Evil Without a Face (Sweet Justice)

by Jordan Dane

  Payton tightened his jaw and pulled his hand away.

  “You’re mad because I held out on you,” she said. “I know how this must sound, but—”

  He jumped in, not letting her finish.

  “I’m not mad, I just…don’t know what to think.” He shoved back from the table and slouched in his chair, staring at his plate of half-eaten Tex Mex. “If you’re right, what the hell am I going to tell Susannah?”

  “You see? That’s why I didn’t say anything before now…until I was…”

  “Sure? Until you were sure? Is that what you were going to say?” He shook his head and didn’t wait for her to reply. “Are you still trying to convince yourself…or me?”

  Now he did sound angry, his tone infused with frustration.

  “We’ve got nothing to go on, Jessie. If she’s out there, still alive, how are we going to find her?” He stared off across the patio and muttered under his breath, “How are we going to find Nikki?”

  A million-dollar question—a question for which she had no answer. And by the look on his face, Payton knew it too. Her theory on the blond woman was pure speculation. And yet, without any bodies being recovered from the destroyed factory, they had nothing more substantial to cast a doubt on her rationale.

  “Sam told me the FBI is looking into the case. They may have jurisdiction. They’re analyzing the report I took—”

  He interrupted her.

  “May have jurisdiction?” He threw up his hands and leaned back in his chair. “While everyone is playing by the rules, in the meantime Nikki’s trail is getting colder. And why would the FBI care about one kid…a kid who has a history of running away from home?”

  Aware he had spoken too loud and had drawn attention, he lowered his voice.

  “This isn’t right, Jessie.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’ve got Seth running his own analysis of those pages.” When Payton rolled his eyes, she leaned her elbows on the table and continued, “The FBI is not going to share what they find out, unless they have a solid lead. Even if you are family. Hell, they may not even take the case. As far as I’m concerned, nothing much has changed. We’re on our own, just like before.”

  Payton clenched his jaw and stared across the parking lot. She hadn’t connected with him.

  “Look, you came here looking for Nikki. She could still be in the area. If Sam hasn’t found any bodies at the debris, there’s a possibility the Russian took her. He must’ve gotten out like the others. When my head cleared enough, I remembered there was a tunnel out the back. I didn’t see where it led, but it was there. Maybe Nikki’s trail isn’t so cold after all.”

  Now she had his full attention. He sat up in his chair and propped his elbows on the table, same as her.

  “God, you’re right,” he said. Those gorgeous blue eyes had a spark of fire to them.

  “Yeah. Occasionally, it’s been known to happen.” She nodded. “I’ve been thinking about this…a lot. A couple of days in a hospital bed will do that.”

  Before she threw out more of her theories, her cell phone rang. She recognized the number.

  “I gotta take this. It’s Seth.” She couldn’t help but smile at Payton. Hope had finally settled on his face.

  Plus, she’d come to trust her quirky but genius sidekick, Seth Harper. If the kid already had a lead, she could add good timing to his list of excellent qualities.

  “Hey, Harper. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Jess. I just called to tell you the blue monster is yours, at least until you get a new car or settle with your insurance company.”

  What he said didn’t register at first.

  “Excuse me?” she questioned, but he didn’t stop talking long enough to hear her question.

  “I already made arrangements for a loaner—from a friend. So you don’t have to worry about me. I parked my van at your apartment, in the visitor’s section out front. And I left a spare key in an envelope, marked with your name. Your apartment manager said she’d see that you got it.”

  “Gosh, thanks, Seth. You didn’t have to do that, but thanks.” She smiled at Payton. He looked anxious, waiting to hear what Harper would report. “How’s that research coming?”

  Silence. Seth didn’t answer right away, and when he finally did, he preceded his reply with a heavy sigh. Jess forced a grin for Payton’s benefit and waited for the bad news.

