Dangerous

by Patricia Rosemoor

  He’d been relieved to learn that Camille had been at Justus Investigations a short while before he’d called, but Lois had no idea of where she’d gone. And Drago didn’t know whether or not she was shutting him out after hearing how he felt about her that morning.

  He couldn’t get over her not responding. He wanted to believe she felt something for him. That it seemed she didn’t gnawed at him, made his chest feel too tight. He’d never felt like this about any other woman. So why did it have to be the one who wouldn’t return his feelings?

  But Camille shouldn’t be his focus right now. “So how is this going to work?” he asked Jackson.

  “You’re sure Noreen Butler isn’t going to do another disappearing act.”

  “Sorry, no guarantees, but she said she would do anything to keep Angel off the street. I reminded her that if he’s locked up, he can’t come after her again.”

  Jackson checked his watch. “She’s late.”

  Drago knew that, but he was hoping against hope that Noreen would follow through this time.

  “Huerta and his men tried to kill you and Camille, but we don’t have proof that he’s Angel. Assuming Noreen shows, I’ll take her statement, then put Huerta in a lineup. Her identifying him will keep him from getting bail. And it will add another strike against him when it comes to trial. Plus we can hope a DNA match will give us everything we need, though that will take some time to get. Juries expect DNA after watching all those crime scene investigation shows.”

  “What if you can’t get a DNA match?”

  “Then we can hope to find Sandy Kawecki alive and have two victims who will testify. One way or the other, Huerta is going to jail. It just depends on how many counts we can prove.”

  Drago certainly hoped Huerta would get his just due this time. Even if Noreen refused to testify and they didn’t find Sandy—Lord, he hoped that didn’t happen—he and Camille could testify that Huerta had intended to kill them. There had better not be a way around that truth.

  “Is Camille on her way back in?” Jackson asked.

  “I haven’t been able to scare her up.”

  Jackson nodded. He didn’t seem to think anything of it, but Drago was getting worried that she hadn’t called him back. He was wondering if he should try again when one of the uniformed officers stuck his head through the doorway.

  “Hey, Jackson, you got a visitor. Says you’re expecting her.”

  “So Noreen showed.” Drago was relieved.

  “I’ll let you sit in when I take her statement if you keep your mouth shut.”

  “I can do that.” He might not like it, but he would rather be there than not.

  Five minutes later, he was hearing her tell her story with far more details than she’d previously given him and Camille. Drago couldn’t help but feel sick at the things she’d endured before escaping.

  When Jackson was done questioning Noreen, he said, “I’d like you to pick him out of a lineup.”

  Noreen appeared freaked. Her eyes went wide and her skin paled. “I have to see him?”

  “You’ll see him but he won’t see you,” Jackson assured her.

  “I don’t know—”

  “You’ll be perfectly safe,” the detective promised. “You’ll be on the other side of a one-way mirror. He won’t even know who is identifying him.”

  Noreen looked to Drago. “You’ll be there, too?”

  “If Detective Jackson consents.”

  “He can be there.”

  “A-all right.”

  Drago felt as if her acquiescence was a personal victory. At last, something was going to be done about Huerta. It seemed as if the scum would finally get what he deserved. He only wished Camille were here to share the moment. Thinking maybe he’d missed a text from her, he checked his cell. That there still had been no word from her was unsettling. He couldn’t help but worry.

  “Wait here,” Jackson said. “I’ll come get you in a few.”

  When the detective left the room, Drago turned to Noreen. “Thank you for agreeing to come in. I know how difficult that must have been for you.”

  “I’m tired of being scared. And I want Angel off the streets so I can feel like a person instead of a ghost.”

  Drago let her talk. She was hesitant, yet he heard a new strength in her voice, as if she really was coming alive after being some kind of specter haunting the city streets since her escape.

  A few minutes later, Jackson returned. “Follow me.”

  Sensing Noreen’s emotions wavering, noting the fine tremor of the hands she clasped together, he gripped her shoulder to give her strength, and when she looked at him, he gave her an encouraging smile. Her hands steadied by the time they got to the room where they would view the lineup.

  Jackson pressed the intercom. “Bring them in.”

  Huerta was marched in with four foils—men of similar height, build, and complexion. They stood side-by-side, facing the mirror, Huerta second from the left.

  “Turn to your right,” Jackson told them, so the men could be seen in profile.

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  Looking at Noreen’s confused expression, Drago’s gut tightened.

  “What don’t you understand?” Jackson asked.

  “The man you arrested—is he one of them?”

  “He is. Face forward again,” Jackson told the men via intercom. Then, to Noreen, he said, “Take your time.”

  A sick feeling washed over Drago when he noted Noreen’s horrified expression.

  “Angel’s not there!” she choked out. “You arrested the wrong man!”

  —

  Camille scanned the street for potential problems as she closed in on Angel’s lair. The block seemed deserted. Several buildings had been torn down, leaving only the shell of the basement in their place, and a few others had boarded-up windows. She figured it was one of these, but there were no numbers on their exterior.

  So which was Angel’s hideout?

