by Lori Foster
* * *
FURIOUS, ROWDY HUNG back in the churchyard, watching through binoculars as Alice went into the bus station with a bedraggled woman who looked to be young: nineteen, maybe twenty. Slim, pretty, but now with swollen red eyes and blotchy cheeks.
What was Alice up to?
After falling behind, it had taken him a few moments to locate her again. To expedite his search, he’d pulled into a quaint stone church sitting atop a rise that overlooked the rest of the area. Using binoculars, he’d spotted her car, then located her at the motel just as she’d hauled ass out of the place with the other woman. Thinking she ran from someone, Rowdy started to rush to her rescue—but his alarm had faded when Alice paused long enough to sabotage the truck tire.
No one in hot pursuit.
Settling back, he’d watched her high-step across an overgrown lot that probably hid snakes, rats and too many insects to count. He tracked her as she drove through the neighborhood, circled around and headed toward the highway. He thought she’d finally be heading home, plus one passenger, until she pulled into the bus station.
Confusing.
Twenty minutes later, Alice emerged alone. Sun glinted off her brown hair—had she done something with it? It looked different. Rowdy rubbed his chin, still on high alert.
She smiled as she slipped on sunglasses and—after checking the backseat of her car—unlocked it and got in.
Undecided for only a moment, Rowdy pulled out his cell phone and thumbed her number before she could leave the lot.
“Hello?”
She sounded breathy, probably on an adrenaline rush. He shook his head. “It’s Rowdy.”
“Rowdy?” And just like Alice, she asked, “Are you okay? Is anything wrong?”
All kinds of things were way wrong, but he’d save that for a face-to-face. “Go back into the bus station and wait for me there.”
“Go...” She twisted around in her seat. “Where are you?”
“I’m where I can keep eyes on you. Now hustle your ass back inside and stay put. I’ll be there in less than half an hour.”
Silence. Alice got out of her car, shielded her eyes from the sun and searched the area. “Did you watch me as I shopped with your sister?”
“Why?”
“I felt someone.”
Damn. For the second time in their short acquaintance, he wondered if he was slipping.
“Rowdy? Why are you following me?”
“Inside, hon. I’ll explain when I get there.”
Even from a distance, looking through field binoculars, Rowdy saw her frown. “I don’t like taking orders from you.”
“Would you rather take them from the police?” He saw her go still. “Maybe from Detective Reese Bareden?”
“That’s blackmail!”
“Whatever it takes.” He and Reese had a deal, so Rowdy would end up telling him, anyway. Whether Alice realized that yet or not, it was a moot point.
As he said, whatever it took.
Head down, she turned a stiff circle, probably scheming, trying to think up options.
“Make a decision, Alice.”
“Fine!” She relocked her car. Stride stiff, she marched toward the station entrance. “I’ll be inside.”
“Fine,” he repeated back to her, and damned if he didn’t have to fight a smile. “See you soon.” Rowdy disconnected the call, but watched until he saw Alice reenter. He waited a few seconds more to see if she’d come right back out.
She stayed put.
And good thing, because his gut told him to get back to that motel, to stake it out, so that’s what he did. Just as he’d observed Alice, he watched the motel—from a safe distance away, this time inside a condemned house, up on the second story.
The floor trembled under his feet, almost as if it’d give out any minute. But he’d been in worse places.
Hell, he’d lived in worse places.
He’d give it a few minutes, not long because he didn’t want to leave Alice unprotected. But if someone showed up, he didn’t want to miss it.
Every so often, he checked the perimeter. No way did he want to get caught spying on...whatever the hell she’d gotten into. Best to keep his guard up.
He was about to call it quits when a black SUV approached the dilapidated building. Two average-looking lowlifes went inside.
They wore jeans and printed T-shirts and both were armed.
One came right back out, scoping the area, cell phone in hand while he made an urgent call. Rowdy couldn’t hear from this distance, but he didn’t need to be a lip reader to pick up on the fury.
Finally the other two joined him. The one he hadn’t seen before rubbed at his wrists. He looked waxy from pain, walking unsteadily.
What did Alice do to him?
When the guy noticed the flat tire on his truck, he cursed a blue streak—until one of the other men grabbed his shirtfront, slammed him to the brick wall and apparently gave a credible threat.
Subdued, emanating menace, they all three climbed into the SUV. Rowdy read the plates, committed them to memory and lowered the binoculars.
Whatever had gone on here, it wasn’t good.
Alice, Alice, Alice.
Little Ms. Goody Two-shoes had put herself at the center of danger.
Now what?
* * *
THE PHONE SHATTERED when it landed against the wall. Those around the man jumped, sickening him with their weakness. “Get out.”
In a rush, they scattered, filing out the door like frightened mice. Idiots.
