by Jordan Dane
A pit stop.
Nikki hit the public restroom and took care of business. But when she was done, a dark-skinned woman in a navy janitor’s uniform, hardly more than a girl, caught her eye. She was cleaning one of the stalls. Nikki saw her in the mirror as she washed her hands, and she tried to smile, but the woman only stared through her, her eyes dull and vacant. Hard to tell her age, but she didn’t look that much older than her. Nikki tried not to stare but couldn’t help it. The woman was too young to give up on the rest of her life. And what about dreams? Did she ever have any?
How did people let these things happen? she wondered.
She watched the woman work for a while longer, until an odd sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. The girl suddenly made her feel uncomfortable and anxious. She didn’t understand why she felt this way. It wasn’t like she was alone with her. Other people had been there, and the cleaning woman posed no threat. Yet something came over her that was palpable and strong. All she knew was that she couldn’t stay any longer. She rushed from the restroom, heading for baggage claim and Ivana.
As she walked, Nikki picked up her pace with one thought repeating over and over in her head. She’d done the right thing by coming here, damn it. She had dreams and a new life to start. And she wouldn’t let anything stand in her way.
Nothing.
Outside baggage claim, the passenger pickup lanes were swarming with activity. He’d counted on the buzz to blend in. People were coming and going. Skycaps were hauling bags on wheel carts, dodging traffic. And a taxi wrangler whistled and waved a cab up from the waiting line to drive a suit downtown to an overpriced hotel. That’s what he figured anyway.
He knew fresh meat when he saw it. They all looked clueless, and he could spot easy pickings a mile off. The instinct was hard to kick, but he had a new gig now. And it sure beat hustling for chump change.
Alert, the man kept his eyes on the rearview mirror and out his windshield, looking for a face he’d committed to memory. When he found what he was looking for, he smirked, then keyed a speed dial number on his cell phone. His call was answered on the third ring.
“Yeah, you got somethin’ for me?” A low guttural voice with a Russian accent came on the line.
“She’s definitely a looker.” He narrowed his eyes. A girl craned her neck, looking down the row of waiting vehicles. When she spotted his car, the kid headed toward him.
Bingo.
Speaking into his phone, he added, “With any luck, we’ll have options with this one.”
He looked right, expecting the sullen girl sitting next to him in the front seat to move, but she didn’t.
“Hey, hold on a sec.” He put a hand over the phone, glaring at the girl beside him.
Still the bitch didn’t move. She picked at strands of her thin brown hair, tugging at split ends. Sometimes she could get under his skin, like now. He poked her scrawny arm with a knuckle and barked an order.
“Hey, go make nice. You know what to do. Get her into the car, both of you in the backseat. Once we get her home, I wanna see that fanny pack. And she better not have a cell phone.”
Ivana shifted her attention to him, her dark green eyes the color of dull moss with the luster gone. And her skin looked blotchy from too much makeup, her attempt to cover acne scars.
“No problem. Jus’ remember, I do this thing for you. I help you, yes?” Sometimes Ivana slathered on the Russian accent like it was butter. It used to turn him on.
“Yeah, yeah. Now get goin’.”
She got out of the vehicle without saying another word, returning his stare over her shoulder. Once outside, she perked up for the performance and waved to the new one, calling her over. The girls hugged. It gave him time to finish his call.
“I got appointments for her tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe if we get lucky, I’ll be sending her to you real soon. Kind of a shame she may’ve come all this way, but you know the drill. I’ll give you a heads-up when I can.”
He ended the call and got out of the car, forcing himself to grin at the kid, real friendly.
“Hey, Nikki. Welcome to Chicago. I’m Ivana’s father. Lemme take your bag.”
She smiled and handed over all her possessions. Real trusting. They all had fresh young faces that he never got tired of seeing.
“Thanks, Mr. Noskova. I really appreciate—”
He didn’t let her finish.
