The Steele Collection Books 1-3: Sarah Steele Legal Thrillers

by Aaron Patterson

  “Here it comes.” I started paddling toward the shore. As the water rose, I got to my knees, stood, and caught the front side. Picking up speed, I kept my knees bent to adjust. I turned to match the angle of the curve and saw Mandy stand, then slip and fall. I choked on a laugh.

  Shifting my weight, I leaned to the inside and wind blew my hair behind me. It was crazy fun. For a moment I forgot all about Solomon and the Blondes. The top of the wave broke around me and I kept my edge. The wave flattened out and I went to my knees, then turned to find Mandy. She tried to paddle to shore, but she kept getting swept away from land. I should have put her on a leash.

  I headed toward the beach, reached it, and stuck my board in the sand as if I was conquering the land.

  It was beautiful out and I was hungry. Mandy wanted to go for a hike up to the famous statue Cristo Redentor later, and I needed some calories. Digging through my beach bag, all I found was a hard candy. It would have to do.

  Mandy was still pretty far from shore, so I flopped onto my huge, cushiony beach towel and the sand molded underneath me like a bed. Starting at my shoulders, I consciously relaxed all my muscles, melting into the fabric. The sun kissed my cheeks, warming them. I vaguely heard the sound of seagulls and children’s play, but it didn’t sink in. I concentrated on … nothing.

  But then a thought blew in and splattered in my mind like unruly paint. It had been niggling in there since I’d heard what the Blondes did to Tanya, and now it saturated my peaceful rest. I tried to shut it down, tried to think back to nothing, but the thought was there and wouldn’t leave.

  The Blondes deserved justice.

  And I should give it to them.

  Unbidden plans of how I could track them down came to mind. Flashes of surprising them in their lair, disarming them, and then … I closed my eyes against the violence. That wasn’t me. I had to put that side to rest.

  But my peace had been shattered. I couldn’t stay still any longer or the thoughts would return. I sat up, shading my eyes against the sun, and saw Mandy still paddling her way to the shore. Very awkwardly, I might add.

  My phone beeped. Eager for the distraction, I picked it up, thinking it might be Eddie or Solomon. It was Joshua, my intern in Boise.

  “Hello,” I said brightly.

  “Hi, Sarah,” he said, and I could hear the smile behind his voice. Joshua was three hundred pounds of pure Samoan muscles. He could probably wrestle a great white shark and win. And he was one of the most trustworthy, dedicated people I’d ever worked with. He kept me focused on my tasks. It was good to have him in my corner.

  “I found something for you,” he said in his gentle voice.

  “That’s what I like to hear. Get results or you get the road,” I said in a mock gruff voice.

  “You couldn’t find your car in the parking lot without me.”

  “Yeah, yeah—I want you, I need you, and all that jazz. What’s the information?”

  “Eddie Lofton. He won in a landslide against Rob Pearlman, who’s run against him every election since then and really wants his seat back. But the people love Eddie, and it looks like he does right by them. He’s never associated with any corporation, or even unions. He gives out his number on his website and takes calls from anyone. He listens to the voice of the people, and apparently acts on it.”

  “That’s the fairy tale. What’s the reality?”

  Joshua paused. “At first I didn’t find any big bad wolf, but after some stalwart digging into his past and a call or two to his office, I found that the next two bills he’s pushing are regarding green energy. And they greatly favor a certain type of energy that only one company possesses.”

  “What company?”

  “Williams, Inc.”

  My stomach dropped. Based in Boise, they were one of the most powerful energy companies in the country. I’d recently gotten really friendly with them when I was in charge of prosecuting their owner, Hank Williams, for kidnapping, rape, and murder. His daughter, Hannah Williams, now ran the company. And from the times we’d talked, I’d gotten the impression she was just as ruthless as Williams. In a less-bloody, more white-collar kind of way.

  “Is Eddie golfing buddies with anyone at Williams?”

