by T. R. Ragan
“Kitally?”
“That’s the one.”
“So because she was in detention, you figure she would have connections to a gang—”
Jessica gestured toward her own elbow. “She has a tattoo on the back of her left arm, near her elbow. It matches the Franklin gang’s tattoo. Looks like a crescent moon with three dots.”
“Very observant.”
Jessica said nothing, although she wondered if Hayley realized she’d just complimented her. Probably not.
Hayley’s eyes narrowed. “You seem different.”
“Ditto.”
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Hayley asked.
Jessica nodded. “Two thousand dollars if you get me a name.”
“Nobody is going to tell Kitally or me the shooter’s name. What you’re asking us to do is dangerous. We could get in some serious shit if we choose to get involved, maybe even get killed.”
Jessica didn’t waver. “There’s always that possibility.”
Hayley laughed out loud. “Holy shit. What has happened to you?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“I haven’t seen you in months, years, whatever, and you call me out of the blue, not to say hello or ask how I’ve been, but to do you a favor. The Jessica I knew wouldn’t have had the balls to ask her friend to risk her life for a few thousand bucks, let alone a stupid name.”
“First of all,” Jessica said, leaning over the table, “you and me, we were never friends. You made that clear on numerous occasions. Secondly, at the age of twelve, this little girl”—she held up a picture of Taylor, the girl who was killed—“was smarter than you and me put together. She used to tell me she was going to be the first woman president and I never once doubted it. She died and I can’t bring her back, but I can make damn sure the person responsible is locked behind bars and pays for what he did.”
“I’ll talk to Kitally,” Hayley told her.
Jessica slipped the picture of the girl along with a business card across the table, just in case Hayley had deleted her number from her phone. “Let me know what she says, will you?”
“What if she tells you to fuck off?”
“Then I guess I’d have to go to plan B, which would mean making sure a pregnant girl named Kiki stays in jail for a very long time.”
“Kiki?”
“Someone who happens to mean a lot to the leader of the Franklin gang.” Jessica looked at her cell phone. “I should get going.”
Hayley gave her a sloppy two-fingered salute. “See you around, Agent Pleiss.”
Jessica climbed in behind the wheel of her car and sat there for a moment, trying to catch her breath. It wasn’t easy swallowing the lump in her throat. When she’d first seen Hayley walk through the door, she’d had a difficult time not showing alarm at her appearance. But Hayley didn’t respond well to caring, nurturing people, so she’d kept any and all emotions to herself.
She hadn’t seen her since Hayley’s mother’s funeral. After Lizzy had hired Hayley, Jessica had done her best to get along with her. Although they were complete opposites and had constant disagreements, she’d grown to like Hayley. She even came to think of Hayley as a sister. Although it was true that Jessica had kept her distance over the years, that didn’t mean she didn’t think about Hayley. She cared deeply about her, in fact. But being around her used to make Jessica feel inadequate. Hayley had a way of taking control of every situation. Once she got away from her, Jessica had gained confidence not just in her decision-making abilities, but with being herself.
Jessica considered returning to the café to tell Hayley to forget the whole thing. The last thing she wanted to do was put her or Kitally in danger. It hadn’t really occurred to her. While it was undeniably true that the Franklin gang was a bunch of degenerate, law-breaking fools—they carried deadly weapons, and many of them had not only spent time in prison but were proud of it—they also lived in exactly the sketchier areas of Sacramento that Hayley liked to frequent in the dead of night. Jessica had figured it would be just another night out for her.
Clutching the steering wheel tighter, Jessica could still hear the wails of the little girl’s mother after Jessica had raced to the house when she’d heard what happened. She pictured the young girl, the first woman president of the United States, studying at the kitchen table one moment and shot dead in the next, all her hopes and dreams obliterated in an instant. Why?
Jessica wiped her eyes, then turned on the ignition and drove off.
She needed a name.
CHAPTER 6
Hands on the steering wheel, Lizzy watched the diamond ring on her left hand sparkle, sending an electric current of tension through her body.
An impending wedding to the man she loved should cause her to feel giddy, not tense. At thirty-four, she wasn’t getting any younger. And Jared was one of the good guys, the last of the unicorns. Time after time he’d proved to be her rock, her safety net. And yet here she was again, sweaty palms and dry mouth at the mere thought of walking down the aisle in three months. Her sister had given up trying to pry details about the wedding from her—always calling to ask Lizzy if she’d decided on a color scheme, flowers, music. Had she written her vows? When would they go dress shopping? Cathy had also been badgering her to tell their parents the news, but Lizzy didn’t see the point; she rarely talked to either of them. Her mother was busy with work and a new man. Her father wanted nothing to do with her.
Up ahead, Lizzy saw a bolt of brown—a dog?—shoot across the street at the same time a flashy sports car sped around the corner. “No, no, no,” she said.
A screech of brakes. BAM.
The animal flew through the air like a catapulted rag doll, landing on the hillside in high grass.
The car wasn’t stopping. Lizzy caught a glimpse of the driver as he passed: male, broad shouldered, light-colored hair trimmed short around his ears.
Bastard.
