See Them Run (Lucy Kendall Thriller Series #2): A Lucy Kendall Mystery Thriller (The Lucy Kendall Series)

by Stacy Green

  More shuffling followed by a small, terrified voice. “Yes.”

  “Good. Why don’t you come out so I can see you? I promise I won’t hurt you. That’s over. And this man is going to jail for a long, painful time.”

  The coward in the driver’s seat began to cry. His fear stank, polluting the entire cab. Another ruffle of the curtains, and Aron’s young face emerged. Fine featured and dark skinned, with dulled brown eyes, he stared at me. “I don’t have bottoms on.”

  My eyes flashed to the coward, my teeth clenching. Another sliver of my heart broke off and disappeared. “That’s okay. You go ahead and get dressed.”

  Aron moved to do as he was told, and I reached into my bag for the final solution. Still pointing the gun, I angled myself over the man like a lover would.

  “You’re sick,” I whispered.

  “I can’t help it.” His hot breath wafted across my cheek.

  “I know.” Carefully, I slid the needle between his skin and the thin material of his T-shirt. “That’s why this is the end for you.” I jammed the needle into his armpit until he yelped and then shoved the plunger down.

  He cried out as the lethally high dose of insulin shot into his system. 100 units was likely all I needed, but as a precaution, I’d injected 200 units. Less than a minute passed before he lost consciousness. He’d likely be dead soon after we left the cab. A medical examiner probably wouldn’t notice the injection site. 27 gauge needles don’t usually leave a large mark, and his body hair concealed it. Low blood sugar would be found on autopsy, and assuming the man wasn’t a diabetic, the red flags would rise. But I’d covered my tracks well.

  I sat back in the passenger seat. Breathing rapidly, hands no longer steady. Heart banging in my ribcage and pulse thundering in my neck. I found my reflection in the rearview mirror. Flushed from cold, yes, but my fair skin was also dotted with excitement. My pupils looked as if I’d actually taken a mind-altering substance.

  Aron poked his head out of the curtains. He stared again, with awed and frightened eyes.

  “I just put him to sleep for a little while,” I said. “That way when the jail truck comes, he won’t fight.” I eased the slider off the Glock and put it away. “Let me take off his cuffs, and then we’ll go.”

  Aron watched as I reached underneath his tormenter’s quivering body and unlocked the cuffs. I brought his hands around to his chest and laid them across his stomach so it looked like he’d fallen asleep. “There. Now he’s comfortable. And the jail truck will be here soon. We should go.”

  Inside my knit cap and thick, blond wig, my carefully tied back hair was dripping wet. I quickly glanced over the inside of the cab. Gloves worn. Hair covered up. Skin cells no doubt left behind, but that couldn’t be helped. Maryland didn’t have my DNA on file anyway.

  I held out my hand to little Aron. “Ready?”

  Warily, he took it. He likely learned he couldn’t trust a single adult, but he didn’t have the ability to say no. I might be the first person who didn’t let him down. “You going to take me back to my foster parents?”

  I smiled, wishing I could run my hands over his little cheeks and give him a mothering kiss on the forehead. “No. I’m going to take you to some real heroes. Firefighters. And they’ll get you home.”

  His sad eyes brightened to a glimmer. “Like a real fire station? I didn’t know they could do that.”

  I opened the door and climbed down into the worsening storm. Snowflakes with the consistency of birdseed rained down on us. “Firefighters can do anything, Aron.”

  He took my hand and allowed me to help him climb down the steps. I zipped his thin coat to his chin and pulled his hat down past his ears. Silently, we walked to my snow-covered car, hand in hand. Perhaps a mother and child, retrieving the boy from a trip with his dad.

  “Aron?” I asked once I’d buckled him into the Prius. “Do you know where that bad man was taking you? Or were you supposed to stay with him for a while?”

  He looked down at his lap, shame taking over his face. With the worst over, my emotions began to war with my instincts. I prayed this child would receive the counseling he needed, that he wouldn’t be thrown back into a corrupt home. Sometimes I thought if I could house them, I’d keep every child I’d saved for myself. And then I’d know they were safe.