  “Nope. If he has a connection with Williams, nobody’s seen it. However…” his voice lit up, “his wife, may she rest in peace, was suing Williams Inc. for three different violations of health and environment code. She blogged about the unjust way they treat their employees, posted pictures of the harm they did to a camp in South America, and in an interview, she even said her life mission was to shut them down.”

  That was very interesting. Williams, Inc. had a lot to gain by Tanya’s death. No one else in her small office would probably pick the case back up.

  “That’s good,” I murmured. “Remind me to get you a raise.”

  “And dental?”

  “Don't push it,” I said.

  “Hey, hurry home. I don’t like being here in the office without you. I’m afraid of lawyers.”

  “Lawyers are jerks,” I said. “Watch your back.”

  “You got it.”

  I hung up, thoughtful, sifting through the information Joshua had given me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mandy approach.

  “I hate you.” Mandy dragged her board up, looking exhausted.

  “I know. At least I got a picture of you upright. Don’t worry—you can’t be good at everything. I suck at computer-hacking stuff, and you’re a wizard at it.”

  Mandy dropped down next to me and closed her eyes. We dozed off and on … or, more accurately, I pretended to doze off and on.

  Then Mandy shocked me by saying, “Do you think they suffered?”

  Sitting up, I turned to her. “Who?”

  “The ladies they killed. I mean, the file said Mrs. Lofton had been assaulted.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I looked at the report.”

  “You hacked the FBI database?”

  “No, stupid. I’m not a real magician, nor do I want to be a felon. I accidentally logged into Eddie’s email, as he was connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi. Then I accidently saw a report the police had sent him to answer his questions. It said that Nancy had a burn mark on her arm and her face was battered. And it said Tanya had multiple contusions on her body and face, plus a fractured arm.”

  I imagined for a second what the victims went through, and was pulled away from reality. I didn’t feel the sun on my back or the wind on my cheeks anymore. “Someone’s behind all this. I wonder if the leader has been corrupted by an outsider.” Then I told her what Joshua had discovered.

  Mandy ran a hand through her hair. “I really wanted to just chill, be on vacation, but I can’t get them out of my head. I close my eyes and see their bodies …”

  That was normal. When I closed my eyes, I saw the Blondes’ bodies. Which made me a psycho freak.

  Mandy said seriously, “So, can we sneak out, lie to our parents, and get into trouble?”

  “That about sums it up. And when you say ‘parents,’ I assume you’re talking about Solomon.”

  “Okay, just let me tan for an hour first. I need to get a good one so when we go back home, I can make everyone jealous.”

  “You’ve got to sort out your priorities.”

  “HEY, MARCO.” I WALKED up to him and held out a hundred-dollar bill. “Want to do some driving for me?”

  He put his hands up, not accepting the bill. “I’d drive you around for free, Miss Steele. For free. I want to take a beautiful woman to see my beautiful country.”

  “How about a beautiful place to shop?” I laughed and handed him the address.

  “Let me call my replacement. We can go straightaway.”

  I’d left Mandy in the room, deep in her hacking mode. We could get more done if we split up. I’d given her Eddie’s bank login info and she’d run with it, trying to find out where Mrs. Lofton’s money went.

  Marco returned, driving an old Vo
lkswagen. He was ecstatic to be showing me around and chatted almost nonstop about the history of Rio. His story of the past sucked me in, and before I realized it, we’d circled the main road twice.

  I tried to politely butt in, but after five minutes went by and he still hadn’t taken a breath, I raised my voice and said, “You’re a delightful tour guide, but I really need to get to the address I gave you.”

  “Ah, right, right, Miss Steele.” When he took another look at the address, his face fell. “Are you sure you want to go here? It is bad part of town, the favelas. You know this word favelas, Miss Steele?”

  “The slums. I should be fine—I have you to protect me.”