  “Not very well. I’ve got nothing. I think there’s a pattern that’s jumbled on the page, but that only implies an infinite number of possible combos. And I don’t have the technology to run all the iterations. I’m not sure where to go from here, but I’m still trying.”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded, trying to reassure Payton. “Well, stick with it, Seth. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have working on this. I’ll call you later.”

  “Did you hear me? I’ve got squat. Nada. Zilch.” She hung up on Seth as the kid strolled down his mental slang dictionary.

  “What did he say?” Payton asked.

  She pursed her lips, then replied without thinking, “He’s on it. He might have something soon. I’ll call you when I hear.”

  “You better.” He reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “What you said is beginning to make sense. I want us to work together to find Nikki. And money is no object. I’ll do whatever it takes to find her. Are you okay with taking on a rookie?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay with that.” She nodded. “I want to help you find Nikki.”

  As Payton gave her his cell phone number and jotted down his hotel information on a napkin, she pondered what Seth had told her. Payton didn’t need another dose of harsh reality. And stretching the truth into the realm of wishful thinking wasn’t really a lie, was it? She’d finally gotten him to consider her theory of the mysterious blonde and what it all meant. She couldn’t see dashing his hopes now…for nothing.

  Besides, if she knew Seth—she ignored the fact that she really didn’t—the kid would come up with something soon.

  He had to.

  After 1:00 A.M.

  In the wee hours of the morning, Jess awoke in her bed, still wearing her jeans and black T-shirt. Something must have tugged at the periphery of her mind, perhaps a nugget of guilt after her late lunch with Payton. Trying to rebound from a nagging headache, she had taken Advil, hit the sack plenty hard, and hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but she supposed she must have. When she opened her eyes, all she saw was a darkened room—an all too familiar one.

  Her apartment. Her bed. Her life.

  Yet she did remember one thing that had lingered. Thoughts of Nikki and Payton had bombarded her, filtering through the violent images of her past to become a jumble of fear and regrets. And a strange haunting melody had played in the background. A song she couldn’t quite name. She lay in the dark and listened to a sultry blues song until a peculiar notion bubbled to the surface and struck her with the force of a harsh slap.

  If she was awake now—why did she still hear the music?

  Her eyes grew wide. Holding her breath, Jess lifted her head off the pillow and searched the dark for shadows that moved, listening as the inky black of her apartment closed in on her. She now knew one other thing with certainty.

  The haunting music came from her living room. And she wasn’t dreaming.

  CHAPTER 23

  Jess reached toward her nightstand for her gun, but before she slid the drawer open, she remembered that the Russian had taken her Colt Python, the night all hell broke loose. And Baker had stolen her Glock 21, a backup gun she’d kept at home.

  Damn it! She peered down the dark hallway, toward her living room. Only a smattering of lights from outside bled through the blinds. Most of her apartment heaved with shadows that played tricks on her eyes.

  And the music played. Since Baker had destroyed her stereo, where was the music coming from? Without a gun, it was time for plan B.

  She dropped to her knees and fumbled under her bed for the handle of a baseball bat she kept for
emergencies. Her fingers groped for the makeshift weapon while she kept her eyes targeted down the hall, searching for any signs of an intruder. After finding the bat, she got to her feet, trying not to make a sound or hit a squeaky floorboard. The music might cover the noise, but no sense in telegraphing her moves.

  She clenched the bat and crept down the hall, her eyes alert to any sudden movement. Adrenaline raced through her veins, scurrying a rash of goose bumps across her skin. She tightened her grip, ready to swing at anything that moved.

  As she neared the living room, the music grew louder and she finally recognized the source. Flashes of red clued her in and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  An old clock radio that had survived Baker’s terror was the source. Its red digital numbers were flashing, a throbbing pulse begging for attention. Obviously she hadn’t noticed it when she got home. There must have been a power outage while she was away and the clock triggered an old wakeup call.

