Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel)

by Danielle Girard

  "I most definitely did. I pushed a little too hard, I think. Your mother and I grew apart within a few months of my finding out. You and I stopped talking." She paused and looked up. "I thought you should know. I didn't think she had to tell you right then—you were only in the second or third grade. But I thought eventually the memories might come back. I was sure by now you would've remembered it. I never imagined it would be like this."

  The image of her mother at her bedside stuck in Alex's head. The teases and taunts James and Brittany had used on her came back as well. They wouldn't have known the real reason for Alex's terrible fears, her awful dreams, but their mother had known. Known but decided Alex shouldn't know. Alex was furious. "My own mother. Unbelievable."

  Judith looked up at her, her eyes apologetic. "She was your mother. She didn't want to hurt you."

  Alex shook her head, incredulous. "I'm not hurt—I'm pissed. I'm pissed because I don't remember it. And because now someone's calling me in the middle of the night, and he knows more about it than I do. I'm pissed because I woke up on a street corner less than a block from a murder without any recollection of how the hell I got there.

  "And, I thought, No big deal, because I don't know the dead guy. I think I've seen him once, but I don't know him."

  Abruptly, she started to pace. In the middle of the room, she spun back to face Judith. "But you know what?"

  Judith didn't answer.

  "I did know this guy. He was a survivor." She scoffed. "Just like me." Angry and upset and scared, she waved her arms around the room. "Of course, he's not a survivor anymore, because now he's dead. And to make matters worse, I just found out I killed someone when I was six. So what's to say I didn't knock off this guy, too? Maybe I'm a homicidal maniac. I started young enough," she spit.

  She choked and her shoulders sagged. Like a deflated balloon, she sank into the nearest chair and put her head in her hands. "Oh, God. Did I kill him? I might have. I don't know." She shook her head. "I have no memory of that night either."

  Alex looked up and wiped her face.

  Judith's gaze remained steady.

  Alex didn't give her a chance to speak. "But it's different now. It's different because I know I have a motive—because now I'm one of the statistics. I'm one of those kids who's been abused in the sickest, most disgusting way. I sat in that room with thirteen other children. Only three of us walked out."

  Her voice had fallen to a whisper. "I don't remember, but I must have heard them die... I must have heard the screams and the panic and the last cries as they begged to go home to Mommy."

  A sob choked free. "And why am I still here?" She stood again and stared at Judith. "Because I was at the end of the line?"

  Judith stood and took a slow step toward Alex. "You're right. In a lot of ways, you're absolutely right. And anger is okay. Fear is okay. Guilt, anxiety, whatever you feel—it's all perfectly normal. It's going to take time to work through this. You need to give it time."

  Alex looked up at her, feeling suddenly tired. "I don't have time. I could've killed this guy."

  She paused, thinking. "There are things we can do to help you remember."

  Alex winced, her heart pounding. She was afraid of what she might remember. But could she go on not remembering? "What types of things?"

  "Hypnosis is one way."

  "Can we do it now?" Alex asked.

  Judith smiled softly. "You can't rush this sort of thing. It's a very simple procedure, but you need to be completely relaxed. I don't think that's going to happen right now."

  "You think it would work?"

  "Absolutely. It's really painless."

  "When can we do it?"

  "Anytime. You can come in this weekend if you really want to."

  Nodding, Alex thought about the caller, about his taunting. He wanted her to remember. "I didn't kill Loeffler. I couldn't have." She thought about the blood and brain matter that had splattered around the body. "There would have been more on me. It would have been on my shirt and in my hair."

  "Of course you didn't."

  "But why was I there? I feel like I'm going crazy."

  "It's very normal to feel that way. Sit down, let's talk about it."

  Alex felt the familiar buzz on her hip. She pulled her beeper off her waistband and looked at the phone number. It was unfamiliar.

  "Why don't you sit—we can talk."

  Alex held up the pager. "I need to return this call."

