Don't Breathe a Word

by Christie Craig

  Sam, Pablo’s onetime partner, looked over his shoulder toward the hall as if he was afraid his wife or daughter might walk out. And he should be afraid. Seeing a dead man would scare them.

  “What the fuck?” Sam hissed.

  “That’s what I’m asking you.” He lifted the glass of milk, downed a long gulp, then wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm. “You had her in Phoenix, and you let her get away. I’ve been patient. It’s been two weeks and you haven’t given me shit.”

  “I can’t help it if she disappeared.”

  “Yes, you can.” He spoke in a soft voice, but he knew Sam heard his outrage. He tapped the barrel of the gun against the glass, the sharp cracking sound echoing in the dark kitchen. “I want that bitch found.”

  “Why? You don’t even care about your daughter. Why can’t you just let her go?”

  “She’s fucking got more than my daughter.”

  Sam shook his head. “If she had your money, she wouldn’t have been working as a damn waitress.”

  “Alison was the only one who knew I hid things at the cabin. Besides, it wasn’t just the money. She took his book with the information. It had everything. Rex’s contacts to buyers and sellers all across the states. Going out on his own was going to be twice as hard if he didn’t have that.

  “Then maybe Alison took it, but she didn’t tell her sister. If Vicki had proof you were dirty, she’d already—”

  “You’re an idiot. Proving me dirty doesn’t do her a bit of good because they think I’m dead.”

  “But again, why isn’t she using the money?”

  “I don’t fucking know. When I have my hand around her throat, I’ll ask her!” He clanked the gun to the glass again. “You’re going to find her. Screw it up again, and I’ll screw you.”

  Sam squared off. “What good would killing me do?”

  “I never said I’d kill you, Sam. I said I’d screw you. Not literally. You aren’t my type. But what would your wife think if I sent her the video of you and that whore you met once a week for seven months? Or what would the sergeant think if he knew what really happened to the drugs in the Holt case?”

  Sam closed his hand into a fist. “You were lead on that case, not me.”

  “But you sure as hell took the fifty thousand to look the other way. Besides, it’s not my ass on the line. I’m dead, remember? And it’s all her fault. If Vicki hadn’t talked Alison into leaving me, she wouldn’t have taken my money. I wouldn’t have had to kill her. Then I wouldn’t have had to fake my own fucking death.” Not that they could’ve proved he did it. He’d been careful. But when it was all said and done, he’d realized he hadn’t thought it through. If a DA started digging into his past, they could easily unearth stuff, even a few bodies, that he needed to keep hidden.

  Sam scraped a hand through his thinning brown hair. A nervous habit. As he glanced again at the hall that led to where his wife and kid slept, Pablo saw fear flash in his light green eyes. Good. Scared people worked harder.

  “She must’ve changed her name again and left Phoenix.” Sam’s words came out too fast.

  “Have you even put out a BOLO with her picture saying she’s wanted for kidnapping?”

  “I can’t list it as a kidnapping. I’ve posted that she was involved with a missing child in a guardianship battle. Which is a civil case, not—”

  “What about Dan Jefferies? The boyfriend. And the Willis woman who worked for her?”

  “I haven’t spoken with Marisol Willis yet. I talked to Dan again. He swears he hasn’t heard anything. I believe him.”

  Pablo stood. “He swears? And you just believe him? What did you do, ask him nicely?”

  “I told him there was a guardianship case. And if we found out he knew something, we—”

  “We’d what? Scold him? When the hell did you go soft?”

  “I’m not…I’m risking my job by even looking for them. Your sister didn’t file for guardianship until after Vicki left town. If that gets out, I’m out of a job.”

  “You’ve got a lot more to lose than a job. Give me everything you got on Dan and the Willis woman. I’ll go see them.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can and I will. Your job is to find Vicki. And find out who’s helping her. Someone has to be. Getting a new identity isn’t something just anyone knows how to do.”

