Chasing Thunder

by Ginger Voight

  She considered it for a moment before she took it. He grinned as he pulled a felt pen from his shirt pocket and wrote his phone number on the inside of her palm. He gave her a friendly salute before he headed out the door.

  She could barely look in Kid’s direction as she resumed her task. He was quiet as they left for lunch, heading down to the pier to meet Maddox “Mad Dog” Guerra at the burger joint. Maddy, as Kid called him, was tall and skinny, with jet black hair that fell halfway down his back. He had the same high cheekbones as his grandfather, with velvety brown eyes and a ready smirk. He wore a thrash metal T-shirt and a black hoodie, silver rings on every finger, a jade bracelet on one wrist and a studded leather cuff on the other.

  Baby understood in an instant why everyone had decided against calling him “Mad Dog.” Despite his style of dress, he didn’t look all that threatening. She quickly learned that he was an Internet ninja who could crack any code and dissect any program. His mind raced at a hundred miles per hour while everyone else’s sat idle. He spoke so fast that she had to ask him to repeat himself a dozen times, but from what she could understand he was funny, he was smart, and he was a sardonic complement to Kid.

  Even though they hadn’t seen each other in years, they quickly fell into a friendly, familiar banter. They gave each other shit, and Maddy gleefully embarrassed his old friend in front of the new girl. Baby laughed it all off, having the time of her life.

  When Kid stood up to leave, she was disappointed. Impulsively, she gave Maddy a hug. “It was nice to meet you, Mad Dog,” she said close to his ear. His eyes twinkled as she pulled away and he saluted both of them before he headed to his bike.

  “I hope you weren’t too bored,” Kid said as they walked back to the shop.

  “Not at all. We should definitely hang out more.”

  He smiled at her shyly. “Snake’s birthday is coming up. Fourth of July. Used to be a big deal a gazillion years ago. Maybe we could do something to celebrate it, like have a party or something,” he suggested. “Just like the old times.”

  She linked her arm with his. “Consider it done.”

  It was the happiest Kid felt all day.

  Sweat poured down M.J.’s face as she worked out on the elliptical trainer. The TVs positioned above the bank of exercise equipment displayed the news with the volume muted. More alerts about the Hard Candy Killer scrolled across the bottom of the screen, but she could barely stand to look at it. It was old news now. And it was useless to her.

  After five minutes she finally gave up. She stepped off the machine and reached for her towel. She wiped the perspiration from her black tank top as she headed for the punching bags, pausing to work with a jump rope. She skipped it easily, crisscrossing it in between steps and skipping double-time. By the time she finished she was hopping from foot to foot, eager to beat the hell out of that bag.

  She jabbed, she punched, and she kicked full force, holding nothing back. That bag bore the brunt of her impotent rage as her mind raced with a dozen strategies to take down Dominic Isbecky. She only had one shot and she knew it. So she had to make it count. Unfortunately, none of her plans were as sadistic as she would have liked. The punching bag bore the brunt of that as well. It violently swung back to her, and she was ready with yet another blow.

  “What’d that bag ever do to you?” she heard someone ask over her shoulder. She glanced back to find Kelly, in his workout shorts and tank top, standing behind her.

  “God, don’t you have a hobby?”

  “Nope,” he said as he picked up the jump rope. “I have a job. And you’re it.”

  She punched the bag in response. “Don’t you have a killer to find?”

  “You tell me. Do we still have to find him? Or do you know right where he is?”

  She unleashed a flurry of kicks on the bag. Her shorts fit high and tight, revealing her strong and powerful thighs as she repeated the action. “You know who I think it is, Harris. So go do something about it.”

  “Before you do?” he asked, finishing his work with the speed rope.

  She said nothing as she practiced her uppercut. He headed for the other bag. “Gotta admit. You look like a woman about to go into battle.”

  She chuckled humorlessly as she delivered another punch. “I’ve never been out.”

