Part 21 (2/2)
To the dogs, Grace ordered softly, ”Sheena. Bane. Come.” Then she walked across the street and disappeared into the darkness of an alley.
Her appet.i.te gone, Jessica hurried to her vehicle. She tossed the box onto the pa.s.senger seat. How did that woman know my name and what the h.e.l.l was she prattling on about danger? How could she know? How the h.e.l.l could she know?
Fingers shaking, nerves stretched to the breaking point, Jessica hustled into the driver's seat and started the Chevy. The smell of pepperoni, garlic, and onion was nearly overpowering.
Now, of course, she saw others on the street-two guys hanging out by the pub, smoking near the doorway; the couple she'd seen in the pizzeria huddling close together as they made their way to a sedan parked just around the corner from Dino's; a Prius cruising past in electric mode. Where had they been during her exchange with Grace?
She started to pull onto the street and was rewarded with a blast of a loud horn. She jumped, hit the brakes, and watched as a Jeep painted in camouflage nearly clipped her. The driver with a shaved head and a furious glare looked across the pa.s.senger seat and flipped up his palm as if to say, Stupid woman driver! Watch out!
Once the Jeep had pa.s.sed, she pulled out and drove, checking her rearview mirror every five seconds, trying not to be rattled, telling herself that no one was following her. Yet, despite all her internal pep talks, the weird woman's warning echoed through her brain.
Trust no one.
Chapter 19.
”I found her.” Lying on his bed in his room at the River View, his cell phone pressed against his ear, Ryder stared at his computer monitor. The grainy black and white image was clear enough to observe Anne-Marie as she slept restlessly on the old couch in her cabin. He watched as ”Jessica,” or, really, Anne-Marie, tossed and turned, her pistol tucked under her pillow, her sleep broken and tortured. He felt more than one niggle of guilt for observing her every move, but he reminded himself it was just a job, nothing more.
At least, that's the level to which it had dissolved.
”You're sure it's her?” the voice on the other end asked, the slight Louisianan accent discernible.
”Oh, yeah.” s.h.i.+fting, the back of his head moving against the stacked pillows, Ryder nodded as if the SOB on the other end of the wireless connection could actually see him.
”Why haven't you finished the job?”
Good question. ”I had to be certain. Now I am.”
”Then get to it.”
”I will, when the time is right. She should have a day or two off work.”
”She works?” A sneer in the voice.
”She's a waitress.”
”My, my.” A clucking of the tongue. ”How the mighty have fallen.” Satisfaction oozed through the phone.
Ryder wondered again why he'd ever agreed to do this job. The answer was stone-cold simple. He'd wanted to chase her down. He wanted to face her. He wanted her to know that it was he who had found her.
”So what's the problem?”
”As I said, I'm waiting for her to not be expected at her job so I can get a head start before anyone gets wise and realizes she's missing.”
”Won't they just think she took off? No one really knows her.”
”I can't take a chance. The extra twenty-four, maybe forty-eight hours, will give me a head start.”
”I don't understand.” Obvious irritation came through the phone.
”We don't need any interference from the police,” Ryder pointed out.
A pause.
He could almost hear the gears turning in the head nearly a thousand miles away.
”Just don't screw this up.”
”I won't.”
”Good. Because it's been awhile. I've been patient. Either she's been extremely elusive or you've f.u.c.ked up. Or maybe a little of both.”
”I said I'd handle it.” Ryder's eyes focused on the screen where Anne-Marie was still sleeping. He was reminded of waking up next to her, the smell of her hair mixed with the odor of recent s.e.x causing him to second-guess his need to run her to the ground.
Again.
He witnessed her s.h.i.+ft again. One arm stretched over her head, her eyebrows drew together, and his guts wrenched.
”Just end this,” he was advised, then the connection was severed.
The woman on the screen opened her eyes wide, startled, instantly awake as if through some invisible cosmic connection, she'd heard the conversation and was ready to bolt.
”You'd better get down here,” Alvarez said as Pescoli groggily answered her cell. She'd spent the night with Santana in the new house again, the sun already up and s.h.i.+ning, beams streaming through the windows.
”Why?” she asked, sitting up and pulling the sleeping bag over her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she tried to shake the cobwebs from her brain. Beside her, a disturbed Santana rolled closer to her, one arm circling her waist.
Alvarez said, ”Could be a break. The lab found a print on Calypso Pope's bag and get this. It looks like it matches the partial found on Sheree Cantnor's shoe.”
As if the missing digit and ring weren't enough to tie the two victims together, but at least it was physical evidence.
”I'm on my way.” Pescoli pushed her mussed hair from her eyes as she reached for her clothes.
Santana opened a bleary eye.
”Gotta run,” she explained, yanking on her underwear and jeans, then reaching for her bra. ”Possible big break in the case.”
He didn't argue, didn't so much as mention that it was the weekend as he'd learned long ago that Pescoli's work took precedence over her free time. ”What about today?”
”How 'bout I meet you at the funeral?” she suggested. ”I'll go with Alvarez and the officers from the station, and you and I can hook up with the kids then. Jeremy is supposed to pick up Bianca at Luke's place and they'll peel off after the service.”
”Works for me,” Santana said, for once not trying to lure her back into the bed, which was really just sleeping bags thrown on the floor. He flung off the covers, got to his feet, and walked naked to the French doors where he looked through the clear panes to the grounds and lake. ”Good day.”
Pulling her sweater over her head, she said, ”For a funeral?”
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