by Debra Webb
He waited patiently as she took her time unbuttoning his shirt. She loved undressing him. Opening his shirt to glide her palms over all that ribbed muscle. Then pushing the crisp fabric over those wide, sculpted shoulders and down his muscled arms.
She loosened his belt and drew it from his trousers. With just a look she prompted him to take a seat on the end of the bed. Going on her knees, she removed his shoes and socks. He watched, excitement glittering more brightly in his eyes with every move she made. He liked that she took so much time with him.
Obeying her every subtle command, he stood while she dragged the trousers and briefs down his long, powerful legs. She kissed his left thigh near the bandage that protected his wound. The idea that it could have been so much worse tore at her heart.
For several seconds he visibly resisted his own desires so that she could admire his nude body. Lori loved how he fought so fiercely to please her that way. Then he took his turn. He loosened her snap and zipper and the short shorts dropped to the floor. She’d forgone underwear. This pleased him immensely. Then the tee was peeled off in one smooth move. His breath hitched as his palms glided over her bare breasts and down her rib cage. She moaned her pleasure, her body already burning for more of his touch.
By the time they fell onto the bed, they were tangled in each other’s arms and frantic to be joined.
Tonight he made love to her slowly. Maybe because of his injury or maybe just because he felt the need to savor each moment. She certainly did.
Afterward they lay together and Lori acknowledged something she had denied for months now.
She belonged in his arms this way. Needed it.
That was the scariest part of this relationship thing.
For now, that immense need was as much real estate as she was willing to give up where her heart was concerned.
He already owned way too much.
9
10:07 p.m.
DeShawn wasn’t buying this.
These fools had scared the good sense out of him last night. He glared at the four men seated around the table, their complete attention focused on Nina. Anger twisted around in his gut. He didn’t like the way they looked at her. He damned sure didn’t like the way they had busted into the motel room and dragged them out like hostages in a bad drug movie.
DeShawn glanced around the room. He’d had a bag over his head, so he wasn’t exactly sure where they were. An old run-down house with beat-up furnishings. He hadn’t heard any traffic noise outside when they arrived, so he was guessing they were somewhere out of the city. After they’d been dragged into the van last night the ride was a long one. At least it had felt long.
Nina laughed and he watched her. The ten o’clock news was on and something had obviously captured their attention. She said these guys were her friends. But he wasn’t so sure. More gangbangers. MS-13 for sure. Why did she call them friends if it was that life she was trying to get away from?
He could just imagine how scared his grandmother was. His grandfather, too. It made him sick to his stomach to think about it. But what could he do? If he tried to contact them, that could put them in danger. Besides, his cell phone had died two days ago.
He’d begged Nina to go to the police. But she kept saying the police couldn’t protect them. The man who wanted her dead would stop at nothing.
How was he supposed to help her? If the police couldn’t, how could he? He was just a fry cook at Captain D’s who was supposed to go to college next month.
Why were they still in Birmingham? If she wanted to escape, why weren’t they getting out of here? “What’re we doing?” he said out loud. DeShawn didn’t care what these fools thought.
After a pointed look from her, the four men, all Latinos, got up from the table and left the room. Nina settled her attention on DeShawn.
“Com’ere, baby, I got something I want you to see.” She gestured for him to come sit with her.
As he moved toward her, she dragged a chair closer so they could sit side by side at the table. She hugged him tight and kissed him hard on the mouth.
“You gotta see this.” She picked up the TV remote and hit the button to go back to the broadcast.
These guys might live in a dump but they had a serious electronic setup. This just got weirder and weirder. It wasn’t right. He knew it wasn’t. Deep in his belly he had a bad feeling.
Nina hit play and the Channel 6 reporter was giving an update on his case.
DeShawn’s stomach twisted into more knots. He felt like he needed to hurl. His grandparents and friends were seeing this. The reporter was talking about how unlikely it was that he was even still alive.
He looked away. “I don’t wanna see this.”
“Wait.” She tugged at his arm. “You’re gonna miss the important part.”
He didn’t want to but he looked anyway. Just because she asked. A photo of a blond woman flashed on the screen. The woman was chief somebody. DeShawn had never seen her before. Wait… maybe he’d seen her on the news when all those white girls went missing a week or two back.
“See that?” Nina enthused. “They got Deputy Chief Jess Harris looking for you.”
DeShawn shrugged. “So?” Right now the only thing he wanted to do was go home but he couldn’t tell her that. Nina would think he was a coward.
“She’s that FBI woman who found all those missing girls. She’s really important.” Nina tugged his face to hers and pressed her forehead against his. “She can help us. She can stop him.”
“How can she help us?” Just because the cop was important didn’t mean she would bother with their problems.
“You have to keep trusting me, Shawney. She can help us. Then we can have our lives back without running from him until the day we die.”
He hitched his head toward the door. “Did those guys tell you that?”
Fury flashed in her eyes. “No one had to tell me anything,” she snapped. “I know things. The only thing they’re going to do is help us.”
Now he’d made her mad. “Maybe you don’t need me anymore.” Maybe that was the problem. She had allies now. She was no longer by herself. Maybe she didn’t need DeShawn Simmons to protect her or to love her.
