The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1)

by Mary Burton

  “It’s called conversation.”

  Shaking her head, she reached for her coffee cup. “I skipped it. When can I see the files?”

  “Why’d you skip? Is something wrong?”

  The waitress returned with two hot plates of food. The number six came with a couple of scrambled eggs, pancakes, and bacon.

  Bowman reached for his fork. “They don’t mess around with the portions here.”

  “It’s good.” Absently, Riley poured syrup on her pancakes.

  “How is Hanna?”

  She hesitated, trying to decide if she wanted to attempt conversation. Then, remembering the video, she dialed it back a notch. Needing his help didn’t make it any easier for her to ask for it. “Excited about her trip to Atlanta.”

  “You said triathlon, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat back. “What’s eating you?”

  “This case. That there might be a killer after me.”

  A cold chill seeped through her bones. Dying scared her, of course. But the idea of leaving Hanna behind terrified her. She’d been so sure about telling him about the video this morning, and then she found out he’d gone behind her back and spoken to William. Would he have told her if she’d not confronted him?

  He dropped his gaze to his pancakes and cut a large piece dripping with syrup. “You have no security at your house, correct?”

  Her appetite vanished as she stared at the half-eaten pancakes. “Good locks on the doors.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “The company understands security better than anyone. Let us install an alarm system.” He sat back as if sensing he had her attention. “The cost is on us. We have a vested interest in keeping you safe.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t think of it for yourself. It’s for Hanna.”

  “Do you ever play fair?”

  “When I can. When I can’t, I don’t.”

  She swallowed a retort. It wasn’t about her anymore. There was Hanna. “Okay. But this isn’t for me. It’s for Hanna.”

  “Understood.”

  The video loomed. She needed someone’s help. Specifically, Bowman’s. She drew in a breath. “Hanna is at practice this morning, but this afternoon she is going on her trip to Atlanta.”

  He watched her.

  “The team will be back Friday.”

  Again, he said nothing, sensing she needed something.

  “And honestly, right now that’s a good thing. I want her out of town now.”

  Bowman let the comment sit.

  “Someone sent me a video.”

  “What kind?”

  A waitress moved up to their table and refilled their coffee cups. Riley sat back, tapping her index finger on the table as she waited for the woman to move on. When they were alone again, she said, “Not here. Someplace private.”

  “My place,” he said.

  “I have to drop Hanna off at eleven.”

  “I’ll text you the address. Come directly to my house.”

  “Okay.”

  After she walked Bowman out the door, Riley doubled back to Duke’s office. She knocked on the door.

  “What?”

  “On a scale of one to ten, that’s an eleven on the not-too-happy meter,” she said.

  Duke glanced up, a reluctant grin curling his lips. “So what’s the deal with the suit?”

  “He’s with Shield Security. When he was with the FBI he worked on a string of murders in New Orleans.”

  Duke sat back in his chair. “What does he want with you?”

  She trusted Duke with nearly all her secrets, but this case reached too deep for her to share it with anyone else now. “He thinks the murder case I’m working on reminds him of the New Orleans murders.”

  “He dig up any suspects?”

  She leaned against the doorjamb, not sure if she wanted to open up an old wound. “Nothing yet.”

  “It’s not like you to sound glum.”

  “The case, the victim, reminds me a little of me back in the day. Remember when you found me, Duke? When I first came to town on the bus.”

  His expression sobered. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “What was I like?”

  “Doped up. Too thin. Pale.”

  Hazy images of the Greyhound bus flashed in her mind. The seats were rough against her cheek, and she smelled the strong scent of corned beef. Someone near her was eating a sandwich and the smell made her sick to her stomach. “Did I say anything that you remember? Did I give you any clue about what happened to me?”

  He pulled off his glasses and leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “You could barely stand, let alone form sentences. Why?”

  She shrugged. “I wonder about those days from time to time.”

  “Why?” He got up, pushing up his sleeves and exposing tattooed forearms. “That was a lifetime ago. You’re a different person now.”

  “Sometimes it feels like yesterday.”

  She had never pieced together the details of that first day in town, but she also had never really wanted to until now. “Why were you at the bus station?”

  “My volunteers were working the station that day. We were trying out a program of meeting runaways before they landed into real trouble.”

  “Was Maria there?”

  “Yeah, I suppose. The bus station outreach was her idea. She wanted to get to the kids before the street did.”

  “You don’t go to the bus station as often as you did then.”

  “The kids seem to find rides by hitchhiking. That’s why we have the youth shelter.”

  “How many people have you saved?”

  “Not enough. Out of every hundred kids we make contact with, three or four might hang around here for more than a meal, and of those, maybe two a year turn their life around.”

  “Why did I trust you?”

  “Can’t say that you did. You were spitting mad. You tried to slug me.”

  “I did?”

  “Kid, you were such a mess. But there was something about you. If not for Maria and me, you wouldn’t have made it five steps on the streets without someone taking advantage.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “What do you remember?”

  “Not much. I lost seven days and all I can say is that cigar smoke still makes me sick to my stomach.”

