Until now she had gone pretty much unnoticed. It wasn’t until she jumped the gate and moved quickly down the rows of machines and benches, searching the faces either side, that she felt attention slowly turning on her, like she was crossing into foreign territory, walking on someone else’s soil. A week ago these guys would have been calling out to her, making jokes or tossing a friendly taunt her way.
Not now. The expressions told her she had broken some unwritten law and she was no longer welcome in their midst.
“Tough shit,” she thought. All she wanted was to find someone who knew where Delmar lived, then she’d get out. That’s when she spotted Jackie the Snake—one of the few people who knew Delmar well enough to know where he hung out.
Jackie was lying on his back pressing weights when she moved up alongside him. He glanced up at her, but said nothing, just kept easing the bar up and down, exhaling loudly with each press as she walked around him with one eye on the rest of the room.
“Hey, Jack,” she said and crouched beside him. A dozen or so guys were pretending to ignore them, making a point of not looking their way. She could see right through them, the big dumbasses. She chewed on her lip, then said, “Hey, I’m looking for Matt. You know where he is?”
The strain had raised the veins on Jackie’s forehead and neck. She could see them engorged and pulsing just below the skin. Jackie reached back, replaced the bar on the stand and lay there for a few seconds, sucking in air. When he got his breath back, he said, “Fuck off, Kelse. I got nothing to say to you,” and he lifted the bar again.
She’d never been any friend of Jackie’s, but even so.
“Listen, I don’t …”
“I said, fuck off,” he said, the intense pressure of the weights forcing the words out in short bursts.
She gave it a second, not knowing exactly how to take it from there, so she said, “Y’know, I just need to find Matt. If you know where he is or …” she lifted one shoulder, “y’know, maybe where Delmar is or whatever.”
She waited while Jackie did another ten reps then replaced the bar back on the rack and sat up. He reached across for his towel, ignoring her while he wiped the sweat from his forehead and neck.
She straightened, determined to stick with the casual approach. “Because, I think him and Li were going to pay Delmar a visit and I missed the address.” Another shrug. “You know me—I wasn’t listening and ah … you know how it is.”
He gave her a sideways glance, took a deep, irritated breath and tossed the towel back on the floor. Then he lay back and lifted the bar again.
His attitude was pissing her off. She didn’t have time for this screwing around. “So, do you know or not? Like, where he lives? Delmar, I mean …”
“Yeah, I know where he lives. Go look him up in the phone book,” Jackie said, and started pumping the bar again.
“I doubt he’s in the phone book.” She gave him a forced grin. “Probably doesn’t even have a phone.” She waited, felt her grin turn sour. She wanted to punch him in the mouth. “And, I’m in kind of a hurry here.”
His eyes came up to her. He replaced the bar with a burst of breath, and said, “Lionel owes me money. You give me the money, I’ll tell you where Delmar lives.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Then you won’t get the kid.” And he lifted the weights, pumping them up, down, up, down.
Kelsey wasn’t too sure how to play this. The smug look on his face said Jackie knew he had the upper hand—which he did—and he was making the most of it.
“You know about the kid? Like, where they’ve got her?” she asked as he came to the last rep.
“Suck my dick.” Exhausted, he spat out a breath and reached back to ease the weights back onto the cradle. Kelsey grabbed the bar and jerked it back across his chest with such speed he had no time to react. Straddling him, she pressed down, bearing all her weight onto the bar, squeezing every last bit of air out of his lungs. Leaning down with her face in his, she said, “Tell me where Delmar is and quit screwing me around or so help me I will kill you.”
Jackie’s eyes flew open. His face was scarlet and swelling, his eyes bulging as he struggled under the collective weight of Kelsey and the bar. Spit and sweat flew as he gasped for breath, but she leaned even harder on the bar and grabbed him by the hair. “Tell me where Delmar is, Jackie, or God help you, I’ll wring the fuckin’ life out of you.” But before he could wheeze out an answer, someone grabbed her by the back of the shirt and dragged her off and threw her on the floor. When she looked up Stacy was standing over her—three hundred pounds of tattooed muscle and an attitude you didn’t want to mess with.
