And that’s what happens. We all dig in and we all hit roadblocks. The few people we talk to just don’t remember Ju-Ju. By noon, Kara and Blake leave for my place again, while Julie and Lauren take over making calls. “Let’s go to the shooting range,” Jacob says. “We need a break.”
He’s right, I think. We do, and I gladly agree.
A few minutes later, we’re on the street, and he stops by the bank. “I’ve been instructed to make sure you deposit your check. Tell them you lost your bank card. Do you remember your bank code and social?”
“Yes. I memorized them. Are you sure this is safe?”
“Safe is making sure you look like a real person. I’ll wait right here by the door.”
He means he’ll make sure no one has followed us thus far. I exhale, because apparently, I’m holding my breath. I start to walk, and he catches my arm. “Blake is a badass at this stuff. You’re good. Be calm. Be confident.”
I think back to every fake moment I had with Devin Marks and nod. I can do this. I walk into the bank, and the idea that cameras are watching me, filming me, has me on edge. I cross by a cluster of desks and quickly end up with a customer service rep, who is about sixty and slow. Fifteen minutes into the process that should take ten, I’ve just presented my ID when I have this sensation of being watched. I don’t zip my purse back up, my hand in fact, rests just above the revolver, but I also don’t turn around. I don’t want to appear obvious if I am being watched, but the sensation only grows stronger.
Finally, I finish up and stand, slowly turning and scanning the customers. Two young girls, a middle-aged man with curly gray hair in profile at another desk, and a fiftyish, black woman with an infectious laugh. I’m all right. There is no trouble here, but as I step outside and join Jacob, I still feel nervous. “Was there anyone suspicious that you saw?”
“No one,” he says, glancing at my hand that’s inside my purse, on the gun. “Did something happen, Sierra?”
“No. Yes. I felt what I felt in Dallas right before I got attacked.”
“What does that mean?” he presses. “What did you feel?”
“Like I’m being watched.”
He studies me for a moment, and he must believe me, which I appreciate because his hand comes down on my arm, and he says, “Let’s go back to the office.”
“No,” I say, holding my ground. “I don’t want to lead anyone to them and it feels like a good time to shoot a gun.”
He considers that a moment. “Yes. Maybe it is.” He motions me forward, and we start walking, with him carefully placing me between him and the wall, while he stays streetside.
“Should we call the office and warn them?”
“After we’re off the street,” he says. “The firing range is only two blocks down.”
Two blocks that feels like ten but finally we’re inside and Jacob calls the office. “Smith is going to shadow us.”
I nod and a few minutes later, I’m in safety goggles and I’m in charge of a loaded weapon. I thought the idea of holding a gun capable of taking a life would bother me. It doesn’t. It feels necessary.
At nine o’clock, I still haven’t heard from Asher and I’m still in the Walker offices, long after everyone but Jacob and Smith have left. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” Jacob asks.
“Kara, Julie, and Lauren, all offered me a bed,” I say, thinking of the conversations I’d had with them all in between calls. “Asher suggested Julie since she’s alone, but I forgot to bring something to wear.”
“I can stay with you again, if you want,” he says.
“That would be great. Yes. Thank you.”
“I live in this building. I’ll let everyone know, and grab an overnight bag.”
“I’ll stay with Sierra while you get your bag,” Smith offers.
Jacob nods, obviously trusting Smith, which means Asher trusts Smith, who turns out to be a nice guy with a fetish for crossword puzzles. A personal habit that he’s put to use to help build a wall of notecards that are all about Ju-Ju and the different paths of his life. I stand up and stare at it, and he does the same. “Somewhere on this wall is an answer,” I say. “There has to be.”
We’ve debated that point to death. Neither of us have words. We just stare at it until Smith seems to give up and looks over at me with another topic in mind. “Put my number in your phone,” he says. “In case you need me.”