  He shook his head as if chasing away a memory. “Whatever you took, you were really high.”

  “I’ve never taken drugs. Not once in my life. Someone did that to me.”

  “I took you to a doctor. He said there were no signs of abuse.”

  “I remember that.” Riley had recoiled at the doctor’s touch. She was terrified. But the doctor was nice and patient, and finally she allowed the pelvic exam.

  A sigh shuddered through him. “When I drank, I lost lots of days. Too many days. It’s not a good feeling not knowing what you did or didn’t do. But you have to decide to let it go.”

  “I know you’re right.” Riley shook her head and grinned. “I have no idea why I’m letting this case get to me.”

  “It’s not like you.”

  “You’re right. It’s stupid. I’m fine.” But it was all lies. She wasn’t fine. Someone had left a video documenting her trip to the abyss.

  “Maria and I are always here, if you need us.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  Cassie’s skin felt like it was two sizes too small as she watched Darla unlock the motel room. Sniffing, she scratched her arm, craving the crack she’d had yesterday. She’d heard it was addictive but figured she could handle it. She was tough, or so she thought. Gristle and bone, her mother used to say.

  But living on the streets this last month had tested her each day. Yesterday, the weight of living out here had grown heavy. She was tired of scrounging for food, selling her body, and searching for a decent place to sleep. The nights had been really bad. First there’d been word about Vicky dying, and t
hen Darla had convinced Tony to let Cassie work for one of Jax’s clients. Tony was happy, making $500. He told her to be nice.

  Darla flipped on the lights and dropped a plastic drugstore bag on the bed. “You need to hit the shower and wash your hair. I bought hair dye.”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “It’s fine, but the client likes dark hair.”

  “Most of Tony’s clients like blondes.”

  Darla shoved her hard toward the bathroom. “Get in the damn shower.”

  Cassie took a step but stopped. “You promised me a taste.”

  Darla rustled in the bag for the box of hair dye. “Get cleaned up first. Then I’ll give you a little treat.”

  Cassie didn’t like Darla. The woman was all smiles to the clients, but Vicky said more than once she could be meaner than a snake. “I want my taste now.”

  Darla lifted her darkening gaze. She fished a knife from her pocket and crossed the room in a split second. The knife pressed against Cassie’s neck, pricking the delicate skin until it bled. “Get in the shower.”

  Cassie backed up a step, knowing the woman was crazy enough to slice her throat from ear to ear. “Okay.”

  She turned on the shower and washed the sweat, dirt, and stench of men from her body. It had been days since she’d taken a hot shower. God, it felt good.

  A fist pounding against wood startled her. “Get out of there now. I need to color your hair.”

  Cassie shut off the water and grabbed a couple of towels. One she wrapped around her body and the other, her hair. She stepped out and Darla stood by the sink, gloves on her hands and the foam hair dye at the ready.

  The coloring took a half hour, and the next time Cassie looked in the mirror her hair was dark. The darker shade made her look sickly. She didn’t recognize herself.

  Darla stared at her, smiling. She fisted a few pills from her pocket and handed them to Cassie. “Here’s your treat.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Oxy.”

  Cassie swallowed the pills and soon her worries faded. She slipped on a yellow dress and a pair of high heels. As she moved around the room, she twirled. She felt like she could do anything. Hell, even the colors looked brighter. For the first time in weeks, she was happy.

  Darla hovered by the window peering out, taking a big pull from her cigarette. When the john’s car pulled up, she stepped back and put out her cigarette. She moistened her lips and opened the door to a tall man wearing a real nice suit. Three gold rings winked from his thick fingers. The letters embossed on his neatly starched shirt cuffs told everyone he had class.

  Darla pulled Cassie forward by her elbow. “Smile.”

  Running her tongue over her teeth, Cassie flipped her hair out of her eyes. She smiled like Tony had told her. “You want a date?”

  The man studied her closely. “Run your hands through your hair.”

  “My hair?”

  “It’s dark, like you requested,” Darla said. “Show him your hair.”

  With trembling fingers, Cassie carefully brushed her dark hair over her shoulder. “You like it?”

  More silence, and then, “It’ll do.”

  “I want five hundred more,” Darla said. “Cost me money to get her ready.”

  “We agreed on one grand.”

  Darla didn’t flinch. “Five hundred more.”

  The man hesitated, then reached in his pocket and peeled off five one-hundred-dollar bills. He handed them to Darla, squeezing her hand when she reached for the money. “For twenty-four hours,” the man said. “And if you go to the cops, you’re dead.”

  Cassie looked at Darla. “You said an hour.”

  Darla gently brushed the wisps of hair from Cassie’s eyes like she was sending off her daughter to the prom. “It’ll be the best twenty-four hours of your life. All champagne and caviar.”

  She’d never eaten caviar and didn’t want to try it. She wanted a hit. Twenty-four hours. “Yeah, sure.”

  He took Cassie by the elbow and led her to a dark, shiny car with tinted windows. He opened the front passenger-side door for her, and she slid onto the soft leather seats. When he closed the door, she flinched. Seconds afterward, the locks fastened with finality.