  "Can it wait until you're more settled, less upset?" Judith asked.

  "No. I need to call now. It might be about the case."

  "Of course." Judith went to the kitchen and returned with a cordless phone. "Would you prefer I leave you alone?"

  "No. This will just be a minute."

  Alex punched in the number and waited while the phone rang. She heard a click as the phone was answered.

  "This is Officer Kincaid."

  "Officer Kincaid," came the surly voice. "Have you missed me?"

  Alex stood and took a few steps away from Judith, turning her back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "I'm watching you, Alex. I was watching you eat. I was watching you sit at her counter. I saw you peel the label off that beer. I drooled when I saw your fingers working. I can't wait until you put those on me."

  "The only thing I'm putting on you is handcuffs, you bastard."

  He laughed. "Threaten me all you want. You can't escape. I'm here, right outside. No matter where you go, I'm with you. Don't forget it." The line clicked dead.

  Judith appeared beside her, but Alex kept her back turned. She needed to pursue the caller first. Find out where he had called from. Nail the bastard.

  Alex dialed the police station praying dispatch hadn't heard about her suspension. When the dispatcher answered, she said, "This is Officer Kincaid. I need you to give me the location on a phone number." She read the phone number off her beeper.

  After thirty seconds, the dispatcher said, "A pay phone at University and Spruce, in front of Carl's Market."

  Thanking the dispatcher, Alex turned to Judith, who was now sitting on the couch, watching her. "Where's Carl's Market?"

  "About a block and a half that way." She pointed to her left. "Are you okay?"

  Alex let the phone drop to her side. "Fine." She wasn't fine. He had been there—at Judith's. He'd seen her, Goddamn him!

  Straightening herself, Alex handed Judith the phone and headed for the door. "I need to go."

  "Alex? Please don't leave. Who was that? We should talk."

  "I'll be fine. It's just this case. It's crazy. I really need to go."

  "I hate to see you leave so upset. Why don't you sit down a few minutes?"

  Alex shook her head. She couldn't stay. Nothing was going to help now but finding answers. "I can't."

  "Will you call me when you get home, let me know you're all right?"

  "I'll try. Thank you for dinner." Before Judith could protest again, Alex let herself out and hurried to her car, giving a careful look around to make sure no one stood waiting for her. Fear was thick in her gut, and she tried to shove it aside, to work through it.

  She started her car, locked the doors, and pulled away from the curb. She would have liked to sit in her car and think for a minute, but that would have been dumb. Sitting in a still car was asking to be attacked. So she drove slowly down the street until she found a well-lit gas station. Then, she pulled to the pay phone and got out to check her voice mail.

  "It's Greg. Byron called. He's got a hit on the prints. Guy named Alfred Ferguson. I'm trying to pull his records, but your asshole brother is all over me. I'm going to have to wait until it cools down a bit here. I'll see if there's someone else who can pull them. I did get to check Nader. I confirmed the address you gave me and there's no record. Not even parking tickets. Guy's clean as a whistle. Nada on NT SEC or the pictures.

  "They're keeping it pretty hush-hush over there. They've been warned that you're involved, so nobody's talk
ing, especially not to me. Brenda's giving it a shot, too. I'll let you know what we find out." Greg blew out a breath of frustration before hanging up, and Alex knew exactly how he felt.

  Alfred Ferguson. Was that the man who had been in the gym? She wondered again about how he'd gotten a parking ticket slip. He could have stolen one easily enough. She hoped Greg would be able to track him down. She was anxious to pay Mr. Ferguson a little visit.

  She listened to a message from Tom and one from Brittany. Both were invitations to dinner tomorrow night, neither of which she intended to accept. She needed to make a move. She wasn't learning anything in Berkeley. Nader hadn't called her back, but he was her best shot for information. The more Alex thought about Loeffler's notes, the more she thought that N stood for Nader. Loeffler must have called her that night. She was the K. She shook her head. It could have been a coincidence. Cops weren't supposed to place such bad bets, but right now, it was the only play she had. Her next move was to go to Palo Alto, look for Nader. Someone down there had to know something that would help her.

