Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  She picked her cell phone up from her lap and opened up the website her friend and Dante’s coworker, Rachel Malcolm, had created for her five years ago. Dante and Rachel both worked for the private investigative criminal agency, CORE, and Rachel had access to private and government agency databases the Chicago PD didn’t. How legit that access was would remain to be seen. As CORE’s computer forensics analyst, Rachel wasn’t always forthcoming as to how she obtained her information. Not that Jessica cared. She’d needed the information and Rachel had set up the program to show data as it came available. And Jessica checked that data constantly. With nearly two thousand kids reported missing on a daily basis in the U.S. alone, she could spend every waking hour online sifting through the files. While she’d love to find every missing kid, her focus was only on one.

  Her daughter.

  Her throat tightened as her baby girl’s infectious smile and laughing dark eyes filled her mind and her heart with so much sadness, she wanted to curl up and die. Her daughter’s image was suddenly replaced with the Palmers’ dead bodies. No. She’d never take her life. She wasn’t brave enough or selfish enough to go to that extreme. Searching for her child consumed her. She ached for answers and prayed for the day she would be reunited with her baby girl, but couldn’t have either if she were dead.

  “Well,” she began, “the explanation behind the deep crow shit was Dante’s idea. So I can see how you’d think—” She looked up from her phone when he stopped the sedan. “Is this it?” Holy crap, the house was huge. The Palmers either had a ton of money or had been in debt up to their eyeballs.

  “Yep. And about that deep crow shit. Maybe Dante’s on to something,” he said, killing the ignition.

  “You mean our burden, not just with this case, but each one of them.”

  “That and—” He shook his head and opened the car door. “Never mind.”

  “Since when did you get a filter?” she asked.

  “I didn’t. It’s just…” He closed the door and faced her. “Did you ever think that your ‘devil’s own sell’ is right there?” he asked, and nodded to her cell phone.

  “Technology isn’t a burden. But if my being on my phone all the time bothers you—”

  He took off his sunglasses. When she caught the sympathy and the unwanted pity in his blue eyes, she realized where this conversation was heading and chastised herself for being so damned obtuse.

  “You know,” she began, reaching for the door handle, “that’s okay. Keep the filter on, it’s probably for the best.”

  He touched her arm. “Jess, stop. What Megan said at the grave…don’t tell me the entire situation didn’t bother you.”

  “It didn’t,” she lied. “Meg’s comment wasn’t directed at me.”

  “No, but knowing the husband killed his wife and himself because he couldn’t handle losing his son must’ve hit you on some level.”

  The anger she’d been trying to keep at bay since walking away from the gravesite surfaced. “Sounds like you want it to upset me.”

  He widened his eyes. “You’d really think that?”

  No. Alex was like a brother. He’d stood up for her numerous times and had always covered her mistakes when her search for her daughter had interfered with a case. “Then why are you bringing this up now?”

  He let out a deep breath and pressed his head against the headrest. “I miss the old Jessica.”

  She’d died the day her baby was taken.

  “And I worry about you,” he continued. “All you ever talk about is missing kids. You’re letting your obsession dictate your life. It’s ruined your marriage, it’s caused problems with your job and the stress of it is going to drive you to an early grave.”

  Kiss my ass. “Thanks for the enlightening pep talk, but until you’ve walked in my shoes—”

  He held up a hand. “Maybe your ‘devil’s own sell’ is Sophia. Have you ever thought of that?”

  Her daughter. A burden that needed to be completed. If not, there would be no pleasure in life.

  “I want to see you happy again,” Alex said. “And I honestly don’t think you will until you let go of the past. You can’t change it or fix it, all you can do is move forward.”

  She had been moving forward and doing her damnedest to find her child. Yes, she was obsessed and would fully admit it. But if she didn’t look for her, who else would? Dante had tried, but after a couple of years, he’d made peace with their daughter’s disappearance. She resented him for that. How could he accept that she was gone? She’d been ripped from their lives prematurely. Death by a childhood disease would have been agonizing. But at least she’d have known why her daughter wasn’t with them. The not knowing killed her.

  Was she still alive? Was someone caring for her? Treating her with love and cherishing her beautiful smile? Or was she—

  No.

  She quickly climbed out of the car and fought the urge to sob her anger and frustration. She refused to consider the alternative. Her baby was alive. She had to be.

  When Alex met her on the sidewalk, he grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no business saying anything to you.”

  Knowing Alex was only trying to help and that he was looking out for her mental well-being, she mustered a smile. “It’s okay. But I’m starting to think that maybe you’re the one who’s been getting together with Dante.”

  “Ask your cousin, I can be one of those deep-thinking kinda guys, too.”

  “Right. When it comes to who the Cubs are trading, you get all kinds of deep-thinking.”

  He grinned. “Now you really sound like Dante.” He looked to the street when a patrol car pulled along the curb. “There’s our warrant.”

  Thank God. She’d rather focus on the Palmers, than continue carrying on their conversation about her obsession. But as they made their way through the family’s home, her mind kept drifting. To her baby girl, to Dante. Damn it. To her ‘devil’s own sell.’