  He faced her for a long moment. She threw another punch, and he grabbed her wrist almost effortlessly. Without another word, he led her toward the mat.

  “What are you doing?”

  He glanced down at her with those piercing blue eyes. “Giving you practice with something that fights back.”

  He walked to the middle of the mat and turned to her. She hesitated briefly before she joined him. He’d be a lot more fun to beat up than some old punching bag.

  They squared off against each other, and she took the lead by throwing the first punch. She went for the nose again, but this time he was prepared. With catlike reflexes, he caught her wrist in his palm, intercepting her jab. She had stepped forward with her attack, so he stepped in with his left leg and let her momentum carry her over his knee and right to the floor.

  She glared at him as she sprang up. He smirked and motioned for her to come at him, like they were in some ’70s kung fu movie. It pissed her off even more. She responded with a flurry of punches and kicks. He bobbed and wove around her flying fists and groin-seeking knee. She got angrier with every blocked jab or kick. Finally she aimed her elbow toward his face. He advanced, locking her neck in an arm hold. He kicked her feet out from under her and easily tossed her onto her back. He followed her down before she could hop back up again. His eyes were intense as he glared down at her. “Get rid of your anger, M.J.,” he commanded in a low voice. “Focus.”

  He hopped up. She glowered at him, and he offered her a hand. She used this trusting move against him, pulling him back down, locking his arm between her legs as she pulled him into an arm bar, twisting her body until he was forced to tap out and avoid injury. She unraveled her body and they both stood. She faked a right jab toward his nose, like before, but as he prepared for that move, she used her foot to deliver a blow to his stomach, which doubled him over. She grabbed him as she rolled backward onto the floor, kicking his body weight over her. He recovered and tackled her before she could stand upright, knocking her to the mat.

  He pinned her with both palms against her shoulders. Their eyes met and locked, feeling each other out, constantly assessing and reevaluating. His eyes glittered as they swept across her face, taking in the full lips that parted softly with each pant of exertion.

  Her eyes widened as she realized how every inch of his strong body covered hers. He smirked again and dragged himself into a standing position. She watched him warily from where she lay. Eventually he offered a hand to help her up. She considered it for a long moment before she put her hand in his and allowed him to help her stand.

  They stood face-to-face for a long, quiet moment. Finally she slipped past him without saying a word, stalking toward the showers.

  He stared after her for a long while with an absent smile on his face.

  21. PATIENCE

  As expected, M.J. disappeared in those dark days following Tammy’s murder. She was a woman on a mission, and Kid told Baby that they wouldn’t be seeing her anytime too soon.

  But Baby had other things to worry about. She was using her nifty new smartphone to check the Internet daily to see if her mother and her stepfather had managed to locate her. Within days of the discovery of Tammy’s body, her worst nightmare was finally realized. As expected, Stuart and Katherine Rothchild held a press conference to announce that the search for their beloved missing daughter had expanded all the way to California, where a photo of Haley Roberts was linked in connection with the Hard Candy Killer.

  Equally as expected, Katherine caterwauled as she lamented on what a difficult time it had been for her, and how she hadn’t been able to eat or sleep in the weeks since her precious baby had disappeared. Baby’s lip curled as she
listened. Yes, Mother. It was always all about you.

  Amazingly, though, Katherine looked perfectly coiffed for her national debut, as if she hadn’t missed one appointment at the salon or at the gym. Not a hair or hem was out of place, and no tears were shed as she portrayed a virtuous mother for the masses.

  The only thing worse was seeing Stuart Rothchild play the part of concerned father. Like Katherine, he was perfectly styled for the cameras. His expensive suit stretched over his fit physique. His smile was straight and bright and his eyes were narrowed and steely blue, despite the concerned mask that he wore. He completed his ensemble with a bright red power tie and American flag lapel pin.

  All they needed was an apple pie and a bald eagle to complete the image.

  Just seeing Stuart’s face again was enough to make Baby’s stomach lurch. Her hands trembled as she exited out of the browser and threw her new phone across the bed. She drew herself up into a tiny ball and tried to quell the shaking.

