by Jen Blood
“There’s a problem, though,” I said. Desperation leaked into my voice. “We don’t know where Lisette and Maisie are. If we did, the guy who owns this place would have gone for them by now.”
He didn’t look surprised by my words, or even that disappointed.
“All right—how about we come back to that one, then. My esteemed client is under the impression that you have some photographs of his in your possession. He’s asked me to get those photos for him.”
“We already took them to the police,” Solomon said. Before she’d gotten the sentence out, he backhanded her so hard her head snapped backward. This time, I dove off the chair so fast I was halfway across the room before Elias got the gun pointed back at Solomon.
“Sit. Down,” Elias said. The humor was gone from his voice. He turned to Solomon. Blood trickled from her nose, her eyes watering with the pain. “The men are talking, sweetheart. Don’t interrupt again.”
Outside, somewhere over the rushing in my ears, I heard a truck pull up. It sounded like it was a couple of doors down. What would it take to get the neighbors’ attention?
“Now then,” Elias said to me. “Those pictures. They’re with the cops?”
“That’s right,” I said. “We gave them to a detective at the Portland station. Thibodeau’s his name... It didn’t seem smart to hang onto them.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Elias said. He clucked his tongue. Shook his head. His right arm was still wrapped around Solomon’s shoulders. She was doing her best to keep some distance between them, but he didn’t make it easy. “All right... Well, then, what about this one-eyed fella you got cozy with on the pier? What can you tell me about that guy?”
“He’s from Africa—the same place Charlene came from. They were married. I don’t know how to find him, though. I’ve been trying.”
I heard the faintest snick come from the kitchen. The light shifted as the door opened slowly. I did my best to keep my expression impassive, since the loveseat where Solomon and Elias sat faced away from that room. Wolf crept inside, making less noise than I would have thought possible for one so large.
“So here’s the million-dollar question,” Elias said, oblivious to what was happening behind him. He turned in the loveseat so he could face Solomon directly. Wolf moved just in time, pressing his back to the wall so he was out of sight. Elias fisted Solomon’s hair again, rougher this time, and forced her to look at him. His gun hand moved lower. I saw the cold steel touch her bare thigh as he slid the gun beneath the hem of her skirt. The terror and pure loathing in her eyes was visceral.
“You sure you don’t know where I can find Jacob Deng?” Elias asked. “Remember what’s at stake when you answer.”
Wolf’s shadow reappeared. He took another few steps, gradually closing the distance between him and Elias.
“I told you, I don’t know. We’ll do whatever else you want, though—we won’t go near Foster tomorrow. Just let her go.”
He slid the gun farther up her thigh. Solomon swallowed hard enough that I could see the movement.
Wolf took another step forward.
I saw something out of the corner of my eye, back toward the front door. I ignored it, until Philbrick got close enough that it was impossible to ignore any longer.
“This is your worst nightmare, isn’t it?” Philbrick asked me. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Sneer on his ugly mouth. “You hate to see these little bitches bleed.”
Elias followed my gaze just long enough to give Wolf time to close the distance behind him. It was one of the more satisfying moments of my life when he pressed the barrel of his shotgun to Elias’s temple. The PI froze.
“Drop the gun,” Wolf said. There was something a little bit mad in his voice. I saw the fear on Elias’s face, and I was viciously grateful. He let go of Solomon’s hair and leaned forward to lay the gun on the coffee table.
Philbrick remained where he was, arms still across his chest, sneer still intact.
Instead of simply scrambling away when the gun was down, Solomon stood and turned on Elias. I saw her wind-up, but he didn’t see anything until her elbow came up, hard, and caught him square in the nose. I heard a pop, and blood gushed an instant later. She stumbled when she strode away, but she didn’t fall, and she didn’t stop at the doorway.
She slammed the kitchen door on her way out, and headed for the garden.