  She felt the rise of fear again, fear about where she would turn if this didn't work out. She slammed her fist against the steering wheel. A cop wasn't supposed to be afraid. A cop was supposed to have defenses for these things. Where the hell were her defenses?

  She revved the engine and peeled down the street. With the window down, she sped, the wind whipping across her face like the slap of a towel. What the police did now, who they investigated, all of that was out of her control. But she wasn't going to cross the line into prison—or the morgue.

  Judith said to call if she needed to talk. Right now, Alex didn't need to talk. She was done talking.

  What she needed now was to take control. That meant taking her ass to Palo Alto and figuring out what the hell had happened down there. Until she knew, she wasn't going to call and report in to James or anyone.

  She could take care of herself—just as she'd always done up until this started. And she would find out who the hell was behind this.

  Just then, she saw the whirl of police lights behind her, and sirens wailed into the night.

  Chapter 19

  Her gaze snapped to the rearview mirror and she saw the black and white behind her.

  Even if Greg had turned over her sweatpants they couldn't have reacted this fast.

  She pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. Letting her head fall against the steering wheel, she was suddenly exhausted, imagining what the talk in the station would be tomorrow. Kincaid arrested for murder in her own beat.

  Stepping out of the car, she approached the headlights of the cop car, squinting at the glare. A heavyset man rose from the driver's seat and took several steps forward.

  His shoes clicked against the pavement and she heard the familiar clap as he hit his flashlight into the palm of his hand. The motion was scare tactic normally, a way of warning a difficult suspect not to try anything.

  Drunks and drug users were the most common recipients of such treatment. She didn't know why he would use it on her. The man halted behind the headlights and she squinted, still unable to make out his identity. A chill rippled across her skin. She spun to look behind her. She thought about the parking ticket again. A cop.

  Turning back, she shook off the fear that wound down her neck like sweat. Instead, she pumped her hands and tightened her belly. "It's Officer Kincaid," she said, speaking directly into the headlights, both hands at her sides.

  Whoever was there should know her name.

  "Berkeley PD," she added.

  Still no response.

  Her body was prepared for flight or fight. Alex waited as adrenaline splashed like motor oil through her legs, prepping them for takeoff.

  "So it is," came the response.

  She didn't think that the voice was the one she'd heard on the phone. But she could've been wrong. She paused, watching the shadow in the darkness. Her muscles twitched with more adrenaline. "Identify yourself."

  He didn't respond.

  Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she spotted a yard with a high wall. Judging from the man's size, she would be able to lose him in a chase if she needed to. As long as she moved fast and he didn't get a clean shot at her first. With a deep breath, she decided to give him to three and then she was gone. One. Two.

  The headlights went off and Alex's eyes fought to adjust to the darkness as the tap of heels moved closer.

  "It's Gamble," the voice said.

  A trickle of relief was quickly overpowered by a raging river of fury. She crossed the distance between them and gave him a swift kick in the right shin.

  He yelped in response, reaching for his leg. He struggled to touch his shin over his belly and she wondered if his pant seat would tear from the strain. "What the hell was that for?"

  She wished she had kicked him harder. As much flesh as he had on his bones, he shouldn't even have felt it. Brittany could've taken a harder kick without whimpering.

  "I said why the hell did you kick me?"

  "Don't be a jackass, Gamble. I asked you to identify yourself and you didn't. Was that supposed to be some sort of joke?" She still wasn't sure why he'd pulled her over, but she didn't think they would send Gamble to arrest her on his own. No, if she was about to be arrested for murder, James would definitely have been here, she thought cynically.

  He let go of his leg and stood up, adjusting his belt beneath his jelly belly. His jaw jutted out so only two of the three chins showed. He scratched his gut with both hands like an ape. "I was about to. You didn't give me enough time."

