Everywhere She Turns

by Debra Webb

  The ladies stopped puffing their smokes long enough to laugh at their friend’s joke.

  “Seriously,” CJ interrupted, maybe a little more firmly than she’d intended judging by the glares aimed in her direction, “I need to find Celeste.”

  Dead silence echoed beneath the bridge. The emptiness punctuated by the rhythmic flow of that endless traffic.

  The big girl stepped forward, stuck her finger in CJ’s face. “You listen up. I don’t know why you out here slumming, or why you calling Celeste your friend, but you best mind your own fucking business or you be wishing you was back on Ledges or wherever the hell you came from.”

  “If you really knowed Celeste,” one with a big ’fro hairdo accused, “you’d know she won’t be coming back here.”

  “You got that right,” one of the ladies confirmed.

  “Hell no, she won’t be back,” another chimed in.

  “She done shit in her nest good,” the big girl added.

  “Is she in trouble?” CJ was relatively certain she wouldn’t get an answer, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  All eyes settled on CJ. Some were filled with frustration and disbelief that she had to ask; others showed the same fear she’d seen in the eyes of the lady at the house on Beacon Street where Celeste lived.

  “What she probably is,” said Big Girl, who seemed to be the leader of the pack, “is dead.”

  “If she didn’t get the hell outta here fast enough, she definitely is,” ’Fro Girl agreed.

  “Now get on outta here before you draw the po-po,” Big Girl scolded. “They be thinking we done kidnapped your white ass.”

  “Thank you.” CJ hesitated long enough to garner another collective glare from the group before cutting back across the street, her heart thumping so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.

  This was her fault. If Celeste was dead . . .

  God, she didn’t want to believe she’d caused this, but there was no other explanation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  If CJ hadn’t been so caught up in obsessing about what she’d done, she might have paid more attention to the vehicle parked next to hers. Or the three big-ass guys hanging around her rental.

  But she hadn’t been paying attention.

  She never even looked until she was almost there and then it was too late.

  She stalled. The rear passenger door of the fancy black SUV opened and Tyrone Nash emerged.

  Fear coiled around CJ’s throat, squeezing off the ability to breathe.

  She was in a public place, though it was closed. Traffic was steady just a few yards away.

  Tall, thin, relatively handsome for a scumbag, Tyrone glared at her. The scar on his cheek stood out against his otherwise smooth skin. Clips from that night—his brute strength, her sheer desperation—whizzed through her head like a drunken bee.

  “Dr. Patterson, I presume,” he said in that silky voice that he’d refined over the years. He could talk the talk with the most sophisticated in the city when he chose. But most of the time he talked the same trash as those hoodlums serving as his bodyguards.

  CJ restrained any reaction. She stared at him, hoped he saw the hatred in her eyes. This pig was responsible for the suffering of so very many women, including her sister.

  The silk shirt and trousers and gaudy leather shoes likely cost more than his girls earned in a month or maybe two. The expensive sunglasses he wore, even at night, reflected her vulnerable position.

  She truly was a fool, running around out here in the dark.

  Edward was right. Braddock was right. Damn, even Ricky had been right about her.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have given her official tail the slip.

  Tyrone walked up to CJ, stood toe-to-toe, stared down as if assessing her under a microscope. “You just keep on.” He shook his head. “Warning after warning. What’s it gonna take to keep you out of my business?”

  Maybe it was the fact that he was in her face. Or maybe she’d wanted to do this since her one lucid thought had formed after Shelley’s death.

  She slapped him. Slapped him as hard as she could for being the scumbag he was. For luring desperate young women into a life of misery and shame. The rush of adrenaline that fueled the move receded as quickly as it came. She shuddered with the force of its withdrawal . . . or maybe from touching this bastard barehanded.

  His bodyguards closed in. Tyrone held up a hand to stop them.

  “I got a score to settle with you already, Dr. Patterson. So I’m gonna give you that, but you listen to me closely.” He leaned nearer still. “The next time you wake up with blood all over you . . . it’ll be yours.”

  He turned and walked back to his fancy SUV. One of his goons opened the door. He took one last look at CJ, then climbed in. The goon sent her a look that said he knew something she didn’t, then got into the backseat with his boss. The final two loaded up and the vehicle barreled out of the parking lot.

  CJ stood frozen beneath the distant glow of the street lamps. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. If she did, the emotions building inside her would burst free.

  Tyrone had killed Celeste.

  She didn’t have to wonder anymore.

  She knew.

  A car roared across the parking lot. Adrenaline blasted through her veins. She lunged for her rental. The car skidded to a stop next to her, trapping her between it and the rental.

  That was just like Tyrone. To send his other thugs to do his dirty work. Bastard!

  She jammed her hand into her pocket after her keys.

  The front passenger window of the other car powered down.

  Hurry! She hit the unlock button. Reached for her door.

  “We have to talk.”

  CJ whipped around to face the familiar deep voice.

  Braddock.

  Between the panic and the darkness she hadn’t recognized his car.

  The margin of relief that trickled through her was instantly replaced by suspicion. Where the hell had he come from?

