Dangerous

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Damn it!” He knew who she was.

  Then another IM: Here’s my latest art…

  Her mouth went dry as she stared at the photo icon for a moment before clicking on it: another living-color display of Sandy.

  Camille’s stomach tightened. In addition to the red hair, Sandy now wore a thick application of eye makeup. Black eyeliner. Dark purple shadow. Blobs of mascara pooled beneath her lower lashes, smeared because the girl must have tried wiping away her tears.

  The kid was one step closer to looking like the dead women.

  Camille closed her eyes and again saw that CSI photo of Emily sprawled on the ground, her face frozen in horror.

  My fault…all my fault…

  “Camille?”

  Thinking Angel had somehow spoken to her, she jerked back, wide-eyed. But nothing on the screen had changed.

  “There you are.”

  She flipped around to see Drago, closing his front door. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Were you expecting someone else?” He looked over her shoulder at the computer screen. “Oh, Christ! How long ago did this come through?”

  “Just a minute ago.”

  Back to her laptop, she quickly typed: Is a real woman too much for you?

  “What the hell are you doing?” Drago demanded.

  “Trying to challenge him. To make him respond to me.”

  “He has the upper hand, Camille.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gently squeezed. “Our killer is not going to fall for that.”

  Camille realized Drago was trying to comfort her. And that he had a point. The screen stayed eerily silent.

  Sighing, she rose from her chair and faced him. “He figured out who I am. That I’m Detective Camille Martell. Which means he also knows that I’m after him and why.”

  “Which makes him even more dangerous.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “I meant to you.”

  She let him hold her for a moment. This was a side of Drago that was normally elusive. Nurturing rather than tough. It felt so good to feel his arms around her, to be crushed against his chest, to feel his lips brush her forehead. To think that he might really care about her. She wanted to believe he could make everything all right. For a moment, she almost believed he would make certain that things would work out. For Sandy. Maybe even for them.

  Almost.

  Then she got real and untangled herself from his arms. She didn’t miss the disappointment that flicked through his features before quickly disappearing.

  “I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course you can. Under normal circumstances. But this guy is too dangerous to underestimate. You can’t put yourself out there and use yourself as bait.”

  “I don’t know what else to do. I fear our time is running out. I’m worried that we won’t find him soon enough.” Worried that she would have to live the rest of her life with another death on her conscience.

  “You don’t do anything about meeting Angel without letting me know. Think of me as your protection. We’re getting close, Camille. He’s interacting with you, showing off, and if we’re lucky, he’ll do something stupid and slip up.”

  Staring at the photo of Sandy on her computer screen, it suddenly came to her. “Maybe he already has.”

  “What? Did he say something that was significant?”

  “No. He did something. The photos of Sandy show us how he’s re-creating her,” Camille explained. “Making her look like the other victims. Why would he try to make them all look the same?”

  “Maybe he was trying to make them look like someone else.”

  “Exactly. Someone he hated. Someone he’s killing through them.”

  “Someone who spurned him?” Drago mused. “Why didn’t he just kill her?”

  “Maybe he did, but maybe that wasn’t enough to satisfy him.”

  “If we can figure out who she is—”

  “—then maybe we can figure out who he is,” Camille finished for him. “That’s it! We need to find Jackson.”

  She grabbed her cell phone and texted the detective: R U at office?

  Her cell dinged seconds later, and she read: Yes, what’s up?

  Don’t leave. Will be there in 10.

  She saved the latest photo of Sandy to the album of the other victims on her cell before saying, “Let’s get over there.” She headed for the door, Drago right behind her.

  They drove together. This time when they got to the office, he parked and went inside with her. Camille ignored the looks and whispers they generated and, praying Rodriguez was nowhere around, she stayed focused all the way into the room where the detectives had their desks. The place was nearly empty. Jackson sat at his, talking to Ross, a detective assigned to Vice, but when Jackson realized she had arrived, he abruptly ended that conversation. Ross moved off, nodding her way.

  Camille and Drago stopped at Jackson’s desk.

  “What did you get?” The detective swung his gaze from her to Drago and back to her again.

  “An idea of how to identify Angel.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Pulling out her cell, Camille brought up the album with photos of the women. She tapped the photo of Sandy and showed it to him. “Angel just IM’d this to me.”

  The other detective’s eyes widened. “What the hell!”

  “He knows I’m in Homicide, Jackson. He’s playing with me, so he’s making Sandy look like his other victims. But I had to wonder why he made them look like this specifically. Unless—”

  “It’s like someone he knows,” Jackson finished for her.

  “Or knew,” Drago added. “An unfaithful wife or girlfriend. A woman who rejected him or who didn’t keep his secrets. Whoever it was, he could have killed her, too.”

  “Probably he killed her before the others.” Jackson looked to Camille. “So what’s your plan?”

  “I thought you could have a composite drawn, using all three photos to get the details of the makeup and clothes. Then we can try to find her using that. Or find out who she was.”

  Jackson nodded. “Might work. If we knew where to look.”

  “He’s one of the Humboldt Lords,” Drago said. “Someone in Humboldt Park has to recognize this woman.”

  “One of the Lords? How do you know that?”