“My name’s not—” He stopped and stared at the girl. He could have corrected her, but it didn’t matter what she called him. “Just call me Mike.”
The new girl narrowed her eyes and gave him a questioning look. Before she could ask anything, he took her duffel and placed it in the trunk.
“You girls go ahead and get in the backseat. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to talk about.” He smiled again and waved them off. “Go ahead. We’ve got a bit of a drive, so get comfortable.”
He shoved her bag into the trunk of his car and closed it. When he got into the driver’s seat, he heard the kid talking to Ivana. Looking in the rearview mirror, he watched for traffic to clear, but the new girl did a better job at holding his interest.
“I’ve never lived anyplace as big as this.” Nikki struck up a conversation with her friend, but the whole thing felt awkward with her father listening. And she caught the man snatching glimpses in the mirror.
“You like livin’ here, right, Ivana?” she persisted.
Her friend looked at her and forced a smile. “Yes. You will see.”
As Ivana’s dad pulled from the curb and into traffic, Ivana crossed her arms and turned away, gazing out the window.
“So are you excited about tomorrow?” Nikki tried again to make conversation.
“Yes, it will be good day,” the girl replied.
Nikki was so anxious to talk about tomorrow that her friend’s indifference didn’t register at first. Mr. Noskova had pulled strings to get them both an appointment with a prestigious Chicago modeling agency, one with connections to New York. Apparently, they had liked a photo posted on her blog. And they wanted to see Ivana too.
Ivana’s dad merged into freeway traffic, taking Interstate 190E, then south on 294. The road signs flew by, not catching her attention. Her focus was entirely on what tomorrow would bring.
“I hear if they like you, they take head shots…with a real fashion photographer. I’ve never done anything like that. Do you think someone will be there to help us with makeup? ’Cause that would be so cool, you know?”
She was talking a mile a minute now—excited to finally share her dream—but Ivana only stared back, barely nodding or shaking her head in reply. An unreadable face with vacant eyes. Her reaction caught Nikki by surprise.
A cold slap of déjà vu.
In her friend’s apathetic eyes she found remnants of another face—the cleaning woman—the one she thought looked defeated and used up. But before she could ask Ivana what was wrong, Mr. Noskova interrupted.
“Tomorrow is a big day for you girls. I got a feeling it’s gonna change your lives.”
He stared at Nikki through the mirror again. Although she heard a smile in his voice, the man wasn’t what she expected.
But then, neither was Ivana.
Talkeetna, Alaska
Hours later
While in Anchorage, Payton had arranged for a private charter to make the trip to Chicago later that evening, but he couldn’t leave without first seeing Susannah and explaining what had happened with the schoolteacher, Claire Hanson. Once he got home, he’d have just enough time to pack, see his sister, and pick up Joe on his way to the Talkeetna airport. He’d arranged for the charter to meet them at the small local airstrip, saving him a trip back to Anchorage by car.
When he walked through his front door, he gazed at the mess he’d left behind, remnants of his self-indulgence. A life without consequence.
“You’re a piece of work, Archer,” he mumbled to himself.
He tossed his truck keys on a kitchen counter next to a half-emp
ty bottle of Macallan scotch and noticed the red blinking light from his answering machine. His first thought was that the message might be from Susannah. Without hesitation, he punched the button to hear it.
With garbled noise in the background, it took a while for a voice to come on the line.
“Uncle Payton…I love you.”
The faint voice of his niece caught him by surprise.
Knowing how she’d left town, he recognized the background noise as the Anchorage airport, with part of a flight announcement recorded. He checked the time stamp for Nikki’s call and a cold fist of sadness gripped his heart.
She’d called when he was out drinking. If he’d been home, would things have turned out differently? Had this been her attempt to reach out one last time? Anger and frustration surged under his skin.
“And you picked me, Nikki. God help you.”
He grabbed for the bottle of scotch, not bothering with a glass, and took a long pull. It burned his throat all the way down, the heat swelling through his chest and belly. Gasping, he came up for air and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Guilt closed in without mercy.