  *

  Dante Russo sat in the idling Chevy Camaro, the air-conditioning blasting. Drumming his thumbs along the steering wheel, he kept his focus on Lucky’s Pawn Shop. His trainee, Lola, had gone inside to do a little recon more than twenty minutes ago and should have been out by now. Then again, she could have wound up bullshitting with the store’s owner. During the past few weeks he’d been working with her, he’d learned she didn’t have an off switch. The woman definitely knew how to fill the silence. Not that he minded her chatter. Her Japanese father had been a Hollywood stunt man, specializing in martial arts and action films, and her blonde bombshell mom an actress. Lola had plenty of interesting and amusing stories to tell, and with the boring case they’d been working, he’d had plenty of time to listen.

  But it was nearing two in the afternoon, and they had several more stops to make before calling it a day. One, in particular, that needed to happen sooner rather than later. He glanced to his cell phone sitting in the Camaro’s center console cup holder. He’d already received two texts from Jessica about the damned vegetable garden and didn’t want another. Before resentment could take root, he spotted Lola finally exiting the pawn shop.

  When the traffic lightened, she quickly crossed the busy street with the grace of a dancer and headed for his car. While he’d been irritated his boss and owner of CORE, Ian Scott, had saddled him with another new recruit, Lola had already proven she was more than a pretty face. She was smart, caught on easy and wasn’t afraid to take risks. The woman also had mad acting skills. She could change her voice, her appearance and posture and become another person. A talent that could come in handy with certain cases.

  What concerned him though, was how she would handle herself in a deadly situation. At the firing range, she’d proven she knew how to shoot a gun and he’d been impressed with the way she’d hit the targets—dead on—every time. But she’d never fired a weapon outside of a range. She’d never had to chase down a suspect or been caught up in hand-to-hand combat. According to Ian, Lola’s father had ta
ught her martial arts and, before her dad’s untimely death, she’d earned her black belt in Jujutsu. But could she apply her training in the field? When it came to a life or death situation, could she push her fears aside and kick some serious ass?

  Jessica could. Not with the grace of a dancer, but with cheap, effective shots. Yeah, his wife might fight dirty, but as long as the job was done and she came out on the winning end, he saw no need for grace.

  He glanced at the phone again, just as Lola reached the passenger door. Damn, Jessica needed to stay out of his head. Which was hard to do when she constantly sent him texts. When she was constantly on his mind.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Lola said, slipping into the passenger seat and closing the car door.

  After checking the traffic, he shifted the Camaro into DRIVE and pulled onto the street. “Fully stocked?” he asked and turned left at the intersection.

  “Just like the pawn shop we checked yesterday. How is it that these shops have so much merchandize after just being robbed? I think their insurance company has a right to be concerned.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. With both cases, the owners were assaulted in their homes, pistol whipped, then forced to open their stores to the thieves. I have a hard time believing the shop owners would willingly allow themselves to be beaten to scam their insurance company. The last owner was in the hospital for two days recovering from his injuries. He also lost his two front teeth. Pretty extreme way to pull one over on the insurance company.”

  “True. Except I find it interesting that, in both cases, the owners’ wives and kids happened to be out of town when the thieves forced their way into their homes. A little coincidental, don’t you think?”

  “I think the similarities are definitely coincidental and, based on the MO, we’re looking for the same group of thieves. As for the owners being in on it with them, I’m still not sold. If there was another case, like these two, then you’ll have my attention.”

  “You’re serious? Seriously, serious?” She let out a sigh. “Dante, you don’t need three robberies to know something isn’t right with this investigation.”

  “No, but you do need evidence. Until we have that, all we have is assumptions and theories.”

  “Well, I’m going to assume the pawn shop owners are in on the robberies. What I’m trying to figure out is how they ended up with stocked shelves so quickly.” She pulled out an emery board from her purse and began to file her thumb nail. “What would be fantastic is if we could locate some of the stolen merchandise.”

  He made another turn. “That’s going to be next to impossible.” The majority of the stolen items had been jewelry. Without serial numbers or personal engravings, it would be difficult to link the jewelry back to the two pawn shops in question.

  “We can try. The best place for thieves to dump stolen property is a pawn shop. And owners are required to keep a copy of the driver’s license of whoever’s doing the pawning. If we find the stolen jewelry and connect it with a driver’s license, then—” She let out another sigh, this one bordering on exasperation, and stopped filing her nail. “Never mind. You’re right. It would be next to impossible to locate the jewelry. Who’s to say the thieves haven’t already pawned the merchandise out of the city, or even the state.”

  “Or melted the gold down, or sold off only the precious gems.”

  “Okay, okay.” She put the emery board back in her purse. “I said you were right.”

  He grinned. “You can say it again. I rather enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure you do. I’m also sure you have a reason for heading in the opposite direction of our next stop.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to run past my house. We’ll be there in a few.”

  “Okay. I’m not looking forward to meeting with that pompous claims adjuster anyway.”

  Another thing he liked about Lola was that she also knew when not to pry. Telling her he had to stop home to water his vegetable garden before his wife had a conniption wasn’t something he wanted to share. That could lead to questions he didn’t want to answer.

