by J. D. Allen
“What’s your point?”
“If you’re really interested in helping this guy, you need to go to Dallas and pick up her trail.”
Last thing he wanted to do was turn down Miller. The man had come to his rescue before and Jim considered him one of his few friends. “Surprised you’re asking a civilian to help with the investigation.”
Miller never took his eyes off the road as he drove, but Jim could see the determination on his face reflected in the windshield. “The sick bitch needs stopping. Finding people is what you do. Do it.”
“I need to protect that kid and his mother.”
“He’s not a kid. You’re better at finding people and I’m better at protection. I carry guns.” The light ahead changed, the car eased to a stop.
A convertible mustang with three teenage boys pulled alongside them. The kids were sitting a little too still, all facing very forward, careful not to make eye contact with the cops.
“There’s trouble,” Jim chuckled.
“Not my beat.” Miller reached over and gave him a small punch to the shoulder. “You know I’m right. The pair is settled in that house, getting more attention than Lynette’s had in years, probably. And her son is there. I have it covered. Two of my best plainclothes twenty-four-seven. I pulled them off a big case for this. Not to mention the Feds are involved.”
“Thought Agent Webb went back to Dallas?”
“For now. She left her backup suit to look over my shoulder.” Miller turned again, driving in circles. “Do you want her to find this trail before we do?”
Jim wasn’t sure. Maybe he just wanted this one over with. Maybe he didn’t like the heavy responsibility he felt for Dan and Lynette. It sucked to care. “No.”
“Take Double O. You should have enough of that retainer left to cover the two of you for a couple days.”
Double O was a damn good choice as a wingman since he was a bounty hunter. “Why are you so interested in me doing this?”
“Because I don’t like the FBI all up in my business. Cause you need to solve this. And if shit hits the fan again, I’d rather you be in Dallas so my Chief doesn’t filet my butt cheeks for letting you so close to another case.” He reached for a folder tucked between his seat and the center console, tossed it on Jim’s lap. “I … um … tripped and the FBI file fell in the copier.”
Jim barked out a laugh. “Hope that doesn’t have to hold up under oath.”
“You and me both, brother. You going?” He pulled back into the short cul-de-sac and stopped in the safe house drive. Dan was on the steps. He didn’t get up when the two approached him.
“You shouldn’t be out here. Makes you a really easy target.” Jim hugged the folder as he crossed his arms, going for intimidating. Poor guy was so wiped out it wasn’t going to work.
“I guess so. I’m used to being outside at night. I like to look at the stars.”
“Lights from the Strip ruin that, so no use taking the risk. Don’t make me kick your butt.” He cut Dan some slack. “Promise me you’ll stay inside from now on.”
“How long is that?”
Miller patted Dan on the shoulder as he passed. “Not long if we can help it. How’s she doing?”
“Not great. She’s calmer. I had to wake up Steven. He gave her something to help her sleep. Said he hated to do it since he hadn’t seen her that lucid in months.”
The guy looked like the rooster who lost the cock fight. He was skinny, his burgeoning beard was patchy, and his hair was all over the place from being shoved under a cowboy hat.
“Maybe you can get him to give you the same thing, man. You need to rest.” Jim did too. He probably looked just as bad.
“I do.” Dan stood.
“I’m headed to Dallas,” Jim said.
Dan stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide as he turned back to Jim.
“Trail starts there. She’s got to have some of that money from the robbery-killings Agent Webb told us about. I find that, then maybe I can track her all the way here. You’re in good hands. As soon as I get a clean cell phone, I’ll call you.”
Dan looked at his feet, then at Miller, and then started to speak. Miller was standing right there, so Jim doubted Dan would say he didn’t feel safe even with cops around.
“This is the best plan of attack. I’ll be more use in Texas than sitting here staring at a bunch of cops.”
That was if Sophie didn’t find him and drug him again. Maybe this time she would cut his throat.
24
The dumb detective led her straight to the house. He made a couple of odd turns, but he was as easy to follow as a kindergartner playing hide and seek. Even a cop wouldn’t suspect a minivan of following anyone, would they? There were four billon of the oversized, ugly things on the road and most were the same nondescript silver hers was.
The house was just as obvious sitting back in the cul-de-sac, windows lit up as if they were expecting company. An undercover cop sat in a wooden swing facing the sidewall of the porch. Not much of a view of oncoming trouble or a vantage point to shoot from. They might as well have put a sign in the yard: Occupant in protective custody. Keep off the grass.
Sophie drove past the entrance to the cul-de-sac and parked three blocks away. The puppy was happy to be getting out. The thing had been in the car for hours while Sophie watched the police department waiting for Miller to leave.
Carl needed to walk and she needed to case the area. He pissed almost immediately. Squatted. Huh. She inspected his back end a little closer as he walked on. She was sure if it were a he, she’d see the evidence.
“So, Carla it is.” Or maybe Carley? Nah. Carley was too girly and Carla had been the first thing out of her head. Sophie liked things simple and straightforward.