  “I think he was taking me to some place in Pennsylvania. The city with the big bell.”

  Exactly what Kelly had managed to hack from the file she broke into. “Do you know where?”

  “The man who brought me here.” Aron looked like he was about to cry and then gave himself a little shake. “He kept saying exhale. That I’d be going to exhale. People there were interested in me. That’s all.”

  Exhale. A business name? I’d have to get Kelly on it.

  “Thanks.” I started the car and then reached into the backseat. “I’ve got a ham and cheese sandwich and a bottle of water if you want them.”

  He looked unsure and then grabbed the food, ripping the plastic wrap off. His first bite was big enough to nearly choke him. My heart ached.

  “Well, Aron…” I put the car into gear. “We’re going to go see those firefighters, but first I need you to make me a really important promise.”

  Eyes wide, he nodded so fast he should have given himself whiplash. Little Aron would be no problem at all.

  2

  This is a bad idea.

  I read Chris’s text again and then stuck the phone back in the pleather bag I’d picked up from Goodwill. Cold breezed through the thin, black leggings I wore, and my feet felt like frozen bricks in the cheap, calf-length boots. I pulled the too short and much too thin coat tighter around my waist and tried to look like I belonged.

  “That your pimp?” The girl standing on the street with me couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and I’d be willing to bet my apartment she was younger than that. Short, dark hair framed her angular face, her fake eyelashes heavily made up to accentuate grey-blue eyes.

  Thick foundation a shade too dark covered a rash of acne on her chin. Her nose had once been pierced, but the empty hole had a nice scab, indicating a healing infection. I wished she had something on her cracked fingers. Her stick-thin figure gave her no extra body fat to keep her warm.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Ain’t even my phone. He’s going to be pissed I didn’t answer his text, but I’m working, right?”

  She nodded over a full body shiver. “Took me forever to get a phone, and he checks it every time I come in.”

  “Same here.”

  She eyed me with the dull gaze of a much more experienced person. “You’re new. Haven’t seen you around.”

  I tugged at the blond curls of the scratchy wig. “Yep.”

  “But you can’t be new to the game. No offense, but most pimps don’t want women your age no more. Although you look real nice. You even have all your teeth.”

  I ducked my head, trying to look embarrassed. “Thought I got out of this a long time ago. Things happened.”

  “Who’s your pimp?” She asked the question easily, as if she were asking about my shoes, but the set of her hardened face gave her intentions away.

  “Not supposed to give that information out.”

  She shrugged. “I’m just asking because mine is real territorial. He don’t like to share the area. He sees you, he’ll be in your face. And he won’t like it. No offense.”

  I adjusted the glasses and wished their fake lenses gave me the ability to read the girl’s mind. “What’s wrong with my face?”

  “It’s too old. No offense. But you aren’t going to get picked up around here.” She gestured to the slow traffic on Kensington Avenue. Standing underneath the elevated train tracks on Somerset Street blocked the weak winter sun and made for a perfect wind tunnel. I tried to keep my teeth from chattering.

  “You got your addicts down there, the heroin guzzlers looking for their next fix,” the girl continued. “They won’t care if you’re old, but they can’t afford to pay y
ou. And they aren’t trading their buzz for sex.”

  I’d passed the crowd of addicts on the walk down here. They huddled in a small group, stinking clothes covered in weeks of grime. Several stumbled toward me, offering needles. Since leaving Aron at the fire station in Hagerstown, I’d done everything I could to avoid this particular area of Philadelphia, choosing instead to run my fake prostitute scam on safe corners. But I was getting nowhere, and this was a hotbed of activity. I needed to find out about “exhale.”

  “What about the nice cars that drive by?” I nodded to the sleek silver Toyota cruising past us. Chris rented it for this occasion, and seeing it gave me a rush of warmth.

  “They’re not looking for someone your age, honey.” The girl shrugged. “You’re too old to be an escort too.”

