The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1)

by Mary Burton

  He dusted each frame off with his fingers and set them on the credenza behind his desk. Hardly staking a claim on this place, but it was a start.

  On the pile of papers in an in-box that grew by the hour was a memo detailing a trip to Houston where he was set to review security for an oil company. Another memo mentioned a trip to Kansas City. More security and a threat assessment. The billable hours on both cases would ultimately earn the company close to a quarter of a million dollars, yet Shield had pulled him off them to catch the Shark.

  A knock on his door had him turning. Shield moved into the office, his gait slightly uneven as if his back bothered him. “I’ll have someone in maintenance hang up those pictures.”

  “No need. I’ll get around to it.”

  “I remember your last field office in Kansas City. Not a picture up on the wall.”

  “Never made sense. Why mark up a wall when I wasn’t staying long?”

  “Kansas City was a temporary assignment, but this time you aren’t moving on. This is your last stop. I expect you to be running this show one day.”

  He’d committed to work for Shield for two years. To anchor himself beyond that would take serious soul searching.

  “So how did it go with Tatum?” Shield asked.

  “She knows more than she’s saying, that’s clear. When I mentioned the playing cards, I hit a nerve.” He’d learned the best intelligence didn’t always come from what people said, but what they didn’t say. “The latest victim was identified. Vicky Gilbert. The girl hooked up with a guy named Jax Carter, and he sold her to one of the gamblers.”

  “Word arrived that another body was found near the Gilbert body. A male. His wallet identified him as Kevin Lewis.”

  Bowman tilted his head toward the older man and grinned. “You haven’t lost a step.”

  “Pays to have friends. What do you think of Tatum?”

  “She’s sharp. Wants this case solved. She’s driven, just like she was at Quantico.”

  Shield never showed surprise, making it hard to gauge his reactions. “So what do you suggest, Clay? The cops won’t catch him.”

  “You sound sure.”

  “I’m one of the best and I’ve never caught him even after he sent me his trophy pictures.”

  “How do you know he sent them?”

  “The Shark is a guy who loves high-stakes games. If he thinks he’s getting too far ahead of me, what better way to keep the juices going than to send me the pictures.”

  “But the Shark is not perfect. Serial killers kill again when there are stressors in their life. Bad health. Money. Death in the family. Job loss. All are hard to deal with for a normal person, but for a guy like the Shark, it’s the perfect trigger for murder.”

  “Logical, or it simply bothered him that Riley slipped through his fingers.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Whatever the Shark’s reason, stay close to her. She’s the key.”

  “I see a couple of memos on my desk from Houston.”

  “It can wait. All of them can wait. This case has stuck in my craw for twelve years and now I have a chance to nail him. Solve this case and I’ll give you the whole damn company tomorrow.”

  Riley delivered the cards to Sharp, oddly grateful to turn them over to someone else.

  “This is all you have?” he asked.

  “Just the cards. I can’t tell you how I got them or who gave them to me. I just know they were in my pocket when I got to Richmond.”

  “And you have no memories?”

  “Sometimes the scent of cigars makes me feel tense. Occasionally dreams. But there is nothing I can grab on to, and believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “I’ll have these dusted.”

  “I did that eight years ago. They were wiped clean.”

  “So all we know right now is that your cards look like the ones in Gilbert’s backpack.”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

  Bowman went to the parole board offices after he left Shield headquarters. Fluorescent lights buzzed as he moved down the building’s main hallway to the door at the end. He knocked.

  A heavyset man with gray hair looked up from an outdated computer. “Yes.”

  “Ken Trice?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Clay Bowman with Shield Security. My boss, Joshua Shield, called about Darla.”

  “Right.” He clicked a couple of computer keys and read the screen. “A nasty lady, if I do say so myself. Why are you looking for her?”

  “She and her boyfriend are believed to be selling girls.”

  “Is this about the girl strangled and dumped north of the city?”

  “She’s the one. I think Darla and Carter recruited the victim and then sold her to another guy.”

  “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

  “Any idea where I can find her?”

  “She lists her mother’s address as her residence.” He rattled off an address south of the city. “You know the place?”

  “I can find it.”

  Bowman left his card with the man and made his way back to his SUV. He dialed Riley’s number. She picked up on the second ring.

  “Bowman, why are you calling me?”

  The snap of annoyance in her voice was about what he expected. “How would you like to go on a little field trip with me?”

  “What kind of field trip?” she said carefully.

  “I have the address of Darla Johnson’s mother. Want to tag along?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Leaving the state police offices now.”

  “Stay there and I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

  “You can just give me her address.”

  Seconds ticked as she waited for his response. Finally she yielded. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

  Twenty minutes later Bowman found Riley and Cooper in her SUV. He parked and as he approached her vehicle, she unlocked the doors. He slid into the passenger seat. As he read off the address for her to plug into the GPS, she tossed him a curious look.

  Checking her rearview mirror at an alert Cooper, she pulled into traffic and headed south. “Why are you including me?”

  “Because we are a team.”

  “We are not a team.”