  “LeRoy Walker was real chatty about it,” Camille said.

  Drago adding, “He saw the second body being dumped in Logan Square. LeRoy says he also saw the brand on the killer’s arm.”

  “Huh. Then our killer’s days are numbered.”

  An hour later, they were ready to leave. Camille had checked her cell for another IM from Angel a dozen times, but nothing. Now both she and Drago had the drawing on their cells and printed flyers in a folder. Drago had already texted Justus and Eva and sent them copies, as well.

  “I’m getting a team together right now to canvass the area, and to pick up any members of the Humboldt Lords they can find,” Jackson assured them. “If Rodriguez asks—”

  “Tell him whatever you want,” Camille said. “I don’t care about the credit. I just care about the girl. And about stopping Angel before he can kill again.”

  —

  “Where do we start?” Camille asked after Drago texted Eva and Justus while stopped at a red light. “You know the area better than I do.”

  The light changed. Drago pocketed his cell phone and took off. “North Avenue, starting at the park and going west. I asked Eva to take Division, and Justus to go up Grand.”

  “I’ll suggest Jackson has his team take Pulaski and the small businesses on side streets.”

  Drago glanced at her as she texted that information to the detective. Then checked his rearview mirror. When they’d left her place, he’d had the uneasy feeling they weren’t alone. But if anyone had followed them, he hadn’t been able to spot the vehicle. Leaving the area office, he’d been relieved the feeling had pas
sed. But his paranoia hadn’t. He kept looking for trouble.

  So when a few minutes later Drago pulled to the curb on the block west of the park and Camille said, “Let’s split up so we can hit more storefronts faster,” he had to stop himself from objecting.

  He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. But she had a point about the time issue. “All right. You take the beauty salon and I’ll get the café next door. We can hopscotch, taking alternate businesses.”

  Even though he agreed, he kept an eye on her as they went in and out of doorways. Every time he looked for her, he also scanned the street in both directions for any sign of trouble.

  Camille was on his mind every bit as much as Angel and the kid. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Justus had said, that maybe Camille was exactly what he needed in his life. Was she? Maybe. She threw her heart into her job—into saving people or bringing them justice, making her beautiful to him inside as well as out. His gut twisted every time he thought about her. His chest tightened at unexpected moments when he was near her.

  Unfortunately, Drago was pretty sure Camille didn’t need or want what he had to offer. Well, outside of sex anyway. No argument that they fit there. They were perfect for each other in that regard.

  It was the rest of the ride he questioned.

  They hit both shops and businesses, including a couple of fast-eat joints, a bakery, a hair salon, a dentist’s office, a pawnshop, and a car insurance agent. So far, no luck. No one recognized the woman in the sketch. They looped around from one side of the street to the other, and each time they finished both sides of a block, they moved the car up to the next one and started again.

  —

  What the hell was taking his team so long to return his text? Angel wondered. And after he’d told them to be ready to act tonight. He’d let the others know that it was time to set the plan in motion several minutes ago.

  They’d better not try to back out on their deal or he would make sure they were sorry.

  Or dead.

  Ass wipes should have more enthusiasm for the job, considering what a pain Drago Nance had been to the Humboldt Lords for as long as he could remember. He hadn’t forgotten the prick hammering him into the ground a few years back, just because he’d ripped the purse out of an old lady’s hands. Revenge would be sweet.

  Parked a block east of where Drago had left his car, Angel watched him and Camille go in and out of stores. What were they doing? Must have something to do with their stopping at the police station. He’d tracked them using the GPS transponder he’d attached to the bottom of the Trans Am while Drago had been fucking Camille early that morning. Sixty seconds and he’d been all set.

  Then he’d driven off, knowing he could track them anytime he wanted. All he’d had to do was use the app on his cell. Which he had done more than an hour ago. Now he was anxious for the show to start. No one would try to stop them. Not in this neighborhood. No one had the cojones that Drago did, but he would be outnumbered. Finally, Drago Nance would be taken out of the equation for good.

  And then he would have the satisfaction he’d been lusting for.

  He was getting a hard-on just thinking about the things he would make Detective Camille Martell do for him.

  And if she didn’t want to cooperate, he still had the girl to use as incentive.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The ascending dark made the busy street pooled with light spooky and even less safe than it had been earlier. They’d reached a stretch with open lots on both sides of the block, so when Drago said, “I think we should stick together,” Camille didn’t argue with him.

  Most businesses were already closed down for the night, but a few remained open. Still, no one in the first few places they checked recognized the woman in the sketch.

  Back on the street, Camille couldn’t help but feel down. “I was really counting on this working.”

  “Who says it won’t?”

  “We’ve been out here for hours now and we’re batting zero. No texts from Justus or Eva or Jackson, either.” And to her disappointment, no IM’s from Angel.

  “We’ve only hit a handful of blocks. Same for the others. We don’t know how far Noreen ran, remember. We simply may not have gone far enough.”

  “So you’re a cheerleader now.”

  “I’m simply someone who doesn’t give up,” he said. “Not when someone’s well-being is in jeopardy and I can do something about it.”

