Dirty Business (The Leah Ryan Mysteries - Book Three

by Sharp, Tracy

  Jack is enormous. Watching him attempt to climb through this window would be a hoot.

  “You’re taking too long, Leah.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I sighed, getting back to work.

  As luck would have it, there were several keys in the top drawer. I found a little ring with a few tiny keys on it, keys just big enough to fit in the locks of a filing cabinet.

  I went over to the filing cabinet. Tried a key. Bingo. Thank you God, for small favors, because now I didn’t have much time at all, I was certain.

  Jack was probably having a heart attack down on the ground out there.

  I opened up a top drawer and started looking. I hoped Jack was watching the front of the house, because it wasn’t likely that anyone would approach from the back. I went back to tell him that, but when I looked outside, he was no longer there.

  I looked through the files. There were several, all in alphabetical order, listing names of birth mothers. These files had legal documentation, as well as hospital files. They were dated five years ago, and appeared to be legitimate. But then, all the adoptions would appear that way. Adrian’s ex was an attorney, and like Jack said, Adrian had a few judges in her pocket. It was a scary world.

  I heard something rap against the window, then again. Shit. Jack was throwing stones. If I didn’t peek out at him now he would likely end up breaking the window, using larger and larger rocks. I went to the window, stuck my head out.

  “Hide,” he said. “Now.”

  Shit. I looked around. Hide where? I stood still and listened. Somebody opened the front door downstairs. Maybe they didn’t know I was in there. Maybe they just came back to work or to get something.

  I heard a woman giggle, then a man’s voice, low and hushed.

  Great. Somebody had come to the office after hours to get it on.

  I sat on the edge of the desk and crossed my arms. How long could it take?

  I wondered who it was. The receptionist? Adrian wouldn’t bring a lover back to this office. She had a big house to go to. Unless she was slumming it, but then she could always go to a hotel. I looked at my watch and sighed.

  Thinking I should tell Jack, I leaned out the window and staged whispered again. I probably might as well have been hollering. “Somebody’s getting jiggy with it. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “You hope,” he said. “Unless he’s like me. Then it could take hours. Days, even.” Even from this distance, in the half light from the moon and stars, and the snow all around him, I could see his grin.

  I rolled my eyes, and backed out of the window.

  The guy didn’t waste any time. I could hear her loud moaning from upstairs where I was. I placed a hand over my forehead. Christ. This was almost worse than all the shit I’d already endured during the week.

  And worse yet, I had to pee. Badly.

  There had to be a bathroom up there. It’s not like they’d notice. I just wouldn’t flush.

  I had to be out of my mind. But if I didn’t pee right now I’d end up wetting my pants, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to take a chance at being caught with a dark pee stain on my jeans. Hell, no. I’d rather be shot.

  I crept to the doorway and peered out into the hallway. I crept out and used my mini penlight. There was a bathroom, last door on the opposite side. I quietly went in, keeping the light off.

  Pulled down my pants and placed my gun on the sink, emptied my bladder. It took forever, and I tried not to let it all go too fast, but it sounded like a waterfall to my ears.

  I finished. When I’d pulled my jeans back up and tucked my gun into the back of my waistband, I almost forgot and flushed.

  I looked at the sink. Should I risk washing my hands?

  She moaned and groaned downstairs. Screw it, they wouldn’t hear me. I turned the tap and almost screamed. The pipes groaned more loudly than she had. I turned the tap off and swore.

  She’d stopped groaning. Panicked whispers.

  Not good.

  Then I heard loud footfalls running up the stairs. I ran to the office and grabbed up several files that I'd left on top of the filing cabinet, threw myself across the desk, reaching the window and tumbling out of it. I slid partially down the roof, files gripped tightly in one hand.

  Jack caught me when I let myself drop.

  I looked up at his grinning face for a moment before slapping him lightly on the cheek. His smile grew wide and he leaned in fast and planted a quick little kiss on my lips.