  “Yes, we are. You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

  “Right.”

  He studied her profile. “You seem tense.”

  “I’m always tense.”

  “More so than usual.”

  “A lot on my mind.”

  “Care to share?”

  She looked over at him and he thought for a moment she’d tell him, but she only shrugged. “Nothing important.”

  Fifteen minutes later they found themselves in front of a small brick rancher. The front lawn could have used a mowing a month ago, but the house itself looked fairly well kept. Riley left the AC running and stepped out, waiting for Bowman to join her. Locking the door, she laid her hand on her gun as they moved to the front door decorated with a welcome wreath. Glancing in the bushes on his left and right, Bowman rang the bell and stepped aside. Inside, a television buzzed.

  The front door jerked opened to a short, stout woman who wore jeans and a green collared shirt from one of the local grocery store chains. Her narrowing gaze darted between the two of them as she folded her arms. It was obvious she had been through this before. “Darla ain’t here. I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks.”

  “Why do you think we’re looking for Darla?” Bowman asked.

  Her nose wrinkled. “You two are cops. Why else would you be here?”

  “Your name is Betsy Smith and you’re Darla Johnson’s mother?” he asked.

  “That’s right. But I ain’t seen her.”

  “Has she called, texted, or e-mailed?”

  “Nothing from her. But she owes me money, so I’m
not surprised. She won’t surface until she or that damn Jax needs a meal or a place to crash.”

  “The last time you saw Darla, was anyone with her?” Riley asked.

  “Other than Jax? Yeah, there was another girl with them. A young girl, a pretty little thing.”

  Riley scrolled through her phone and found the picture of Vicky. “This her?”

  The heavy scent of cigarettes radiated from Ms. Smith as she leaned forward. “That’s her.”

  “What can you tell me about her?” Bowman said.

  “She never got out of the car. Darla said she was shy. I didn’t buy that, but I wasn’t in the mood for an argument. Darla has a temper.”

  “You get a name?” Bowman asked.

  “I didn’t care enough to ask. I was more anxious to see Darla and Jax get off my property. I didn’t need trouble.”

  “When was this?” Bowman asked.

  “About two weeks ago.”

  “How’d the girl appear to you?” Riley asked.

  “Fine, I guess.” She rubbed her hand along her arm. “I could see the kid didn’t have a clue about those two. I wanted to tell her to get as far away from Darla and Jax as she could, but Darla never let me get close. That girl all right?”

  “No, ma’am, she’s dead,” Riley said.

  The lines on her face deepened. “I’m sorry to hear it. Darla do it?”

  “Why do you say that?” Bowman asked.

  She laughed. “She can be jealous. My girl don’t like sharing nothing with nobody. I could see Jax had eyes for that pretty girl. Kept touching her and kissing her when Darla wasn’t looking.”

  “Did Darla leave any of her possessions here?” he asked.

  “No. Moved them all to Jax’s trailer, but I couldn’t tell you where that’s parked these days.”

  Riley pulled a card from her pocket. “If you hear from her, will you give me a call?”

  “Sure. I’ll call, if you promise to lock Darla away. She’s my own flesh and blood, but she’s mean as a snake.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bowman followed Riley to the car. He could see she was frustrated. “We’ll find her.”

  “She’s slithered under a rock and she might not ever come out.”

  “We’ll find her and the man who bought Vicky from her.”

  She paused at the car and her shoulders slumped a fraction. “You sound so sure.”

  “I am.” A part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her he’d keep her safe. But she didn’t really believe he was here to stay yet. But she would.

  Darla’s phone rang as she sat in a borrowed blue Chevy truck, staring up at the two women standing outside the diner. She knew them both. Sandy and Cassie. They worked for Tony.

  “Yo,” she said into the phone. “What do you need?”

  “I’m looking for a girl.” The deep voice sounded raspy.

  The man’s voice was new to her but that didn’t mean much. She’d put up new ads on the Internet last week before Vicky got herself killed and Jax messed up Jo-Jo. “What kind?”

  “Young. Dark hair.”

  “When do you need her?” She didn’t have any girls now, but there was always a girl to be found on the street. She could be nice when it suited, and if the girl needed drugs or a meal, then convincing her to work could be easy.

  “Tomorrow. I’m having an overnight party.”

  “Overnight will cost you a grand.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “If you can’t afford it, stop wasting my time.”

  “All right, a grand. But she’s mine for the night. And she has to have dark hair and wear a yellow dress.”

  She never questioned a john’s special request. Her job was to find him what he wanted. “Sure. No problem.”

  They agreed to meet and she hung up.

  As if Jax were sitting beside Darla, caution whispered in her ear. That damn Vicky had gotten herself killed and the cops were swarming around. Selling another girl now was asking for trouble. But a grand was enough money to get her and Jax out of the state as soon as he made bail and they could took care of that bitch cop and Jo-Jo.

  She sniffed and took another drag before tossing her cigarette out the window. She glanced in the mirror and practiced her smile. The girl by the diner, Cassie, was a blonde, but that was easily fixed. She also belonged to Tony, but he would cut a deal with her if the money was right.

