Hugh stepped from the shadows to show O’Brien to the door.
When he returned, Ian blew out a slow breath. “What do you think about all this, Hugh?”
“I told you what I think.”
Ian shook his head, disbelief and hope intermingled within him. “’Tis a fret, isn’t it?”
“A fret to be sure.”
[4]
COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA
SUNDAY, 8:30 PM
The spot between her shoulder blades had itched for the last three blocks. This was getting ridiculous.
She’d had a great morning at the center again yesterday. One week until the competition and the kids were looking like pros. Trent had behaved himself relatively well, she hadn’t seen the mysterious Camry since it had pulled away from the curb yesterday, and all she wanted was a night to herself, tucked away in a dark movie theater. Just her and the story on the screen. And her large tub of popcorn and giant-sized M&Ms. And maybe a large Coke. And yes, she planned to eat it all.
So she’d set up the date with herself and had planned to see the eight-thirty showing but now found herself plotting the best way to end this silly cat-and-mouse game.
She was done with being followed.
The hair on the back of her neck spiked to attention; however, her stride never faltered as she strode down the sidewalk. Downtown Columbia rocked on this gorgeous Sunday night in April. The weather was about as perfect as one could ask for and the crowd was out. People scurried past her to get to the theater before the previews started.
The movie had moved down on her priority list. It was time to confront her shadow. Hovering on the fringes, never getting too close, but always there.
She shifted the thin strap of the small purse to her other shoulder. She didn’t want it getting in the way if she had to reach across and pull her weapon.
Haley crossed the street and headed for the storefront that boasted plate glass windows. The person behind her kept pace. She got a glimpse of the figure as she passed the store and mentally took note of the dark hoodie with the hood pulled over his head, jeans, hands in the front pockets. He had to be roasting in that getup. She had on short sleeves, capri pants, and Converse tennis shoes, and she was warm.
He was about five feet ten inches tall. So he had three inches on her, but he was skinny. Wiry. He’d be strong. She reached across her chest and released the strap that held her Sig Sauer P245 in the shoulder holster. With a quick step, she turned the corner, stepped up onto the small concrete porch of the business behind her, and used her purse to break the naked bulb above. Glass littered the area around her feet and she let her purse fall to the ground. She blinked in the sudden darkness, waited for her eyes to adjust. He would have seen her turn the corner and heard the bulb break. He wouldn’t be too far behind her. Haley shoved her back up against the wall, knowing she was almost invisible in the shadows of the small alley. The gun slid into her hand.
The man tracking her rounded the corner and came into view, his profile backlit by the streetlight. She knew he couldn’t see her. His head swiveled, looking for her. When he took two more steps into the alley, she quickly moved behind him and held her weapon on him.
“Who are you and why are you following me?” She kept her voice low. Threatening. Laced with steely control.
He spun, then froze when he saw the weapon staring him in the eye. His hands shot into the air. “Yo, don’t shoot, lady!”
The man was a kid. “Yo, you shouldn’t try to mug someone who knows how to fight back.” She paused and kept the gun steady. “Actually, you shouldn’t try to mug anyone.”
His breathing came in raspy pants. “I . . . I’m sorry. Look, I’ll leave and we’ll be square, right?”
“Why don’t I call the cops and have yer sorry butt thrown in jail? Then we’ll be square.”
“P-please. Don’t. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I just wanted your purse.”
“And I stepped off the stupid truck this morning.”
“I-I got a little brother I’m taking care of.” He stepped away from her and put more space between his head and the bullet end of her gun. “Okay?”
Keeping her weapon trained on him, she stepped toward him, reached up, and yanked the hood from his face. He had dark skin and darker eyes. Eyes that glinted desperation. While she kept the gun trained on him, she planted a hand in the middle of his chest and shoved him up onto the porch opposite the one where she’d hidden.
With her free hand she patted him down, shocked she didn’t find any sort of weapon other than an old Swiss Army knife that was still nicely folded in his back pocket. She took it and stepped back. “Yer kidding, right? You were going to rob me, and now that yer backed into a corner, I should let you go?”
“No . . . I mean, yes. I mean . . . please?”
She snorted and kept her weapon aimed at him. She pulled her phone from her back pocket to dial 911. “Sorry, can’t leave you on the street to find a less capable victim.”
With a low groan, he dropped his head and shifted his feet.
Then pushed past her and bolted.
The brief second that surprise held her still gave him a bit of a head start. She wouldn’t have thought he had it in him. Haley ran after him, tucking her weapon back into the holster as her feet pounded the pavement. She caught a brief glimpse of his back as he disappeared into a small café. She slid her phone back into her pocket without making the call.
Instead of heading into the café, she slipped down the alley next to it and around to the back.
The back door flew open and she stuck her foot out.
His right shin slammed into her leg and he went down with a cry. She dropped her knee into his back and pulled his hands behind him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am. I mean it. Please let me go. I won’t ever do anything like this again, I promise.”
Sobs shook his thin frame and she almost couldn’t make out the words. Haley didn’t move, even though she had to admit she felt a tug of sympathy on her life-hardened heart. The boy continued to cry. Several people had come to investigate the chaos, including two café workers.