Carla led Sophie between two houses. She followed the dog’s lead along a path in the stones and dried grass. That route had been carved by countless kid-sized tennis shoes making thousands of trips between houses. It wound between fenced yards but eventually led right to an excellent place to get a look at the back of the safe house.
The yard was clean and surrounded by a four-foot-high fence that encircled several mature trees. For a Vegas subdivision, a tree that could cast a shadow or make a little shade was big deal. The back porch was lit up by indirect light from the inside. And there was a sliding glass door with eighties vertical blinds closed tight yet still letting a little yellow light seep out.
She eased around the north side of the fence and studied the outdoor lights of the neighbor’s house. They were on and had motion detectors. So once they were turned off for the night, they’d come on if she got too close. Not good.
She backtracked, moving slow and low so as not to be spotted by the occupants of the safe house, who were undoubtedly on full alert. Might even have someone walking around outside She’d not seen anyone yet.
She gave the leash a gentle jerk to get the mutt’s attention. “No barking. You got me?”
Carla stopped and tossed her an as if look.
Sophie eased up to the fence behind the correct house. A shiver made its way from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.
He was in there. Danny was so close her body felt his energy. She inhaled, sure she could smell him in the air, almost taste his skin if she closed her eyes. She visualized her future, her plans. The house was set. The plan was laid. Very real.
The dog tugged on the leash and shook her out of her fantasy. Carla was right; not good to linger while one was on reconnaissance.
The dog was happy to continue her exploration of unfamiliar scents. Sophie let her loiter and sniff whatever she wanted as they made their way. Oddly, she was enjoying the dog’s curly little tail as it wagged happily. It was a distraction from the stress. Sophie used the opportunity to memorize the landscape and the lighting while Carla tinkled again and again.
M
ovement grabbed her attention as she came around the far side of the house. A hairy-chested man sat on the back porch of the neighbor’s house. Unfortunately, the large-bellied bastard had spotted her as well.
She dropped Carla’s leash and tried to appear as if she’d not seen him. Damn her luck if he was a police officer posing as the neighbor. She tapped her fingertip on her blade to check its accessibility and then reached for an injector pen tucked in her waistband. Hidden there for emergencies and loaded for bear in the literal sense of the old saying.
“Odd place for a stroll.” He stood, cigarette in hand. The bucket beside the lawn chair he’d occupied overflowed with crumpled butts. His light blue tank had a faded slogan she couldn’t read on the front. Dark sweat stains outlined man-breasts above a pumpkin-sized stomach. The slob must be relegated to the backyard to smoke. His shorts were cut-off jeans, a little too short both for the current fashion and his pudgy legs. A glut of empty beer cans was scattered behind the chair.
Likely not a cop, but there was no way to be positive. Her gut told her he was more deadbeat than cop. Her guess was washed-out techie who now works at the auto parts counter.
Sophie put her hand to her chest. “You startled me.” She backed up a step. “I’m really sorry to bother you. My dog got loose and I followed her this way.” Carla waggled herself right up to him just as the words came out of Sophie’s mouth. Good girl.
Sophie glanced over to the safe house. All the shades remained closed and still.
This guy gave her that I’m fantasizing about you naked smile. “Cute dog for a cute lady.” He rubbed Carla’s little head.
The action made Sophie angry. She didn’t want this creep’s hands on the pup. She did however want to cut him, badly. But she bit her lip hard enough to taste her own blood. Sometimes it was hard to refrain from killing off the bottom basal slime of the gene pool just for the sake of humanity. But he wasn’t worth the attention the body would bring.
“You live around here?” He caught Carla’s leash and headed toward Sophie. Moved like a man who sat around a lot, maybe watched TV all day. Maybe she was wrong on her first assessment. He didn’t look smart enough for the parts counter. At least three days of smoke and body odor wafted as he approached. No. This guy was unemployed. If she had to guess, Sophie figured he lived off his mother or his girlfriend.
She gripped the injector. Maybe the distraction of this creature’s death would be good for her. The pleasure of watching the smoky vapor of his bleeding soul as it left his ugly carcass would boost her, feed her. Might even settle her frayed nerves. The cops would shit themselves if she killed so close to Danny and his crazy mother. So it would accomplish two things: relax her and up the anxiety levels inside that house. Two birds with one shot. Three, really—she could rid society of the burden of this indigent slob.
He was making the decision easy too. His approach kept the two of them in shadow not more than seventy-five yards from safe house.
She glanced back to breath in the air from the safe house, feel for Danny one last time, and check for the best entry when the time came.
She made out two windows on the ground floor of the safe house she could breach with little effort. She blocked her disgust at the man’s odor with the more pleasant thought that Danny was sitting just inside those walls. Perfect.
“We’re new. My husband and I moved in a couple blocks over.” She vaguely tilted her head.
“You buy that place on Falcon Street?”
“Yeah. That’s it.” Whatever you say, my dear. She reached for the leash.
He handed it over, taking an extra step, standing a little too close for polite conversation. He was trying to be large, intimidating. Oh, he was asking for it. “Cool. Nice place.”
She backed up a bit. Carla happily retreated in the direction they’d come. “It is.” She nodded to the leash. “Thanks.”
She turned and headed off into the dark.