  He would be pissed that she’d lost the surveillance he had assigned to her. Apparently he knew her well enough to pick up her trail.

  The charge of fear that had propelled her into escape mode vanished like the final blink of warning before her cell phone’s battery died. Her body trembled. She couldn’t restrain it.

  “Don’t just stand there, CJ. Let’s go.”

  An argument was on the tip of her tongue. But he could have news.

  She’d barely gotten the door closed when he hit the gas. Fumbling for her seatbelt, she asked, “Where are we going? Do you have news?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. During that lapse of silence they passed a row of streetlights, allowing her to see the tic in his clenched jaw. Definitely angry.

  “We’ve had this conversation. Just a few hours ago, in fact.”

  “What conversation is that?” The idea that she hadn’t re-locked her rental and that her purse was in there vyed for her attention. Dammit.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t stay out of Nash’s way.”

  Oh, that conversation. “I didn’t exactly go looking for him.” That part was true. “He came to me.”

  “Because you were what?” Braddock braked for a light, shot her a dark glower. “Going around asking questions about one of his girls? After having given Jenkins the slip? The man is already skating on thin ice. Do you want to help him get fired?”

  She hadn’t thought about that. “None of the village residents would talk to me with him following me around. I was desperate to find Celeste.” Besides, Braddock should be utilizing his time trying to find Shelley’s killer, not keeping up with CJ’s activities. She could take care of herself.

  Flashes of blood scrawled on her wall and poured over her sheets had her backtracking on that one.

  “I don’t know how to get this through your head.” The light turned green and he set the car back in motion. “You can’t keep taking these risks.”


  “If I don’t, who will?” That was the real question here. “Everyone’s afraid. No one will stand up to Tyrone.”

  Silence throbbed inside the car.

  She was right and Braddock knew it.

  Something Tyrone had said to her bobbed to the surface of her churning thoughts. “The blood.” She chewed her lip to stop its quivering. “It wasn’t Ricky’s.”

  “I know. I got a call from the lab an hour ago. I drove over to the Appleton house to give you the news, but you weren’t there. It took me a while to track you down.”

  “You have my cell number.” She patted her pocket. “You didn’t try to call me.” He hadn’t wanted to call. He’d wanted to see what she was doing. Probably had been following her around when he got the call from the lab. “If you were that worried, why didn’t you call?”

  “Because,” he admitted, “unlike Jenkins, I knew where to look. I’ve been following you around since you left the meeting with Cost at the clinic.”

  CJ wanted to be mad. She wanted to yell at him. But she wasn’t stupid. She was grateful. Tyrone could have dragged her into his SUV and killed her the same way he probably had Celeste.

  “He killed her.” The realization drained any remaining fight out of her. This was her responsibility. She’d gotten that girl murdered.

  “You can’t be certain of that.” Another of those sidelong glances shot her way.

  “It’s true.” CJ leaned against the headrest. She was tired. All of this was unbelievable. She’d stayed to help find her sister’s killer and she’d gotten dragged into the muck and mire of this dirty underworld. How could she get herself out and still learn the truth about her sister’s murder?

  “Did Nash say that?”

  “Of course he didn’t.” Why was Braddock patronizing her? “He said something like if I didn’t stay out of his business, the next time I woke up and found blood on my sheets it would be mine. It isn’t a confession, but I got the message.”

  Braddock’s jaw started that rhythmic pulsing again, but he said nothing.

  She’d just told him that Tyrone had committed a murder! What was wrong with him? “You have nothing to say? Shouldn’t you go question Tyrone or something?”

  He cut her another of those looks. “You know the answer to that. It’s a little thing called lack of evidence.”

  More of that thick silence.

  She frowned as he slowed for a turn off Whitesburg. “Where’re we going?” She’d expected that he would just drive around, then take her back to the parking lot.

  “Someplace where we won’t be interrupted.” He glanced at her. “While I try to get it through your head once and for all that you’re making yourself an easy target.”

  “We have to go back to my rental car first. I didn’t lock the door and my bag is in there.”

  He didn’t argue or complain, just executed a U-turn and headed back to the medical plaza parking lot.

  She studied his profile as he drove. She wished she could read his mind. Could see all his secrets.

  There was a mystery she doubted could be solved in several lifetimes.

  Braddock lived in a condo near Whitesburg Drive’s shopping and restaurant district. Like all good Huntsville views, his balcony looked out over the treed mountains that flanked the city. What she’d seen of the condo confirmed what she knew so far about the man. The decorating was nice, probably here when he moved in, but there were no personal touches. Nothing that explained the man beneath the unreadable, however attractive, exterior.

  “I don’t have any clean glasses.” He offered her a cold bottle of beer.

  “This is fine.” Since he’d already removed the top, she took a long swallow. It felt good. The heat had dampened her skin and the humidity made a deep breath an effort.

  He’d said they needed to talk. A crystal ball wasn’t required to know the subject matter. He was a cop; it was his job to protect and serve. He wanted her to cease and desist with this little private investigation.

  He braced his arms on the balcony railing, his own bottle of beer dangling from one hand. “I’ve been working on pulling together a case against Nash for almost three years. Every time I take one step forward, I get pushed back two.”