“Go after her,” Wolf said. “Make sure she’s all right.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. I took a step toward them. Elias was still on the loveseat, blood streaming down his face. Now that the danger had subsided, my world had gone white—I didn’t want Elias to hurt. I wanted him dead. Wolf’s grip tightened on the gun. He leveled a glare at me.
“I’ve got this. Talk to Erin.”
“What are you gonna do to me?” Elias said. There was no fear in his voice. “You get rid of me, and my client’s got the resources to hire twenty guys just like me. All it does is complicate your lives.”
“I don’t mind complicated,” I said. This time, I didn’t stop with a single step. Even when Wolf’s gun came up, I kept on until I was on my knees on the loveseat beside Elias. My hands closed around his neck. I was dimly aware of a shadow watching from the corner of the room: Doug Philbrick. He smiled a bloody grin that radiated violence and a lust for dark things.
Elias’s eyes locked on mine. He tried to knock my hands away, but I wouldn’t move. A sound as pervasive as a jet engine rushed in my ears. Finally, Wolf slugged me in the back with the butt of his shotgun.
He hauled me away as I slumped to the ground, and I saw him nod toward Elias. “Get out of here,” he said. “And tell your client not to come back. Whatever he thinks we’ve got that you need, he’s wrong. We don’t have shit.”
Elias didn’t have to be told twice. He stood, coughing, blood still dripping down his nose. He had no great parting line, no memorable catch phrase, when he reached the door—he just turned, and slunk out of the house as quietly as he’d come.
“What did you do? Why the hell would you let him go?” I demanded when Elias was gone, turning on Wolf.
“Did you want me to let you kill him?” Wolf asked. He still had the gun in his hand. Now that the whole thing was over, I could see a tremor running through him. “What good would that do, except screw your life up sixteen ways till Sunday? You heard him—he doesn’t know where Lizzie is anymore than we do.”
“He might have known something—”
“He doesn’t know shit,” Wolf said. He lay the gun down on the coffee table, where Elias’s pistol still sat. When he sank onto the loveseat, I got the impression it was because he didn’t have it in him to stand any longer. “Now leave me the hell alone and go talk to your girl, all right? I need to figure some shit out.”
I walked away, still shaking myself. As I was headed into the kitchen, I brushed against something cool and only vaguely three dimensional. Philbrick smiled his bloody grin at me from virtual darkness. I ignored him, and kept walking.
◊◊◊◊◊
“Ow,” Solomon said. Half an hour later, she sat at Johnny’s kitchen table while I gently washed the blood from her face. Every light in the house was on.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’ll be a little swollen tomorrow, but it’s not bad. You might have a couple of black eyes, though.”
“I know,” she said. She pushed me away. “It’s not like I haven’t been through it before. A pop to the nose is nothing.”
I knew she wasn’t just being brave. Solomon’s mother—not only the town doctor in Littlehope, but also the town drunk—had a hell of a temper herself. In her teen years, Solomon had come into the Trib more than once with a split lip or a black eye, a byproduct of her mother’s binges. I’d grown up with a father prone to those kinds of rages; I think it was that as much as anything that had drawn me to Solomon early on.
Wolf came in from outside. I saw his frown when he looked at Solomon.
“Is Hector okay?” I asked.
“He got knocked out, but he’ll be fine—embarrassed mostly. He saw something by the house, got out to take a look, and Elias cold cocked him.”
“And no sign of Elias out there?” Solomon asked.
“None. He won’t be back tonight,” Wolf said.
“Did you call the cops?” I asked.
“I don’t want cops in on this. Nothing got stolen, not much harm done. It’s over—there’s nothing they could do anyway except keep us up all night answering a bunch of pointless questions.”
Unexpectedly, Solomon nodded. “I’m on Wolf’s side with this. If I’m going to that press conference tomorrow, I’d like to try and get at least a few hours’ rest first.”
Wolf and I traded a glance. “You sure the conference is such a good idea?” he asked. “Maybe you two should consider laying low for a while.”
“Screw that,” Solomon said. “After everything they’ve done? That piece of shit is going down.”