“Yes. Thanks.” I walk to the desk and grab my phone, only to discover it’s already in my directory, which means that Asher added him at some point. “I already have it,” I say, as my cellphone rings in my hand. I glance at the caller ID and then at Smith. “It’s Asher. I’m going into the lobby to take it.” I answer the line. “Asher?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. How are you?”
“Good,” I say, heading to the door.
“Don’t leave the lobby,” Smith calls after me.
“I won’t,” I promise over my shoulder.
“I see you met Smith,” he says as I walk down the hallway.
“Yes. He’s been here helping on the Ju-Ju investigation all day.”
“He’s a good guy that I should have mentioned,” he says. “Did you find out anything about Ju-Ju?”
“Nothing and we’ve been beating this to death. Did you get into the locker?”
“We’re not going to grab it until tomorrow night. Or possibly even Wednesday morning depending on how a few things shake down. We’ll sweep in, take the files, and then head straight to the airport before we hit any trouble.”
“Wednesday? Really?”
“Maybe. We’ll see but I’ll be back Wednesday no matter what. Where are you sleeping tonight?”
“Jacob just volunteered to stay with me.” It hits me that I invited another man to stay with me. “That is okay, right?”
“Yeah. That’s okay. But are you okay?”
I hesitate, and he knows. “What happened?” he asks.
“It’s probably nothing, but I went to the bank today and I just had this weird feeling of being watched. I’m sure it was paranoia, but I really don’t want to stay here and make anyone anymore of a target than I already have.”
He’s silent a moment. “Stay close to Jacob.”
“I will. Of course, I will.”
“I have to go, sweetheart. But Sierra?”
“Yes?”
“I miss the fuck out of you, woman. And that’s another first for me.”
“I miss the fuck out of you, too.”
“Good. Keep missing me. Goodnight, Sierra.”
“Goodnight, Asher.”
We disconnect and Jacob appears in the lobby. “You ready?”
“I just need to grab my stuff and tell Smith we’re leaving.”
He gives an incline of his head, and I hurry to the conference room. “See you tomorrow, Smith,” I say, once I’m packed up.
He gives me a salute, and I head back to the lobby to join Jacob. From there, it’s not long before we’re outside, that feeling of being watched I’d felt earlier, noticeably gone. I comfort myself with the fact that if this was Dallas all over again, it wouldn’t be gone. I’d probably be dead. Still, I’m relieved when we enter the building, and even more relieved when we are inside the elevator.
“Thanks for this,” I say, glancing at Jacob, who is standing tall and ramrod straight beside me. “I’m used to being alone. It’s a little overwhelming to be with so many people.”
He cuts me a look. “Funny how alone can feel safer, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say, curious about how much understanding I feel like he has for that statement, but he’s not going to tell me. Because I am certain that alone, which means private, does feel safer to him.
The elevator stops and we quickly head down the hallway. We’ve just entered the apartment when Jacob’s phone rings. “Smith,” he announces, before taking the call. He listens a minute that turns into a few clipped replies, and while Jacob’s expression and tone are impenetrable, his voice monotone, by the time we ar
e both standing at the island across from each other I know something is wrong.
He hangs up. “He talked to Ju-Ju’s high school principal.”
“And?”
“She said that she knew Ju-Ju’s father well. Ju-Ju was in the marching band. His father took all the photos for the school football games and events.”
My throat goes dry. “And now Ju-Ju is taking pictures of his victims,” I say. “Which means there’s a chance his father killed his mother or maybe he was a killer himself. Or a serial dater. Something is there.”
“Put that aside. He took your picture, Sierra.”
“I know.” I think back to the file. “I read that Ju-Ju’s mother died of a heart attack. Could it have been drug-induced? Did his father kill his mother? Is that what Ju-Ju is duplicating?”
“That will be hell to prove, and pulling that body from the dirt will alert him that we’re onto him. It needs to be saved for court.”
“Right. Good point. I need to go to bed. I’m exhausted.”
“Sierra—”
“I’m fine. If he’s targeting me, he’s not targeting someone else.”