He strode across the floor to stare out a window. God, he hated it when his people fucked up. Wasting precious time on discipline—or retaliation—meant he wasn’t utilizing that time to make money. If Hickson wasn’t so competent in other ways, he’d have him beaten to death and dumped in the river.
Instead, he had to find a way to drive home the seriousness of his error, to ensure such incompetence never happened again.
And he’d have to find the do-gooder broad, because no way in hell would he let her interference go unpunished. He showed no weakness, ever. He exhibited power, only power, and that’s what kept them all in line—and kept his profits rolling in.
Yes, the bitch would have to pay.
Maybe, just maybe, he could kill two birds with one stone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NECK MUSCLES TENSED, thankful that the questions were over—for now—Reese left the room. It was a follow-up interview, and he wouldn’t be surprised if a third came about.
It wasn’t every day that two detectives, their lieutenant, a supposed witness and deadly perps all ended up in a shoot-out at one of the detectives’ residences.
A fuck-up of that magnitude could take months to sort out.
He got that any officer-involved shooting was a big deal. Add to it the recent corruption at the station with a few cops on the take, working for the very scum who had died in his apartment, and yeah, no wonder the D.A. and I.A. were being so thorough.
Reese knew without a shadow of a doubt that both Logan and Lieutenant Peterson were on the up-and-up. Okay, so he’d once suspected Peterson. He’d been way off base on that one.
In a low voice, Logan said to Reese, “I found out a few things.”
“The kidnapping?”
“Yeah.” He glanced toward the lieutenant, walking ahead of them. “It was big news when Alice reappeared after being gone for so long. Course the press got hold o
f it. The thing is, she claimed not to know much—not who had taken her, or where. According to her, some anonymous man rescued her, dropped her off with money to get home, and that was that.”
“Bullshit,” Reese said low.
“That’s what I figured, too. Thing is, a lot of women were recovered right around that time. Separate from Alice showing up.”
Damn.
Logan watched Peterson’s back, ensuring she didn’t overhear. “Someone killed the traffickers, set the women loose and then...vanished.”
“They interviewed the other women?”
“Yes, and most had the same tale. That they were freed by some anonymous champion.”
What exactly had Alice been involved in?
Lieutenant Peterson glanced back at them. “If you two hens are done whispering, how about we grab some coffee?”
Reese wanted to talk more with Logan. He needed dinner.
And he needed Alice.
But before he could find an excuse to decline, Logan checked his watch and said, “I can take time for a cup.”
Great. Coffee. Hadn’t they seen each other enough for one day? Of course, under normal circumstances, they would naturally gravitate to the coffeepot, so maybe it was better not to make Peterson suspicious by varying things.
“Is your arm bothering you?” she asked Logan without a lot of concern or sympathy. Peterson was not a woman to indulge coddling.
She was hard. And cold. And thankfully, honorable.
This time, Reese spoke ahead of Logan. “More likely, it’s that he has Pepper Yates waiting to tuck him back into bed.”
Peterson gave a small smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t get grilled more on that whole situation.”
Reese wasn’t at all surprised. “Any man who saw Pepper understood Logan’s predicament.”
Logan just smiled.
At thirty, Peterson was the youngest lieutenant in the state. She was on the short side, deceptively slender, with short brown hair and big blue eyes. She’d be a looker if she didn’t favor containing all femininity within structured business suits and a ball-buster attitude that put many a man in his place—which was whatever place Peterson deemed appropriate for him at the time.
Somehow, Reese doubted that place was ever in a bed, naked, going deep. He could be wrong, but he just couldn’t see it.
“Pepper was never really a witness,” Logan argued, but he kept his voice low, aware that I.A. and the D.A. were still around.
They’d first answered questions for the district attorney, and everyone knew Internal Affairs watched through the two-way mirror. They’d had their own store of questions afterward.
“What about you?” Peterson asked. “You and the neighbor connecting?”
Prying, or just conversation? Reese wasn’t sure. Peterson’s motives were always murky—which accounted in part for why he’d once doubted her integrity. Not a sterling moment for him.
Logan repaid him by answering. “He and Alice—that’s her name, Alice—are an item now.”
“Is that right?” Peterson arched a brow. “I take it you disarmed her before getting too cozy?”
God knew he’d be forever ribbed over the way Alice had shown up on the scene, gun in hand, a haunted look in her eyes.
Sometimes it’s better if they’re dead. That stark statement coming from a woman like Alice—understated in appearance and manner—had left everyone speculating.
Reese shook his head.
“What’s this?” Peterson teased. Disconcerting both detectives, she stepped ahead and opened the door to the break room for them to enter. “Reese Bareden is without a comeback? Now, you know all sorts of scenarios are coming to mind.”
“She’s very sweet,” he said, and walked past the lieutenant into the room. He counted it a blessing that no one else sat at the long table.
“Just like a sweet Ma Barker, huh?” Peterson let the door fall shut behind Logan.
