Stark Raving Mad (Chicago's Finest Book 2)

by Vanessa Knight

  “Allison would have my ass if I let her sister twist in the wind like that.”

  “Well then, shut the hell up and help.” Joe took a deep breath and headed to the front door.

  Adam mumbled as he left the car, “Screw you. Let’s get this shit done.”

  Joe stomped across the lawn to the tiny house and knocked on the cracked door. The place needed some basic maintenance, and the yard hadn’t seen a lawnmower so far this season. Forest animals could get lost in the brush growing out front. It was a mess.

  Adam glanced over at the sole window on the front of the building. “I think I saw movement.” Joe knocked again, harder.

  A few seconds later, the lock tumbled and a woman stepped out, a scowl affixed to her face. She was short and skinny, with bleach-frayed hair held back by a blue floral headband. And when she saw Adam, the scowl was replaced by a smile. She even batted her brown eyelashes. Give me a break.

  “Hi, Miss Stark.” Adam smiled, putting his dimples on parade.

  Joe stopped himself from gagging. If it worked, though, Joe wasn’t complaining.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you again, but have you seen your brother?”

  “You’re never a bother, Detective. And call me Maggie. All my friends call me Maggie.” She flipped her hair and crossed her bare legs. “But like I told you before, I haven’t seen my dirt-bag brother since he went into prison. He brings me down. I’ve got a career to think about.” She turned to Joe. “I’m an actress. I’m trying out this new look. I saw in that magazine, headbands are hot.”

  “It looks nice.” Joe attempted to smile, but he didn’t have time to play the flirt game. “It’s my signature look.”

  “Have you heard anything from his friends? Or can you think of anything else that might lead us to him?”

  “I wish I could.” She sighed and fluffed her hair. “You know, I did talk to one of his buddies. Oh crapola, what was his name? Paul Fontana. Dennis is renting a place over on the west side.”

  “If you hear anything else, please give me a call.” Joe handed her a card, but her eyes were focused on Adam.

  “Of course.” Maggie’s tongue slid along her lips. Even Adam was fidgeting as she manhandled Joe’s card.

  Joe and Adam left the house and headed back to the car. Joe felt the anger build back up. Who had time for this shit? Every minute, every second she was with that man, was a greater chance of finding her…

  He couldn’t even finish the sentence. He could barely breathe. Brook was with that crazy SOB, and god knew what he was doing.

  He needed to see her.

  “Are you coming or not?” Adam stood next to the car. Joe unlocked the doors. “Screw you.”

  “Screw you, too.” Adam slid in the car and they headed to Stark’s.

  * * *

  Quiet. Other than Adam’s sappy phone call to Allison and Joe’s call to find out what building Paul Fontana owned in Chicago, the car had been quiet. Quiet enough for Joe to think. Not a good thing. All he kept seeing was Brook. All he kept thinking about was what that lunatic was doing to her. It was the longest twenty minutes ever.

  Joe knocked on the apartment door. More quiet. He looked at Adam. “No one’s here.”

  “I checked the super’s door. He’s not answering, either.”

  Joe rammed the door with his shoulder. It flew open. “Damn flimsy door.” “Yeah. Funny how it just popped open.” They darted inside, guns drawn. A disheveled mattress sat in the middle of the living room, with a cardboard box at the head.

  Otherwise, the room was empty.

  They searched each room. Nothing. No more furniture. No one in the apartment.

  “Shit!” Joe’s fist hit the wall. Plaster knifed into his knuckles. Dammit. Throbbing pain radiated through his hand. “We don’t have time for this shit. Where the hell is she?”

  He stared out the window. The sun was drifting lower and lower. An hour, tops, and they’d lose the light. Joe leaned against the wall, banging his head back against the plaster.

  Every minute they didn’t find Stark, Joe stomach cramped harder. Nausea twisted his gut. He couldn’t stop the pictures. Her hands brushing up and down his body, her lips saying “I love you.” He had to see her again, He couldn’t lose her. Not now.

  “Hey, Perretti,” Adam called from the bathroom. “When did Maggie say she saw her brother last?”

  “Not since he went to prison. Why?”

