by Jeff Carson
“Hey.”
“One second please, sir.” Shantel put tapered fingers capped with long fingernails over the mouthpiece. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Who was that kid with the hoodie who just walked out?”
Shantel popped her eyes, searched the room, checked the exit and then the windows.
“You didn’t see him?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There was a kid.”
Shantel sighed. “Shit. There’s so many people in and out of here this morning. Must have slipped by me.”
Luke nodded and walked away.
“Kristen!”
Luke stopped.
“You won’t tell anybody?”
Luke rolled her eyes. “Come on.”
Shantel took her hand off the mouthpiece. “Sorry, sir … no, the press-conference will be at ten a.m.”
The automatic doors slid open, and she walked into the unique Snohomish County field-office scent of salt, exhaust fumes, cut lumber, and freshly ground coffee.
Since they were forty miles north of Seattle, the traffic wasn’t as bad as the big city’s during rush hour, but not by much. Everett was a hip, up-and-coming, or already-came city with a population of a hundred and ten thousand in its heart.
Luke stopped on the sidewalk and looked in both directions. Again, there was no sign of the kid among a throng of walking people.
Damn it. Just like a Coloradan, she’d left her own umbrella and rain jacket back in the office. The increasing rain nudged her original goal to the forefront of her mind. She stepped off the curb and streaked between two passing cars and across the street to the promise of a warm, frothy, triple-shot almond milk latte.
Chapter 4
Tong Wei stood underneath a pattering umbrella, his coat collar pulled up around his face. From under the bill of his black fedora he watched the action unfolding in front of the FBI building, and found himself more than a little intrigued.
He’d seen the young man with the hooded sweatshirt enter the building, and when the kid came back out only a couple of minutes later Tong knew he was going to kidnap him.
The loss of product two nights earlier had been a devastating blow to his bottom line. Now he wasn’t only casing the Snohomish County FBI field office. He was also shopping.
Tong had grown up on the streets of Hong Kong with a leash around his neck. He could spot a homeless young person on sight, and knew within seconds the drugs the kid was willing to try, and those he wouldn’t go a day without. The young man was worth less than a woman the same age, probably half, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And he was a beggar, wasn’t he?
The anger returned. His right lid half-closed as he made two fists inside the sleeves of his jacket.
“Sir.” His companion held out his phone. “He’d like to speak to you.”
Tong grabbed the cell and put it to his ear.
“Speak.” His bodyguard, Zhang, spoke loud enough for the man on the other end of the line to hear.
Tong listened for a few moments. Someone whimpered in the background while the speaker relayed an excuse.
“Kill,” said Tong. A gunshot popped through the receiver as he handed back the phone.
Tong narrowed his eyes. The young man with the hooded sweatshirt stopped at the corner and leaned out from the wall.
“He’s watching the woman,” Zhang said.
Tong said nothing. Zhang was large, observant, and violent when required, but no amount of goading increased his intelligence.
“Do I take him now?”
“Wait.”
They’d been standing out in the rain for hours. This was the sign he’d been waiting for—his mother’s ghost told him so. She was in the wind, the drops of rain, the twitchy movements of the junkie huddled at the corner wall, and she told him to pay attention.
The kid watched the woman as she ran across the street.
And now Tong watched her. She stopped at the sidewalk and stared directly at Tong and Zhang for a moment.
Blood rushed to his face and he swallowed involuntarily at the woman’s piercing eyes. They were almond-shaped, turned up at the edges. Her mouth was perfect, lips cracked open to reveal ivory teeth. Her movements were fast and lithe, her eyes vital. And though her gaze slid off him like he was a chicken carcass in a butcher’s window, electricity shot up and down his spine.
Tong sucked in a breath through his nose, recovering from the jolt to his system. Now she was gone but the memory of her made his crotch swell. What was so special about her? And then he realized: she looked vaguely like his first love, Aria. His soul longed for the woman now, and he suddenly had the urge to sit down.
Zhang looked down at him, involuntarily tilting the umbrella so that raindrops hit the sleeve of Tong’s Armani overcoat.
Tong snapped his eyes to the water.
“Sorry.”
Zhang righted the umbrella. “Look, he’s crossing.”
Tong watched as the hooded prospect swerved through traffic like a lost dog. A horn honked. Two cars jammed on their brakes.
“He’s high. Easy target.”
“Wait.”
Chapter 5
Luke let the door close behind her and stomped her feet on the welcome mat inside. The smell of fresh-ground coffee hit her like a bucket of ice water.
This was more like it.
“Hey, there she is!” said the barista girl with the long black hair.
“Hey,” she said, joining the back of a three-person line.
Good. Three people. Not much time. Back in a flash.
“And … how many shots does the medium have?”
Luke sucked in a calming breath.
Another customer came in. It was the kid from the office.
Water dripped off his hood. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, then darted back to the ground.
Without hesitation, he stepped into the line with squeaking shoes.
The movement was so quick that she stepped back and turned sideways, ready for an attack.