“Sit,” he told Logan and Peterson as he went to the coffee machine and filled three cups. He tried not to let the lieutenant’s ribbing get to him. That’d only make him fair game for everyone else at the station.
“Cream and sugar in mine,” she said. “So, tell me about her.”
“Who?” Reese stalled, looking for a way out.
Logan grunted a laugh—and tried to hide his discomfort.
“Alice...what’s her last name?”
He didn’t want to say. He didn’t want Peterson to start digging. Damn it, Alice had too many secrets, and until he knew what they entailed, he didn’t dare have her exposed.
An image of Alice in the bed that morning—baby-soft hair fanned out on the pillow, her face utterly relaxed, expression peaceful—contradicted any ideas of her being trouble.
But deep down, something continued to whittle at his peace of mind. He would protect her to the best of his ability, but against what? Who?
“He has a thing for her,” Logan said, filling in the too-lengthy, telltale silence. “Give him time to get a grip. He’s still reeling.”
“What kind of thing?”
Juggling all three foam cups, Reese returned to the table. “A none-of-your-business thing.” He set one cup in front of the lieutenant. “Do you want me snooping into your love life?”
He waited for her to deny that a love life existed. He waited for her sarcastic reply.
Instead, she blushed.
Oh, ho, what was that about? Lieutenant Margaret Peterson, red-faced? Reese glanced toward Logan and caught his friend’s reciprocal expression of surprise.
“Margaret,” Reese teased, dropping formality as he took a seat. “What have you been up to?”
She slapped a file folder down on the table. “Work.” Avoiding eye contact, she sipped her coffee. “Detectives Rhodes and Garland took over on our follow-up after that mess in Reese’s apartment. They got the buyers, some other traffickers, freed a truckload of new victims and, overall, they’ve wrapped things up nice and tight.”
Reese let it go. For now. Finding out info on the human traffickers was more important to him than speculating on Peterson’s uninspiring feminine side.
“Glad to hear it.” He turned the file around and opened it to peruse names. “Anyone else hurt?”
“Nope. It was a clean bust. The bastards had only just set up house, so gathering everything was easy. The thing is...” She sipped at her coffee, her demeanor going somber, flat. “They closed off the neighborhood, searched the whole area and found a body in a dilapidated house a few doors down. A young female, bound and gagged.”
“Damn.” Logan ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the pain caused by the movement. “Got an ID?”
“Not yet. There’s a good chance it’s unrelated to the traffickers. Early estimate is that she died recently, within the past twenty-four hours.”
Reese thought of Alice, of a dark history, and kept quiet. His thoughts churned. He wanted to see her, to hold her.
“Anything to go on?” Logan asked. “Any ideas?”
“It might not be anything, but then again, it could be.” She reached for the file, pushed aside a few papers and withdrew a photo. “She had a very odd tattoo on her forearm.”
Reese studied the photo but couldn’t quite make out the design of the tattoo. “What is it?”
“Lines, numbers. So far, no idea what it means. But it’s unique,” Peterson said, “and it’s the only clue we’ve got. We’re hopeful that it’ll tell us
something.”
* * *
ROWDY WATCHED ALICE pull into the apartment parking lot mere seconds before he drove in behind her. After retrieving her from the bus station, he requested—because telling her anything would probably get her back up—that she drive straight home. He informed her that he’d be following her more closely this time.
Thank the heavens, she’d done as asked.
He didn’t like letting her drive, but didn’t see a way around it. Even now, as he caught up to her on the walkway in, he could see her trembling.
Nerves. The adrenaline dump after her escapade.
Crazy Alice.
He narrowed his eyes against the sun, now streaking the sky in shades of crimson, pink, purple and neon yellow. He said nothing as they walked side by side into the apartment complex, but his concerns shuffled around again and again, making his head ache.
He knew she’d once been kidnapped, though Reese didn’t have all the details yet. From the moment he’d met her, Rowdy had figured she was afraid of something.
From what he’d seen today, she mostly had herself to fear.
Near her apartment door, she asked, “Are you coming in?”
“Damn straight.”
She gave him a sour look. “Cash will need some attention.” She unlocked her door. “I’ll have to take him to the yard—”
The second the door opened, Cash launched out. His body wriggled and squirmed in maniacal excitement.
Alice did a fair job of subduing the dog while hugging and stroking him, talking to him in a soft, sweet voice. She reached inside for the leash. “When he’s excited,” she said over Cash’s loud whining and yapping, “I have only moments before he wets the floor.”
“I’ll go with you.” Rowdy took the leash and attached it to Cash’s collar. He would have offered to take the dog out on his own, but...well, he didn’t trust Alice alone just yet. “C’mon. We have a lot of talking to do before Reese shows up.”
Cash practically dragged him down the steps. Rowdy took Alice’s hand and hauled her along.