One pointed. “He ran right past me. Shoved me into the refrigerator. I’m going to sue!”
Haley ignored the woman and let her would-be mugger’s hands go. She removed her knee, then bent down to grab the back of his shirt to flip him over. She saw the tears on his cheeks. He stopped fighting her, rolled to his side, and curled into a fetal position. When he covered his head with his arms, he had her heart. But he didn’t need to know that yet.
Anger rose hot and swift. Not at the teen crying on the concrete, but at the person who’d beat him and taught him to assume that position out of reflex. She looked at the gawkers. “Show’s over, folks.” She pulled her mayor-authorized badge from the clip on her belt and showed it. She wasn’t a cop, but she had law enforcement authority. One by one the onlookers left until she was alone with the now-silent kid.
She dropped beside him. “What’s yer name?”
He didn’t move for a moment, so Haley stayed silent and waited.
Finally, he rolled to a sitting position and used the hem of his raggedy T-shirt to wipe his face. Then he pulled his knees to his chest and ducked his head. “Zeke,” he mumbled.
“Zeke what?”
“Zeke Hampton.”
“All right, Zeke Hampton. Why don’t we go have a seat in the café and you try to convince me why I shouldn’t arrest you.”
“You a cop?”
“Something like that.” She’d clarify later. She had the power to make an arrest, so she figured that was good enough.
He gave a low grunt and stood. “Figures.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Try again.”
A pause. “Sixteen. I’ll be seventeen in three weeks.”
“Now that you’re being honest, come on and I’ll buy you a sandwich.”
He licked his lips. Then grimaced and s
hook his head. “I . . . can’t.”
The kid was obviously hungry. “Why not?”
“I have to get home.”
“Back to the little brother you’re taking care of?”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“How old is he?”
“Twelve. His name’s Micah.” He glanced toward the street and Haley braced herself for another dash. But he didn’t try it. Instead, he dropped his eyes to the ground. “I needed money to get his medicine. I didn’t have enough this month.”
“Not to sound like I’m judging you or anything, but . . . do you have government assistance?”
“Yeah, but that don’t cover everything.”
“Doesn’t.”
He let out a low laugh. “You sound like my granny.”
“Is she with Micah?”
“No, she’s with Jesus. According to her pastor anyway.” He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Look, I gotta split. If you’re going to arrest me, then I guess you’d better do it.” He pressed a hand to his temple. “My mama is going to kill me.”
“Which pharmacy?”
“What?” His brow rose. “Why?”
“Because I asked. Take me there.”
His eyes narrowed and for a moment she thought he was going to protest. Then he shrugged and turned to head for the street.
She grabbed his arm and he jerked away from her. She held up her hands. “Sorry. I need to get my purse.” Assuming it was still there.
“Right.”
She thought he might try to bolt again, but he led her back to the alley where they’d started the confrontation, and she breathed a sigh of relief to see her purse where she’d dropped it. She grabbed it. “All right. I’m right behind you.”
Haley followed him, wondering what on earth she was doing. But he was a kid who needed help. She’d been there.
Four blocks away, he stopped and entered the Walgreens’ front door. Haley followed him back to the pharmacy where he stopped at the register.
A clean-cut African-American woman with dark eyeliner and blue eye shadow stepped up to greet him. “Zee, how are you tonight?”
“I’ve been better, Ms. Amy.”
“Sorry to hear that. Did Micah take a turn for the worse?”
He shook his head. “No, I did.”
Haley heard the irony in his voice.
Amy frowned. “Zeke, honey, nothing’s changed. I still don’t have the green light from Medicaid for payment on the medication.”
“Micah needs it, Ms. Amy, you know he does.”
“I know.” She bit her lip.
Haley stepped forward and handed the woman her card. “Here, put it on this.”
“Don’t you want to know how much it is first?” the woman asked.
“No, probably not.” Haley wasn’t wealthy, but she had a nice little nest egg. She’d get the money back once the pharmacy and Medicaid worked out the kink. In the meantime, she could tell this was the real deal and the kid needed his medicine.
Amy nodded, pulled a bag from the shelf, and set in on the counter to scan. She lifted a brow at Haley. “That’ll be three hundred forty-three ninety-nine.”
“Fine.”
“All right then.” She swiped the plastic and shot a glance at the boy beside Haley. “You going to introduce me to your new friend, Zee?”
Zeke looked at her and Haley realized she hadn’t introduced herself. “I’m Haley Callaghan. Zee and I are recent acquaintances.”
“Nice to meet you.” She handed Haley the receipt.
“You too.” Haley provided the necessary signature and handed Zeke the bag. “Come on, kid, let’s go check on Micah.”
Haley’s phone buzzed and she ignored it. She was supposed to be sitting in a movie theater all by herself and eating a gallon of popcorn. It was her day off. She wasn’t answering.
Right. She pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the screen. Olivia.
“You gonna answer that?” Zeke asked.
“No.” She texted Olivia.
If it’s not an emergency, I’ll get back to you in about an hour. Or three.