“I have to talk to you,” he said, leaning in close.
The guy in front of her squared off. “Is everything okay?”
Luke nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“You know this guy?”
“None of your business. Thanks.”
The guy raised his eyebrows and turned around.
“Over here, please.” She back-stepped and the kid looked toward the door before following her.
The kid. Why was she thinking of him like that? He had boyish qualities, like wearing jeans that fell off his butt, and two large holes in his ears filled with bone circles that said screw the future, but he was probably in his early twenties.
His eyes were bloodshot, pupils dilated, his movements jerky.
She kept her left shoulder forward, aware of the gun holstered on her hip.
“You’re that guy’s partner?” he asked.
“What guy?”
He flicked his eyes toward the door again.
“I saw you in the building,” she said, deflecting the conversation back to him. She rarely exchanged personal information with piss-smelling men off the street.
His head snapped toward her, like a video that had skipped a few frames. She knew if she rolled up those sleeves there’d be more tracks on his arm than at King Street Station. Or was it meth?
“Why were you in there?” she asked. “Why did you come in our building?”
“I told you, I have to talk to you.”
“So talk.” She caught sight of his teeth—definitely meth.
“I saw your partner shoot that guy on the beach.”
She blinked rapidly. “What?”
“Your partner. That Chinese guy on the beach. I saw him.”
Luke’s heart raced. “You were there two nights ago? On the beach?”
The kid nodded, and for the first time made full eye contact.
“Which beach?”
“Discovery Park.”
“So … okay, listen.” She put up a palm. Now she felt like she was trying to catch a rare bird. “Let’s go over, and you can give a statement about what you saw.”
“I already did that.”
“No … I saw you come in. I saw you leave. You didn’t talk to anyone.”
“Yeah. I told you, because I saw your partner. And your partner shot the guy on the beach.”
Luke shook her head. “That wasn’t my partner out there on the beach. My partner’s over there.” She pointed out the windows.
The kid followed her finger and straightened. “Shit.”
“Wait!”
It was too late—the kid was already moving, cutting through the line.
“Wait right there,” she said, pushing past a woman and almost knocking over her toddler.
“Hey!”
“Sorry.”
The kid walked outside, cut hard left, lowered his head, and jogged down the sidewalk.
She leaned into the door to push it open, but squeaked to a stop as it was pulled from her grip.
Swain walked in, nearly colliding with her. “Whoa.”
She stared at him.
“Jesus, it’s raining balls.” He looked at her hands. “I decided I want one, too. Kitchen’s packed.”
She backed inside.
“What are you doing? Are you leaving?”
“I … didn’t order.”
“You didn’t order?” He looked behind her.
“Line was too long.” Her voice sounded distant in her own head.
“But you’ve been here for like five minutes. What have you been doing?”
“Phone call. My mom.”
“Oh.” He looked at his watch. “Still have seven minutes until the meeting. I’m getting something. Hey, can you get us end-of-the-liners lattes in under seven minutes?”
The long-haired barista smiled. “Not for you, Special Agent.”
He settled into line with a smile and looked at Luke.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” His face dropped. “Wait, shit. Did you just get bad news from your mom?”
The woman with the toddler turned.
“Yeah. Kind of.”
“Shit. When it rains it pours, huh? What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. Get me a latte?”
Swain nodded. “Sure thing.”
She walked outside, making a show of pulling up her suit jacket around her neck while she checked down the sidewalk.
The kid was gone. Again.
She looked both ways and stepped out onto the road. Halfway across the street, her mind registered two Asian men staring at her from under an umbrella—the same two who’d been looking at her as she’d entered the coffee shop.
She stepped up onto the opposite curb, stopped, and turned around.
They were gone, too.
Chapter 6
“He was really drunk.” Brenda Anne Mendelsen wiped her nose.
Detective David Wolf watched her shaking hand and felt a surge of anger, but remained outwardly calm.
Just like him, Brenda had been born and raised in the Chautauqua Valley, and he’d known her for decades. Back in school she’d been closer to John, his deceased kid brother, but now he saw her at least twice weekly around town and considered her a lifelong friend. Eli Banks? In Wolf’s experience, the man rarely spoke unless he was shouting-drunk at the bar.
“And you said he drove away, ma’am?” Sergeant Detective Tom Rachette folded his thick arms and widened his stance on the front porch.
“Yeah. Just a few minutes ago. If you guys came up Edelweiss, you probably passed him. Black Chevy pickup. He was going like a hundred miles an hour out of the drive.” She pointed down the narrow road they’d come in on. “Hit that tree right there.”
Wolf saw a fresh scar on a pine where a bough had been ripped off and the mangled branch sticking out of the underbrush.
“May we come in?” he asked.
She nodded and opened the door. “Yeah, come on in.” She pulled her fleece jacket down over the top of her jeans and folded her arms.
Rachette stepped in first and twisted around with something resembling amazement. “He did all this?”
Brent Wilson hitched up his duty belt and followed. The undersheriff was a tall man, more than a few pounds overweight, and the floor creaked under his weight.