Pulling to the side of the road, she shut off the engine and climbed out.
It was eight in the morning. Still early. Freezing cold.
She was on her way to North Laguna to see Hayley. Thought she could save a few minutes by taking a couple of back streets. No such luck. Murphy’s Law had struck again.
She crossed the road, taking in the fresh tire marks left on the pavement. She hopped over the ditch and trampled through weeds and stickers.
Hands on her hips, she looked around, the air crisp enough to elicit goose bumps. She held still. Listened. Waited. Thirty seconds passed before she saw movement behind an oak tree.
Maybe it wasn’t a dog. It could be a coyote or a giant raccoon. Whichever, it could have rabies, she reminded herself as she headed for the tree.
The first thing she saw was a tail—more like a stump—thumping against the ground.
Although the animal smelled like a skunk, it was actually a dog: a medium-sized, mangy mutt without a collar or tags. Even injured and vulnerable, he wasn’t growling. In fact, looked downright friendly.
Extending her arm, she moved closer and let him sniff her hand. His ribs were showing and his wiry hair was matted. Big grayish eyes matched the color of his fur. The dog looked wary, frightened, but his tail thumped against the dirt every time she talked to him.
“Are you hurt?”
Thump, thump.
“Can you walk?”
Thump, thump.
She took a few steps back the way she’d come and said, “Come on, pooch. Come with me.”
He pushed himself to his feet and limped toward her.
“That’s a good dog. You can do it.”
Amazed the dog had survived the impact and ejection onto the hillside at all, much less was well enough to haul itself after her, she continued on. “You look hungry. I have a croissant in the car.”
Stopping at the sid
e of the road, she waited for the dog to catch up. The animal was so skinny, his ribs looked as if they might poke through his skin at any moment. He was even more pitiful looking at closer view: small eyes lined with pink; wiry, unmanageable fur; a half of a tail that looked as if it had been chopped off at midpoint. The poor thing was a mess.
He plopped down at her feet. He was definitely hurt. Hoping he wouldn’t take a bite out of her, she leaned over and scooped him into her arms, trying not to breathe in the horrible smell as she crossed the street.
It wasn’t easy, but she managed to open the door and lay him on the backseat. “Now what am I going to do with you?”
Thump, thump.
She grabbed her coffee cup from the front, dumped it out, and used her water bottle to fill the cup, then offered the dog some water. He slurped up every drop and then ate the croissant in dainty little bites.
“Just so you know, I can’t keep you. I’m not good with animals and I really don’t have time to take care of a dog. I can hardly keep plants alive.”
The dog stared at her, unblinking.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Don’t give me that look. It won’t work. I have enough problems right now. It’s nothing personal.” The mutt had wise old eyes, the kind of eyes that looked at her in such a way as to make her wonder if he’d run into the street on purpose.
Shaking her head at her wayward thoughts, she climbed in behind the wheel, turned on the ignition, and cracked the windows before continuing on her way. Using the rearview mirror to keep an eye on the dog, Lizzy wondered what the heck she was going to do with the animal.
It was another mile before she spotted a group of kids walking to school. She pulled over and rolled down the window. The tallest boy in the group told the rest of the kids to hang back while he stepped close enough to the car to hear what Lizzy had to say.
“I found this dog running around without a collar or tags,” Lizzy told him, pointing to the backseat. “Any of you know whose dog it is?”
“Nope. Never seen him before.”
The rest of the kids were already peering through the back window. They all shook their heads while the dog appeared to grin up at them, wagging his stump.
“OK,” Lizzy said. “Thanks for your help.”
She drove on, figuring she’d deliver the files and groceries as planned and then find a vet to look at the dog. He certainly didn’t seem to be in such dire straits.
The street where Hayley lived had seen better days. There were lots of abandoned buildings and foreclosure signs. For over a year now, she’d rented an apartment atop a detached garage. A grim setup, but an improvement. After finding her mother murdered, Hayley had, despite Lizzy’s pleas, wandered the streets of Sacramento for months on end. She was still stubborn and refused to talk to a therapist. Her only friends, Tommy and Kitally, didn’t seem to mind that Hayley was nothing like the young woman they had once known. She was all darkness with no light.
Lizzy couldn’t think of anything to do but hope the passage of time would bring Hayley back to life. Time didn’t solve all problems, but she knew firsthand it helped distance a person from their past. Although Hayley had enough money from the sale of her mom’s house to keep her living in the small apartment without heat for more than a few years, she’d never stopped working for Lizzy. She showed up at the office when it suited her, and Lizzy brought her extra work, as she was doing today, when she needed more help, which was more often than not since Jessica quit.
Hopefully Hayley would come to the realization that although life wasn’t fair and never would be, it was still worth fighting for.
Poor Hayley. She’d been to the bowels of hell more than once and had not come away unscathed.
If anyone could pull through, though, it was Hayley.
Lizzy parked the car, locked the dog inside with the window cracked, and headed out. She climbed the dozen wooden steps leading to Hayley’s apartment, seeing no sign of the landlord, the young woman living in the main house, a single mother who’d inherited the tiny house from her grandparents.