  Shuffle of poker chips. Cigar smoke. Plush velvet. She lay on the soft couch, her brain addled with drugs. She had discovered too late the water she drank was laced with something. Who had drugged her? And why?

  As much as she struggled to study the faces of the people around her, their features faded into a haze of blurred beige ovals.

  The hum of male conversation pulled her attention toward her left. They were fuzzy, distant shapes. There were two, maybe three men. She couldn’t tell. Couldn’t see well enough to figure anything out.

  “She’s waking up.”

  “Give her more,” one of the men said. “We don’t need trouble.”

  “Where am I?” she whispered. She was rolled onto her back and her sleeve shoved up past her elbow. Eyes narrowing, she stared into the featureless face looming over her.

  Dark eyes. Pale skin. She was looking at the face of a ghost.

  “Help me,” she whispered.

  “This is the best help for you,” the ghost said. “It’ll keep you out of trouble and maybe, if you’re really lucky, alive.” A needle pricked her arm, its sharp point plunging below the surface. Only seconds passed before her mind fogged and her thoughts became disjointed. Her vision went black.

  Riley sat up in bed, swallowing a scream. Shoving her hand through her dark hair, she gulped in air and stared at the shadows dancing across her small bedroom. Gripping the sheets, she clung to the familiar. The chair covered in a dark-blue pattern, the quilt neatly folded and draped over it. A few pieces of jewelry from her grandmother lined along her dresser.

  She glanced at her trembling hands. For an instant she felt helpless. Lost. It took a few seconds before the haze of sleep passed and her thoughts sharpened.

  A knock on her door had her sitting a little straighter. “Riley?” Hanna said.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes?”

  “You all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She looked at the time displayed on her phone. It was minutes after two in the morning.

  Hanna cracked the door, letting light from the hallway spill into the room. “I heard you cry out.”

  Running her hand through her hair, she mustered a half smile. “I had a dream. You know how I’m always chasing bad guys, and sometimes I relive it during the night. Nothing to be worried about.”

  The light behind Hanna cast a warm glow and helped settle her. “You’ve never done that before.”

  “There’s always a first time.” Realizing her explanation wasn’t dispelling Hanna’s worry, she added, “I get worked up when I’m in a foot pursuit. And in my dreams I was chasing three guys.”

  “Three? Really?”

  “It was a dream, but they were armed. They were ready to shoot. I had to choose which one to go after first.”

  “Okay. That’s too much of a riddle for me at two a.m. See you in the morning.”

  The door closed but Riley didn’t lie back on her pillow. Instead she waited, listening for Hanna’s footsteps and the light under her door to click off.

  Years had passed since she’d had that dream. Vicky’s death and Bowman’s reappearance had jostled loose too many skeletons from the shadows. She’d dearly love to shove them all out of sight but knew it wouldn’t happen tonight.

  She tossed off her blankets and crossed to a small desk where she kept her laptop. She opened it. There’d been no time to research Bowman today. Too much happening.

  In the search engine she typed: Clay Bowman. Shield Security. FBI. Hostage Rescue Team.

  A second passed before several listings on Shield Security materialized
, but nothing on Bowman. That didn’t surprise her.

  When he had been a part of the training team at Quantico, he was the quietest of all her instructors. He would stand, arms crossed, watching and speaking only when someone needed assistance. She learned through the class grapevine that his wife had died, and that softened her heart toward him and made her want to help. She had been naive enough to think she could make an immediate difference in his life. But his wounds ran bone deep and she’d learned the hard way that they were far from healed.

  When she’d gone to his motel room, she knew she was throwing common sense to the wind but sensed he was as drawn to her as she was to him. So when she knocked and he opened the door, she stood her ground as he glared down at her. It had taken all her courage to kiss him. Bowman said nothing, but she felt his response. For a split second she thought he’d send her packing, when suddenly he pulled her into the room and kissed her back.

  His touch unleashed a passion that made her knees weak. When he turned her to face the bureau mirror, she’d never wanted anyone more in her life.

  As his calloused hands slid up under her shirt and cupped her breasts, he teased her nipple through the sheer fabric of her bra. Teeth nipped at the skin on the side of her neck. When she reached for the snap on her pants, she felt the energy and urgency in his touch as he slid his hands over her hips. He pushed her pants and panties down and slowly entered her. Their gazes locked in the mirror.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  He thrust inside her with an intensity that shattered the walls she’d built around herself.

  Only later when she relived the moment, trying to understand why he’d asked her to leave, did she realize he’d never spoken her name. She shook off the memory.

  She checked the time. Several more hours to go before the alarm went off at seven and she would have to drag Hanna out of bed for her track practice. Wide-awake and with no hope of getting back to sleep, she rose, shrugged off her nightgown, and tugged on her gym clothes. Cooper glanced up from his crate, but when she didn’t signal they didn’t have to work, he curled back up to sleep. She carried her running shoes and laptop into the kitchen and fired up the coffeemaker.