Until now, he thought he’d only done harm to himself with the choices he’d made, but that wasn’t true. He’d cut himself off from the people he loved, and there had been consequences.
How would he face Susannah?
Chicago
Early evening
From Seth’s place, Jess drove to a library on the way to her apartment to access the Internet. Her home computer had been a casualty of Baker’s deranged payback.
She checked into flights leaving Anchorage bound for Chicago that day. Several carriers fit the bill, with destinations to Chicago’s O’Hare, Midway, and Rockford airports. If Baker had a kid booked on an inbound flight from Alaska, most arrivals had already touched down. And the odds weren’t in her favor for the few remaining flights. Even if she picked the right airport, she couldn’t be in two places at once. She and Madame Luck had parted company in a big way.
“Shit.”
She wasn’t sure why she tortured herself with the flight information. It wasn’t like she could do anything. Even if she narrowed the search, she was only playing a hunch about Baker and his so-called Alaskan delivery to Chicago being an unfortunate kid.
More than likely her diversion to the library had been nothing more than procrastination, pure and simple. The wasteland of her apartment awaited her attention.
“Let’s get it over with.” She left the library and drove home to suffer the indignities of a full-blown pity party. Once and for all, she had to face clean-up duty, deal with it and get on with her life.
Back at her place, Jess worked for another couple of hours, filling the apartment complex Dumpster with the remnants of her life. It pained her to do it, and little remained after Baker’s rampage. Her apartment almost echoed with emptiness. She never had much, but until now hadn’t appreciated her mixed bag of furnishings and a lifetime of remembrances. And having a lunatic in her home had brought back a familiar sense of violation that would be hard to shake.
Sam called mid-shift to see how things were going, and Jess lied.
“I’m okay. I needed new stuff anyway.” She had sloughed off her friend’s concern so she wouldn’t worry, but mostly Jess knew she needed to convince herself that she could get her life back to normal, whatever the hell that was.
“When I get off duty, I’m bringing Chinese takeout and the two of us will finish cleaning up, okay? Nothing says love like Kung Pao.” Sam did her best to keep the pity from her voice, but Jess knew better.
“Sounds good. And I’ve got you a new key to my seriously humble abode.” She took a deep breath, exhausted after her stressful day. “See you soon, sista. And…thanks.”
Jess ended the call and took out another couple of trash bags. Tomorrow she’d get a fresh start hunting Baker. She’d look under every rock for the lowlife weasel, contact his known associates, and visit his old haunts to search for leads. She’d found him once before, she could do it again.
But now all she needed was a hot bath, something to eat, and time to heal—in that order.
Her body had taken a beating from her confrontation with Baker. And the trips up and down the stairs hauling garbage and maimed furniture hadn’t helped. To catch her breath, she leaned against the railing outside her apartment door and stared down at her life in a Dumpster.
She ached down to her soul. It had been one helluva day.
Overhead, a jet engine rumbled. A Southwest Airlines Boeing 737 reflected the molten orange of sunset against its fuselage until it faded into the horizon. That’s when she finally took stock. Her arms glistened with a thin layer of sweat and she felt perspiration on her forehead and down her back. And with the sun going down, a cool breeze had inspired a wave of goose bumps. She needed a long soak in a tub to scrub away the remains of her butt ugly day.
But it wasn’t meant to be. Clipped to a belt loop, her cell phone rang. Caller ID displayed the name.
Seth Harper.
She grinned as she answered the call, an interruption she didn’t mind.
“Don’t tell me. You’ve done a scientific study and found clarity of mind comes after three Rock Bottom lagers,” she teased with a grin. “What did you forget, hotshot?”
“He forgot to mind his own business. So did you.” A man’s voice. “Have you missed me, darlin’?”
What the hell? The slithering voice jolted her heart and carved a notch from her nerves. She didn’t have to locate Lucas Baker. Like a train wreck waiting to happen, he stood in her path, braced for their inevitable collision.