  Drago should be here with her. Though, perhaps it was better that he wasn’t. He’d been shot less than twenty-four hours ago, and she didn’t want him to be hurt worse than he already was. She knew that no matter how injured he was, he would never hold back. He was the bravest man she’d ever met, and she’d worked with some pretty brave cops. She couldn’t think about him now. That would only distract her.

  Finding Sandy had to be her focus.

  From the address Isabel had given her, she knew Angel’s hideaway was on the north side of the street. She kept driving until she reached a building with numbers intact. Too far. She went around the block and started over, spotting an address on the opposite side of the street that told her one of two abandoned-looking buildings across from it was her mark. She parked and watched for a few minutes. No activity. Checked her cell phone to see if she could call Jackson for backup. Though the person she really wanted to talk to was Drago, it was better that he stay away. Stay safe. He needed to heal. As did her cell phone. It was still vibrating as if trying to charge, but it refused to turn on.

  “Damn it!”

  She didn’t want to go in alone, but Angel was in custody, and who knew how he’d left Sandy? Rescuing the girl as soon as possible was vital. Hopefully, she was still mobile, and Camille could get her to the car and then to a hospital. Once there, she would alert both Jackson and Drago.

  But which building?

  Both were multistory, both brick, both with windows and doors shuttered tight.

  Camille pulled her gun from the glove compartment and holstered it in her belt at her waist, then dropped her shirt to cover it. She took a minute to steady her nerves. The street was still deserted, though, and Sandy was alone, since her captor had been arrested. Getting out of the car, she crossed the street, head turning, gaze shooting to every nook and crevice where someone could be hiding. No one around. Once next to the buildings, she gave both doors a closer look—the boards sealing them didn’t appear to have been disturbed—then cut between them and headed fo
r the back. The rear door to the building on her left looked equally unapproachable. But the wood on the door to the building on her right wasn’t tight up against the brick.

  Mouth dry, throat tight, she canvassed the area one last time before moving to check it out. The board was loose, as if it had been torn free of the frame and then sloppily set back in place when Angel left. No one would know the difference if they weren’t looking for it. Prying it open, she entered the back vestibule and started up the stairs to the first-floor apartment. The door hung crooked on its hinges, as if someone had broken in.

  Camille pulled her gun and waited a moment, listening hard. No sound came from the apartment, so she slipped inside, gun held in both hands before her. Room after room was in shambles.

  And empty of life.

  Nothing to find.

  No Sandy.

  Lowering her gun, she retraced her steps and took the stairs to the other apartment. This door was still on its hinges and closed, but when she tried the knob, it turned easily. With her pulse fluttering, she entered the kitchen. This apartment was different. Dingy and messy, perhaps, but not in a shambles like the first floor. Someone lived here, in a supposedly deserted apartment. Angel lived here if Isabel had been on the up-and-up. Now hyperaware, her gun set securely before her in both hands, she checked each room. Boxes were stacked in the back bedroom. She didn’t take the time to find out with what.

  But the front bedroom made her want to hurl.

  A large framed photograph of Teresa faced the bed, as if his mother was looking over Angel while he raped the women he then killed.

  Around Teresa, there were smaller photographs of Noreen and Susan and Leanne, all made up and dressed to look like her.

  And then there was a photo of Sandy.

  To Camille’s revulsion, the transformation had been completed. Sandy’s now dyed red hair was curled, and her clothing and makeup all imitated Teresa’s.

  Did that mean Sandy was already dead?

  Dear Lord, no!

  Throwing away caution, she ran into the living room, yelling, “Sandy, are you here? Sandy? It’s Camille!”

  In response, she heard a thump. But from where?

  “Sandy, where are you?”

  More thumps and a very weak, “In here.”

  Camille moved to the source of the sound and found herself in front of a door. Gun in one hand at the ready, she turned the knob with the other. The door was locked.

  “Help me…” and another thump made Camille’s pulse rush.

  She checked the hinges. On the outside. Which meant she couldn’t kick in the door. And she didn’t have any tools to pick the lock.

  “Stand back away from the door!” When she didn’t hear anything, she said, “Sandy, are you out of the way?”

  “Yes.”

  Standing to one side, Camille blasted the lock with three shots until it gave, and the door opened a crack. Then she tore it wide open. A closet. Her hair curled and face painted as they had been in the photograph on the bedroom wall, Sandy was slumped on the floor in the rear of the closet.

  “Sandy, thank God!”

  Camille stuck the gun into her waistband while rushing inside to help the girl to her feet. Sandy could barely stand. She was unsteady and her eyes held a glazed look that told Camille she’d been drugged. Even so, the girl was aware of what was going on. And crying. Camille hugged her tight.

  “It’s going to be all right. Everything is going to be all right now.”

  “H-he’s coming back.”

  “No, he’s not. We arrested Angel last night.”

  “No, he was j-just here awhile ago…”

  The drugs Angel had given Sandy had her confused as to timing. But what had he given the girl that had kept her out of it since yesterday? Suddenly anxious to leave this place as quickly as possible, Camille slid an arm around Sandy’s waist.

  “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

  Camille led Sandy into the living room as the girl muttered, “H-he’s here somewhere. He’s always here when you don’t w-want him to be.”