“What the hell are you doing, Kelse? You’re gonna kill him,” he said, gesturing towards Jackie who had sat up with the help of a couple of guys who’d rushed over. Now he was now doubled over and clutching his chest.
“You crazy bitch,” Jackie yelled at her. “You could’a killed me.”
“Next time I will, you asshole,” she said.
“You wouldn’t last two seconds,” he said.
She lunged at him again, but Stacy grabbed her, wrenched her around and started dragging her back across the gym. “I’m looking for Delmar,” she yelled as he half-dragged, half-carried her toward the door. “I just want to know where he lives,” she called out. “Just tell me!”
“Come out here.” Stacy opened the front door and hauled her out onto the steps, closing the door behind them.
“Let go’a me,” she said and yanked her arm loose. “You didn’t have to drag me out. I just want to find Delmar. That’s all. Then I would’a left straight away.”
“You nearly killed one of my clients,” he said, pointing back to the door.
She dusted herself off and straightened her clothing. “He deserved it. And he’s like, six months behind with his gym fees so why would you care?”
“Because that’s my business, not yours. Now, is this about this kid?”
Kelsey’s eyebrows shot up. “Does the whole goddamn world know?”
Stacy stuck his hands on his hips, dropped his head for a second. “Stay out of it, Kelse,” he said. “Go home and get that eye cleaned up. There’s a whole mess of shit just about to go down and you don’t wanna be caught up in it.”
Her fingers went to the swelling on her face. She had almost forgotten it. “Why? What’s happened? What do you know about all this?”
“Just go. Keep your head down and don’t come back.” Stacy turned for the door but she grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged. A guy that size, you don’t swing around by the shirt. He paused and turned, and for a second she thought he was going to hit her.
Her hands went up in surrender, as she stepped back. “Whoa. Now, hold on there, Stace. All I want is the kid, that’s all. Whatever Matt’s doing, I don’t even care.”
“You think he’s gonna just hand over the kid and walk away with nothing? That kid’s worth a lot of money.”
“Was there some kind of broadcast I didn’t know about?”
He scanned the street briefly. When his eyes came back to her, she saw something like empathy in them. He looked like he was wrestling with the question of how much he should tell her. “Listen; let’s just say Lionel’s got a big mouth.”
“Lionel? When was he here?”
“Take my advice, Kelse. Just go home, leave ’em to it? There’s nothing there for you.”
“I can’t. Where’s Lionel now?”
He folded his arms across his chest, dropped his gaze to his feet. “I dunno.”
“C’mon, man, level with me here. I’m working blind.” When he just stared at her, she said, “Just tell me.”
“Lionel’s got some deal going on. He’s buying in smack.”
“So, tell me something new,” she said.
“I’m talking serious quantities here, Kelse. Way I hear it, he’s setting up deals with the L21s, the S-Hoods and the Brookliners—fuck knows who else. He’s stitching together some kind of de
aler network. You go getting into that kind of shit, you’re digging your own grave.”
“Jesus,” she said and let her gaze wander while it sank in. “So what kind of money’s he talking?”
“Ten million.”
She snorted. Okay, she already knew Lionel had no intention of going into rehab. That had been Matt’s idea all along. But now it looked like the douche bag had earmarked the whole ransom for his drug deals. It had her wondering what his own dealer would make of it. “I see,” she said, because suddenly the whole picture became very clear and frighteningly complex.
“There’s a whole bunch of people hurting out there, Kelse. That kind of money in Cleveland right now, well …” He stared off down the street. “A lot of people want a piece of it.”
“Jesus,” she said again. And there was Holly right in the middle. “Fuck.” She felt her shoulders wilt at the enormity of it. “I gotta find her, Stace, c’mon, gimme a break. Please.”
Out in the lot, a car pulled in and parked. A guy got out, took out his bag and headed their way. He hesitated briefly when he saw the two of them, then pushed past Stacy.