  The girl they are looking for is dead, she reminded herself yet again. She was a new person altogether. She had to be, because there was no way in hell she’d go back to being Haley Roberts ever again.

  To prove it, she threw herself into her new life in L.A. with gusto. She began planning for Snake’s thirtieth birthday party, which coincided nicely with the Fourth of July holiday. She was at Wyndryder every day, just like Snake and Kid, and worked closely with her new best pal Jimmy to throw together an epic biker soiree.

  With her new look and her new hideaway, located far away from Hollywood and the life that had put her right in the killer’s line of fire, she felt confident that she could stay safely hidden in a city of millions. But that didn’t stop her from jumping every time someone walked through the front door of Wyndryder. She kept expecting to see Stuart’s hateful face every time the bell jangled.

  Both Snake and Kid noticed her skittish behavior, but assumed it had more to do with the Hard Candy Killer. Tammy’s story was splashed all over the news, everywhere they looked. And media talking heads ruminated endlessly on the identity of the second girl in the one photo they had of Tammy while she was alive, pointing out—as if they needed to—that she was just the kind of victim the Hard Candy Killer targeted. Everyone drove the same message home: they had to find this girl before the killer did, if he hadn’t already.

  “The main question now, Nancy, is whether we find this girl alive . . . or in pieces.”

  It was enough to make anyone a nervous wreck, not to mention a girl who had clearly run from a terrifying experience she had thus far been unwilling to share. She purchased a pair of nonprescription glasses from a costume shop to conceal her face, and contemplated buying colored contacts for her eyes. So near to Tinseltown, she could become anyone, and she took full advantage of that.

  It was only half the battle. She had to be prepared to protect herself should anyone see through her disguise. When Snake had offered to teach her some self-defense moves, she’d jumped all over the opportunity. After a few nights, she could see where M.J. had learned some of her nifty little tricks.

  “Step toward your attacker,” Snake instructed when she instinctively backed away from him as he grabbed her wrist. “They won’t expect it. Here. Grab my wrist.” He showed her what he meant by easily breaking her hold, much like M.J. had done with one of the gang members in the alley the first night they’d met.

  Both he and Kid had tireless patience as they taught her what they knew, a mish-mash of all the things they had learned from their father, who had idolized Bruce Lee, and Joe Bennett, who had hand-to-hand combat training as a Green Beret in the Vietnam War. Her nightly workout with her guys became the best part of her day. Snake indulged her like any big brother would, but he generally allowed Kid to spar with her after he demonstrated a particular move. He could tell his little brother was crushing hard on their new roomie, and he did his part to play Cupid. It helped him ease his own bruised ego after M.J. disappeared, once again, deep underground. The way he figured it, at least one of the Scoggins boys should be happy.

  Within a couple of weeks, Baby could easily throw Kid like a rag doll, but she assumed that had more to do with the fact that he clearly wasn’t giving these sparring matches his all. “Be serious!” she told him, irritated by the idea he might be taking it easy on her, like she was weak or couldn’t handle it. “I want to know how to handle myself if things like this happened for real.”

  Realizing for the first time that she wanted to get better, she needed to get better, he flipped her end over end, and she never had to challenge him again.

  Maddox became a nightly guest in Pasadena throughout the month of June. He was just as smitten with Baby as Kid was, and willingly stepped in to be her sparring partner as well. Even Jack got in on the fun. It wasn’t long until she no longer resembled the shrinking violet from just a month before.

  She had two faces in her mind whenever they came at her, to motivate her to take her training seriously. One was that creep Isbecky, and the other was the repugnant face of her stepfather. She had one goal and one goal only: she was never going to be a victim again.

  By the last week of June, she no longer shook in her shoes when that overhead bell jangled above the door. As a matter of fact, by then she had a good reason to look with expectation toward that front door. Every day, around four o’clock, Xavier brought Snake the paperwork from the Snake Pit so he could sign off on checks and deposits.

