Deadly Deception

by Rayna Morgan

  “What reason would I have to be in your office?”

  “I asked myself the same question. When I figured out the answer, I figured out who you are.”

  Perspiration dotted Pat’s upper lip. “You’re crazy, Mickey. Or being paranoid.”

  “Maybe so, but being paranoid has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

  She realized that playing along might be the only way to save herself. “Don’t worry. I found nothing which would get you in hot water.”

  “Then you won’t mind giving me the flash drive you used.”

  There was a moment of breathless silence.

  He continued in a tone reserved for speaking to someone stupid. “You forgot to erase the history. I saw someone had opened the files.”

  Before she could respond, he spoke with a fierceness which made her squirm. “I figure you copied my files, missy. The look on your face proves I’m right.”

  She had failed in her assignment. She wondered if her mistake would prove fatal.

  His eyes flattened. He stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray. “You, me, and the boys are going for a ride.”

  When they got to the airstrip outside of town, Mickey gave instructions to his bodyguards. “Take the lady on a flight. When the plane gets high enough, dump her overboard.”

  She screamed at Mickey what would happen if he killed her.

  His blood curdling laugh haunted her still.

  “If by some miracle you don’t perish at sea, you’ll come to wish you hadn’t survived.”

  After the incident, she refused Tom’s offer to take time off insisting she was ready to get back on the horse. But nights reliving her brush with death made her question whether policing was for her.

  During her abduction, she ran a gamut of emotions from terror and hopelessness to triumph. Over time, the event receded far enough from memory to lose its impact and she regained her courage.

  Now, she had cause to wonder.

  Will my fears resurface if I face the man who sent me to the brink of death?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sisters were busy at their computers when Warren walked into the office and stooped to pet the dogs.

  “Morning, Gracie.” He patted the collie’s head and she licked his hand.

  The golden retriever rolled onto his back with his paws in the air. “Sorry, Spirit. No time for tummy rubs.”

  He continued down the hall. “Good morning, girls.”

  Neither daughter responded.

  He poked his head in one of the inner offices. “What are you working on, Lea?”

  She jumped, startled by his presence. “Hi, Dad. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  As he moved toward her desk, she closed her laptop and grabbed her mug. “I’m going to the kitchen. Can I get you coffee?”

  He retreated from her office. “No thanks. I’ll get some later.”

  After Lea passed, he stopped in Maddy’s office.

  “What are you up to, Mad?”

  “Who, me?”

  He looked around the room. “Who else would I be speaking to?”

  She giggled nervously and grabbed her purse. “I have to go. A salesman asked me to switch hours so he could take his wife to the doctor.”

  Maddy bit her lip as she hurried to the door.

  It was she who changed shifts at the furniture store where she worked a second job as a salesperson and interior design consultant. She hated to lie, but she couldn’t tell her father she needed to make herself available to follow Pat.

  “How is that working out, dividing your time between the store and our agency?”

  “So far, it’s working fine. I schedule appointments to fit what’s happening here or vice versa.”

  “Does that leave time for Tom?”

  “We’re figuring it out. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I gave up my right to not worry when your mother went to the hospital in labor.”

  She pecked his cheek as she brushed past. “You’re the best. Have a good day.”

  When she got to her car, she called Lea. “Did you fib to Dad about what we’re doing?”

  “Not exactly, but I’ve been less than forthcoming. Do you think he suspects?”

  “He might wonder about me, but he’d never expect anything underhanded from you.”

  “That makes me feel worse. To avoid the need for further lies, I’ll go search for the homeless woman.”

  After gathering her things, Lea hollered down the hall.

  “I’m leaving to run errands while things are quiet, Dad. Can you watch the dogs?”

  “No problem,” he answered.

  As soon as Lea left, the collie went to Warren’s office and placed her paw on his knee.

  He looked down and stroked her head.

  “I agree, Gracie. If those two aren’t up to something, I’ll eat my hat.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lea’s first stop was the hotel to see Amber Owens, a girl Lea took under her wing after a shady boyfriend nearly got her killed.

  Amber wasn’t in her usual place behind the check-in desk.

  “Welcome to the Surf and Sand. How may we be of assistance?”

  Lea whirled around to face an attractive woman smartly dressed in business attire. She grasped Amber for a hug. “I’m so glad to see you. You look sensational.”

  The young woman twirled in a circle. “I blew a week’s pay on this outfit. Was it worth it?”

  “Worth every penny and more.”

  But Lea could see it was more than a stylish suit and a chic hairdo. Amber’s confidence and poise had blossomed after Tom rescued her from the call girl operation.

  “I’ve been promoted to the position of events planner,” she informed Lea. “It’s so exciting. Every day is something new.”

  “I knew you had it in you. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  “It’s all thanks to you.”

  Lea glowed with pride. “I only recognized your potential. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. You only needed someone to help you realize that.”

  Amber looked at her watch. “It’s time for my break. Shall we get coffee?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Lea followed Amber to the hotel restaurant where they spent the next few minutes catching up on each other’s lives.