  Adam came out of the bathroom with a red floral headband. “Because either she’s been here, or Dennis has adopted his sister’s signature look.”

  Joe grabbed the headband and threw it. She’d lied. She’d been here. “Son of a bitch. We’re heading back to Maggie’s.” “I’ll call for backup.” Adam followed on his heels.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Cold floor. Brook’s eyes stretched open, her cheek smashed against bone- chilling concrete. Where the hell was she? What happened? She lifted her head, and colors slammed against her eyes. Nausea. No thanks. She put her head back on the cool concrete.

  She remembered going downtown—to save her sister. Where was Allison? She had to find Allison.

  “Allison?” she whispered. Silence.

  She willed her arms to lift herself off the floor. Nothing. Ropes dug into the skin of her wrists. Panic. Arms immobile. Heart racing, speeding into her throat.

  She pulled and pulled and pulled. The ropes dug in and chafed her skin. Beads of liquid trickled down her hand. Not an inch. It wouldn’t give an inch. All she managed was to shimmy the rope back and forth as tears pooled and dripped along her cheeks.

  She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Breathe—she had to breathe. She opened her eyes, but kept her body still as she filled her lungs with musty air. She learned her lesson from her last attempt at movement. Given the nausea storming through her, she might never move again.

  “Allison, are you in here?” she said into the floor.

  Dark. Damp. Nothing. Slits of light came from partially covered windows near the ceiling. A basement. The whir of what sounded like a furnace surrounded her.

  She was alone.

  Loud footsteps ran across the floor above, and the smell of greasy meat trickled from the main floor to her nose.

  Her stomach growled.

  Hunger. How could she be hungry at a time like this? She twisted her arms back and forth. This damn rope was coming off. She didn’t care how long it took.

  A door opened, and light from a bare bulb above the stairs flooded the dark space as the heavy pounding of shoes hit the wooden stairs. The pounding built, growing louder and louder.

  She turned her head. Crap, she forgot. A piercing pain split her head. A dark figure stomped down the stairs, but between the head injury and the bright light beaming from the bare bulb, she couldn’t see a thing.

  “You’re awake.” A woman came into view. Her long blonde hair was tied back from ruddy cheeks to drape down her back. She pulled her T-shirt down over narrow hips.

  “Where’s Allison?” Brook looked up at the woman. Skinny. Long blond hair. She looked familiar, but Brook just couldn’t place her. The slithering pain dulled everything—thought, comprehension. Caring.

  “I don’t know. Probably out having a spa day.” “You let her go.”

  “We said we would. We’re not liars like you. We keep our word.”

  Thank God. Brook sighed. Allison was free. She wasn’t in the middle of Brook’s mess.

  The woman slammed a metal chair down next to Brook’s head. Metal vibrated off the floor. Long nails dug into the skin of Brook’s arm as the woman dragged her up and sat her in the chair.

  “What are you doing?” a man’s voice asked. Dennis. Where the hell had he come from?

  “You told me to move her.”

  Brook’s head wobbled as she leaned against the chair back.

  “She needs to eat.” Dennis grabbed a large box, pushing it in front of Brook’s chair.

  “Why? We’re just going to kill her.”


  Fear fisted in Brook’s throat. Kill me. Not good. She watched Dennis drop a plate on the box as he smiled at her. Smiled. How could you smile at someone when you planned to kill them?

  A bologna sandwich sat on the round plastic plate. Bologna? Her last meal was bologna. What kind of sick shit was that? Not that she had any desire to eat, but come on. Death row inmates got a choice, but not her.

  “Yeah well, we have to wait.” Dennis wrung his hands, his eyes kept looking up the stairs.

  “For what?”

  “For those sonofabitch cops to stop snooping around.”

  “That don’t mean we got to feed her.” Her eyes narrowed as she kicked Brook’s chair. “Have you forgotten what that bitch did to you? To us? Mom and Dad are gone…”

  Holy crap. Maggie. Dennis’ sister. Brook never would have recognized her.

  She’d changed, was skinnier, angrier.