  Marco beamed. “I will keep you safe—just stay with me. I was a boxer when I was young and agile.” He clenched his fist.

  I spotted a Starbucks up on the right and about had a heart attack. “Can we stop, Marco? I need a Starbucks like no other.”

  “Ah, yes. You American ladies love the Starbucks.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  Marco pulled up to park. It was the only American-looking place I’d seen in a mile or so. We were getting away from the tourist part of town and into the real Rio.

  “Do you want anything, Marco?”

  “No, Miss Steele. I’m not a Starbucks girl.” He laughed. “I like my coffee clean and fresh. Starbucks tastes like burnt motor oil.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that,” I said, fairly bursting from the car when he stopped.

  The place was packed with locals. I thought I was dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, but I looked different, very American. This was a problem because I needed to get around without being remembered.

  Back in the car, I sipped my black-and-white mocha—they didn’t have coconut, much to my annoyance—and Marco looked in the rearview mirror at me.

  “What do I look like to you, Marco?”

  “Like a pretty American girl.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “We go now, back to hotel, yes?”

  I shook my head. “I need to go to this address.” I held up my phone again. It was zoomed in on the address printed on the receipt. “Here.”

  “Yes, but I don’t like it. Place is bad. Not a place for a pretty girl like you.”

  “I thought you were going to protect me, Marco.”

  Marco sighed. “Okay, but you should be careful. Don’t stay long.”

  I agreed, and he pulled away from the curb. I had to follow my gut, and it said that the only way I would find the blonde girl again was to track her. I had one lead and I was going to take it.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Eddie. I’m at the airport. Goodbye. Thank you for everything. If you need anything in the future, you have my #.

  I texted back. Likewise.

  It feels wrong to leave, but I have to. It’s too hard to stay when the killers are still on the loose.

  I sighed and then answered, not knowing if it was a lie. They’ll be caught. In the meantime, catch some peace.

  I will.

  But I knew what it was like to lose a loved one to violence. I knew it would be a long journey before Eddie found any peace.

  THE SIGHTS CHANGED DRASTICALLY the farther we went.

  The slums, or favelas, were like a town within the main city. Scattered all over in clumps, housing a hundred thousand people to upwards of a quarter million. Shanties, sometimes stacked five high, twisted up the forested hill in what looked like a stack of Legos.

  The streets by the hotel had been perfectly swept. Here it was dusty and littered with rank garbage. But it wasn’t all bad—music wafted in the air as if it had a life of its own. I’d been told that if I really wanted to learn how to dance, I could learn here. Most parts were safe enough, but other parts were controlled by gangs and drug lords.

  Narrow streets made it hard to get around, not to mention the constant pedestrian traffic that crowded the roadway. Marco grumbled, pulled into a short alley, and parked. “The store is up there a block.” Getting out, he walked around to my door and opened it for me.

  “Wait, aren’t you coming with me?” I hoped he would translate if need be.

  “No, no, Miss Steele. You leave a car like this in the open for five minutes and the tires and radio will be gone before you return. I stay with the car, Miss Steele. You go do your shopping.”

  I could protect myself, but the language barrier worried me.

  “I will stand here and keep my eye on you. One hour and I come looking for you.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  Under Marco’s watchful eye, I wandered down the street and looked at each vendor along the way. Fresh fruits and veggies were laid out for sale. Shoes, handbags, and the normal open-market knickknacks were displayed for the casual shopper.

  Some of the storefronts were well kept and even had painted windows announcing sales. Others were ransacked and gutted and in need of a good burning.

  I avoided talking to anyone and soon found the store I was looking for. MaxxaM & Co. It was one of the nicer ones on the street. I pushed open the door and met a whoosh of air from a hard-working air conditioner.

  Racks lined each wall, and benches faced rows of shoes. Mandy would have loved the shoes—all spiky stilettos or strappy platforms. They looked more like torture devices than anything I would want to wear.