  She took a deep breath to slow her heart, but as she moved to turn off the radio, a voice from across the room stopped her dead.

  “I wanted your attention. Thanks for obliging.”

  Jess had her back to the intruder. She gripped the bat in her hand, unsure what her next move might be, until she heard, “Turn around…slowly.” She did as she was told.

  Her uninvited guest sat in a chair across the room. The woman’s blond hair shimmered white in the pale light coming from a nearby window. Most of her body and her face was hidden by murky shadow. Jess had no doubt her intruder orchestrated their encounter, right down to her silhouette.

  “I could have shot you,” she said, pretending not to be rattled.

  “With your baseball bat?”

  “I could’ve had a gun.”

  “Granted, I took a calculated risk, but you walking out of the bedroom with a bat told me all I needed to know.” The blonde moved her head, a subtle shift. “Besides, I searched your apartment while you were in the hospital. I had to be sure you didn’t have another gun lying around. A real shame you lost the Colt Python.”

  She didn’t exactly lose the Colt, but the blonde’s reminder of the other night triggered a smoldering outrage. She was beginning to think her place had a revolving door on it—first Baker and now this Paris Hilton knockoff. Having her personal space violated again really pissed her off, but she tried to maintain her composure.

  “And if I came out from my bedroom carrying a gun, what would you have done?”

  “I’d say…it was a good thing neither of us had to find out,” the woman said.

  Jess lowered her bat but didn’t let go. If the woman held a gun on her, the bat would be useless. She took a chance that anyone who would save her life one day wouldn’t likely take it the next—at least, not a rational person.

  She hoped she’d guessed right.

  “If you searched my place beforehand, why didn’t you take my bat too?”

  “A girl’s got to accessorize,” the stranger replied. Jess heard the smile in the woman’s voice. “Call it my show of good faith.”

  “I have an urge to thank you for saving my life, but this whole breaking and entering thing makes my memory a little fuzzy. Why are you here?”

  “We need to talk. You mind hitting the lights and killing the music? I can only take so much cloak and dagger.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  Jess moved toward the nearest light switch and flicked it on. Her eyes adjusted to the light but never strayed from the stranger. Dressed in black, the flaxen blonde was striking. Yet her face had real character—an Uma Thurman type of natural beauty. Her Nordic pale skin and high cheekbones lent elegance to her full lips and an aquiline nose with flared nostrils. Isolated, each feature might not be appealing on its own, but the aggregate was stunning.

  The woman’s ice blue eyes looked almost gray from a distance—eyes that she imagined could easily switch between good humor and deadly intent. Sprawled in her chair, the blonde appeared tall and athletic, someone who might have played sports at an Ivy League college.

  Jess realized that she was nearly the polar opposite. No one would ever describe her as elegant. Yet when confronted by the blonde’s intimidating feminine presence, she took pride in the image she’d cultivated over the years—a pit bull on steroids with its hackles up. In her line of work, scrappy with a flair for junkyard mean trumped elegance any day of the week.

  “You invade my home and now you want to chat?” Jess grabbed a chair from her kitchen table and straddled it with the seatback flipped. She leaned her elbows on the seatback and continued to play with her bat, an almost threatening gesture if she hadn’t added a contradictory smile. “You better talk fast and keep me interested. I get real grumpy when someone interrupts my beauty sleep.”

  Alexa narrowed her eyes. The bounty hunter scowled from across the room, toying with that worn baseball bat. A nasty scar over Jessica Beckett’s eyebrow matched the sinister glare from her dark eyes. Beckett sat on a chair, but clearly looked prepared to fight if she gave her provocation. Seeing the impulsive woman alive and kicking—ready to lay wood upside her head—forced Alexa to back off on her air of superiority. This woman meant business and was dangerous when cornered. If she wanted to gain Beckett’s trust, she had to share a little truth.

  But how much would she tell her? Too much and the bounty hunter would want in. Too little and the woman would show her the door.