  “Yeah, it’s my job. Why don’t you leave town? I’ll let you know the moment I have something.”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” In truth, Pablo would like nothing more than to get the hell out of Los Angeles. But he couldn’t do that without his money. And just getting by now was fucking hard. Rex, the man he’d worked for the last six years, barely called Pablo for jobs.

  Sam glared. “I looked the other way when you stole money. I helped you disappear. But I didn’t offer to do your dirty work afterwards.”

  “You’ll do whatever the hell I ask you to do, and don’t try to fuck with me, Sam. Think of your wife. Your kid. Because I’m dead, no one will suspect me. And considering you helped me become dead, you can’t say a damn thing.”

  * * *

  At six a.m., Juan poured himself a second cup of coffee. Standing over the sink, he looked out his kitchen window and into Nikki Hanson’s kitchen window.

  Lack of sleep wasn’t going to help his normal pissy mood, especially considering today was his mandatory monthly shrink visit.

  Yeah, he should’ve remembered that before he stayed up until almost four researching his new neighbor. Actually, it wasn’t the research. It was the rehashing and reliving the all-too-brief moment on top of her, when their bodies lined up in all the right places.

  The actual research took all of ten minutes. He ran her through the DMV. She’d received a new Texas driver’s license after she’d surrendered her Colorado license. He knew she was twenty-nine, and was born October 20. Her middle name was Virginia. And she was an organ donor.

  But it was what he didn’t find that made him suspicious as hell. No Facebook page. No Twitter. No Instagram. No Snapchat. No Pinterest. She didn’t have any social media.

  That bothered him. She bothered him. The niggling suspicion that she’d lied about who might’ve been breaking into her house bothered him. But mostly, his reaction to her bothered him.

  He stared out his window and into hers. Just as he took a sip of coffee, she appeared, and he ducked, not wanting to get caught staring. Sweetie’s gotta-pee whimper had him moving to the back door to let her out. Then, to avoid the temptation of staring into her kitchen window more, he sprawled out in his backyard lawn chair. Yapping, Sweetie bolted to the fence.

  “Come here, Sweetie,” a young voice called.

  Little fingers wiggled between the wooden slats. Juan’s heart lurched, remembering the daughter he’d lost. Angie had gotten the poodle because she said every kid needed a dog.

  The whoosh of the neighbor’s back door opening sounded. “Did you look for it?” Nikki’s voice rose above the fence.

  He looked at his own back door, feeling as if he was eavesdropping, but he didn’t stand up for fear he’d be seen.

  “Not yet. I’m petting Sweetie,” the girl answered. She must have heard him call his dog by name before.

  “Be careful. She might bite.”

  “No. She likes me.” Laughter spilled out. “She’s licking my fingers.”

  “Come help me look for my necklace,” Nikki said. “We only have a few minutes before we have to get to school.”

  “Can’t I go to work with you, pleeease?” The hand disappeared from the fence.

  “No, hon. You have to go to school.”

  “I don’t know anyone. I don’t like strangers.”

  “You’ll make friends. You did in Phoenix. You were nervous to go to school there, too, remember?”

  Phoenix? Hadn’t she said last night that they’d moved from Colorado? And last week he’d seen her car parked in the driveway with a Colorado license plate.

  �
�But I’m scared,” the girl said.

  “Oh, baby. Come here.” Nikki’s voice softened. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I promise to keep you safe. But to do that, I have to work.”

  Safe from what? Was this just childhood paranoia or…more?

  His gut said more.

  * * *

  The closer they got to the school’s entrance, the tighter Bell held Vicki’s hand. Vicki felt that grip like it was around her heart. Why did life have to be so freaking hard?

  When she glanced down at Bell, her big almond-shaped brown eyes held a teary sheen. Vicki knelt. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll have a good day. You are so smart. Everyone’s going to love you. And I’ll be right here this afternoon to pick you up. You know that, don’t you?”

  Bell shook her head ever so slightly and tried to blink away the tears. It broke Vicki’s heart. The girl had already been so brave, considering what her father had done to her.

  Sticking out her chin, Bell said, “I just…miss Mama.”