She pulled his mouth to hers. Kissed him until he gasped for air.
“I need you more than I have ever needed anyone,” she whispered against his panting lips. “I can’t do this without you.” She looked into his eyes. “Without you, I’ll never be free.”
She ripped open his jeans and went down on him right there with those other guys right outside. He groaned her name. Clawed at the table.
They were going to make it… together. Just like Nina promised.
10
Birmingham PD, Wednesday, July 28, 10:15 a.m.
The room was large enough to squeeze in a small conference table and a handful of desks. There was no private office for Jess but she’d had one of those for years at the bureau and knew firsthand that particular status symbol was overrated.
Filing cabinets and a case board lined one wall. Jess’s desk sat in front of a large window that extended the entire length of another wall. Having a good window was a perk that would never be overrated. The other four desks stood in pairs facing each other. She didn’t know how her team would feel about the arrangement but she had no problem with reorganizing.
For the next few days it would be just her and Harper and Cook since Hogan had agreed to release him. Cook had assumed surveillance detail on Jerome Frazier yesterday afternoon. Lori would be back on duty on Monday. Lieutenant Prescott would be working with the GTF until needed in SPU. The Simmons case continued to stir the community’s outrage, adding another layer to the already escalating gang problems. The sooner DeShawn Simmons could be found and the case closed, the sooner things would settle down.
Jess studied the timeline and facts Harper had chronicled on the case board for the Simmons investigation.
DeShawn Simmons, nineteen, no criminal record, no trouble of any sort
. According to Mr. Davis, his supervisor at Captain D’s, and the Parker High School guidance counselor, Simmons was a fine young man whose only fault was in trying too hard to help others. His minister had gotten Jess’s number from Mrs. Simmons and called to give his own recommendation in support of the young man. According to the minister, DeShawn was as good as it gets with young folks these days. He was the model for young black men on the rise to accomplishment in Birmingham’s community.
DeShawn’s caring nature and giving heart had landed him in serious trouble, Jess feared. Every minute that passed lessened the likelihood of finding him in one piece, much less alive. Like most organized gangs, MS-13 liked doing things big and loud when they had an example to set, so there was a good chance Simmons was still breathing at this point. When and where they dumped his body would make a very public statement about who ruled in this territory.
And, as Burnett predicted, the debate in the media was reaching a boiling point. The community wanted answers and they wanted action.
The question voiced most often by all the media outlets was whether DeShawn Simmons was getting the same treatment the missing white girls had gotten. Jess was determined he would.
Search teams worked day and night. Every division had someone focused on this case. Rewards for information regarding DeShawn and the still unidentified Latina called Nina had been offered.
“Still no idea who the girl he was helping is or what became of her?”
Harper paused and capped his Dry Erase marker. “I’ve had a couple of statements from those who live in the neighborhood suggesting she belonged to Salvadore Lopez, the primera palabra—the man in charge of the local MS-13 cliques.”
If that intel was on target, Simmons was in bigger trouble than she’d thought.
“We didn’t find anything useful at the house where she’d been hiding out,” Harper advised. “The blanket, pillow, and remnants of food Simmons had brought her were there, but no evidence to indicate how long she’d been hiding out there or under what circumstances she left the property. A couple of crime-scene guys lifted prints but we have no matches yet.” He tapped the list of family members and friends on the case board. “We got nothing new from all these interviews.”
Jess was all too aware of that. Despite having only gotten this case about thirty-six hours ago, she’d conducted many of those interviews herself. “Tell me about this Lopez character.” She leaned on the edge of her desk and considered the mug shot Harper had posted. “He has an interesting rap sheet?”
Harper nodded. “A long and colorful one. Age thirty.” He tapped the photo. “He’s second-generation MS-13. He was arrested in California for murder but another man came forward and confessed. Since the evidence was shaky, Lopez walked. Word was that the guy who made the confession was his segunda, his second-in-command. Things were getting a little hot for Lopez in LA, two strikes, so he came south about eighteen months ago to put Birmingham on the map of their Mexico-to-New York corridor.”
“What’s Captain Allen’s take on Lopez?” Jess couldn’t see a good ending to this. There was nothing even remotely good about anyone involved with MS-13.
“Keep in mind that Allen won’t lay this on Lopez without confirmation. His contacts are maintaining they know nothing about Simmons’s disappearance. As for Lopez, Captain Allen called him ruthless,” Harper confirmed. “Back in LA his father, Leonardo Lopez, is like the messiah. If the Mexican cartel or anyone else wants someone dead, they call Lopez senior. Assassinations, human trafficking, drugs, gunrunning. Daddy does it all. Junior’s job is to live up to his father’s expectations.”
“How has he fared since coming south?”
“That’s where things really get interesting,” Harper promised. “Captain Allen says the crime rate here has gone up exponentially since Lopez arrived. Half the African American homicides in the city can be attributed to Lopez’s people or their activities. Hangings, decapitations, the more grisly the killing the better they seem to like it.” He viewed the data he had documented on the board, then turned to Jess. “With all due respect, ma’am, based on what I’ve learned so far, I’d have to say DeShawn Simmons is a goner.”