  Her stomach churned as she became aware of the faint scent of aftershave mingling with cinnamon. An odd combination, she thought as he drove, in no rush. A glance in the side mirror caught Darla standing by the open motel room door, shoving the money in her pocket and turning away as if she’d forgotten all about Cassie.

  The girl squirmed. A bad feeling knotted in the pit of her stomach. “Where are we going?”

  “To a party.”

  “A party?” She tamped down the rising panic. She’d been to a lot of parties. “You have a name?”

  He tapped a ringed index finger on the steering wheel. “Lenny.”

  “Lenny. That’s a nice name.” Sometimes the johns were nicer if you used their names. “I’m Cassie, Lenny.”

  “Cassie.”

  The lights of the city began to move faster and faster past the window as the car picked up speed, heading out of town. “Where’s this party?”

  “In a private place.”

  She hitched her chin up a notch. “You paid Darla for twenty-four hours. That includes transport.” Always good to watch the time carefully. Johns were always trying to squeeze a little extra for free.

  “We aren’t going far, Cassie.”

  She shifted in her seat, her fingers absently running over the door handle.

  “It’s a nice place,” he added. “You’ll like it.”

  The good thing about a cheap motel was that there were lots of people who could hear her scream if necessary. But where they were going, Cassie wouldn’t be heard. Oh shit, this can’t be good.

  Riley arrived home to the shower running and the radio in Hanna’s room blaring.

  “Hanna, you need to hurry. We have to get to school. The bus leaves in an hour.”

  “I’m almost ready,” she shouted back.

  Riley retrieved the DVD from her room and shoved it deep in her purse just as Hanna came out of the bedroom hauling a large suitcase.

  “I might have packed too much,” Hanna said.

  “Don’t worry about it. Better to have too much than not enough.” She checked her watch. “Ready?”

  “Yeah. You look tense. You okay?”

  “It’s the case. Sorry.”

  “You’ll solve it. You’re good at that kind of thing.”

  Was she? “Thanks.”

  Hanna opened her bag to double-check a few items. “What was in the package that came yesterday?”

  Riley’s breath stilled. “Nothing important.”

  “You looked a little upset.”

  “I wasn’t upset.”

  Hanna shook her head. “Bull.”

  “I wasn’t upset. And there was nothing that important in the package.” Truly, at this point she liked the idea of Hanna leaving for a few days and being away from all of this. Whoever was out there knew about Hanna.

  “All packed and ready to go.”

  As they moved to the car, Riley asked, “Tell me again, when does the bus arrive in Atlanta?”

  Hanna rolled her eyes. “We’ve been through this a million times.”

  “Try a million and one.”

  “It’s a twelve-hour drive. We arrive after dinner. Check into the hotel and then our meet starts the next day.” Hanna dumped her bag in the backseat.

  “You’re going to have fun.” She dug in her back pocket and handed Hanna $200 in cash. “Take this.”

  “I have money.”

  “I know. It’s in case of emergency or if you see something fun.”

  Hanna glanced at the money as if she didn’t feel she deserved it. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I know. I want to. This is going to be a good time for you, and I don’t want you counting pennies.”

  Hanna hugged Riley. “You’re the best.”

>   Riley held her tight. “Be careful.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sunday, September 18, 10:45 a.m.

  Riley drove deeper into the countryside, barely noticing the clear sky. On a good day she admired the gently rolling land and the lush green fields. But today, as she traveled into the country toward Bowman’s house, the remoteness reminded her of vulnerability and isolation.

  She found twin brick pillars that marked a driveway cut into a stand of old oaks. She made her way under the canopy of thick trees, which opened to a field with an old plantation-style home in the center.

  She double-checked her address, trying to reconcile the man with the house. Out of the SUV, she leashed Cooper and he climbed out. They climbed the wide front steps and crossed the ten-foot-deep front porch. To her left and right were stacks of drywall.

  When she raised her hand to knock, she heard determined footsteps moving toward the door. He knew she was here, but she knocked anyway. The door snapped open to Bowman. He’d changed out of his suit and now wore a clean white shirt and pants, but no tie.

  He studied the dog and then rubbed him behind the ear. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

  “No. GPS did the trick. Kinda off the main road, aren’t you?”

  “Never had a chance to put down roots and now that I do, I’m going for it.” He stepped aside so she could enter.

  “Looks like you bought some real history. Let’s hope it isn’t a money pit.”

  “I think of this as a challenge.”

  “Your carpentry skills on par with your tracking skills?”

  A massive banister curled at the base of a sweeping staircase. Over the foyer hung a large lantern-style fixture, more quaint than functional. It cast a light onto the hallway that ran through the center of the house separating the two rooms on the east side from the two on the west. The room on her right was set up like an office, but judging by the boxes, he’d done little unpacking.

  “Impressive,” she said.

  “Go big or go home.”

  “Right.”

  “Come on back to the kitchen. I’ve coffee and bagels.”

  “You’re okay with the dog?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks. Coffee sounds great.”

  “You don’t eat?”

  “Not when I’m wound up.”