“It’s an age-old problem, Jerry. Young girls run away thinking they’re going to become the next star”—she pointed to the outlined concrete—“only to wind up in a shallow grave.”
“The email said there were twelve victims, and she expected to be number thirteen. That’s not normal. They make more money by keeping the girls alive.” He rubbed his eyes. The all-nighter he’d spent poring over the files was catching up with him. “And then there’s the note on your wall. That somehow ties into this, but I don’t know how.”
Shamus stuck his head through the doorway, and Andi waved. “Maybe the autopsy will tell you more. I’ll be at O’Reilly’s. Call me after you’ve checked Summit.”
Jerry turned to her, his eyes pleading. “Whoever is behind this is powerful and dangerous, Andi. If I asked you not to run this story, would you at least consider holding off?”
Andi walked away from him, her fingers curling in toward her palms. “Not on your life, Palano. Not this time.”
Once they reached the car, Shamus opened her door and handed her a package. “I picked up a new laptop for you and set it up. You can’t use that thing at Patrick’s. I’m surprised it even turns on.”
“Thanks, Irish. We’ve got one hell of a story to write this weekend.” Andi opened the laptop and turned it on.
“Was there a body there?”
Andi nodded and began to type. She wanted to get her thoughts down as quickly as possible. The girls buried in those graves had a story, and she was going to tell it. At the moment, though, TK’s story was the one the public needed to hear. TK wasn’t a murderer. Barnsworth was clearly self-defense. She couldn’t explain Marconi yet, but she hadn’t heard TK’s side of the story. Andi centered the cursor on the page and smiled. Jerry had given her the perfect title: The Thirteenth Victim.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Andi and Shamus entered the pub amidst a cacophony of noise, and within seconds every officer in the room was heading for the door.
“Something’s going down.” Shamus moved closer to her, giving the group extra room to exit.
“Follow me.” Andi maneuvered through the group and to the end of the bar.
Patrick’s normal jovial attitude seemed somber. He vigorously wiped a small spot on the wood.
“What’s going on, Patty?”
“Officer down,” he muttered, turning to the spout and pouring her a beer. “Looks like your girl struck again.” He slid the beer across the bar to her.
Andi took in a sharp breath. “Do you know what officer?”
“Aye, Kenneth Grange. A neighbor found him in his house, stabbed in the back with his throat slit like Marconi.”
“Andi?” Shamus tapped her on the shoulder.
“Not now, Irish.” Andi sipped the beer, her thoughts rushing over the scene with Grange from earlier. The only reason she would have killed him would be that he was involved in the deaths of the other girls. That might explain his reaction to their taking pictures on Sycamore. Her thoughts turned to Jerry. He’ll insist that I reveal my source for the note, unless… Sinclair never put out a Saturday or Sunday edition. He’d followed his father’s protocol of three-times-a-week drivel, and even now was only willing to do Monday through Friday. This story was too hot to wait until Monday. By then she’d probably be in jail.
“Patrick, can I use the apartment again tonight?”
“For as long as you need, lass.”
“Shamus, grab the new laptop, order us some sandwiches, and meet me upstairs.” She stopped at the door. “Patty, would you make a pot of coffee, please? I think it’s going to be a long night.”
Andi climbed the steps to the second-floor apartment. It wouldn’t take her long to finish the article with the notes she’d made earlier, and the rest was already in her head. The hard thing would be convincing Sinclair to get the production team in early on a Saturday morning for a special edition. Shedding her jacket, she sniffed her underarms and grimaced. She needed a shower and a change of clothes. Grabbing the notepad from the bedside table, she jotted down a list. Shamus was good at shopping for women.
Shamus came through the door, carrying the laptop and two brown paper bags. “Patrick said he would have Hannah bring up the coffee as soon as it was ready.” He made to sit on the couch.
Andi stopped him. “Don’t get comfortable.” She handed him the list. “We didn’t get to go shopping today, and I’m beginning to smell.”