  I blinked.

  “Got ya.”

  I smiled, despite myself. “Put me down, Jack.”

  He dropped me and I fell on my ass. “Asshole.”

  Footsteps on the roof.

  Jack lifted me to my feet. “Enough screwing around, Kicks.”

  “Right. I’m the one screwing around.” My lips tingled where he’d kissed me. It was a strange sensation and my heart thumped. I wasn’t sure if I completely disliked what I was feeling.

  But I had no time to philosophize about it.

  As we ran, I glanced back at the roof. There was a figure standing on it, but I couldn’t make out who it was. Only that it was a man.

  We got to the truck, my heart hammering.

  “Holy hell,” I said between ragged breaths. “I’m going to die of a friggin’ heart attack at this rate.”

  Jack chuckled. “That would be disappointing, wouldn’t it, after all the shit we’ve been through.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Uh, I do believe that was Adrian’s ex.” He started the truck and sped down the road.

  “You’re kidding. He has a key and he takes women to the office?”

  “I guess the women are married. I know he’s engaged to be remarried.”

  “Really. Why bother?” I said. “I wonder if Adrian knows.”

  “Well, he’s helping her with the fraudulent documentation for the phony adoptions. She probably lets him do whatever the hell he wants.”

  “Why wouldn’t the cheap bastard get a hotel?” I wondered.

  “More exciting? Maybe he’s known all over the city. Who knows?”

  It was beyond strange that he’d use Adrian’s adoption office.

  “Who was the woman?”

  “I don’t know, but she didn’t look all that, um, shall we say, classy.”

  “He’s slumming it. That might be why he takes them there. He doesn’t want to get caught in his car and he doesn’t want to take them to a no-tell when all he wants is a quickie. What a gem.”

  Jack shrugged. “I’m just glad we got you the hell out of there.”

  “Why hasn’t he called the cops? Why didn’t he follow us?”

  “Because he probably shouldn’t be there himself, remember?” Jack said.

  “I’m getting a headache.” A steady pounding had started behind my eyes. I’d been getting wicked headaches over the past year or so. Sometimes they lasted for days.

  “Let’s get a hotel room. We’ll go visit Ms. Mandell in the morning,” Jack said. He was taking care of me again, and I didn’t mind it.

  ***

  When we got to the hotel, Jack used a phony name and paid cash. He always did, not wanting any of the crazies who were onto us track us down. We always got a room with two beds. Jack and I have known each other forever, and we cherished our friendship. We had something far more special than either of us had ever had in any romantic relationship, and neither of us wanted to mess with it, because we both knew that neither of us would ever find it again with anyone else. And if we ever did take it there, it would be the beginning of the end for us.

  Sexual relationships end. We’d never be the same. Neither of us was willing to risk it.

  That didn’t mean that I didn’t find Jackson Quick sexually attractive. I just never allowed myself to entertain sexual thoughts about him. He was sexy as hell. I was hard pressed to think of a woman who wasn’t gay, who didn’t at least look him up and down. He was big and built like a rock, with everything in all the right places, and he ha
d a boyish, mischievous grin that had gotten him into more beds than I’d care to even attempt to guess at.

  Our relationships never worked out. But we’re loyal as hell to each other. There is no bullshit between us. Why couldn’t we achieve that with anyone else? It was strange.

  I fell into a fitful sleep, too tired to sleep all that well. Jack was having the same problem. I heard him tossing and turning in the other bed.

  After a while I got up and sat on the window sill, looking out at the city below us. It was beautiful. So many lights. I wondered if I’d ever be able to settle down and be the person that Callahan had wanted me to be. I’d tried. It just wasn’t in me. Not then. Maybe not ever.

  “Can’t sleep, Kicks?” Jack’s whiskey voice was low, like a lover’s.

  I looked back at him. He was leaning on one arm, watching me. “No. Too jacked up. No pun intended.”

  He chuckled.