  It took everything Vicki had not to succumb to tears, not to snatch her niece up and run. But then what? They had to eat. They had to live. She could go to a shelter, but Pablo was too smart. He’d look there first.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Vicki, sucking in air, drew on her last resolve. “We are going to get through this day. We will. And this afternoon we’re going to eat the biggest ice cream cone we can find.”

  Bell nodded. Then she reached up and touched her upper arm where she carried the scars. Scars Pablo had caused.

  Vicki brushed the child’s cheeks with her fingertips. “Do you remember where we moved from?”

  She nodded. “Colorado. I can’t say Phoenix or California.”

  “Right.” Vicki pressed a kiss on her forehead and stood up.

  She led Bell into the gym, where all the kindergartners were to meet. Stepping in, she forced herself to smile and moved Bell to a table where a woman sat checking in the students.

  “Hi. This is Bell Hanson reporting to kindergarten.”

  “Great. I’m Ms. Kelly.” The lady smiled and looked down at the paper. “I don’t see your name…” She flipped the page. “Oh, here. And you’re in my class, Bell. I’m so lucky.”

  Bell offered a weak smile.

  The woman handed Bell a red sticker. “Can you put this on your T-shirt and go stand with the red team? They’re all your classmates.”

  Bell looked at Vicki as if to plead one last time.

  “Go on,” Vicki said. “You’ll be okay.”

  Bell walked over to the red-stickered kids, giving Vicki a scared glance back.

  “Uh, Ms. Hanson?”

  Vicki looked back. “Yes.”

  “There’s a note here that says they need you to stop by the office. Something about paperwork.”

  “Oh.” Fear twisted in her stomach. Her contact from the Abused Women and Children Organization, AWACO, had assured Vicki the paperwork was sufficient and that they wouldn’t be questioned. That they’d be safe. Vicki gave Bell another glance.

  “She’ll be fine.” Ms. Kelly offered a reassuring smile. “It’s probably best you leave quickly. The longer you stay, the harder the first day is on her.”

  And me. Vicki waved at Bell, then walked out, fighting the feeling that she was abandoning her niece.

  Paperwork? She moved down the hall, seeing the office door and feeling as if an unknown monster waited behind it. When you were on the run, when your life was a lie, it always felt that way. As if around any corner, hidden in any shadow, lurked someone who could see through your façade. Or someone there to hurt you. Someone like Pablo.

  She got to the door, wiped her damp palms on the sides of her workout pants, and then looked back down the hall toward the gym. Should she have brought Bell with her, in case…? She pushed the door open.

  There were at least four other moms and one dad in the waiting room. On autopilot, she reached up to grasp the necklace that had become her touchstone. When her fingertips found an empty spot on her chest, she felt the empty spot in her heart. She had to find the necklace. It was the last gift Alison had given her.

  She approached the counter. “I’m Ms. Hanson, Bell Hanson’s mom. I was told I needed to fill out paperwork, but I could swear that I—”

  “Yes. Have a seat and someone will be right with you.”

  Vicki took a chair and told herself it was nothing. You are safe now. Wasn’t that what Joanne Butler from AWACO told her just last week?

  Not that it helped. The last time Vicki had felt safe was when Pablo, accused of killing her sister, had been pronounced dead. But when she saw that dead man running away from her L.A. condo less than a month later and found her place ransacked…well, nothing felt safe. That same afternoon, she got a phone call from an anonymous number. But there was nothing anonymous about the voice or the threat. “Give me what’s mine, or I’m coming for you!”

  She’d still been reeling from that call when she got another one. This one from Estella, Pablo’s sister, threatening to file a guardianship suit for her niece. It’d be over her dead body that Vicki gave up Bell, but since Pablo had no problem with that scenario, running felt like Vicki’s only option.

  The office noise buzzed around her. Needing a distraction, to relax, she looked at the latest breaking news on her phone. But there was no relaxing. Not when two uniformed cops walked in.

  She held her breath as the officers moved to the counter. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing.

  The woman at the front desk got up to greet them. They spoke in hushed voices, then the receptionist looked up and motioned at Vicki.