He folded the list and stuffed it in his pocket. “Money?”
Andi shrugged and grinned. “I didn’t get to go to the bank today either. Spot me?”
“You already owe me twenty.” He tossed her one of the bags. “Plus a decent meal.”
“Don’t be gone too long. I need you to help me convince Sinclair to run this tomorrow.”
Shamus bowed at the waist. “Yes, my lady.”
She could hear his footsteps pounding down the stairs as she opened the laptop and pulled up the notes she’d made on the way to the bar. Her stomach growled, and she opened the bag, unwrapped the sandwich, and took a bite, waiting for her creative juices to start flowing. A soft knock sounded on the door. “Come in.”
Hannah entered with a tray. “Papa thought you might like some dessert to go with your coffee.”
“Thank you, Hannah, and thank Patty for me.”
“You’re welcome,” the young woman said, turning to leave.
Andi poured a cup from the carafe and took a sip, still gazing at the new blank page. It took only a minute before the coffee was forgotten and her fingers were moving rapidly across the keys.
Thirty minutes later, she saved the article and sighed. She’d have to verify with Jerry that a body was found at the Summit address, but other than that, it was perfect. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile, and she reached for the coffee and the huge piece of chocolate cake. Her scars left by Thomas were a constant reminder of the dangers of reporting such a case, but TK deserved it. Sheila and Wendy and all the other girls deserved for the world to know who they were—and who killed them.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs as she devoured the last bite of cake, licking her lips and shaking the empty carafe.
Shamus trudged through and tossed a multitude of packages on the bed. “If you don’ like them, you still owe me a shitload of money.”
Andi handed him the carafe. “Grab us some more coffee. I’m going to take a shower and change. If you get back before I’m finished, the article is on the laptop.”
Shamus took the carafe and headed down the stairs, muttering something in Irish that Andi was sure wasn’t very complimentary to her gender. She rummaged through the packages until she found underwear and the sweats and t-shirt she’d asked for and headed for the shower. She owed Shamus a lot more than a shitload of money. She’d gone a full day without a cigarette, and she’d only consumed one beer. He’s done more for me in three days than the therapist did in five years.
Forty-five minutes later, she reentered the bedroom.
Shamus was sitting in the old flowered chair with the laptop on his knees. “This is freakin’ awesome, Andi. If Sinclair won’t print it, we should take it to another paper or post it online.”
Andi removed the towel from her hair and rubbed vigorously. “We need to talk.”
Shamus closed the laptop. “What’s on your mind?”
“You wanted to know about my history with Jerry. You’ve seen the scars on my legs and stomach, and there’s a lot more you haven’t seen. This is the kind of story where people get hurt, and sometimes people get killed.”
“If you’re asking me to quit, you can go screw yourself.”
“I’m not asking you to, but I’ll understand if you want to.”
Shamus stood, picked up his jacket, and reached for the laptop. “So, are you ready to go see Sinclair?”
“Now?”
“It’s only nine o’clock. I know how to do the setup and run the press. If he gives the go-ahead, we could have it printed and delivered by
morning.”
Andi ran her fingers through her hair, grabbed her purse, and threw an arm around Shamus’s shoulders. “If Sinclair doesn’t give you a raise, I’ll threaten to quit.”
~ ~ ~
Jasmine hiked up her skirt then pulled her top lower to reveal more cleavage. To anyone watching, she looked exactly like what she was pretending to be. When she’d started three weeks ago, she had hope that she would find Mollie quickly. As time passed, fewer and fewer young girls were on the street at night. Stuart had chastised her for talking to Andi, but Andi was a good reporter—no matter what happened, once she started, she wouldn’t quit. If anyone could find the girl, it would be Andi. And if they found the girl, maybe she could find out what happened to Mollie.