It was tough talk, but she still hadn’t gotten her color back from her encounter with Elias and I sure as hell hadn’t forgotten a word the bastard had said.
“We can talk about it in the morning,” I said, then held up my hand when Solomon started to argue. “I think the biggest takeaway we’ve got from all this is that Elias—and Foster—don’t have a clue where Lisette or Maisie are. I’m assuming that means they’re safe, at least for the moment.”
“And they don’t know how to find Deng,” Solomon added. “I bet if we find him, we’ll find Lisette.”
I saw a flicker of concern on Wolf’s face at that.
“He may just be looking out for them,” I said.
“Maybe,” Wolf said. “Or maybe he was the one who killed Charlene in the first place.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “My money’s on Foster, for all of it.”
Solomon shifted in her chair, stifling a yawn, and I realized just what a long day it had been.
“We should get some rest,” I said. “We can figure everything out tomorrow.”
“Shouldn’t we come up with a game plan for the press conference?” Solomon asked.
My phone rang before I could answer the question—thankfully, because I still wasn’t sure how to deal with the issue. I knew before I picked up exactly who it was.
“I had to leave before I’d actually made my point,” Elias said. His voice was more nasal than I remembered, most likely courtesy of the broken nose Solomon had given him.
“Why don’t you come back and tell me to my face,” I suggested. “We can talk it over.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “But I just wanted to let you know, in case it wasn’t clear... Your bitch shows up at that press conference tomorrow, and I’ll do a lot more than threaten her. And I’m going to enjoy every second—go nice and slow, while you watch me use her in ways you can’t even imagine.” He paused. “You understand, sport? Wolf doesn’t scare me. You don’t scare me. Stay away from Foster.”
He hung up.
Solomon looked at me expectantly, eyes flashing with anger. “That was Elias?”
I nodded. She might have been pissed, but my own venom had run dry. In its place, all I felt was fear.
The phone rang again a second later. Solomon moved to grab it from me, but I snapped it up before she could.
“You made your point, asshole,” I bit out.
There was a pause on the line. Then:
“I’m sorry—I might have the wrong number. I’m looking for Daniel Diggins.”
It was a male voice, polite and professional. The clock read 12:30—not a good time for work calls. I immediately thought of Buzz.
“This is Diggins,” I said. “Who is this?”
“Ben Morrison. You left several messages for me today. I know it’s late there, but it sounded important.”
Morrison—the reporter who’d written about Jacob Deng. I stood and walked away from the table, aware of Wolf and Solomon’s eyes on me.
“Right—sorry, it’s been kind of a...crazy day,” I said. “I was wondering if I could get some information from you about Mr. Deng.”
Fifteen minutes later, I hung up triumphant. Wolf looked at me expectantly. Solomon was asleep at the table, her head cradled in her arms. Wolf nodded to the garden.
We went outside, and I closed the door quietly behind me. This time when I reached for a smoke, Wolf didn’t protest. My hands were shaking so bad it took three tries before I lit the damn thing.
“I got an address for Deng,” I said. “He’s in Newry.”
Newry was a ski town about two hours northwest of Portland. According to Morrison, Deng had a cabin there. It had taken some convincing to get the address, but the reporter had finally given it up.
“What the hell are we waiting for, then?” Wolf asked. “Let’s go.”
I took a long pull from my cigarette, buying time. “Solomon...” I began.
“You don’t want her in the middle of this,” he guessed.
“I should have pulled her out a long time ago. Elias said he’d kill her—kill both of us—if she shows up at that press conference tomorrow. But if I bring her with us tonight, I don’t have a clue what I’ll be putting her in the middle of.”
He nodded with more understanding than I’d expected. “I’ve got a solution, I think. You’re not going to like it, but it’ll keep her safe while we wrap this shit up.”
I rubbed the scruff on my chin. Thought of Elias’s hands on her, the gun creeping up her thigh, the look in her eye when she’d clocked him... After less time than it probably should have taken, I nodded.