  I’d blend in a lot better wearing these clothes. I might as well get what I needed. On one of the bottom racks I found wide-soled skater shoes. They were black with pink camo details. Ghastly. But they’d do the trick. Then I flipped through the clothes in the racks until I came to a gray zippered sleeveless hoodie, with “I take what I want” written in silver glitter on the back. After grabbing some skinny black pants with metal studs lining the hem, my outfit was complete.

  Then I went up to the register to talk to one of the only people who could identify the Blondes.

  THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN at the cash register reminded me of my grandmother, which brought a bad taste to my mouth. She had silver hair pulled up in a bun and wrinkles so deep her face looked like a carving. I gave her the receipt and asked if she remembered who’d bought the listed items.

  “Well, let me see now. I’m not sure I remember who bought what. I do get a lot of people through here everyday.”

  “She would’ve been blonde, using a credit card.”

  “I’ve travelled all over the world, but this is my home and I ended up here after getting married. Are you married, dear?”

  “No, I’m not married.” Not even close.

  “A sweet girl like you deserves a nice young man.”

  I wanted to bring her back to the reason I was here. “So, this blonde girl. I really need to find her.”

  Looking over her glasses at me, the older woman lowered her voice. “I will tell you, dear, that around here you won’t get any help. We don't like talking to strangers. Especially about anyone blonde.”

  I took her meaning, but I wasn’t about to let up. “They’re killing people.”

  “Oh, come now. That can’t be them—the police are lazy and want to pin it on someone. I haven’t seen any blondes come through here. None at all.”

  I just stared at her. I tried to widen my eyes and look sad.

  She glanced up and then back down. Then she spoke as if she were spilling a secret. “The Blondes give back to the people. Sure, they steal. But the money goes to help our schools and orphanages. They’re not hurting anyone.”

  “Yeah, they’re modern-day Zorros. Except Zorro never killed innocent women, did he?”

  Her eyebrows lowered in confusion. “I’m warning you, if you ask around, you won’t get what you want, and you may get a few things you didn’t ask for.”

  I sighed in frustration. “So, you do remember the girl and just won’t tell me, or you really can’t remember?”

  “A little of both, dear.”

  My only clue was coming to nothing. Looked like buying a loyal crowd was better security than buying
the best technology on the market. How would I catch them before they killed again?

  LEAVING THE STORE, I looked down the street for Marco. He was sitting on the back of the car talking on his phone. I texted Mandy and told her this trip was a dead end. I hoped she was getting better results.

  I’d only burned thirty minutes. I wanted to walk around a little more and get a feel for the Blondes’ territory.

  I carried my new clothes in my bag, and because of all the stares I was getting, I wished I’d changed. A flower stall caught my eye and I went up to it. Half the blooms arranged in bouquets I didn’t recognize—the supermarket at home never had these. I inhaled the scent of my favorites and asked the vendor their names. With a smile, he gave me a thin little white flower. “It is luck,” he said. I put it behind my ear. I’d take all the luck I could get.

  “Obrigado,” I murmured thanks.

  Four girls played double Dutch in an apartment alley that smelled like grease and rotting food. Despite the smell, I had to stop and watch. They did twists and flips and moves like I’d never seen. When they saw the small crowd growing, they perked up and put an extra spark into their routine, outdoing themselves. When they finished the song, I clapped. They giggled and nodded, giving each other knuckle bumps.

  I wandered deeper down the street, taking in the sights and smells. Most people kept their homes and porches neat and swept, and there was lively conversation from window to window. It didn’t look dangerous—it looked like home. Until I heard a low voice behind me. Then all the good feelings were gone.

  “Ei o gatinha, you lost?” I turned slowly, as if unconcerned, and faced a tall black man. He had a red bandana on his head and a dark sweat-stained V-neck.

  “No, just shopping. Do you know where I can find a good set of sandals?” I felt the tiny hairs on my arms stand up and my heart pounded in my ears.