She watched the bakery doorway across the street. Tonight her mission wasn’t Mollie. She’d followed the Cobra earlier, and stood watching her glare at Gambini’s house with her hands clenched by her sides. She’d also watched her enter the policeman’s house and come out later with a satisfied smirk on her face. The news that the man had been murdered didn’t surprise Jasmine. The surprise was the police were blaming the same young girl who had killed Barnsworth and Marconi. She needed to let Andi know that wasn’t true.
The blonde exited the bakery, walked for a block, and entered a liquor store. She’d entered three stores in the past half hour, buying nothing at any of them. “Crap, I think she’s made me.”
Jasmine knew she had two choices. She could continue to follow and take the chance that the Cobra would turn on her, or call it a night. She could hold her own in a one-on-one fistfight, but that would only alert the Cobra, as well as anyone else watching, that she was more than a working girl. And if the police were called and Palano showed up and ran a background check, she’d be busted. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.
Her shoulders slumped, and she pulled a photo from her waistband and gently touched the smiling face. “I’m going to find out what happened to you, even if it kills me.”
Jasmine sighed and walked away from the liquor store. She would call Andi then head home. She could pick up on the Cobra’s trail tomorrow.
Ducking into Sammy’s bar, she made her way to the ladies’ room. The smell made her nauseous, and she quickly checked the stalls to make sure she was alone before pulling out her new cell and dialing Andi’s number.
“Carter.”
“The girl didn’t kill the police officer.”
“Who is this?”
Jasmine ended the call, checked her makeup in the dirty mirror, and grabbed a paper towel to open the door. Her body stiffened as the door swung open. She stared into the frosty green eyes of the Cobra.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Who was that?” Shamus asked.
“I don’t know. Some woman.” Andi dialed Jerry’s number. “It’s me. Have you finished Summit yet?”
“Yeah, we found a body. Not as fresh as the other one. I’m heading over to Grange’s house. I assume you’ve heard about that.”
“I just got a call from a woman who said the girl didn’t kill the policeman. She hung up when I asked who she was.”
“I’ll take that into consideration. Gotta go.”
Andi stored her phone in her jacket pocket and shrugged. “Let’s go, Irish.”
“I thought you didn’t have his cell number?”
“I didn’t, but if we’re going to work together, I thought it was a good idea to get it.”
Shamus smirked but kept his thoughts to himself.
Sinclair’s home was nestled in a small neighborhood community in West Hollywood, north of Beverly Boulevard. Most of the homeowners had been there all their lives, and Sinclair had inherited the property from his father’s estate. Rumor had it he’d also inherited upwards of a million dollars, and Andi wondered why he’d never updated either his home or his business. If he’s happy, who am I to question his motives?
“It’s too quiet here,” Shamus whispered. “It’s not even ten o’clock on a Friday night. Gives me the creeps.”
Andi knocked on the door. “Not everybody likes the bright lights and big city. Aren’t you usually home by now?”
“Aye, but I called Mum and told her I’d be late.”
Sinclair opened the door, his eyes darkening and his lips turning down. “What are you two doing here at this time of night?”
Andi’s gaze was drawn to a huge bruise on the right side of his face and a swollen lip. “What happened?”
“I fell in the bathtub. What do you want?”
“We have a proposition for you, sir, and one that will make you lots of money.”
“Come in, but this better be good.”
It took them less than twenty minutes to convince Sinclair to let them run a special edition, especially after he learned they would be doing all the work to get it out. “But you can’t run a paper with just a lead story. The buyers will feel cheated and never buy again.”
Shamus glanced at Andi. “We could do a recap of the stories leading up to this one, and then that could cover the front page. Page two and three could be some DIY articles for cleaning and Randy’s gardening tips. And we could use the last two pages for free ads for our regulars.”
“Free! Are you mad?” Sinclair threw his hands up. “Paper costs money.”
“Aye, sir, and we tell them this is a trial run to see how our crime section and a Saturday edition will go. If it’s a sell-out, they’ll be handing over their money every week to you.”