  The officers started toward her. A voice inside her screamed, Run! She didn’t move, just sat frozen, her pulse pumping fear through her veins, making her limbs feel heavy.

  Chapter Three

  The officers stopped two feet in front of Vicki. Her chest cavity shrank, her lungs refused air, her head spun. How could she prove to them she had guardianship of her niece when members of the Los Angeles Police Department had said otherwise? They’d believe the police, crooked or not, before they believed her.

  No! No one was taking Bell.

  She’d run. She’d fight.

  “Mrs. Evans?” The middle-aged dark-haired officer didn’t appear intimidating, but Vicki felt intimidated just the same.

  “No, that’s me,” said the woman sitting two seats down from Vicki.

  Air whooshed out of her lungs. Her spine gave, her shoulders dropped.

  The officers turned toward the woman. “You reported an accident in the parking lot?”

  “Ms. Hanson?” the desk clerk called.

  Vicki stood. Knees trembling, she moved to the counter.

  The clerk handed Vicki a clipboard. “You forgot to give us an emergency contact, a family member or friend. If you could fill that out, we’ll be done.”

  “Sure.” Vicki moved back and sank down in a chair. She stared at the line with a big X. Still feeling gut punched, she took another emotional blow. She had no one she could list. No one she could count on. This feeling, the empty ache swelling inside her was what it felt like to be completely alone.

  Without another option, she scribbled down a fake name and number.

  * * *

  “How do you think you’re doing?”

  “Great.” Juan leaned back in the chair and swore he wouldn’t lose it this time. It seemed every time he lost it, he got another month added to his mandatory visits. He’d been coming to therapy since he’d shot and killed Guzman and gotten transferred to the Cold Case Unit, and sixteen months was enough.

  “Try again,” Dr. Murdock said.

  Juan clenched his jaw. The slight motion tightened the scar that stretched across the right side of his face. “Every time I come in here you ask me the same thing. You never like my answer.”

  Murdock leaned in, placed his forearms on his desk, laced his fingers, and somehow appeared to dissect Juan’s soul. “Then try telling the truth.”

&nb
sp; The muscle beneath Juan’s right eye twitched. “I tried that once and you didn’t like it.”

  “It wasn’t the answer I didn’t like. It was the hole you left in the wall.”

  “Then maybe you should try a different question.” Juan stared at the man’s gray eyes.

  Murdock’s right brow lifted. “Is your temper always so close to the surface?”

  “No. You bring out the best in me.”

  “And what does that tell you?” Murdock unlaced his fingers, found a pen, and rolled it between his palms.

  “That I should stop seeing you,” Juan said matter-of-factly.

  “I think it says you’re afraid. Afraid to open up. Afraid to talk.”

  Juan gritted his teeth. “What is it about shrinks? You always want to talk things to death.”

  Murdock’s posture stiffened. “Talking can help you accept what is.”

  “You think I haven’t accepted this? I don’t have a fucking choice but to accept it.” He ran a hand down his face, across the leathered skin on his right cheek. I’m alive and they are dead. He gripped the arms of the chair until his hands ached.

  “Do you still blame yourself?”

  “No.” It was what Murdock needed to hear, so he said it, but in truth the answer was: Every day. Every fucking day.

  Angie had wanted him to stop working undercover. But he’d asked for another month. He’d told himself it was to get Guzman—a gang leader and one of Texas’s largest drug suppliers—off the street. He’d been so close to grabbing his ass as well as the big fish, the elusive California supplier known only as Rex. But deep down, Juan knew the truth: He’d loved the thrill of catching bad guys.

  For a fucking thrill, he’d gotten his wife and baby girl killed.

  “You know, when you were promoted to the Cold Case Unit—”

  “‘Promoted’? Don’t try to pretty it up. Everyone knows the Cold Case Unit was meant to be the exit door.” And shooting the man responsible for Angie’s and his child’s murder was what landed him here.

  Murdock adjusted in his chair. “True, but you guys changed that. The three of you have solved cases no one else could. I think it’s given you new purpose.”