  I shook my head, wondering how this young girl knew about anything more than this life. “Your pimp into that?”

  “He’s into a lot of things.” She dug around in her pocket. I tensed. I’d left my various weapons at home in the off chance a cop decided to make an appearance. Unlikely, since this area had been nearly forgotten by the city’s finest. But it was a chance I wasn’t willing to take.

  She pulled out a stick of gum and popped it into her mouth. “I can’t think of anyone with any real money who’d want to bang you. Unless you want the junkies, you might want to try some other gig.”

  “How long have you been on the streets?”

  She shot me a dark glance. “I’m not on the street. I’ve got a place to live. And I’ve got my own johns. My pimp’s got me out here today looking for new girls. And you ain’t it.”

  “Too old.” For once I was thankful to be in my early thirties. “He send all his girls on the street?”

  “Nope.”

  “Escorts,” I guessed. Probably finds runaways either pimping for others or out of desperation and then cons them into the life by promising a sweet deal with expensive men. How long before this pimp made it clear the girl didn’t have a choice? “I didn’t know pimps were into that nowadays. I thought that was something a businesswoman did. Like the girls trying to put themselves through college.”

  “Times change.” She popped a bubble. “Tell you what. You give me your pimp’s name so I can pass it along, and I’ll give you $40. Something to take back to him so he doesn’t wale on you.”

  I met her cool, grey eyes. “I don’t want money.”

  She looked me up and down. “Sorry. I don’t go that way. But I can hook you up with someone who does.”

  “That’s not it.” I caught sight of the Toyota, knowing Chris had me in view. If I pulled my scarf off, he’d know I needed help. Worth the risk. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine. She didn’t follow me out of the game, and now I think she’s in big trouble.”

  The girl popped another bubble. “What’s her name?”

  “Charity.” I said the first thing I thought of. “The last time I spoke to her, she said she was going to a place called Exhale. She didn’t give me any information. I don’t even know what that is.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. Kelly and I had found three different businesses with the name Exhale, but we had no idea which might be serving as a front, or if any were. For all we knew, it was another code word.

  “Exhale?” The girl’s eyes narrowed. The dark instinct that served me so faithfully made the icy hair on my arms stand up. “How old is your friend?”

  “Nineteen.” Getting the age right was crucial. I couldn’t directly ask about minors without alerting this girl. She’d be onto me in a second. Or so disgusted she’d clam up. Either way, I lost out.

  “Too old. Exhale likes their clients younger.” She pushed her blowing hair out of her face.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Is it like a group of pimps or something?”

  She cocked her head, popping her gum in a way that made me want to yank it out of her mouth. “Seriously? No. It’s a business with something on the side. Don’t you know anything about how we do it these days?”

  I looked down at my miserable boots. “I guess not.” I sank my teeth into my tongue and felt the tears well in my eyes. “I just need to find her.”

  “She’s not at Exhale, I can tell you that.”

  I wiped a tear and snuck a quick glance at her. She stared straight ahead, a muscle working in her jaw. “Is that where you’re out of? I mean, you’re so young and pretty.”

  The compliment didn’t faze her. She turned steel eyes on me. “Don’t worry about my business. Now, I gave you information. You give me yours. Who’s your pimp?”

  “You didn’t give me anything I could use.”

  “That’s not my fault. Trust me, looking for your nineteen-year-old friend at the spa ain’t going to get you anywhere. And she’s probably long gone, anyway.”

  I thanked the cold for keeping my expression static. This girl, who I’d pegged for street-savvy, had just given me the information I needed. Guess there’s something to be said about the wisdom of age versus the impatience of youth. “All right, I’m sorry.”

  “Pimp’s name?”

  My fingers ached as I untied the scarf, shook it out, and wrapped it tightly back around my neck. “Andrew Parks.” I almost laughed at giving her the name of the man who molested my sister so many years ago. “Goes by Andy P. and is staying at the Johnson Motel a few blocks down.”