  Her anxiety deepening, Camille tried rushing Sandy, but it only made the girl stumble and fall to her knees. Bent over, both hands hooked under the girl’s arms to help her get back up to her feet, Camille suddenly felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

  She whipped around as the man behind her said, “It took you long enough to find me.”

  Before she could go for her gun, he slammed something hard into her head…

  —

  Still at the Area North offices, Drago had tried both calling and texting Camille yet again, but again she hadn’t responded to either message. He’d simply asked her to call because it was important. He’d wanted to tell her directly that they didn’t have Angel after all. Not the kind of bad news to leave in a message.

  Why hadn’t she gotten back to him?

  Was she angry with him or just trying to put some distance between them after he’d admitted how he felt about her the night before? He was getting anxious, worrying that something was wrong.

  He tried texting her again just as Jackson showed up, a stack of papers in hand.

  “Did you tell Martell yet?” the detective asked.

  Drago shook his head and tried to push away the growing feeling of dread. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, but she hasn’t returned my calls or texts.”

  “That’s odd. Maybe she turned off her cell and forgot to turn it back on.”

  “Right.” Not that Drago believed it. “Now the hunt for a killer as well as his latest victim begins again.”

  “Then you’ll need this.” Jackson handed him a sheet from his stack.

  Drago glanced at the photo of a rough-looking middle-aged man with dark hair and eyes. He gave Jackson a questioning look.

  “We ran the name Jessie Calderon through the system. He has quite a record. No warrants out for him, though, and we don’t have a current address.”

  Jessie Calderon. Teresa’s abusive male friend. The one the waitress, Perla, had told them about.

  “If we could find Calderon, he might be able to help us find Angel.”

  “Exactly,” Jackson agreed. “I have a team out on the street already.”

  Drago indicated the photo. “I have a team of my own. Can you give me more of these?”

  Jackson hesitated only a second before saying, “Take the stack. You get anything, you call me.”

  “Deal.”

  Drago was out of there at a run. The moment he got to his car, he called Titus and a member of his local group to spread the word to get everyone they could round up to meet at Hog Heaven Saloon in a half hour. Then he used his cell to take a photograph of Calderon and send it along with a message to Camille, Justus, and Eva. After which he tried calling Camille one last time. Yet again, he reached only her voice mail.

  “Camille, I wanted to tell you this myself, but since you’re not returning your calls, you should know that Noreen claims Huerta is not Angel. But we have another lead—a photo of Jessie Calderon. I just sent it to you. I’m meeting with some of my people at Hog Heaven in a little while and was hoping you could be there. We’re going to find this guy, Camille. He’s our best chance at getting Angel. And rescuing Sandy.”

  He clicked off, his unease at her not answering growing. This just wasn’t like her. Surely she’d seen the text and photo he sent…unless she wasn’t able to get to her phone. If not, why not?

  Where the hell had she disappeared to when she’d left the office?

  He didn’t need another worry plaguing him, but he couldn’t calm the increasing feeling of doom.

  His cell buzzed and he took a relieved breath until he realized Eva was calling him, not Camille. Still driving, he put her on speaker phone.

  “Eva, what’s up? You recognize the photo?”

  “No, but I’m here at the office now, and Lois said you were asking about Camille.”

  “You know where she went?”

&nbs
p; “To meet my friend Isabel. I told her to leave you out of it, or Isabel would never tell her anything.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Before noon,” Eva said.

  “But that was hours ago. Have you heard from her? I haven’t been able to scare her up.”

  “Oh, crap!”

  “What do you know?” Drago said.

  “That Isabel was going to give her Angel’s address so she could rescue Sandy. I figured it was all good since the bastard was already in jail.”

  Only of course he wasn’t. “Can you find your friend, ask her where she sent Camille?”

  “I will try to find her,” Eva said, “but you know how long it took me the first time. No guarantees. I’m so sorry.”

  Not as sorry as he was.

  He tried not to get entangled in dark thoughts as he pulled into the Hog Heaven Saloon lot and rushed inside.

  More than a dozen people were waiting for him and more filled the space as Drago quickly explained the situation. That they thought they had Angel, but they had the wrong man. That a fourteen-year-old girl’s life was in jeopardy if they didn’t find her very soon. And that the man in the photo was the only lead they had—he most likely could tell them where to find Angel’s lair.

  That stack of photos disappeared quickly, and he remained behind with Titus in case anyone else showed to help.

  “It’ll be okay, man,” Titus said. “Plenty of people looking for this guy. Someone will find him.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Hey, they owe you. They’ll make it happen.”

  But as he waited, a feeling of dread darker than any he’d known in his life filled him. Now his not being able to get Camille to answer him made twisted sense, and it scared the bejesus out of him.

  If Angel had her…

  No, he couldn’t let his mind go there, couldn’t let himself go down that road. Camille was tough and resourceful. She was alive.

  She had to be.

  —

  A throbbing in her head made Camille wince as she opened her eyes to a darkened room. She was tied up, sitting in a wooden chair. The sun had set, but gray light still filtered in through the windows. Memory flooded her as she got a good look at the wall with all those photos of Angel’s victims.