  The statement hit home with Camille, made her believe there was more to Drago’s back story than she’d ever imagined. Made her feel closer to him. Bonded. If only she didn’t have those doubts about him that kept haunting her. Had she talked herself into not trusting him because she feared where getting close might lead?

  The next shop they entered, Taboo Ink, was blindingly colorful. The walls were drawn with dozens of blown-up tattoos. The guy behind the counter was colorful, too. Every inch of skin Camille could see was covered with ink, and the whites of his eyes were no longer white. They had been tattooed red, making her think he wanted to look like a vampire.

  “Can I help you folks? We have a couples’ special this week. A twofer.”

  “Actually, we’re looking for someone.” Camille opened the folder and slipped out a flyer with the artist’s rendering.

  The man barely glanced at it for a moment. “She hasn’t been in here for a year. Maybe longer.”

  Camille felt her adrenaline surge. “You know her, then.”

  “Do you remember her name?” Drago asked.

  “Teresa…” Inkboy shrugged. “Teresa something.”

  Camille could hardly believe it—at last, a lead. “What can you tell us about her?”

  “That she had makeup permanently tattooed on her entire face. She used to come in every couple of months for enhancements. Especially for her eyes. Said she wanted to wake up looking beautiful for her man. Well, her man of the moment.” He waved his hand. “Always someone different. Truthfully, she kind of went overboard with the touch-ups, but I guess you can see that in the sketch.”

  “But she stopped coming in for more.”

  “Yeah, it was really odd. I guess she must have moved out of the area or something.”

  “Or something.” Camille knew in her gut the woman was dead, had been dead for more than a year.

  “Are you sure you can’t remember her last name?” Drago asked.

  “It’s not that I don’t remember it. She kept changing it every couple of months when she met some new guy. I don’t think she married them. Never saw a ring on her finger. I think she just took their names, so I don’t really know what to call her.”

  “What about the name she used last time she was here?” Camille asked. “Would it be in your records?”

  The man shook his head. “No records. Teresa was a cash-only customer.”

  “So she kept switching men.” Camille looked to Drago, whose expression was intent. “When she got tired of Angel—”

  “Wait a minute,” Drago interrupted. He asked Inkboy, “Was Teresa in her early twenties?”

  “No, no, she wasn’t real young, though she tried to look it. I’d say she was in her midthirties.”

  Camille gaped at him. Not in her early twenties. Not like Angel’s other victims. She met Drago’s puzzled gaze. “That was unexpected. Thoughts?”

  “Got me.”

  “I don’t get it,” Inkboy said. “What am I missing here?”

  “We’re pretty sure Teresa didn’t move,” Camille told him. “We think she’s dead. Murdered. In the last several months, the bodies of two other women have been found. Women made up to look like this. Only they were in their early twenties.”

  Inkboy wasn’t looking too happy now. “You cops?”

  “Private investigators,” Drago said once again. “We’re trying to find a young girl who went missing.” He thought a minute and said, “Maybe Teresa wasn’t a girlfriend or wife, after all.”

  “An older sister?” Camille said.

>   “I’m thinking she could have been his mother. Did Teresa have a son?” he asked the tattoo artist.

  “Yeah. She was always worried about his getting in trouble.”

  “Do you have a name?” Drago asked.

  “No, sorry.”

  “Wait a minute.” A son didn’t make sense to Camille. “Teresa would have been too young to be Angel’s mother.”

  “Maybe not,” Drago said. “Remember the Realtor said he was in his early twenties. His mother could have been fifteen or sixteen when she had him. No doubt she was worried about him because she knew he joined the Humboldt Lords.”

  “You’re talking about a gangbanger?” Now Inkboy was getting nervous. “Hey, I really don’t know information that could help you. I don’t want to get involved in anything gang related. Bad for business. Bad for me.”

  No doubt he inked gang members on a regular basis, Camille thought. “One more question, please.”

  “Yeah, okay. One. Then you have to leave.”

  “Do you have any idea of where Teresa worked or hung out? Maybe someone else knows her and can give us what we need.”

  “That’s easy. She didn’t work on anything but those men. She used to talk about where she was going after I finished with her, I assume to meet her next meal ticket. A bar over on Grand called Diablo Grande.”

  —

  Drago’s Spidey-sense was working overtime. Upon leaving Taboo Ink, the hair on the back of his neck ruffled. His gaze pierced the shadows all around them, and though he didn’t see anything out of place, he rushed Camille into the Trans Am and quickly got behind the wheel. The case had gotten to him big time. He was expecting to find potential trouble in every shadow. No wonder, when one of the Humboldt Lords had undoubtedly killed his own mother, then had sexually abused reminders of her before killing them. Too bad Drago couldn’t figure out who he was. He knew most of them, whether personally or by reputation, but he didn’t have insight into their home lives.

  What the hell had gone down between Angel and his mother that he would kill the woman who’d given birth to him? Maybe they would find out at Diablo Grande.

  Or at least they might find the next piece of the puzzle.

  A short drive took them to the bar. No street parking on the block, but a sign informed them there was parking in back. Drago took the alley to the lot. He hoped this time they would find information that would lead them straight to the killer and his hostage.