  That was as good a starting place as any.

  “You’ve been investigating Tyrone that long?” He’d mentioned something to that effect before, but the other distractions had sort of blurred it.

  Braddock took a long swallow of his beer, then set those dark eyes on hers. “Unofficially for most of that time.”

  Confusion drew her brows together. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m about to tell you something no one else knows. Except my partner and my chief.”

  Stunned didn’t begin to describe the impact of that statement. “Why would you do that?” Even the few times they had dated, he’d kept his professional life a closed book. Truth was, she hadn’t really learned very much about him at all. Except that, like her, he’d been lonely. Had just wanted someone to talk to about nothing in particular.

  “Because I’m scared to death you’re going to get yourself killed if I don’t tell you.” He shrugged. “Maybe when you understand what I’m doing and why I’m doing it, you’ll back off and let me get the job done without having to worry about your safety.”

  “Okay.” She took a sip of beer. “I’m all ears.”

  “I know you’re trying to help, but what you’re doing is too risky. You didn’t see what I saw in Banks’s house this morning. Trust me, it’s not worth the risk.”

  That was his guilt talking. “Because you feel guilty about Shelley. You think working with you may have gotten her killed, and so you have to protect me. Don’t you get it that I feel that way, too? You did what you did. Now I have to do what I have to do. We’re both after the same goal.”

  “I was desperate.” He downed another gulp of beer. “Otherwise I might have done things differently when Shelley came to me.” He gave her one of those looks. “I’m a cop. Doing this is my job. It wasn’t hers and it’s not yours.”

  If he thought that changed how CJ felt, he was wrong. “My sister is dead because of Tyrone Nash.” The reality hit like a tidal wave, washing over and over her. Maybe Ricky hadn’t killed Shelley. Maybe he was a victim of Tyrone, too. “What makes you more desperate than me?”

  He turned his face to hers, held her gaze for a long moment. “Her name was Kimberly. She was nineteen years old. Nash murdered her. Cut her throat. Left me a message written in her blood.” He looked away. “She was my niece. She had nothing to do with any of this. Her only mistake was having me for an uncle.”

  CJ’s heart went out to him. “I’m sorry.” Jesus Christ. She’d had no idea.

  “When Shelley made the offer . . . how could I say no?”

  She ached for his loss. “Shelley trusted you.” And maybe CJ should cut him some slack. “She thought you were going to save the village.”

  “I’m doing a bang-up job so far,” he muttered.

  “At least you’re not giving up.” She had to let go of some of this emotion, starting with all her pent-up frustration with Braddock. She just couldn’t contain all of it any longer. Not and deal with this insanity. “That’s more than I can say for most who try to make a difference.”

  The silence lagged on.

  Finally she couldn’t take it anymore. “Where does this leave us? I mean, we have no evidence against Tyrone. Banks is dead. I can’t begin to figure out who the father of Shelley’s baby was.” She heaved a disgusted breath. “It’s like a dead end with absolutely nowhere to go.”

  “I suspected she was seeing someone.” Braddock stared out at the city’s twinkling lights as he spoke. “When I asked, she played it off. At first I thought it was Banks, but the last couple weeks I was pretty sure it wasn’t him.”

  She hadn’t even told CJ. That hurt a lot. There were times when Shelley didn’t tell her anything. But on those rare occasions when she wanted to talk, she spilled her g
uts. Maybe one of those rare occasions would have come along soon if she’d lived. The voice mail she’d left the final night of her life replayed in CJ’s mind. She shouldn’t have ignored that call.

  “Banks swore they hadn’t been intimate in more than three months.” She turned to Braddock. “He really thought it was you.”

  “I respected Shelley too much to even go there.” Braddock shook his head. “That one crazy moment was the only time . . .” He shrugged. “Our relationship wasn’t like that. It was all about getting Nash.”

  Had he not said the words with such sincerity, CJ might have thought he was telling her what she wanted to hear. But the genuineness in his voice was real. “Thank you.”

  He looked confused. “For what?”

  “Respecting her. She didn’t get that often.” Maybe CJ was the one who’d overreacted. Maybe it was that whole sibling rivalry thing and Braddock had just gotten caught in the middle. She didn’t know how to explain to him or anyone else that sex, or any part thereof, wasn’t just sex to her. She needed to believe it meant something more than what she’d been exposed to growing up. That was why even one kiss with another woman, her sister no less, was a betrayal.

  But she wasn’t sure she could explain that to him. Not and have it make sense. She vaguely recalled having screamed something along those lines at him.

  “She wanted you to be proud of her,” Braddock told her.

  Emotion swelled in CJ’s chest. Had she ever once told her sister she was proud of her? God, she didn’t think so. CJ closed her eyes. How could she have let her frustration and impatience come between them?

  “She was enormously proud of you.”

  CJ opened her eyes and looked at the man, some part of her needing to hear exactly that. “I don’t know why.” She cleared her throat. “I let her down.”

  “You were always there for her.” Braddock smiled sadly. “That’s what she said. Whenever she needed you, you were there.”

  CJ had to be stronger than this. She needed to be there for her sister now. “What’re we going to do about this?”