  “I know the place.” Her eyes drifted to the silver Toyota rolling to a stop. “Well, looks like I might be able to make some extra money today.”

  The passenger window rolled down to reveal Chris’s handsome face and expensive Burberry Jacket. I heard the girl’s whisper of appreciation, thinking she’d hit the jackpot. He smiled. “You got some time for me, blondie?”

  As soon as we turned the corner of Kensington Avenue, I cranked up the heat and stuck my face in front of the vents. “My skin will never be the same.”

  “I never should have let you do this.” Chris’s eyes were on the road, his hands tense on the steering wheel. “Did you see the crackheads gathering not one hundred feet from you?”

  “First off, you didn’t let me do anything. Let’s get that straight. And I saw them.” The crackheads were harmless. The other girls were the worry. Things got territorial, especially when times were tough.

  “Yeah well, I’m not doing this again.”

  I pulled off the wig and poor excuse for a winter coat and tossed them into the back seat and then snuggled into my own wool jacket. “We don’t need to. Kelly owes me coffee. Exhale Salon and Spa is the place we’re looking for.”

  Six weeks later.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale.

  This was the mantra I had to repeat as I sat behind the receptionist’s desk at Exhale Mind and Body Salon, a swanky place in the heart of downtown Philadelphia that caters to the city’s wannabe New Yorkers.

  The day after my street gig, Chris and I staked out Exhale. All day long, women of all ages came in and out of the spa. Nighttime brought the jackpot: A black SUV rolled up the back door, and a classy looking blond emerged from the driver’s seat, followed by a boy and a girl easily under the age of fifteen. The salon was empty, locked up tight. The blond had a key, and when she emerged with the kids minutes later, they were dressed in new, stylish clothes.

  Chris managed to tail the SUV to a craphole motel on the north side. The woman ushered the kids inside. Within minutes a young, black male arrived and was allowed into the room. The blond left without the kids.

  I applied for the receptionist’s job the very next day, and after weeks of hearing the dullest conversations and being assaulted with a cacophony of supposedly relaxing sights and sounds, I was ready to make my move.

  My cell beeped with an incoming call. One look at the screen and I considered not answering. He’d just keep nagging. And he did pose as my john during my street gig, so I owed him some tolerance.

  “Chris.”

  “Lucy.”

  I pictured the full mouthed smirk and the c
rinkling around his eyes. But I also caught the tone in his voice. “I’m at work.”

  “Guess that’s one way to think of it. Still planning on staying late?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed, long and drawn out and superior. “You know she probably has security cameras?”

  I forced a smile as the last masseuse waved to me on her way out the door. “Of course I know that.”

  “And if the police are called?”

  We’d discussed this last night. And the night before that. I wanted to tell him to stand down and mind his own business, but then again, he’d made me his business, and I’d allowed it. The pretend sociopath and the magnificently damaged vigilante gravitated toward each other like self-igniting magnets, white-hot sparks burning us. Sometimes I hated Chris. But I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Not after the past few months.

  “I’ll deal with it.” I was a licensed private investigator, after all. I might be risking a suspension but probably not an arrest. Not after I shared the information I had. But I really didn’t need any more attention from the Philadelphia police. I already had one detective watching me.

  “You’re making a mistake. This isn’t what our focus should be right now.”

  “Your mother can wait.” I hated saying the words. Mother Mary was cruelty personified. But I couldn’t go after her. Not yet. Not with these kids being carted out like produce.

  “You promised me.” Chris sounded like a petulant child, and in some ways, that was exactly what he was. After being rescued from his nefarious and heartbreaking early childhood, he’d grown up the treasured nephew of a prominent attorney and pediatrician. He was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it.

  “I plan on keeping that promise. Just not yet.” The front door opened, and our last client walked inside, bringing a rush of dark, winter air with her. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”

  I smiled at the plump, middle-aged woman squeezed into a calf-length leather coat. She reminded me of a sea lion. “Mrs. Dietz, welcome. Can I get you anything?”