  At first their interaction was limited to a smile or a nod. But within a week, he was making it a point to stop by the counter to say hello. She didn’t do much to encourage him, and she already knew that Snake had given him the “hands off” speech, but X was determined to make a connection with this unusual goth girl anyway. As her confidence grew, she finally let him.

  She allowed him to treat her to lunch at the pier, despite Kid’s strong urging not to. He followed with Mad Dog, and Baby laughed it off when X mentioned it. “They’re my bodyguards,” she teased.

  “I didn’t know I was in the presence of a celebrity,” he teased back with a whiter-than-white smile. He was so beautiful it nearly broke her heart. If only she had met him a year before, under different circumstances.

  “Do you think they’d let you escape to a movie?” he asked as they walked back toward the shop.

  “Doubtful,” she said. “Plus, I already told you. I don’t date.”

  She jumped as he took her hand in his. “Shame,” he grinned down at her and she felt herself swoon a little. She didn’t have much experience with boys and had no idea how to proceed, especially when the touch of his hand didn’t scare her like it used to . . . like it should have.

  It was one of the many times that she wished M.J. would come around. She desperately needed a female point of view, and despite the fact they were still total strangers who hadn’t spent a whole lot of time together, M.J. was as close to a sister—or mother—as she had ever had.

  M.J., however, was holed up in her dinky Hollywood apartment night after night as she constructed a plan. Now that Tammy had been found and Baby was safely squared away under Snake’s watchful eye, she had a little room to strategize. She threw herself into gathering information, and she had tracked down the information regarding Stuart and Katherine Rothchild. That took up much of her time, as she tried to make sense of why a girl with her breeding and advantages had taken to the streets. M.J. had to dig deep into Baby’s untold story so that she could figure out if it was a safer alternative to send her back.

  She hated the idea that Baby was at Wyndryder, and she already knew from Jimmy that it would take a nuclear blast to get her out again. She also knew how much Baby had done to keep herself disguised, and had M.J. not met Dominic Isbecky, she might have thought it was enough. But he was as cunning as he was powerful, which was how he’d been able to do the heinous things he had been doing for so long. M.J. knew she had to work quickly before he connected all the dots.

  Meanwhile she was forced to keep a close wa
tch on the situation from afar, using both Jimmy and her grandmother Susan, the other co-owner of Wyndryder, to keep her abreast of any changes. They were the ones who told her about Xavier’s interest in Baby, but it was the unexpected lunch date on June 26 that expanded her research even further. She began to secretly vet the newest member of their exclusive community.

  She had just begun her background check when a knock at her door distracted her. She minimized the window before standing. She opened the door in time to help Kelly, who was juggling bags of Thai food in his arms.

  They had formed a tentative alliance in the weeks following their workout session at the gym. The very next day, an abandoned warehouse in Hollywood, known to be a place where homeless kids took shelter, burned right to the ground. As predicted, M.J. was there before the fire department put out the last burning ember. Like the Roses N’ Palms, an accelerant was used to start the fire that killed five homeless kids, Billy Pruitt among them. Solving this crime again threw them together, and they’d fought like a couple of rabid honey badgers in a steel cage. He was quick to point out that it was clear neither of them was going anywhere, so it was in their best interest to work together and stop wasting time fighting about it.

  Surprisingly, she offered him information about Tammy’s pimp, who was last seen at the warehouse. Given the link to Tammy and the same MO that was used at her friend’s motel, it was too coincidental to ignore. Kelly agreed. He used his position to dig a little deeper into previous ties Billy had with Dominic Isbecky.

  He was the one who found the blueprints of Isbecky’s house in the hills, as well as a dozen other properties in Isbecky’s name, all of which had been extensively renovated since he’d purchased them, with different contractors used to complete the jobs. None they contacted had all the information, only bits and pieces. “You go in now, you’re going in blind,” Kelly had said. Both knew they had no choice but to research further.