  I smiled. “Too frazzled.”

  “Come on over here,” he said, moving back on the bed, making room for me.

  I went over and climbed into his bed, and he covered me up. I lay on my side and moved back, allowing him to place an arm under my neck and one across my waist. He’d wrapped himself around me, and I didn’t feel smothered.

  “It’s all going to be okay, Kicks.” His whisper was close to my ear. I felt my hair move just the slightest bit. “It will. It always is.”

  I inhaled and let out a long breath. “Do you really think so? Even this time?”

  “When has it not been? It hasn’t always ended up like we hope it will, but we always end up okay in the end.”

  “Yeah, but it takes something from us each time, Jack. Doesn’t it?”

  “This is a dirty business, Kicks. But we learn from each time, and we get better, so that when we live to fight another day, we really kick ass. Nobody can do it like us, Kicks. And that’s why we keep doing the jobs that nobody else will do. We’re made for it. What else would we do? Huh?”

  I smiled in the dark. He was right, of course. “Yeah. I know. I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

  “Guess so.”

  “Promise?” I asked him, my voice sounding further away in my own ears.

  “Promise.”

  And I believed him.

  We lay silently spooning, and sometime not too long from then, we both finally fell asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  We got up early the next morning, and I spread the files out on the bed. There were four of them. We read through them, Jack taking two and me taking two. The files were from eleven years ago. The chances of these women being at the same address and having the same last names and phone numbers were slim, but we gave it a try anyway. We started calling.

  Of the four women, only one still lived at the same place and still had the same last name. She was Taryn Murphy. Twenty-nine years old.

  I dialed her number. When she answered I briefly explained to her who we were and that we needed to ask her a few questions about her experience with the Friends of the Family adoption agency.

  There was a long pause on the phone.

  I waited a beat, then continued. “Taryn, I know this can’t be easy for you, and that the last thing you want to do is dredge up a painful past, but we really need to speak with you. The lives of babies are at stake.”

  I could hear her breathing, but she said nothing. “Please,” I said.

  “Okay.” Her tone sounded defeated. Flat.

  We arranged to come by her house in an hour. The excitement of finding a woman who had been involved with Adrian’s shady agency made my nerves crackle. She just might be the key to bringing Adrian down. She may remember the names of other young women who had had the misfortune of coming into contact with Adrian.

  “You know, I can’t believe that Adrian didn’t have those files destroyed,” Jack said, climbing into the truck. “That’s really stupid.”

  “Maybe she has to keep files for a long time in case anyone comes snooping. Snooping by legitimate means, that is.” I sat back, leaning my head against the head rest and yawned.

  “You mean, not like you, climbing through a window and shooting the lock off a desk drawer?” Jack grinned at the road ahead of us.

  “Right.”

  “Guess she didn’t count on anyone like us coming around.” He turned the heat up in the truck.

  “They never do, Jack.” I slid down a little in the seat, basking in the warmth from the hot air blowing toward me. “They never do.”

  ***

  Taryn lived in a nice neighborhood. Nice, tree lined street. Houses decked out in Christmas lights. She lived in a Greek revival, looked to be built in about the eighteen-sixties. Red bows adorned the windows, and red and white twinkling Christmas lights were wound around the columns.

  She opened the door in a red turtleneck and jeans. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders, bangs cut neatly just above her eyebrows. She looked like she belonged in an ivory soap commercial. Pretty girl next door.

  Her smile was cautious as she invited us in.

  “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice,” I said. “I’m sure there are many things you’d prefer to be doing than meeting with us.”

  The house smelled like nutmeg and cinnamon. Either she had fragrant holiday candles burning or she’d been baking. My stomach growled.

  “Just baking for the kids,” she said. “I teach fourth grade. I bake for them every year.” She showed us to her living room. “Please, sit down.”

  Jack and I sat on the couch. Cream colored and plush. I wanted to curl up on it and take a nap. I was so tired. A plate of cookies lay on the coffee table in front of us.