With a bag of groceries in one arm, Lizzy used her other hand to knock on the door. As she waited, she took note of the abandoned playground across the street, the kind of deserted wasteland you might see in a movie after a nuclear explosion. Bolted to the ground in the middle of an old sandpit was a metal seesaw, all rust and sharp edges.
The door opened to Hayley’s back—she was already on her way back inside, leaving Lizzy to find her own way.
“Hey, there,” Lizzy called to her when she spotted her in the bedroom as she headed on for the main room.
“Hey.”
The place was dark. With her free hand, Lizzy pushed smoky curtains to the side and opened a window so she could breathe and also let in some light. Hayley came into the main room and took a seat on the small crushed-velvet couch. The skirt at the base of the sofa was torn and stained. An old wooden chest served as the coffee table and was covered with a laptop, an ashtray filled to the brim, and a stack of papers.
Lizzy put the groceries on the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator. It was empty. She glanced at Hayley again, took in the sunken cheekbones and dark circles under her eyes. With a sigh, she deposited a gallon of milk, a jar of pickles, sliced turkey from the deli, a loaf of wheat bread, and a family-sized package of string cheese inside before shutting the door. She left a box of Honey Nut Cheerios on the counter. She checked the cupboards and saw that most of the cans of soup she’d brought last time had been eaten, at least.
Lizzy turned to the sink that was half-filled with dirty dishes.
“Leave those.”
“OK. I don’t have much time anyhow. There’s an injured dog in my car, and, well, I just wanted to bring by a couple of new cases I was hoping you could help me with. I’m up to my neck in work.”
“Injured dog?”
“Yeah, a hit-and-run only a mile from here. A businessman, obviously in a hurry.”
“Fucker.”
Lizzy nodded in agreement.
“What kind of car?”
“A red sports car,” Lizzy said. “Sleek. Fast.”
Silence followed. Lizzy didn’t mind. She knew the drill. Hayley had already said more this morning than she had in the past few months put together.
Lizzy grabbed a spindly chair and placed it on the other side of the wooden chest so she was facing Hayley after she took a seat.
“Is the dog dying out there?” Hayley asked.
“No. He’ll be fine. This will only take a few minutes. After I leave, I’ll find an animal hospital where someone can take a look at him and make sure nothing’s broken.”
Hayley’s fingers tapped away at the keyboard and then she peered at the screen. “The closest vet is less than a mile from here. If you’re sure the dog isn’t in too much pain, you’re probably better off taking him to the Animal Station on L Street, close to the office.”
Nodding, Lizzy felt hopeful. Not only was Hayley talking about something other than work, she was showing compassion. And that gave her an idea. “After the dog gets checked out, and if I can’t find his owner, maybe you would be interested—”
“Nope. Not interested.”
Lizzy sighed. A dog—any animal, for that matter—could do Hayley a world of good, but she let it go for now and opened one of the files she’d brought instead. “So, do you think you can handle a few more cases?”
“What do you have?”
“We need to locate a deadbeat dad named Owen Santos. He disappeared three months ago, leaving behind two teenage daughters and a wife of seventeen years whose job hardly pays for groceries and gas. She can’t make the mortgage payment and—”
“Another pro bono case, then.”
“No. The wife’s brother, Andrew Morales, came to me. He’s hiring us to find Owen, his brother-in-law. He’s offering a five-thous
and-dollar bonus if we find Owen Santos within thirty days.” Lizzy handed her the file.
Hayley skimmed through it. “What else?”
Lizzy opened another file. “A woman, Kat McBane, design engineer at Intel, is having trouble at home. Every night when she returns home from work, she finds something has been disturbed—sofa cushions shifted around, food items missing. She swears someone even used her shower, but there is no evidence of a break-in. The police were supposedly keeping half an eye on her house for a few weeks, but didn’t see anything suspicious.”
“What’s your plan?” Hayley asked. “There’s not much we could do for her that the cops didn’t already do, other than move in with the lady.”
“You mentioned once that Tommy had used a night-vision camera to catch a car thief in his neighborhood. Maybe the two of you could set up a camera or two. One in the front yard and one in the back.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Thanks.”
Hayley took that file, too, then plopped it on the table with everything else.
Lizzy’s attention slid to the pile of pictures scattered across the wooden chest next to Hayley’s laptop. Pictures of Brian Rosie and various thugs he used to hang out with, back when Hayley’s mom was still alive. “I thought we agreed to forget about Brian and let the police handle the matter.”
“I changed my mind.”
“They will find him. Brian won’t get away with murder. They always get caught in the end.”
“In the end,” Hayley said, her tone lined with bitterness. “After how many more people are raped, abused, and murdered?”
Lizzy opened her mouth to speak, but Hayley cut her off.
“Don’t say another word, Lizzy. I don’t want to hear it. Brian’s drug business is growing into an empire and yet they can’t catch him. The police obviously need a little help.”
As Lizzy sucked in a breath, the door came open. A little boy appeared—four years old, maybe five. His clothes were dirty and stained. His brown hair was matted. He hadn’t knocked, and he seemed perfectly at home inside the apartment until he saw Lizzy. He set his gaze on Hayley.