One thought was crystal clear, and it made her sick to her stomach. If the twisted bastard had Harper’s phone, then she was responsible for placing Seth in Baker’s crosshairs. And for that, the kid might pay a terrible price—meant for her.
CHAPTER 9
Jess struggled to keep panic from her voice. Career criminals like Baker smelled fear and knew how to draw first blood.
“Yeah, guess you could say I’ve missed you…about as much as I’d miss a frontal lobotomy with a Phillips head screwdriver.” Taking the first shot, Jess went on the offensive. Anything short of that would’ve been a sign of weakness.
“You sound pissed. Don’t tell me you didn’t like the way I redecorated your shit hole. With that dump, I was doing you a favor.”
The sleaze bag had the nerve to gloat. Baker had a smile to his voice mixed with a heavy dose of contempt, enough for her to picture his ugly sneer.
“You had it comin’, but we ain’t done yet, darlin’. You got somethin’ of mine and I want it back. I figure we’ll trade for it.”
She heard a heavy scrape and a loud thud in the background. But the muffled gasp and moan of a guy’s voice put her over the edge. She forced herself to breathe.
Baker came back on the line. “I got your boy. Seth Harper, the one who’s a fan of Jerry Springer.”
If she’d had doubts before, Baker knowing about Seth’s T-shirt made her a believer. Baker had Harper. And she had to keep the man talking to divert his attention from the kid.
“Out of curiosity, how did you make the connection between me and him?”
“You delivered him on a silver platter, sweet thing. It all started when I watched you and your cop friend walk through your busted door.” He laughed. “I gotta tell ya, it was worth the wait to see the look on your face. But contrary to what you might think, I ain’t stupid. You both had weapons drawn, and your friend’s a cop. I seen her at the station. And believe me, I know how to fly below radar with the cops. Shootin’ one of ’em is no way to earn brownie points.”
Baker embellished his story, enjoying himself.
“Hell, I knew you didn’t have my property with you. And you sure as hell didn’t have it stashed at your dump or I would’ve found it. So I figured all I had to do was wait. You’d lead me to it eventually.”
In the background she heard Seth cry out again. What th
e hell was Baker doing to him?
“Leave him alone, Lucas. You’ve got my attention, so talk already.” She pressed. “Tell me. How did you cross paths with Seth?”
“Well, pretty boy here, he was a gift. I must be living right, but you, not so much. I followed you downtown, having no clue where you was going. But when you came out of that fancy pile of bricks with this guy in tow, I recognized him right off. He’d collided into my SUV with his shit blue van that night you was chasin’ me. I ain’t good at math, darlin’, but even I could put two and two together. You wanna talk to the kid?”
An interminable moment of silence. Dead still. Jess swallowed hard, then heard Baker bellowing in the background, angry words muffled and distant.
“You better speak up, asshole, ’cause I can make you pay in ways you can’t even imagine. You’ll be beggin’ me to kill ya.”
She clung too tight to her phone, straining to hear every word. In her mind she pictured what Baker might’ve done to Seth, the image pure torture.
“J-Jessie? I’m s-sorry.” Seth. It was definitely Seth on the line.
She let out the breath she’d been holding.
“What has he done to you? Are you okay?” Both were stupid questions, but she was running on impulse and not thinking straight. That would have to stop. She needed to focus.
“Just give him what he wants. It’ll be o-okay.”
Seth could talk, but he sounded seriously messed up. Yet despite his condition, he had the wits to send her a clear message: Give the bastard what he wanted because he’d rigged the laptop. They’d be able to track Baker’s moves online. Sooner or later the jerk would make a mistake.
All she had to do was make the exchange and get Harper back. Then her boy genius could exact his own brand of retaliation—revenge best served cold.
Baker got back on the line. “Your toady is still breathin’. That’s gotta be worth somethin’. I expect you to show a little appreciation for my…generosity.”