Wolf came next, getting a full glimpse of Eli Banks’s handy work as he entered.
Brenda put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Thank you.”
Her brown eyes were wide and glossy.
“Of course, Brenda.”
A flat-screen television had toppled off its stand onto the floor. A foot-sized hole surrounded by a thousand cracks had been punched through the center of the display.
A couch was upside down, the coffee table sat on its side, and candles were strewn on the carpet. Dirt from an overturned houseplant speckled uniform vacuum stripes. It smelled like the burning candle in the corner.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened from the beginning, ma’am?” Wilson produced a pocket-sized notebook and a pen.
Brenda pulled a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and folded her arms again. “He, uh, came over.” A tear flowed down her cheek and she wiped it with her sleeve. “And I was sitting here watching television. He was already drunk.”
“Is that normal?” Wilson asked. “For him to be drunk in the early afternoon like this?”
She shrugged. “Lately.”
“Okay. Please, continue when you’re ready.”
Rachette eased toward the kitchen entrance and peeked inside.
“He never went into the kitchen,” she said. “Just trashed this room.”
“Why don’t you have a seat, ma’am?” Wilson said.
She looked around.
“Here.” Wolf grabbed one end of the couch, Rachette the other, and they turned the seat right-side up.
Wolf plucked a cushion from the floor and set it on the couch. “There you go.”
Brenda pushed past him, squeezing his shoulder again on the way by.
“Thank you, Dave.” She sat down and looked up at them with wet eyes. “He came in, all pissed at me. I’ve been trying to break it off with him for the last month, but he won’t take the hint. Last night, I finally got the guts to just outright tell him we’re done.” She waved her hands around the room. “Apparently he didn’t take it well. I’ve never seen him like that.”
“Like what, exactly?” Wolf asked.
“Came in, calling me a bitch and everything else he could slur out. I like to keep a clean house, and he always gives me grief about it, so he started trashing it. I told him to leave or I’d call the cops. But he didn’t care, just kept going. He saw my cell phone on the coffee table and threw it against the wall.”
“Did he harm you? Threaten you?” Rachette asked.
“Look at this place. He smashed the TV with that baseball bat. Tossed the furniture. Screamed at me. I call that threatening, don’t you?”
“Of course, yes,” Rachette said, and toed a chunk of potting soil on the carpet.
Silence took over and Wolf, Wilson, and Rachette eyed one another.
“And then what happened?” Wolf asked.
“He just left. I was obviously freaked out. I locked the door and watched him leave, running into that tree on the way out. And then I called you guys. And, now, here you are.”
Brenda stood and walked around the back of the couch. Her hand trembled against her mouth and she began pacing.
Wolf, Rachette, and Wilson watched her in silence.
“Where does Eli live?” Wolf asked.
“On Beacon Light Road.”
Wolf nodded. He’d been there before. “The three houses.”
“I know where it is,” Rachette said.
She stepped up and wrapped her hands around Wolf’s waist.
Wolf stood with his arms out, aware of the Glock tucked into his paddle holster on the hip of his
jeans. Not that he expected any funny business from Brenda, but her hug was the last thing he’d expected. And for a cop, having somebody rip a gun out of one’s holster was like dropping a neighbor’s newborn.
He lowered his hands and patted her back. “It’s okay.”
She squeezed harder, relaxed, squeezed again.
Wolf flicked his eyes from Rachette to Wilson and back.
“Thank you.” She sniffed, let go, and backed away.
“We’re going to talk outside for a moment,” Wolf said.
“Okay.”
They walked outside—down the steps and out onto a spacious gravel drive in front—and huddled into a triangle.
“What an asshole,” Wilson said. “I saw him get in a fight once at Beer Goggles. Got his ass beat.”
“I was there,” Rachette said.
Wilson stood silent for a beat, petting his blond mustache, then seemed to realize that Wolf and Rachette were looking to him for orders. The undersheriff had once been a sergeant under Wolf’s command. Now Wilson was the ranking man in their powwow.
“Right. Rachette, you stay here and get a statement from Brenda. Wolf and I will head over to Eli’s place. He’s probably passed out on the couch by now.”
“Screw that,” Rachette said.
Wilson pulled his eyebrows together. “Excuse me?”
“The action’s at Eli’s. I’m going there.” Rachette put his hands on his hips and puffed his chest.
“I’m your boss, Rachette, and I just told you to stay here.”
“You’re Wilson. I’m Rachette. He’s Wolf. I’m going with you guys.”
“I’m Rachette? He’s Wolf? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Wolf walked toward his SUV.
Rachette jogged up next to him, then broke off and hopped in the passenger side.
“All right,” Wilson said. “I’ll call up some more units for you guys. Don’t do anything rash until they get there.”
Wolf hopped in behind the wheel and started the engine.
Chapter 7
“You know,” Wolf said, looking at Rachette as he bounced in the passenger seat, “Wilson is your boss.”