“Greg,” Stacy said by way of greeting. “I’ll be right in.”
The guy said nothing but when he had gone, Kelsey said, “At least tell me where Matt is. If I can find Matt …”
“Why the hell are you doing this? Why can’t you just leave it alone?”
She looked straight up into Stacy’s eyes and said, “Because they’ll kill her.”
He shrugged. He had no answers.
“Please. I can’t let that happen. I made her a promise. I said I’d find her. If there’s anything you can tell me, anything …”
Stacy seemed torn. Face squeezed in deliberation, he looked up and down the street like he was searching for someone to come and help him out. Then he said, “What’s Delmar got to do with all this?”
“He’s set up a bank transfer to Somalia. The money gets wired out of the country and a minute later it comes back.”
Stacey’s eyebrows went up. “That’s gotta be the dumbest idea I ever heard.”
“You and me both.” He was still deliberating, still hesitating, so she said, “Stace, I don’t give a shit about the money. He can have it. The 21s can have it; the whole fuckin’ world can have it. I don’t care. I just need to find her.” She looked up to find his gaze but he was looking everywhere but at her. “She’s just a little kid, Stace. A scared little kid. I got her into this. Let me get her out.”
At last he turned to her. He grimaced, like the decision he’d just come to was killing him. But he said, “Delmar’s got a place over on Pollard Street. I don’t know the number. It’s purple is all I know.”
Kelsey was already backing towards the car. “Thanks, Stace. I owe you.”
“Pay me by not coming back,” he called after her.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
DAY TWO: 9:03 AM—ELIZABETH
Elizabeth and Diana du Plessis were just leaving the hospital when Richard called. The schedule had changed. The appointment at the school had been pushed back to ten-thirty, and Elizabeth was to return to the hotel immediately for a “briefing.” What this “briefing” was about, Elizabeth had no idea. But she was more relieved than she would have cared to admit.
All the way back to the hotel, Diana sat with her little recorder in her lap, asking questions; Elizabeth replying with her practiced answers—all delivered in her standard monotone, accompanied by a thinly applied smile. She was sure the woman could see the hairline cracks forming in her responses. It was only a matter of time before one of those cracks widened and Diana would see straight into the roiling pit of emotions beneath. All she wanted to do was escape before this woman tricked her into saying something she’d regret. And as exhausted and run-down as she was, that wouldn’t take much.
After ten minutes of questioning, Diana closed the notebook, clicked the pen, and sat with her hands folded. Elizabeth felt the muscles across the back of her shoulders relax. Then Diana hit her with another question. This one hit her harder than she’d have expected.
“Are you able to tell me how Holly is physically?” Diana asked. “I know Down syndrome often comes with accompanying problems—heart defects, thyroid problems. Does Holly have any particular health issues you can tell me about?”
Elizabeth rallied. She could do this. “Well, of course she has a cleft palate. Which isn’t necessarily associated with Down syndrome. Holly had the initial surgery to correct the palate, but of course,” she said, running her thumb along the leather handle of her purse, mentally fending off the panic attack she could feel welling, “everything went wrong and the final surgery was postponed. She’ll be under the best surgeon to complete it when she’s strong enough.” She turned a smile on Diana that she hoped said, “So take that.” If her words had conveyed such a sentiment, the woman simply ignored it. She sat poised, waiting for more.
When the silence stretched, Elizabeth added, “Oh, and there was the chest problem.” Diana said nothing, just tipped her head, signaling for her to continue. “There was a time when she was hugging herself, pulling her arms into her chest like this,” she said, crossing her forearms to her chest just as she had seen Holly do so many times. “I thought she was in pain, but the doctor who examined her said there was nothing wrong.” She smiled and lifted her chin—point to her. If Diana du Plessis thought she could outdo Elizabeth in a bout of mental sparring so she could prove Elizabeth was a lousy mother, she’d have to think again. Elizabeth mentally added a strike in her own favor.