“I can see how you would come to that conclusion, Sergeant.” She pushed away from her desk and studied the case board. “The one variable is whether or not Lopez has the girl, too.” Jess moved closer to study the mug shots of Salvadore Lopez. He might have been a reasonably attractive man if not for all the tattoos and the shaved head. But, like most gangbangers, being marked was a part of the life. A rite of passage. “If Lopez has the girl, why not kill Simmons right off the bat and leave him for us to find? Why keep him for two or three days with no public demonstration of his sovereignty?”
“If she’s still missing, there’s no chatter on the street.”
Jess braced one arm across her waist, propped the elbow of the other there, and tapped her chin. “There wouldn’t be. Only those closest to Lopez will know the truth. He can’t control his woman. That’s far too humiliating to be common knowledge. Makes him look weak. But time is his enemy. The longer it takes to get his house in order the more likely the rumor is to spread. When he has the situation under control, he’ll flaunt his triumph. Until then he and all those around him will protect his ego at all costs. Part of the power is in manipulating the perception of others. They see what he wants them to see.”
“You think the girl may have gotten word that Lopez was closing in so she went deeper into hiding without telling DeShawn? Maybe to protect him but her plan backfired?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. This girl may have just been using Simmons. But I’d wager that if we find this Nina whoever-she-is before Lopez does, we might be able to lure him into a trap and just maybe save Simmons’s life—if he’s still alive.”
“We could put the word out that we’re offering immunity as well as witness protection if she turns herself in.”
“See if we can make that happen. I’d say it’s a given she has major information on Lopez and his operation. The idea that no one has come forward about her tells me she’s close to him. Close enough to hurt him. If that’s the case, I’m guessing the investment would prove worthwhile to the feds.” ATF as well as DEA loved to get their hands on scum like Lopez.
The artist’s drawing of Nina was running full force with the media blitz on Simmons.
Someone out there knew where he was being held or, less likely, where he was hiding.
All they needed was one witness to man up and come forward.
A soft knock resonated through the room as the door opened. Lori. A smiled lifted Jess’s lips in spite of the current subject matter. “Good morning, Detective Wells. Come on in.”
“I know I’m not officially back on duty until Monday, but”—she shrugged—“I thought I’d stop by and have a look at our space.”
Lori looked good this morning. All dressed up as if she were ready to get back to work right this minute. Jess wished that were the case. No one, except Lori herself, wanted that to happen more than Jess. She imagined Harper had mixed feelings. As long as Lori was off duty, she wasn’t in danger.
“We’re going over the Simmons case,” Jess explained with a wave to the case board. “But I think we’re due a break, wouldn’t you say, Sergeant?”
“I’ll get the coffee,” Harper volunteered. “It’s good to see you, Detective Wells.”
Like this was the first time they’d seen each other since Lori had been released from the hospital. Jess bit her lips together to hold back a grin. These two were as bad as she and Burnett. Though she hoped not quite as complicated.
“Thanks, Harper.” Lori watched until he was out the door and it was closed behind him. Her attention swung back to Jess. “I have an offer for you.”
Intrigued, Jess dragged a chair over to her desk. “Sit. I can’t wait to hear.” Lori glanced back at the door as if she feared their time alone was limited and she didn’t want anyone else to know what she was about to say, maybe not ev
en Harper.
“I’ve been thinking about the shoes and the dress.”
“Aha.” Darcy Chandler. Jess had told Lori about the discrepancies that nagged at her and the strange meeting with Schrader. She’d had the perfect excuse since Dr. Oden had called with an official release date for Lori to return to duty. Too bad she’d left Jess in the dark about her own evaluation.
“There is no reasonable explanation for the shoes she was wearing that day, as confirmed by witnesses, to have been set aside like that,” Lori said. “There has to be something we don’t see. Then there’s the marabou—from the white boa that Katrina had in her possession—and Katrina is the one who found Chandler. I find that a little convenient and unquestionably in need of further investigation.”
“Maybe Chandler was still alive when Katrina found her,” Jess offered, “and somehow grabbed hold of the boa. Katrina probably knelt down to check on her and the boa she was wearing fell against Chandler. If she clutched at it, it probably scared the child to death. Katrina may have jerked the boa free and run for Andrea. That would certainly explain what Schrader found.”
“But,” Lori countered, “you said Katrina insisted Chandler didn’t move or say anything.”
“She also said repeatedly that she didn’t do anything wrong. That may be a guilty conscience talking. In her thirteen-year-old mind she may have somehow made the situation worse by reacting the way she did and snatching the boa from her beloved teacher’s hand.”
“Maybe,” Lori admitted. “But her mother was in the house shortly before that, too. She was actually the last one to see Darcy Chandler alive. That’s some serious coincidence.”
“The problem is we can’t prove whether Chandler was dead or alive when Dresher left her. And without any compelling evidence of foul play Chief Black is not going to push for confirmation. He’ll suggest that since Chandler was a dance teacher of boa-wearing ballerinas, the trace evidence of feathers is to be expected.”