  She saw me eyeing the plate and smiled. “Help yourself, please.”

  She didn’t have to ask us twice. Jack and I both took a cookie.

  I nibbled on the cookie, then closed my eyes. “Wow. These are heavenly.”

  “Thanks. It’s my own recipe, honed over many years of baking as a single woman.”

  A black cat slinked into the room and snaked around Jack’s legs. Jack isn’t a huge fan of cats. He will put up with them, but he doesn’t really like them.

  “Portia. Behave.”

  The cat moved away from Jack and toward Taryn.

  “Well behaved cat,” Jack said.

  Taryn stroked the cat’s silky fur. “She’s a good girl.”

  Jack and I both smiled and waited a beat. It wasn’t going to be easy for Taryn to go back eleven years to when she gave up her baby.

  She looked up at us, and sat back, her hands laced together on her lap. “You mentioned the Friends of the Family.”

  I leaned forward. “Yes. Please understand, Taryn. Our intention here is not to dig up the past or open up old wounds. But these are really bad people. And they need to be stopped.”

  She nodded once. “Yes, they are.”

  Jack said, “We’d appreciate anything you could tell us. Anything you could share about your experiences with Adrian Mandell.”

  Taryn’s face seemed to harden at the very mention of the name. “She’s a horrible person.”

  “We’ve figure out that much. And nobody’s put a stop to her so far.” I kept my voice soft and even. “Tell us what happened to you, Taryn. What happened to your baby?”

  She looked down at her jeans and smoothed a small crease. “I was eighteen years old. Pregnant. Scared and pretty much banished from my family until I agreed to give the baby up.” She looked up at us, her large eyes watering. “I come from a good family. They were all about appearances. I’d embarrassed them beyond words. Somebody mentioned Adrian Mandell to my father. We met with her, and the same day I was driven out of state, all the way to Phoenix, Arizona.” She paused, remembering. Her eyes looked far away.

  “That’s pretty harsh,” Jack said.

  “I’d done the unforgivable. I’d humiliated my family. Sending me away was in large part a punishment as well as hiding me until I’d given birth.” Her fingers moved nervously over e
ach other in her lap. “I had no access to a telephone and I wasn’t permitted to write to anyone. I was kept on the grounds of that house.

  “When I began having doubts, considering keeping my baby, they told me that if I did that I’d be reneging on a contract my parents had with Adrian. They said that they would be sued for breach of contract and also responsible for the cost of housing, feeding, clothing me, as well as all my medical bills, which they were so kindly taking care of.”

  “They took care of all your medical bills?” Jack asked.

  “Yes. They took care of everything. As long as I promised to hand over my baby after he was born.” She brushed a tear away and sighed. Even after all these years, the wound was raw and barely closed. “They lied to me. They said it would be an open adoption. That the adoptive parents would send me pictures of him and that we’d meet a few times a year so that I could see how he was doing.” She gave a humorless little laugh. “That never happened.”

  “Taryn, do you remember the names of any of the other girls who were staying in that house with you?” Jack asked her.

  Taryn nodded her head. “I remember the names of all of them.”

  ***

  It was like winning the jackpot. She told us the names of six other girls who were pregnant and waiting to give birth in that house. The girls were treated as incubators, there only until the babies were born. Talking privately was discouraged, but there were times when the girls found themselves with another one or two of the others and shared information about themselves to gain some kind of intimacy. The isolation ate away at them.

  Luckily, Taryn had privately exchanged names and phone number with three of the other girls.

  None of the girls had contacted her after they left the house, and she hadn’t attempted to contact any of them.

  “For me, the pain was too great.” She took a shaky breath to compose herself. “I just wanted to move on and put it behind me. I’m sure it was the same for them.”

  “Of course,” I said. Looking at Taryn’s face, it didn’t seem that the pain had lessened any for her over the past eleven years. How could it?