I turn and walk up the stairs, then into the bedroom. I shut the door and I wait to feel something I don’t feel. I’m numb. I knew he took my photo. I knew he was targeting me. Okay, I’m not numb. I have a cold spot in my chest. I lean on the door and shut my eyes, flashing back to one killer I sat across from and how cold he’d been. Just like that spot in my chest. I pant out a breath and I can’t seem to make myself get undressed. I need to be dressed and ready for something, whatever it is. I walk to the bed and I don’t lay down until I have my semi-automatic on the nightstand. I set the revolver on the mattress and I don’t even think about turning off the lights.
I drift in and out of sleep, and at some point I know I’m having a nightmare. I know The Beast is in that nightmare. I try to pull myself out of it, but I just can’t seem to escape my own mind. I’m back in my life with him. We’re at a dinner party. I’m in an emerald green gown that we’d fought over but I’d finally agreed to wear. I flash back to the moment I’d caved and agreed to just wear it. I’m sitting on the vanity in our bathroom in a robe.
“I put the dress I want you to wear on the bed.”
I look up to find Devin standing in the doorway, already in one of his six-thousand-dollar suits, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Good Looking to most, but no longer to me. “I saw it,” I say. “I’m not wearing that.”
“Why aren’t you wearing that?”
“My breasts will barely be covered.”
“Wear the dress.”
“I’m not wearing that.”
“I pay for everything and what do you do?” he snaps in that cutting tone that tells me the nastiness is about to flow like a river. “You go to school. And you can’t even wear a fucking dress for me?”
I rotate in my chair. “The neckline plunges to my belly button!” I shout.
“This is a fifty-million-dollar night. I need this deal to go down. Wear the damn dress.”
“My breasts are not going to make or break you.”
“Your tits work miracles on men, darlin’.” He walks over to me and pulls me to my feet, yanking open the front of the robe, his gaze raking over my nipples. “Should I suck them now or are you going to put the damn dress on?”
Anger burns through me and I start to tremble. I want to leave him right now. I hate him. “I’ll wear the dress.”
“Good girl,” he says, and damn it, he reaches down and pinches my nipple, and then twists it. “Make it fast.” He releases me and leaves.
The nightmare is over. It’s darkness now until it’s not. I fight it off again, but I’m back at the party.
We sit at the long, elegant table, with powerful people from around the world, all men. The women are all arm candy. China. Saudi Arabia. Mexico. Cuba. “You look beautiful,” Devin says, leaning over to whisper in my ear.
He means my breasts look beautiful, since my cleavage is on display and every man at the table keeps looking at my chest. “I hate that you made me wear this.”
“I wanted to show you off. I’m the envy of everyone here.”
I stab at some kind of potatoes and endure another hour at that table. Finally, we move to the den, which smells of old books, cigars, and cedar, perhaps from the bookshelves inset in the walls left and right. The guests work the room, all mingling, and I manage to detach myself from Devin to cross the thick cream-colored rug to stand by the fireplace and chat with several of the wives. A mistake, considering they too stare at my breasts, disdain in their eyes. Awkwardly, I ease away from them and scan for Devin only to find him missing, which allows me the excuse to exit to the gardens.
I step outside and weave down one of several paths, walking toward a gazebo, when Devin’s voice lifts in the air. “Make him go away,” he says.
“That’s a tall order,” the other man says. “It’s going to cost you.”
“How much?”
“A hundred grand and I get to fuck your wife.”
“Seventy-five, and if you do this right, you can fuck her ten ways to Sunday for all I care.”
“I can live with that deal. Can she?”
“She’ll do whatever the fuck I want. Make it look like an accident, or you’ll have an accident.”
“Carter Grant is as good as dead,” he says. “Get me my cash.”
I turn and start walking, all but running. I have to get away. I have to get away.
I open my eyes and sunlight beams into the room, while my cellphone buzzes against my belly. A cold spot forms in my chest. Oh God. How did I end up back in that memory? That was one month before Carter Grant died of a heart attack. I glance at the caller ID and quickly answer Asher’s call. “Hello.”