Sinclair’s face relaxed, and a monetary gleam entered his eyes.
Andi expected him to rub his hands together in glee any minute.
“All right, but if you’re wrong about this, you’ll be working off the loss the paper suffers for a long time.” He ushered them toward the door. “Next time, call before you come.”
Sinclair slammed the door and Andi punched Shamus on the arm as they walked to the car. “Have I told you lately you’re brilliant?”
Shamus flushed and opened the car door. “I call it logical.”
“You really know how to do the set-up and run the press?”
“Jack of all trades. Always wanted a small press of me own.” Shamus started the car and headed toward the office. “You should call Patrick and let him know we’re not coming back tonight. No need to cause him worry.”
Andi made the call and settled in her seat. “Do you think Sinclair really fell in the bathtub?”
“Nah, that was a right uppercut. Who do you think slugged him?”
“Probably his sister, Divina Morgan.”
“Do you trust Sinclair, Andi?”
The question caught her off guard, and something in Shamus’s voice sent a shudder through her. “I’m not sure. What are you thinking?”
“I think he has his own agenda.”
“I think you’re catching my paranoia. Other than the fact the mayor is his brother-in-law, I don’t really have a reason not to trust him.” He told Jerry about the phone call. “He did tell Jerry that TK had called the paper. I meant to ask him about that. But he’s letting us do the story. If he were involved, would he do that?”
“I guess not.”
Shamus became quiet, and Andi’s thoughts turned to Jerry. His voice had sounded exhausted when she’d talked to him earlier, and he still had a long night ahead of him. He’d be pissed when he found out what she’d done, but by then it would be too late to do anything about it.
“We should probably clean your townhouse tomorrow. That food will start stinking soon.”
Andi stared out the window, wondering where TK was tonight. At least she had money to buy food and shelter. I’m sixteen years old, alone and scared. That sentence had touched her heart. When she read tomorrow’s edition, TK would know for sure she wasn’t alone anymore. “Let’s wait and see what tomorrow brings.”
~ ~ ~
The blonde shoved Jasmine back inside the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind her. “You’ve been following me. I want to know why.”
Jasmine fumbled for an explanation and finally shrugged. “You looked like someone I used to know, but when you came out of the bakery, I realized I was wrong.”
The green eyes glittered, and her hands clenched into fists. “I don’t believe you.”
“Suit yourself.” Jasmine tried to go around her, and the Cobra’s right hand came up quick, the punch catching her on the chin. Jasmine stumbled backwards into a stall door as the Cobra’s left hand shot out, catching her just below her rib cage. Jasmine curbed her instincts to fight back, stood, and rubbed her aching jaw. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I don’t like people following me. I see you again, you won’t get off quite so lucky.”
She slammed the door on her way out, and Jasmine made her way to the sink to vomit. Raising her head, she stared at the mirror. Her lower lip was dripping blood and starting to swell. So this is what it feels like to be lucky. Running cold water, she rinsed her mouth and splashed her face. She had been lucky. She’d never actually met the Cobra before, but she’d seen her from a distance, and the results of her work in that small city outside Kandahar. Over the past five years, she’d made a name for herself as a paid assassin, and was rumored to be one of the best. The CIA file on her filled an entire drawer, which meant things were going to get complicated. Jasmine had taken a six-month leave of absence to search for Mollie after David’s death, but she would still have to notify the agency that the Cobra was here. She just hoped they didn’t want her to deal with it.
Jasmine leaned against the sink, the pain in her side catching and taking her breath. The bitch sure knows how to hit. And where to hit to cause the most pain.
An image of Stuart Gambini’s face flashed through her mind. She didn’t owe Gambini anything, but she couldn’t in good conscience leave him to the likes of the Cobra. She’d have to warn him. Damn it, Mollie, why did you have to come here?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The 13th Victim Page 9