  “My name is Alexa Marlowe. I have a similar interest in Globe Harvest. They are an abomination and must be stopped.”

  The bounty hunter furrowed her brow. “You’ve got my attention. Go on.”

  “As you know, I was there at the textile factory. I pulled you out of the control room.”

  “But you left me. I don’t call that very friendly.”

  “I would’ve taken you with me, but when I heard your friends coming, I called out to them. I made sure they found you.”

  “And if they hadn’t come along?”

  “Like I said, I would’ve brought you with me. But in hindsight, that would’ve been a very big mistake.” Before Beckett gave her any lip, she made her point. “If I had done that, we’d both be dead.”

  When the bounty hunter flinched, Alexa shrugged. “As it was, I barely had enough time to escape through the tunnel. When the explosion ignited the propane fumes, it launched me like a human cannonball.” She cocked her head. “All things considered…I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “So you’re a Good Samaritan…with a penchant for circus tricks. Remind me to send you a Hallmark.”

  Alexa felt like she was fighting a head wind and not making progress. She had to connect with Jessica…now.

  “The Russian…his name is Stanislav Petrovin. And he flew out of Chicago using helicopters to God knows where. For the sake of the girls he still has, do you think we can dispense with the sarcasm?”

  Putting their situation in perspective had done the trick. Beckett’s expression melded into one of concern, a far cry from her venomous posturing only seconds before.

  “Did Petrovin take the girl who was with me—Nikki Archer?”

  The bounty hunter’s reaction surprised her. She seemed only concerned for one girl. Finally, the name Archer sunk in.

  “I didn’t see anyone with you. There was no one else in that control room by the time I got to you.” Alexa narrowed her eyes. “So that’s why you were with Payton Archer.” She hadn’t known any of the girls’ names before now. “What’s the girl’s relationship to Archer, besides sharing the same last name?”

  “Nikki is his niece. His sister’s only child. Payton isn’t exactly brimming over with relations either. She means the world to him.”

  “And what does she mean to you? I thought you were in this to take down Globe Harvest. Was I wrong?”

  Jess pondered the question, struck by the stark revelation about her shift in focus with this case. Her midnight caller had offered her real information about Petrovin and his organization, and her first
question had been about Nikki.

  What was wrong with her? Had Payton Archer swayed her that much?

  “I was concerned about the girl, but Globe Harvest is my main interest.” Jess made her face a blank slate. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  If the woman was right and Petrovin had flown out of Chicago, why was Alexa here? It made no sense. Jess knew that any resources she had were local and limited, with the emphasis on limited. What did she have that Alexa wanted badly enough to reveal herself?

  She didn’t have to wait for her answer.

  “You have documents taken from the control room. If properly analyzed, they could provide a next step, a way to track Globe Harvest.” Alexa leaned forward in her chair. “This organization doesn’t usually make that kind of mistake. What you have in your possession could make a big difference in my investigation.”

  Jess worked hard not to react to Alexa’s assertion about the documents. Copies of the pages were tucked in a drawer of her nightstand. She’d tossed them in there when she laid down to rest. How had this woman known about them? Had a cop leaked the information? And if so, whom had they told? Questions flooded her mind, but one loomed ahead of the rest.

  “You said you were conducting an investigation. Who do you work for?”

  The blonde hesitated an instant before replying, “I’m not at liberty to say, but I will tell you that the private alliance I work for specializes in tough jurisdictional cases involving criminal activities all over the world. Your work to stop Globe Harvest has given us a priceless opportunity to take them down, a piece at a time. But I’m asking for your cooperation to make that happen.”

  All she had to do was hand over the pages she’d taken from the control room and her part in this ugly case would be over. But could she trust this woman? Although Sam had the originals, Jess worried that if someone at CPD had tipped Alexa on the documents, those pages might be permanently out of her grasp. After all, evidence could be altered, or disappear and be destroyed for good.