  She gritted her teeth. "I identified myself. You failed to respond. And you're getting off easy with a kick, Officer. If I'd had my gun, there's a good chance I'd have shot you in the kneecap."

  Gamble craned his neck, a strange gesture of agitation. She had never seen anyone else do it, but everyone at the station knew it as his mark. Crane Wayne, they called him.

  He cleared his throat. "Well, that sort of rash reaction is not at all appropriate," he scolded. "You could get kicked off the force for that."

  What a joke. She had probably already been kicked off. Didn't he know what was going on?

  Pointing his stubby finger, he began his lesson. "The proper course of action if someone does not respond is to repeat the request a second time. In chapter fourteen of the manual, it says," he continued, "if you do not receive a response on second request and assume the suspect may be armed, then—"

  She exhaled. "Cut the crap, Gamble. Where's Roback?" Maybe Greg had shot himself to get out of being partnered with Gamble. She knew she would have.

  "He's out with Pingelli."

  She frowned. "Why Pingelli?"

  Gamble pushed his shoulder back and craned his neck again. "Guess Pingelli needed some extra help."

  That didn't sound right. Pingelli had been on the force almost six years. He had his own partner. "Where's Harmon then?"

  "Sick."

  Alex frowned. Harry Harmon prided himself on his perfect attendance record. Something about it didn't feel right. What was Gamble up to? "You out here alone?"

  Gamble tucked his thumbs beneath his belt and sniffed deep like he had never smelled Berkeley air before. "Yep."

  They would never send him out alone unless they were incredibly desperate. And even then, the officer would always be on some sort of restricted duty. "I'm surprised the captain would send you out here on your own so quickly."

  "Yep."

  Either way, she didn't care. "Great. Glad to hear it's going so well."

  "Oh, yeah, great. Busted a guy down at—"

  "Right," she interrupted. "Well, I'm heading home. Have a good night."

  Waving good-bye, she started for her car, thinking she would have to ask Greg how he got out of that one. Gamble was strange, but seeing him out here alone was even stranger. She was more than happy to leave.

  Gamble cleared his throat again.

  She thought she heard her name but she didn't sto
p. She didn't have time for idle chat. It was close to ten-thirty and she needed to get home and get on the road to Palo Alto before it was too late.

  "Alex, you can't leave."

  She spun back and frowned. "Excuse me?"

  Gamble was silent a moment. Then, with a quick thrust of his chin, he continued, "You were speeding."

  He spoke in a voice much lower than his usual one. It made him sound like a soap opera star doing a sex scene.

  Incredulous, she nailed her hands to her hips. "What?"

  "I said, you were speeding." His voice cracked on the last word, but he made a valiant though unsuccessful effort to catch it.

  She cracked a smile. "That's a good one."

  He shook his head. "No joke."

  "You're not serious."

  "Absolutely."

  She watched him a minute and then strode back toward him, aiming her sights on the other shin.

  As though expecting it, Gamble ducked behind the car door. "Not so fast."

  Her finger raised, she pointed it between his wide eyes. "I've had a really bad day, okay? Don't fuck with me today. Tomorrow, next week—but not today. Understand?"

  The radio cut in. "Two Adam Nineteen, come in. Are you requesting backup?"

  Wayne glanced at the console but made no move to answer the call. "I'm sorry, but the law's the law. Can't be doing special favors..."

  Her jaw muscle tight, she expelled all her energy into pretending his hand was between her teeth. Releasing, she inhaled. "I'm in no mood for you to get high and mighty with me. I'm leaving."

  "I don't think so, missy. I'm writing you a ticket. Now, I'm going to need your driver's license."

  Alex fought to remain calm. He was recently back on patrol. He was just trying to do his job. It was probably very honest of him. But this was a very bad day. And she wasn't about to get a speeding ticket from a cop in her own department on top of finding out that she had almost been killed at age six and that she was about to become a suspect for murder. Only she couldn't afford more trouble of any kind with the department.