“Tell me, Elizabeth, did you ever …” Diana began, but Elizabeth cut her off, saying:
“I’m sorry. Will you excuse me? I just remembered I have to call someone—a … friend,” she explained and hooked her phone out of her bag.
“Of course,” Diana replied, but Elizabeth could feel the woman watching as she opened the phone and scrolled through the menu, searching for someone—anyone—she could call.
First up was:
Abby Montgomery—Not in a million years. She was once Elizabeth’s closest friend. Elizabeth hadn’t spoken to her since Abby’s wedding two years ago. Abby had searched far and wide among her friends’ children for a flower girl. Holly wasn’t asked. Elizabeth was more wounded than she let on.
Alice Cressley—Obviously not.
Blake Ressnick—Ditto.
Caulder Jackson—Oh, yes, hilarious. Calder was the private investigator Elizabeth had enlisted when Richard had his dirty little affair. She doubted she could look him in the eye again. Especially after everything he’d told her, and she had still chosen to do nothing.
Dr. Felicity Sevenada—The therapist Elizabeth had consulted five years ago when depression threatened to drive her over the edge. Richard had forbidden her to see her again. He said that people without money got on just fine, and so would they. And with his political aspirations, a shrink was the last skeleton he could afford to have found in the closet.
Diana’s presence was like a crow on her shoulder. She wasn’t watching her directly but she may as well have been. Elizabeth turned toward the window and scrolled on.
Emily Pearson-Grange—dear God, no. How could Elizabeth forget the tantrum her daughter Sharya had thrown when she discovered Holly at her sleepover—screaming at her mother that she “didn’t invite that ugly kid” and stomping off and locking herself in her room until Elizabeth had taken Holly and gone.
Kap Gordon—Good lord, why did she even have his number?
Lydia—No thanks. She was depressed enough without speaking to Richard’s bitch of a mother.
Mom. Oh, God. She had forgotten the number was still there. The instant she saw it, her chin crumpled and her breath caught because more than anything in the world she wanted to call her and hear her voice. She still couldn’t believe she was gone. When she noticed Diana cut her a quizzical look, she covered her mouth and pretended to cough.
Nancy Davidson-Reed. Never! Nancy was also once a friend. Until
her darling son, Harley, first clapped eyes on baby Holly where Elizabeth had propped her up on Nancy’s living room floor. Harley’s eyes had grown into saucers. Then he yelled for his brothers and sisters to come and see the “funny-looking kid,” and he doubled over laughing and pointing. Elizabeth had told Harley that “that wasn’t a very nice thing to say.” Nancy told Elizabeth that Harley was “only four, for goodness’ sake,” and “not to be so sensitive.” Elizabeth told Nancy that Harley may be only four, but Nancy was not. She also told her that maybe she should teach her child some manners. Upon which, she’d snatched Holly up and left without a backward glance. She hadn’t spoken to her since.
Richard. No.
“I’m sure the number’s here somewhere,” she said, still winding back through what seemed like a past life—or at least the bits she hadn’t deleted.
Sienna. She stared at the name, barely able to believe the girl was dead, then went to the next entry.
Stephanie Compton. Head of the mothers’ support group. Good old Stephanie. She carried her burden like some kind of shield—using it to fend off negative vibes so she could embrace only the positive. In the face of such vitality, Elizabeth never had the courage to air her problems, much less her feelings. So she had abandoned the support groups. They could offer her nothing, and in return, she had nothing to give.
Finally, the menu brought her back to Abby again. Did she have one friend left in the world?
Elizabeth offered Diana a grim smile. “I’ll call her later.” She slipped the phone into her purse, noticing with relief that they were just pulling up in front of the hotel. A slightly thinner crowd had gathered outside, but almost immediately, it was obvious something had changed.
Whereas the people who had waved them off not an hour before had been calling messages of support and love, these were waving placards with pictures of Holly and the words, “How could you?” and “Richard McClaine would sell his own daughter” scrawled across them. As soon as the car drew in, they rushed forward, yelling and chanting slogans and slapping at the windows, causing the driver to slow to a crawl.
The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set Page 17