sprawling across the coffee table. It tipped over and crashed to the floor, Borden flattened by it. Conner reached under the table and lifted Borden to his feet. A small packet fell out of Borden's pocket.
Nick stared down at the packet and then looked at Borden. “Try again. And talk fast before I call the cops and tell them you have drugs on you.”
Borden's eyes were darting faster than a Border collie on steroids. “Just a rumor. That's all I got, man.”
“Talk.”
“Heard he and another prisoner made a break. But they say it wasn't Jon that did the planning. No one knows who he is.” He looked up at Nick. “And no one is saying where Richie's hiding. I swear.”
Nick stared at him for a long moment. His instincts told him the man was telling the truth. But it didn't make any sense. If Jon didn't plan the escape, then Richie just happened to luck out and stumble on someone else's break? Not likely. Jon was probably putting out the word that he wasn't involved to cover his own backside.
“Heads-up, Larry. If I hear otherwise, I'm coming back for you, and I won't be so polite. You hear anything about Richie, you call me. You see Richie, you call me. You think you see Richie, you call me. You understand?”
“I got it. You want Richie.” But his eyes kept darting left and right and never meeting Nick's. “I got it, man. Now let me go.”
Nick stepped back and nodded at Conner. “Let him go. For now.”
As soon as Conner released the handcuffs, Borden rubbed his wrists and glared at Conner and then turned to Nick. “If Richie's out, he'll be looking for you.”
“Good. Make it easier for me to find him.”
As the three men walked back to their vehicle, Nick dialed a familiar number.
“Linc? Nick. I was just talking to Borden, and a small quantity of cocaine fell out of his pocket. Just letting you know.”
“Gotcha. You callin’ 'cause you need a favor?”
“No. I was asking him about Carver, and it fell out of his pocket.”
“Thanks, Nick. We're on our way.”
“Where to now?” Conner asked as they climbed back into the SUV.
“Richie's old girlfriend Angela. I doubt he'll go there, but it's worth checking.”
Nick was sitting at a stop sign just two blocks from Borden's when his cell phone rang again. He flipped the phone open. “I'm working, Jessica.”
“You know what, Nick? I have a job too. But while you've been ignoring my calls, I've learned that your daughter skipped school three times last week.”
Making a right turn, he hit the gas. “I'm sorry to hear that. But I'm in the middle of something here. Can this wait?”
“I know this might be hard for you to grasp, but I'm n
ot the only parent Krystal has. I can't be expected to just drop everything every single time she gets into trouble. You need to pick up some of the slack.”
“I do what I can when I can, but I need to work every hour possible, Jess. My finances are a little tight, and you're not helping any.”
“I don't care.”
Jessica's words ripped at an old wound and drew fresh hurt. “Tell me something I don't already know.”
He snapped the phone closed, looked into the rearview at Rafe's sympathetic expression, and pulled into the parking lot. He didn't know whether Jessica was done with her rant or not, but he wasn't going to waste any more time on the same conversation they'd had a million times before. It was the same old story—he was the bad guy, she was the good parent, and their daughter was spinning out of control.
As Nick shut off the engine and climbed out of the SUV, Conner yelled out, “Look out! She's running!”
Nick jumped back into the SUV as Angela's car peeled out of the parking lot and made a right at the main street. “Let's go, let's go!”
Tuesday, 12:10 p.m.
Prodigal offices, Baltimore
Steven took off his coat as he entered the building. He hadn't planned on being so late, but his mother was having one of her rare “good” days and actually knew who he was through most of the visit. Taking advantage of being able to talk to her and share a few memories with her was far more important to him than chasing down some bail jumper. Jenna looked up at him with a warm smile of welcome.
“Is he here?”
She shook her head. “Out on a job.”
Steven stopped at her desk to pick up his messages. “Did he notice I wasn't here?”
“Oh yeah.”
Just then, a little white ball of fluff came running out from under Jenna's desk and darted beneath Steven's legs, yapping furiously. Steven knelt down in front of the desk. “Hey, killer.”
The dog ran back under Jenna's desk. She chuckled. “A real killer, that's him.”
“So that's the way it's going to be, eh? You know, you can't hide from every threat, Killer. See, this is a bounty hunter business. We are the biggest, strongest dudes in town. We make bad guys tremble with fear. If you're going to stick around here, you're going to have to show some gumption, little guy.”
The dog eased out from under the desk. Steven picked him up. “That's much better. Never show fear.” He wrinkled his nose at the mud-matted fur, and distinctly unpleasant odor of wet dog, road kill, and Dumpster diving. He glanced over at Jenna. “Another of Nick's strays?”
“Of course. Found him outside in the bank parking lot. And before I forget, we had a couple of skips come in this morning. They're on Conner's desk. High priority. Nick wanted you to work on tracking them down.”
“How long have they been gone?”
“The skips?” She tipped her glasses down and arched a quizzical brow.
“No. Nick.”
“Oh. Not long, why?”
“I should have time to call the groomer down the street and see if she can do something with this poor dog,” Steven headed down the hall. “He stinks.”
Jenna jumped up and started after him. “Steven, Nick is going to be furious if he gets back here and you haven't started on those skips.”
“Yeah, and he'll huff and puff, and I'll remind him that I own as much of this company as he does, and that'll be the end of it.”
Tuesday, 12:30 p.m.
Downtown Baltimore
Annie cut the engine and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Her hands dropped to her lap. She was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. Another day in paradise. She grabbed her purse and, using her shoulder, pushed the driver's door open. All she had to do was make it up to her apartment and she could sleep the rest of the day if she had to.