  “No. As soon as it’s dark we’ll take her to the shed.” Guilt—or sadness— passed through Dennis’ eyes as he looked at Brook. She knew he could see the fear, the pain. She wasn’t ready to die.

  She wanted to disappear. She wanted to hide. Maybe if she didn’t talk, didn’t look at them, they’d forget she was there. Forget she existed. The ropes loosened, but her hands stayed bound. She worked her wrists, twisting back and forth. She wasn’t giving up.

  He didn’t seem to hate her as much as his sister did. Which didn’t make any sense. Brook had never talked with this woman before. Wait—she had. Right? The sister called about a hearing, and then—what had happened? The pain made it hard to think. The sister hadn’t shown up, that was what. So why the hell was she so damn angry at Brook? The hatred coming off the woman was palpable.

  “She took you away from me and killed our parents. I was all alone and scared.” Tears fell from Maggie’s eyes.

  Killed their parents? Whoa. She hadn’t seen the parents in years. Nice people. Couldn’t understand where they’d gone wrong with Dennis. Even after she lost, the parents thanked her. They knew Dennis was guilty. Knew he had to pay for his sins.

  “I was by myself for so long, when I tried to kill myself.”

  “Don’t cry.”

  “Life just wasn’t worth living without my family. And she did that. I can never forgive her for that.” Maggie stepped back and pushed her sleeves up. Pink and red tracks zig-zagged over her arms and wrists. “This. She did this. I asked her to help. She wouldn’t.” Dennis brought her close. Her sobbing was muffled by her brother’s shirt. “The bitch didn’t care. She just didn’t care about you or me.”

  Anger stirred in Dennis’ eyes with every tear. Hatred flicked his lip up, until he was snarling at Brook over his drama-prone sister. Brook hadn’t seen him this angry since…since the trial.

  He let go of Maggie and hovered over Brook. “Tonight.” The back of his hand barreled into the side of her face. Pain erupted in her cheek and spread along her jaw. Salty blood swished in her mouth and slid down her chin. Fresh tears blocked her view.

  “All you had to do was get me out of that rat hole…”

  A spark of a memory came forward. Maggie had called. She wanted Dennis let out for good behavior after their parents died.

  “You dumb bitch. Can’t you do anything right? I needed to see my parents. They wouldn’t have died if you’d done your damn job, you useless piece of shit…” The words and the tone. She’d never forget. Through the haze of pain, she swore she saw her father standing over her. Screaming.

  You’ll never amount to anything. You’re a disappointment. Can’t you do anything right?

  The berating. The hate. Not one word to stop it until that night.

  That night where she swore she’d never sit through it again, she’d never sit back and let anyone talk to her that way again. It didn’t matter what he saw, or anyone saw. She wasn’t a failure. She wasn’t a disappointment. And to hell with anyone who thought otherwise.

  And here she was sitting, waiting for these Bonnie and Clyde rejects to kill her.

  Screw them. She wasn’t going to sit back today either.

  Dennis continued his rant, his flying spit mixing with the blood on Brook’s face. She stopped listening, though. There was nothing he could say that she’d want to hear.

  “Why?” Brook asked when he paused for breath. “Why what?” The outlaws said in unison.

  “Why would I help you? I contacted the Prisoner Review board to get you a hearing. Your sister was going to speak on your behalf, she didn’t show up. I looked like a fool. When she called me again, I told her to contact the Prisoner Review board herself. I can assume she didn’t.”

  “Lying whore!” Maggie lunged at Brook, knocking the chair backward.

  Brook’s head hit the concrete. Her shoulders throbbed. Dizziness. Pain. She dropped her aching head to the floor.

  Darkness threatened her tear-soaked eyes. She didn’t want the last thing she saw in this life to be Maggie and Dennis Stark. She had to hold on.

  “Is that true?” Dennis jerked his sister back and pushed her toward a stack of boxes. Her body indented the cardboard as she lost her balance. “I did everything to help you,” Maggie spat, struggling upright. “I asked that sleazy man-lawyer to help you out. He made me sleep with him. Sleep with him. I did that for you. He said he could get you out.”