  A few minutes later, he turned into Beverly, one of the community areas on the south side of Chicago, and headed for his Bell Avenue bungalow. He and Jessica had bought the eighty-year-old home fifteen years ago, shortly after they were married. Although in need of major updates, he and Jessica had loved the all-brick home on sight. The house had great bones and, for the area, a large backyard. As much as he still loved the house, without Jessica living in it, the place now stood as an icy representation of the future he couldn’t have, and the past he couldn’t change.

  “This is beautiful,” Lola said when he pulled into his short, narrow driveway. After he cut the ignition, she opened her car door.

  “Thanks. Were you planning on coming inside?”

  Her almond-shaped eyes widened a fraction. “If you’d rather I stay outside, I can hang here by the car,” she said, without a trace of offense.

  Since Jessica had moved out, very few people visited anymore. His buddy, Alex, came by on occasion when he could steal away from his wife and kids, and sometimes his coworker, Hudson, would stop by to watch a big game. But those guys were close friends. They knew what had driven Jessica from their home, and had been on the frontline when his daughter had been taken. While both Jessica and Sophia were no longer in the house, memories of them where everywhere. He hadn’t meant to be rude, but he preferred his privacy.

  “We don’t need to go inside at all,” he said, leading her around the side of the single car attached garage. “What I have to take care of is in the backyard. If you help me, we can be on our way in a few.”

  “Sure,” she said, following alongside. Then she gasped when he opened the gate to the backyard. “I love this space. It has good feng shui.”

  Although he’d kept the house almost exactly as Jessica had left it, he’d made some changes in the yard that mirrored several of the religions he’d studied. When Jessica had walked, he’d tried different ways to overcome the loss of his marriage and daughter. He’d figured testing out a variety of spiritual practices—the animism cosmologies of the Plains Indians, Hinduism, Buddhism and Christianity—would beat the hell out of talking his problems over with a psychologist. He didn’t have anything against going to a counselor, but when the only person he really wanted to talk to could no longer stand to be in the same room with him, he’d needed something in his life to make it through the day. While Jack Daniels could have kept him company, turning into an alcoholic and losing his job wasn’t an option.

  “Thanks,” he said, reaching for the hose and watering can. “I’m thinking about adding a water feature.”

  “Done properly, that could bring great energy to the yard and home. My dad made one for our yard when we were living in LA. It was so beautiful and the trickling of the water so soothing.” She nodded to the watering can. “Can I help?”

  “Sure.” He filled the can and, careful not to spill water on her pants and shoes, handed it to her. “If you could hit those pots of tomatoes, I’ll take care of the main garden along the fence.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why don’t you buy a sprinkler and put it on a timer? This way you don’t have to worry about your garden not getting watered.”

  “I never thought about doing that,” he lied. He actually had bought one several summers ago, but if Jessica knew, she wouldn’t keep contacting him about the garden. “I’ll have to pick one up next time I’m at Home Depot.”

  She brought the empty can over and set it in the grass for him to refill. “Or maybe you thought about it, but didn’t want to.”

  “Come again?” he asked, spraying water into the can. Was he that transparent?

  She shrugged and lifted the watering can. “The past two days you’ve ditched me during lunch after getting a text.”

  So much for Lola not being one to pry. “I didn’t ditch you, I had errands to ru
n,” he said, and focused on the green pepper plants.

  “You didn’t come here to water your garden yesterday or the day before that? I don’t care, it’s just interesting that both days you came back to the office with dried mulch and dirt on your shoes.”

  He looked down at his black shoes. Sure enough, there was mulch and dirt on them. Not much, but it was there. Damn, the girl was observant. “You’re right. I’ll have to buy a timer,” he said, hoping to put an end to the discussion. They were coworkers, not friends, and he didn’t need her nosing around in his business.

  “Or, you could just ask her over for dinner or something.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She gave him an awkward smile and another shrug. “Rachel mentioned your wife—”

  “Ex-wife,” he corrected.

  She frowned. “Rachel said you’re still married.”

  With each passing week of her pregnancy, Rachel’s mouth had a mind of its own and couldn’t be controlled. “A minor technicality,” he said, turning his back and finishing the last of the watering.

  “I see.”

  “Good.”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  For the love of God. He let out a sigh and shut off the nozzle. “It’s pretty simple. Jessica—”

  “Your wife.”

  “Soon to be ex, left.”

  “Three years ago.”

  Rachel really had a big mouth. “Three and a half.”

  She set the watering can near the back patio, and tossed her long, straight dark hair over her shoulder. “A divorce doesn’t take that long.” She held up a hand. “Let me just say this and then I’ll go back to minding my own business.”

  “No offense, but I’d appreciate that.”

  Grinning, she slipped a hand into her front pants pocket. “Fair enough. I dated a guy for a while who would leave something behind every time he left my apartment. I was on to him from the start. The little things he’d have to come back to my place and get were an excuse to be able to come back.”

  “Your point?”

  “Jessica’s the one texting you about watering the garden, right?”