  After the waitress refilled their cups, Amber looked closely at Lea. “You don’t typically hang out in hotel lobbies. I have a feeling you came looking for me.”

  “I want to pick your brain.”

  “Ask away,” Amber said eagerly.

  “Do you remember Pat Fisher, Tom’s sidekick?”

  “Of course. I hope she’s okay.”

  “She’s fine, except for receiving threatening emails.”

  “How terrible. Does she know who’s responsible?”

  “That’s what Maddy and I are trying to find out. One of the likely candidates is living on the streets. She may be in the business you were in.”

  Amber lowered her eyes. A shadow crossed her face. “That seems ages ago.”

  Lea reached across the table for Amber’s hand. “It’s ancient history. I hate to bring it up, but you may know the person.”

  Amber shook her head. “Sorry, Lea. I don’t stay in touch with anyone from my past.”

  “I understand. Can you refer me to someone who might help?”

  Amber thought a moment. “There is one guy. He lives under the bridge by the river.”

  “The place called Hobo Jungle?”

  “That’s the place. The guy’s name is Woodrow, but everyone calls him Tiger.”

  Lea gulped. “Because he’s dangerous?”

  Amber giggled. “Woody’s a pussycat. He comes from Detroit. Big fan of the Detroit Tigers baseball team.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He found me sleeping on the beach one night and suggested I go to the homeless camp. I spent a couple of nights there before Joey got his hands on me.”

  Speaking the
name of the man who led her to prostitution curled Amber’s lips in a way which aged her.

  “Where can I find Woody?” Lea asked.

  “He’s got a shack at the end of the ravine. Anyone down there can point the way.” Amber frowned. “But the Jungle is no place for you to go, especially alone.”

  Lea hesitated. “I’ll take one of the dogs with me.”

  “You can’t miss him. Look for a guy wearing a t-shirt with a tiger on the front.”

  On the way to Hobo Jungle, Lea stopped by the office to fetch Gracie.

  “Where are you taking her?” Warren asked.

  “I forgot she has an appointment with the groomer.”

  She grabbed a leash and hustled the dog out before her father asked more questions.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Before searching for Woody, Lea wanted an idea of what she was getting into. She stopped at a neighborhood police station for directions and information.

  The office was comprised of a folding chair and a table with brochures on preventing crime. The sole officer at the counter spoke to a woman wearing old-fashioned clothing and a dowdy hat.

  “You must do something, Officer Jones,” the woman complained. “I rarely enter the pharmacy without being accosted by a person begging. As we speak, there’s a man on the sidewalk holding a sign asking for work. I’m sure he doesn’t want a job, only a handout. Still, I feel guilty walking past without giving the change in my pocket. But I wonder if my money goes for food or to feed an addiction.”

  The officer smiled. “That’s a question I’m often asked, Mrs. Fletcher. Giving cash makes us feel good at the moment, but money spent on addictions shortens those people’s lives and supports their living on the street.”

  “Then, what can I do to help?”

  “Give to charities that offer services to get people off the streets and into long-term solutions.”

  He looked at Lea and held up a finger signifying a moment’s wait. As he stepped from behind the counter to escort the woman out, Lea composed a cover for the questions she wanted to ask.

  When he resumed his place, she introduced herself as a free-lance reporter writing a story on the county’s problem with homelessness. “I understand Hobo Jungle is a favorite spot for homeless people. How did the riverbed community get started?”

  “Food pantries and other organizations provide temporary shelter. But for longer term lodgings, the homeless set up tents and huts along the river bottom north of Main Street.”

  “Why are they attracted to that area?”

  “The land surrounding the river is overgrown with plants thirty feet tall which camouflage tents and shacks. There are nearly a hundred shelters scattered through the area, many with electricity and furnishings. Along with endless amounts of trash,” he added.

  “How would you describe people staying there?”

  “Most of them are drifters. Men and women who have fallen out of luck.”

  “Any criminals?”

  “We’ve never found hardened criminals there. Most arrests are for drug possession and unlawful lodging.”

  “What do they do with their time?”

  “Many drink too much so they sleep off their hangovers. Others panhandle, or collect recyclables they redeem for cash.”

  “What’s being done to alleviate the problem?”

  “There are services to help those people get sober, find a job and a place to live. But most of them don’t want help. They refuse to acknowledge their behavior is a burden on the town. The biggest obstacle is the lack of alternative places for them to go. If we kick them out of the river bottom, they burrow deeper into the community.”

  “Are there plans for a permanent solution to the problem?”

  “The city is opening a year-round shelter for sixty people. In exchange for housing, the participants will receive help in dealing with issues that put them on the street to begin with.”

  After finishing his explanation, he looked at her with interest. “What paper do you sell most of your articles to?”

  “Um…”

  A beep sounded. He glanced at the pager on his belt.

  When he looked back, she hurriedly excused herself. “I see you’re busy. I should get going. Thanks for the information.”

  He reached across the counter. “You probably need this if you plan to quote me.”