“Sierra,” he breathes out.
“You heard?”
“I just heard. He takes fucking pictures of his victims. You were right.”
“We think I’m right,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I’m right, which means the photos of the other victims are somewhere we’re missing.”
“Other victims. You’re convinced you’re the next.”
I think of Carter Grant, that cold spot in my chest all about guilt. “Asher, I knew what Devin was long before I left. On some level, I knew, and I have blood on my hands for it. People died. He killed them.”
“You are not to blame. He is and we’re going to get him.”
“Just like we have to get Ju-Ju.”
“Yes. And we will.”
“We, Asher. We. Please don’t tell me that I can’t help catch him. I can’t let anyone else die.”
“We means you and me. We happen when I get back. Do you understand?”
“I do and I’m not stupid. I need you to do this, whatever this ends up being, but I do think I need to go fill out my paperwork at the bar. Then Terrance has my address, and if Ju-Ju shows up there, Kara has a chance to catch him.”
“You wait until I get back.”
“I’ll go during the day and only with your people with me, and Ju-Ju nowhere near the bar.”
“I’m coming home tonight. You can go with me tomorrow. We, Sierra. You go with me. Do you understand me because I swear—”
“Whatever barbaric thing you’re about to say, don’t say it.”
“Sierra—”
“I’ll be waiting on you when you get here.”
“Tonight,” he says.
“Good.”
We disconnect and I can hear Devin’s voice in my head: She’ll do whatever the fuck I want.
No, I didn’t. But I did too little, too slow, in collecting data that may or may not destroy him. I can’t do too little again.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, with my lace-up boots and I still haven’t colored my roots. I grab my purse and tote and place my guns inside, and this time the semi-automatic is not in the case. I head downstairs and to my surprise the house is full. Jacob, Kara, Blake, and Smith a
re present. “I brought donuts,” Smith says as I join them all at the island.
“And I,” Kara says, “brought you some hair color tools.” She indicates a bag on the bar. “That has a couple color kits, several root-only kits, and hair mascara that you can use to cover up now.”
“Thank you very much,” I say. “But that isn’t why all of you are here. What’s going on?”
“We were impatient to work this new angle on Ju-Ju,” Blake says. “And we wanted Jacob involved.”
“What new angle?” I ask.
“We’re working on where to find Ju-Ju’s photos,” Kara says.
“We were already doing that,” I say.
Blake chimes in from where he sits on the other side of the table, with a computer in front of him. “I’m working through a history of his father, and people who knew him. So you know, there is no police record at all, but he had two co-workers over five years that mysteriously died at a young age.”
“How?” I ask.
“Insulin overdose for one,” Kara says. “Stroke for the other. Both under thirty.”
Jacob grimaces. “We need a way to get this asshole arrested and off the streets.”
“They have to be on his person,” Smith says.
“I thought that too,” I say, “But right now, processing where we have gone wrong, I go back to this rich man who inherited that money from the father that probably killed his mother. Now he’s a drug dealer which perhaps means he feels like he’s better than his father.”
“Better?” Smith asks. “By dealing drugs?”
“Yes,” I say. “Because he can do something that is in the cops’ faces and not get caught killing.”
“Fuck,” Smith breathes out. “That’s some fucked up shit.”
“It hits the right nail on the head in my mind,” Kara says, eying me. “In light of all we know, do you still think he’s working with someone else?”
“Yes. I do. He’s too clean, too hard to catch, to not have back-up. Maybe, just maybe, it’s someone who helped his father.”
“Rick Savage took a team into Terrance’s house last night while he was off banging some chick,” Blake says. “He found nothing there and then went on to the club at six this morning, and just finished up. Nothing. They checked everything, but they also uploaded databases to me. I’m going to go in and sweep the records this morning.”
Pulled Under: a standalone Walker Security novel Page 22