Not an emergency
came the immediate response.
Have a new client for you. Will be in touch.
Thanks. Let me know if you need anything.
“We’re good,” she said to Zeke. “I’m following you.”
But still, frustration nagged at her. Zeke was not the person who’d been her shadow for the past three weeks. And the showdown she’d spotted, so he wasn’t a pro. But he sure was good at avoiding confrontation.
And unfortunately, that someone was still out there. Possibly watching her even now.
But why?
[5]
Steven despised money. Correction, he was okay with money. He despised what the love of money could lead some people to do. He pulled on the blue gloves and stared down at the body in the trunk of the silver Jag. The man lay on his side, facing the front of the car. His hands were bound in front of him and his feet had been zip-tied together as well.
Steven guessed the poor guy had been dead for only a few hours at most since the pool of blood beneath his head was still wet. He shone his flashlight into the area and grimaced, doing his best to ignore the stench. He also guessed the bullet hole that had entered the back of the man’s head and taken off the front of his face was the cause of death, but the ME would tell him more after the autopsy.
His partner of three days walked up to him. With gloved hands, Detective Quinn Holcombe handed Steven a square piece of paper. “First officers on the scene said they found this on the ground by the trunk. It’s the registration to the car. So far, we haven’t found a wallet.”
Steven looked at it. “Carter James. Lives on Edens Point Road.” He blinked. “Whoa.”
“What?” Quinn asked.
“I know that street.”
“I do too. It’s on Lake Murray. Lots of money out there.”
“Yeah,” Steven murmured. “Tell me about it.”
Quinn raised a brow. “Something you need to share?”
“No.” Not right now anyway. Steven rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist. He turned to the nearest uniformed officer. “Any witnesses?”
The woman shook her head. “None that have come forward.”
“Of course not.”
She went back to talking to the man he assumed was her partner.
“What do you suppose Mr. James was doing around here?” Quinn asked. “Kind of out of his comfort zone, isn’t he?”
Steven looked around. “Assuming it’s Mr. James. Being on this part of Two Notch Road in Columbia, he was either looking for drugs or a prostitute.”
Quinn’s eyebrow rose. “How do you know Columbia so well? Thought you just moved here last week.”
“I grew up in this city. I left shortly after graduation to head to Chicago so I could be a big-shot detective.” He shot Quinn a wry sideways smile. “I’d heard Chicago was crime laden. I thought I could make a difference.” And he was running away from memories, but no need to get into all that yet.
“There are a lot of crime-laden areas.”
Steven’s eyes touched on the buildings and the surrounding area. “That’s for sure.” He paused as his gaze landed on an unfamiliar landmark. “I don’t remember that.” He nodded to the building down and across the street on the corner. “Thought that was Pinehurst Park. What’s that building back there? It looks new and seriously out of place.” A metal roof jutted above the tree line one street over. A tall chain-link metal fence surrounded an outdoor basketball court.
“That’s the Right Turn Teen Center. The park is still there, but Haley bought several acres next to it to put her center on.”
“Haley?”
“A friend. You’ll meet her.” He moved and shone his flashlight into the trunk, then swept it around to the side of the vehicle. “So did you make a difference?”
Steven opened the door to the Jag. “In some ways, I supp
ose.” The numbness he’d obtained while in Chicago had disappeared the moment he’d walked into his parents’ house. Just like it always did when he came for a visit. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to get it back, but he was surprised that he was keeping his emotions under control. At least as far as his brother was concerned. Seeing his father weakening brought about a whole new level of grief.
He aimed the flashlight at the driver’s seat, the driver’s window, the steering wheel. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“What made you transfer to small-town Columbia?”
Steven paused, pain grabbing his heart. He cleared his throat. “Not so small. My dad was diagnosed with cancer six months ago. He’s not doing well and Mom said it was time for me to come home.” Steven kept his voice even, refused to give in to the urge to deny it was happening. “When the opening came available in your department and I was offered it, I took it.”
“Aw, man, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He shoved the personal thoughts aside and focused back on the scene. “Wonder why they didn’t steal his car?” He looked at the dash, the front seat, the floorboards. “Clean as a whistle, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Check for the keys.”
Steven raised a brow and checked the ignition. “Nothing in here.” Quinn pursed his lips and Steven scanned the rest of the car. “Nada. Did anyone find them?”
“Not if this is going the way I think it’s going. But let me ask.” Quinn walked over to the officers and Steven could hear him asking about the keys. His parents lived on the same street as Mr. James.
Steven hadn’t grown up in the house his parents now lived in, and when he’d visited since moving to Chicago, he hadn’t paid much attention to the neighbors other than to make sure there wasn’t anyone suspicious loitering in the neighborhood. His mother had kept him updated when neighbors moved out and who moved in, but truly he had only half listened to that part of their conversations sometimes. He grimaced and felt ashamed of that fact for a brief moment.
He glanced at the poor man lying in the trunk and figured his mother probably knew him and, if he was married, his wife. Steven opened the glove compartment and pulled out the contents. Automobile guide, gas receipts, insurance card, valet key.
Chasing Secrets Page 3