“Whatever it takes to keep her safe,” I agreed.
◊◊◊◊◊
It was just after one when I woke Solomon and convinced her it was time to head up to bed. I handed her a mug of tea and we went up the stairs together. Inside the room, she stripped out of the skirt she’d been wearing all day, unbuttoned her blouse with her back to me, and unsnapped her bra so that she stood in only her underwear, staring at the wall.
“If you want to take a shower...” I said.
“I don’t think I could stay awake for it,” she admitted. She turned with her arm over her breasts and faced me. I handed her my t-shirt. Turned down the blankets. She sat down with one leg tucked beneath her and held the shirt to her chest, though she didn’t put it on.
“Were you scared?” she asked me.
I sat down beside her and reached out to push the hair from her face. Her eyelids were already starting to droop. “When Elias had you? I’ve never been more scared in my life.”
I took the t-shirt from her and leaned in to kiss her soft, naked shoulder. Then, I motioned for her to raise her arms, and put the t-shirt over her head and her arms through the sleeves. Her eyes drifted shut. The tea was only half gone; I got the mug from the nightstand and handed it to her as she slipped under the covers.
“You should finish this. It’ll help you sleep.”
“Does it really look like I need any help?” she asked, the words slightly slurred.
“Just another sip or two.”
“What did the reporter say? Did you get more on Deng?”
“Not really,” I lied. “He’s holding anything he has pretty close to the chest.”
She swallowed another mouthful from the mug and wrinkled her nose. “God, I hate tea.”
I got into bed beside her. “Another couple of sips—after everything that happened today, it’ll do you good.”
She took one more sip, leaving a little less than a third remaining when she set it on the nightstand.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
She yawned widely. “Tired. Really...tired.”
We lay down together, and I pulled her into my arms.
“I was scared too,” she said, the words a warm whisper on my neck.
“I won’t let him near you again,” I promised. I kissed the top of her head. Felt how heavy she’d become in my arms. “Solomon
?”
She didn’t answer.
I waited another five minutes before I got out of bed, took the mug of tea from the nightstand, and left the room. Hector waited outside the door. There was an ugly bruise at the left side of his forehead.
“She should be out till late morning. Keep her safe,” I said. “You know what to do?”
He nodded. There was a hint of sympathy in his eyes, though I didn’t want that. Judgment would have been easier to handle. Condemnation.
“I’ll take care of her,” he said.
I left him standing outside Solomon’s door, and went to find Wolf.
Chapter 21
It took us just under an hour and a half to get to Jacob’s cabin in Newry, which we traveled in virtual silence. I spent part of the drive sleeping, my dreams merging with the vibrating truck cab and the roar of the engine. Whatever I dreamt, however incongruous the images seemed, I was always moving: Flying over the Atlantic until the engine blew; on a speedboat traveling across crystal blue waters while Buzz tried to tell me something I couldn’t quite make out; on the back of a motorcycle that Doug Philbrick drove, the back of his head blown out so that I could see the passing landscape through the hole the bullet had left.
The rest of the time, I spent thinking about Solomon.
It was three a.m. when we reached the fire road leading to Jacob Deng’s cabin. I hadn’t seen another car for at least ten miles. If Deng had neighbors, they kept themselves well hidden. Growing up with Sefu Keita, Jacob had been a key member of a large extended family—Sefu had relied on him. He’d had a wife, friends. A life, however terrifying that life may have been. What must it be like for him, then, to live like this? And why would he choose that? He’d been granted asylum here in the States; he needed to be here for five years before he could apply for citizenship, but he was coming up on that now. Was it really necessary for him to continue hiding like this? Did he consider Sefu, now three years’ dead, still a threat?
Wolf lowered the lights as he drove the rutted road out to the cabin, branches hanging so low that they scraped the windshield and battered the roof. When the cabin came into view, he slowed down. There was a light burning inside and a rusted Chevy Cavalier parked out front.