“See ya.” The dumpy man said to her back. It was more of a question than a statement. Ridiculous. Did the fat fuck think he had a chance with a woman like her? Her pulse was thundering through her veins, rushing in her ears. She could visualize the slow surge of his blood, lazy with cholesterol, pumping through his carotid artery. She needed to hit the road but wanted to cut him.
Never act impulsively. You almost got yourself caught last time.
Carla tugged to go off exploring again, but Sophie reined her in.
Even that mutt’s smarter than you.
She wanted to shout at the voice in her head, curse it. Her own self-deprecating critic making sure she evolved. Never good to be static. So she listened to that voice. Argued with it. No matter what drugs she took, it was impossible to ignore. Besides, she could ignore it. Disobey it. No matter what the voice had to say, the urges were strong. She tasted her desire like a strong shot of tequila, burning and acrid.
She turned to see the man still watching her, staring at her ass. She was next to a little shed, blocked from view from his house and the safe house. He would only take a few moments, even seconds.
She smiled at him and leaned against the shed. She crooked her hip and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
He let his cigarette fall to the ground and snubbed it out with his flip-flop-encased foot.
So easy to extinguish.
He stopped, facing her, aligning himself so his body was looming. “Forget something?”
She nodded, let the leash go, and eased in closer to him. The stench of cheap tobacco and two days’ worth of Vegas sweat rolled off his skin. The idiot grinned like he’d won a prize.
She palmed the injector in her left hand, walked as if to circle around him, trailing her right fingers across his chest and over his shoulder. She brushed her breast against his back as she stepped in behind him. She wanted to give the sap the impression she was embracing him. She had to hold her breath to avoid the stink of his skin.
The slug was five-seven, roughly two hundred and fifty pounds, and she guessed most of it was in his stomach.
“You like it rough, baby?” she asked him. In her head the words echoed along with the images of others who’d answered that question with an exhilarated yes. Just as he would. Her pulse was drumming, her head cloudy with lust.
He looked over his shoulder, his lips curved in delight. A quick nod.
She tightened her grip on his neck, not enough to frighten him, just enough to make him think he was about to get the fuck of his sad, stinky life. She reached up and put her lips on his left shoulder. Made her think of salt mixed with old trash. He was moist with sweat, maybe from his arousal or it could be the miserable evening heat. She bit down. Hard.
At the same time she hammered the injector right next to her seductive bite. He jerked from the unexpected sting.
“Sorry.” She kissed the spot a couple of times and he relaxed immediately. This guy wouldn’t lift a finger to defend himself. “Too much?”
He shook his head, turned to her. He reached for her neck. Maybe to pull her head back. Maybe to return the bite, but his hands came to rest on her arm. Gripped. His body began to veer backward, she widened her stance to hold his weight. She wanted him upright.
He reached for her face, but missed. “I … what … ”
She put the knife at the base of his ear. The exceptional blade encountered no drag as she drew it. The steel sliced though his skin and the platysma muscle that shaped the side of his unshaven neck like a shark slicing through a breaking wave.
Blood surged as she severed the jugular and the carotid. Once she felt the bump of her blade on the solidity of the hyoid, she yanked, speeding up the process, repeating the damage to the far side of his neck.
He bucked only once, his effort to cry out far too late. The drugs and the lack of oxygen to his lungs and brain made that impossible.
She shoved his body off to the side as h
e started to bleed out. She didn’t want any more of his blood on her than was necessary. The clothes would have to be burned, but she still needed to hit the store, ditch the van, and head home to regroup. She cleaned the blade on a portion of his shirt that wasn’t yet scarlet. He had landed on his side so most was draining on the ground.
Don’t leave them bloody fingerprints for Christ’s sake!
“I didn’t. Shut up.”
It was beautiful work. But you have to control yourself. I know five-year-olds who are better with delayed gratification than you.
Heaven forbid her inner voice give her a compliment without knocking her down at the same time.
“Can’t you just let me enjoy the symphony of the moment every now and then?”
Time to go. Stroke your ego later.
She looked back at the house, the one Danny was sitting in. Maybe he was right there behind those blinds. Killing that slob left her wanting and aroused and she wanted to run right up to the door, but the inner bitch was right. Sophie needed to exercise more restraint.
The yahoos would watch this place like a hawk for days after this, but after some time, Danny would get restless and his protectors would get complacent. She could be a patient girl when she was well motivated. Dead body in her wake notwithstanding.
It was time to go home. This trip had taken longer than she’d expected as it was. She had to go to work for a while or she’d get fired. Again.
“Carla?” She half called, half whispered the pup’s name. The scruffy thing trotted toward Sophie. The dog headed to the mess on the ground but Sophie caught her leash. “Don’t sully your fur with that.”
25
An oil-burning delivery truck blasted past him as he stood on the curb. The thing was puking sooty exhaust that made Jim hold his breath as he headed for the Coffee Girl across the street from his townhouse complex.
As he entered the lot, Oscar Olsen pulled in on his equally roaring—but non-oil-burning—bike. The loud pipes dared anyone to come within yards of the huge motorcycle.