So far, she hadn't found Barbara. But she had found out something that should have been obvious, and if she hadn't been running on emotion, she could have stayed in bed this morning. Women in Barbara's line of work weren't up and around in the morning. They sleep all day.
Which is exactly what Annie felt like doing.
“Hi, Annie!”
Annie was shuffling slowly up the steps of her apartment building when Irene Paige stepped out with her poodle. Time for Chipper's walk. “Hello, Irene. How are you today?”
“Glorious! Just glorious! You're looking a bit under the weather, doll. Coming down with a cold, are you?” Irene was the one who should have been named Chipper. Tall, thin, and always wearing that short, ugly, curly wig, the woman was never without a smile on her face and a kind word for everyone she met.
“Just a few sniffles,” Annie said. “I've ordered some medicine from the pharmacy. I'll be fine.”
Irene reached out and patted Annie on the arm. “You will indeed. Now I best get Chipper out before he gets an attitude and sulks all day.”
Annie mustered up a weak smile and opened the door. As she turned to go in, she spotted a blue car sitting at the curb, engine still running. It looked like the same car that she'd seen at one of the bars she'd gone to.
Nah. Why would anyone be following her? How many little blue cars were there in any given city? One day of looking for Barbara and already she was jumping at shadows.
She headed up the stairs to her apartment. Once inside, she changed into her most comfortable flannel sweats and poured some juice. Within minutes, her sniffles turned into a runny nose and a flurry of sneezes. Groaning as her head began to pound, she curled up on the sofa to wait for the pharmacy delivery.
The phone rang and she ignored it, too miserable to bother getting up.
Tuesday, 1:45 p.m.
Prodigal SUV, en route to Prodigal offices, Baltimore
It had taken about fifteen minutes to pull Angela over. It had taken her that long to figure out that Nick wasn't the loan shark she was avoiding. But talking to Angela had been one giant dead end. She hadn't heard from Richie in nearly two years and apparently didn't want to. She gave Nick and the guys a couple of places to check, and they let her go on her way.
Richie was out there somewhere, and Nick was determined to find him. There were only so many places Richie could hide in the area without someone seeing him. And even if he found some new place to hole up, it was merely a matter of time before he surfaced. Time, however, was not the element Nick wanted to deal with. He wanted to find Richie fast.
When Nick, Conner, and Rafe arrived at the office, Jenna's desk was empty. Nick figured she went out for some lunch. The guys dispersed to their cubicles, and Nick headed down the hall with them toward his brother's cubicle.
Steven was on the phone, jotting down something on a legal pad. As always, Steven's jeans had a crease that could cut steak, and his white button-down shirt and athletic shoes didn't have a mark on them. Nick didn't want to think about how long it had been since he'd bothered to iron a shirt, and he certainly never ironed his jeans. What was the point?
Younger by four years, Steven was as different from Nick as two people could be and still be related. Steven was one of those take-life-as-it-comes people, while Nick had been accused of being intense and single-minded more than once—just one of the many differences between them. Nick didn't think he was all that intense, but he definitely took life more seriously than his goof-off brother.
The two looked completely different from each other too. Steven was two inches shorter, a few pounds lighter, had blondish-brown hair, and had their mom's green eyes rather than their dad's hazel eyes, which Nick had inherited along with their dad's broader nose and thicker neck.
“Thanks,” Steven said to the person on the other end of the line. “I appreciate it.” He hung up and then scooted back from his desk. “A to Z Bail Bonds sent over a list of skips. They're on your desk.”
“Good.”
“And one of your snitches called in. I think it was Petey.” Steven leaned back and propped his feet up on the corner of his desk. “Said he was following someone you were looking for an
d would call in again.”
“Who is he following?”
“He didn't say.”
Not unusual for Petey. He was always afraid someone was going to cheat him out of a possible fifty-spot for turning in a fugitive, so he would only talk to Nick.
“I need to see you in my office if you have time.”
Steven lifted an eyebrow. “We're here now. Talk.”
“This includes Conner and Rafe. If it's too much effort for you to walk down the hall to meet with us, I'll send you a memo later and let you know what we discussed.”
Tamping down his temper, Nick left Steven's cubicle and returned to his office. A few minutes later Conner and Rafe joined him. Steven followed right on their heels wearing a sullen expression guaranteed to be a harbinger of things to come.
“Have a seat, guys.” Nick felt the twinges of a headache inching across his temples and tried to rub them away. He reached into his desk and grabbed a bottle of Excedrin Migraine.
The door to the office eased open as Jenna stepped in with a large pizza and set it down on the coffee table along with a stack of napkins. “I'm going to assume none of you stopped for lunch while you were out.”
Rafe smiled at Jenna as he reached over and flipped the box open. “If you didn't have us to coddle, you wouldn't be nearly as happy.”
“Dream on. And Nick…you have a call on line one. It's Will Gregory. Wants to know if you can get on a skip today.”
Nick grabbed a slice of pizza before picking up the phone. “Afternoon, Will.” Nick bit into the pizza and nearly groaned with pleasure. He chewed and listened to Will rattle on about a skip. After promising to give it top priority, he hung up the phone.
Suddenly the door to his office flew open, and a flash of red and black appeared in the doorway.
Krystal Shepherd quickly scanned the room. “Hi, everyone.”
“Hey, sweetheart.” Nick watched as his daughter bounced down on the sofa next to Rafe. He took in the tattered jeans, the shirt that barely covered her midriff, the heavy black liner around her eyes, the bright red lips, and his temper came to a slow boil.