  “Yes, of course.” She blushed and took his card. “Thank you, Sergeant Miller. I’ll let you know if the piece gets published.”

  Back in her car, she was flooded with guilt. She made up her mind to be true to her word by writing an article.

  I’ll submit it to the newspaper. Who knows? It may even get printed.

  Let’s see. What name did I tell the sergeant I write under?

  • • •

  Lea parked next to the bridge which crossed the Santa Clara River. She and the collie slid down an embankment to a rocky, dirt path next to the dry river bottom.

  Gracie bounded ahead while Lea brushed past the giant plants on either side of the path. Burrs stuck to her socks and dust filled her nostrils.

  She passed a sign which read No Trespassing, Camping or Sleeping in Flood Plain or River Bottom. The sign was painted over with the words ‘who sez’.

  Lea felt like the one trespassing. Doubts crept into her mind.

  What am I doing here in no-man’s-land looking for Tiger?

  She thought of Pat’s cat, Hobo.

  Amber called Woody a pussycat, but he probably has the survival instincts of an alley cat.

  “I’m glad I brought you, Gracie,” she said, following her dog. “You’re a match for any alley cat.”

  Gracie barked, eager to explore the swaying canes surrounding them.

  “We’d need a machete to go deeper,” Lea informed her. “Let’s stay on the path.”

  Seconds later, Gracie skittered to one side as they came upon a man rolled in a sleeping bag by the side of the trail. Lea put her finger to her lips and motioned for the dog to continue.

  How can someone sleep in such primitive conditions? She wondered.

  Still, the only sounds were from birds and an occasional barking dog. She understood how this place provided peace away from the prying eyes of the public.

  Moments later, they passed the remains of a bonfire. Broken crates large enough to sit on and empty beer cans littered the area. Through the thick foliage, Lea spotted several tents but there was no sign of life.

  Probably sleeping off hangovers, she thought, recalling the sergeant’s words.

  As they neared the bridge, she heard the whistle of tires speeding across concrete.

  How many people drive past this area with no idea of the community that lies beneath them?

  The walls of the bridge were sprayed with paint. Surprisingly, the pictures were of ocean waves and dolphins instead of graffiti.

  Trekking further on the stretch of dusty trail made Lea thirsty. She saw Gracie’s tongue hanging and regretted not bringing water.

  “Should we go back, Gracie?” she asked. But the dog marched straight ahead.

  Lea was losing hope of finding the man when they came upon a hut built from tarp-covered poles. A sign attached to the front flap with the words Tiger’s Den told Lea they had arrived at their destination.

  “Hello,” she called out tentatively.

  Gracie moved closer to the shanty, crouching on all fours.

  “Is that dog friendly?”

  The gravelly voice behind her made Lea jump.

  Gracie spun around with her ears tucked flat against her head. A low rumbling growl rose from her chest.

  The man took a step back.

  “I guess that’s my answer,” he mumbled, swinging a burlap bag full of cans.

  “Gracie, be calm.” Lea’s voice was firm.

  The dog’s body relaxed, but her eyes stayed alert.

  Lea turned to the man. “She’s fine. You startled us, that’s all.”

  “It ain’t like I’m the one trespa
ssing.”

  She raised a hand. “You’re right. Sorry to intrude.”

  He moved cautiously around the dog and dropped the bag at the side of the shack.

  “What do you want?” he asked, facing Lea. “You ain’t a member of our little tribe.”

  “Amber said I might find you here.”

  For the first time, he smiled. “You know Amber?”

  “She’s a good friend.”

  “Then I figure you’re okay. Any friend of that young woman is a friend of Tiger’s. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Lea.” She pointed to the collie, now rolling in the dirt. “And this is Gracie.”

  “Nice lookin’ dog. Would she like a treat?”

  Lea was uncertain what he might offer, but she wanted to win the man over.

  “Sure. She never turns down a treat.”

  He reached in his pocket and brought out a biscuit.

  When Lea looked surprised, he grinned. “I always have something for the strays. It keeps me on friendly terms with them.”

  He opened his hand in front of the dog. She stared at the treat, but sat waiting.

  “Okay, take it,” Lea commanded.

  Gracie snatched the biscuit and scarfed it down.

  “Impressive, her waiting for permission. You’ve got her well trained, I’ll give you that.” He pulled out a rusted lawn chair. “Have a seat.”

  She brushed dust away before taking a seat. He sat next to her on an empty crate turned on its side.

  “I go for comfort more than style,” he said. His grin displayed a chipped front tooth.

  Lea began to see the pussycat side of Tiger.

  “It’s not done yet,” he said, apologizing for his makeshift home. “I plan to get more stuff.”

  He pointed to a space between the lawn chair and the crate. “I’ll put a table here, I think.”

  “A perfect spot,” Lea agreed.

  He beamed and turned to face her. “Why were you and Amber talking about me?”

  “I’m looking for a homeless person. I think her first name is Mary. Amber thought you might know where I can find her.”

  “Mary, you say?” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “That don’t ring a bell, but it’s a common name. You got a picture?”