  Brook nearly laughed. “Help? All you had to do was show up at the hearing. The family’s plea would have carried some weight, especially after your parents died. We talked about that when you called.” Brook hadn’t been surprised when she first got the call, but she was surprised his sister never showed up. When she called again? Screw it—she wasn’t helping them again. Not when Maggie couldn’t be bothered to show up the first time.

  “Why didn’t you show up at the hearings?” Dennis leaned in closer to Maggie and grabbed her shoulders.

  “I meant to, but Dave…”

  “You said you stopped seeing that asshole.”

  “I did, but he came by, and I, uh, told him to go away. Then I slept in, because, uh, he upset me. I can’t help he wants me.” She flinched when he leaned down, a snarl on his lips.

  “Wants you? How many times did he have you? Did you suck his…”

  “No. I told you, I’m not like that anymore. I’m your sister and I’m gonna be famous. We’re gonna have money and live in Los Angeles.” A sole tear fell down her cheek. “You’re my only family. You mean everything to me.”

  Brook closed her eyes. The moment was weirdly tender and sweet and she had no desire to intrude. If they were too busy yapping with each other, they weren’t planning her impending demise.

  The welcome sound of door chimes—hallelujah!—rang from upstairs.

  “Who the hell is it now?” Maggie ran a hand through her hair, smoothing the strands back into the headband. She sprinted up the stairs as Dennis looked around the room, finding a rag from a box. He stuffed the oily material into Brook’s mouth. Oh god. The taste. The smell. She wanted to gag, but her mouth was forced open wide, the muscles straining. She wished for the cavalry. Hoped they were there to save her. But since when did the cavalry ring the bell? It tended to blow the element of surprise.

  “Keep your mouth shut.” Dennis watched the basement door, cocking an ear toward the ceiling.

  Footsteps moved across the floor above them. Then nothing. Silence. No sound came from the upstairs, and then a single set of footsteps walked back toward the basement door. Dammit.

  The door opened and the stairs creaked.

  “Brook?” Joe.

  Thank God, it was Joe.

  Her savior swiveled his head, looking from side to side, as he made his way across the basement. Brook shook her head in the direction of Dennis, hiding in the corner, but Joe didn’t stop. He leaned down over Brook—and a folded metal chair clanked against his back. He lurched forward, catching himself before he fell on top of Brook. His gun wasn’t so lucky. It dropped and bounced to the other side of the room. Out of reach.

&n
bsp; Joe needed help. She rubbed the ropes against a bracket of the metal chair, the fraying edge tickling her raw wrists.

  Joe turned to Dennis.

  Dennis sneered at Joe.” Officer Perretti, you’re still one ugly son of a bitch.”

  “It’s detective now, asshole. Get your facts straight.”

  “Not surprising. You always had a gift for kissing ass.” Dennis eyed the gun. The rope eased its stranglehold on Brook’s wrists, and she eased her arms apart, trying not to wince. Finally free. She just needed to figure out how to get off the floor without Dennis noticing.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Joe needed to get Brook far from here. Joe’s nostrils chewed through the heavy mildewed air, but with the blood trickling from her nose and head, Brook’s lungs were probably working overtime. Seeing her lying on that dirty floor about killed him.

  Every scrap of his body wanted to run to Brook, wanted to check on her. Feel her soft skin, warm breath, heartbeat. But he couldn’t let his guard down. Not yet. Not till Stark was in custody. Not till she was safe.

  Stark eyed the gun lying on the concrete floor. There was no way Joe would let this maniac get that gun, but Stark was between the gun and Brook. One move, either way, and it could have dire results for both of them. So Joe needed to follow this asshole’s lead and stop him. No matter what.

  “I’m not here for you. I would have left you alone.” Stark’s eyes darted between Joe and the elusive Glock. “You stopped that asshole from killing me.”

  “He’d had a bad day.” Joe knew that was an understatement, but it was the truth. That didn’t mean Timmons had the right to take it out on Stark, but right now Joe understood why that might happen.

  “Still defending that asshole.”

  “That asshole had to deal with a lot of shit after his altercation with you. He paid his debt, but still you killed him. He had kids.”

  “I would have left you alone…” Stark shook his head and lunged for the gun, looking like a runner diving into home base.