Every Dark Corner (The Cincinnati Series Book 3)
Page 4
‘She was a little surprised that I was there, because she thought she’d fired her attorney for being a pussy. Her words, not mine. I got the impression that she wasn’t very confident about his ability to get her off. In the legal sense, of course.’
His lips twitched. He really did like Sidney. ‘Of course. Although Alice was never very hard to get off. In that sense, anyway.’ On the job, Alice was stone cold. Hell, she’d been caught on a roof with a sniper rifle in her hands, firing at a group of federal agents who’d been escorting a key witness. But off the clock, the woman had some serious bedroom moves. He’d almost enjoyed it, but she’d been way too old for his tastes. He suppressed a shudder. Sex with Alice was part of playing the game. You wanted her product, you fucked her. And for a time, he’d wanted what she’d been selling. So he’d taken it for the team.
Sidney grinned slyly, her teeth white against her dark skin. ‘I can’t imagine the two of you, you know, together. I mean, she’s my age. And you’re . . . not.’
He scowled at her. This was what happened when he socialized with his college-aged clients. They became far too familiar. ‘Any togetherness we might have experienced is ancient history. What I meant was, Alice is going to do a long stretch of hard time.’
Sidney snorted back a laugh. ‘Long and hard. Sorry, sorry.’ She forced her expression to sober. ‘She says she was set up.’
‘Of course she does. They all say that. Did she mention me? You know, kisses to her old boyfriend or anything like that?’
‘Nope. I didn’t mention you either.’ She frowned at him. ‘I’m not stupid, Professor.’
He felt a little quiver of relief and hid it well. That had been the only weak spot in his plan, but he’d been a little desperate to get someone into the jail to speak with Alice – someone that couldn’t be traced back to him.
‘Good,’ he said with a smile. ‘Like you said, I wouldn’t want her on my bad side. And if she finds out I helped you get in there to do an interview for your journal article . . .’
‘She won’t. No one will. I didn’t even tell my faculty advisor yet. I wasn’t sure if I’d get in, and I didn’t want to disappoint her if it didn’t pan out. But when I tell her, she’s gonna flip. It will be the perfect lead for our article on sociopaths. I’m ahead of schedule and the semester hasn’t even started yet.’
‘Did you ask Alice about her handing over her records to negotiate a deal?’
‘Yeah. I told her that my boss said he thought he could get the death penalty off the table if she produced records implicating her customers and suppliers, just like you said. She went ballistic. She said that only idiots, imbeciles, or old farts with faulty memories kept records anywhere other than in their heads. It was too dangerous. She said she’s saving everything she knows until she gets an offer of full immunity. I’m supposed to take my boss’s imbecilic plea proposal back to him and shove it up his ass. It was an amazing moment. It was . . . like . . . seeing her. Truly seeing who she is. Right there. A sociopath in full meltdown.’
Another wave of relief swept through him. Alice hadn’t kept records. If she had, he would have needed to find them and destroy them. This made everything so much simpler. He’d only communicated with Alice when he’d purchased product from her, so he didn’t have to worry about anyone else having his information. He could destroy her without worry.
The only remaining loose end was a formerly undercover federal agent, currently in a coma. He’d already made arrangements for the snipping of that loose end as well.
‘Well, Alice is a sociopath.’ He smiled at Sidney. ‘I promised you one and I delivered.’
‘Did you ever. I can’t wait to write it up. It was a total rush, I gotta say.’
He lifted his brows. They were heavier than normal – the August humidity tended to weigh down the facial prosthetics he used when he made his rounds of the college campuses. He’d come up with the disguise years ago, when he’d been an undergraduate himself and sold coke to his friends. Small scale, nothing huge. Just enough to pay for his books and put gas in his car. But his business had grown quickly as he became known as having access to ‘really good shit’.
He made it all himself in his basement lab, a real-life Walter White a decade before Breaking Bad ever graced a Hollywood storyboard. He still sold to individuals like Sidney, but it was more to keep his ear to the college-aged group than for the money. His serious money in recent years had come from selling to the big operations, drug trafficking rings like Alice ran for her father. Now that Alice had been shut down by the damn Feds, he was going to have to find another outfit to sell to. He had expenses, after all.
Alice had never known that he’d been both a customer and a supplier. He’d sold her his good-quality shit as the Professor, and he’d bought other assets from her as himself. Luckily he’d already found other sources for his purchases. Way cheaper than Alice’s product had been, and as a bonus, he’d been able to stop fucking her.
Either way, he was glad Sidney hadn’t mentioned him.
‘You want a real rush?’ he asked.
Sidney’s black eyes sparkled. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
He handed her a small bag filled with white powder. ‘My special blend today.’
She looked at the product doubtfully. ‘How much for the special blend?’
‘Same as usual. I thought you might want to celebrate a little.’
She beamed. ‘Absolutely.’ She drew her kit from her backpack and set it up on the console between the two seats. Mirror, straw, razor blade. With efficient movements she readied the sample, forming three good-sized lines. She bent over to take her first snort, but he stopped her with a touch to her shoulder.
‘I have a bonus today – something new I’ve been playing with. You want to try it?’
She eyed him warily. ‘Is it safe?’
She was snorting cocaine. He wanted to roll his eyes, but he controlled himself. ‘Very safe. I’ve tried it myself and given it to a few of my best customers. You’ll like it. I promise.’
She lit up like a Christmas tree at being included with his best customers. ‘What do I do?’
He held up a small vial containing one capsule. ‘Snort your line, pop this in your mouth, then bite down. It will make your high amazing. Orgasmically amazing.’
She giggled. ‘I don’t think that’s a real word, Professor.’ Leaning forward, she inhaled, drawing the line up through the straw, then leaning back to close her eyes as the coke hit her brain. ‘Oh, wow. This alone . . . Amazing.’
He grasped her jaw gently, pulled it down, and transferred the capsule straight from the bottle into her mouth. No contact. No fingerprints. ‘Now bite. Hard. And swallow fast.’
She obeyed. For a minute nothing happened. She frowned. ‘I don’t feel anything.’
‘You will. Don’t worry.’ He pulled two latex gloves from his pocket and put them on. Sweeping the unused coke into the baggie, he sealed it and put it in his pocket. He put her kit back together, dropped it into her backpack, then drew out her phone.
‘What are you . . .’ She grimaced. ‘I’m not feeling so . . . Oh God, what was in that pill?’
‘Cyanide.’
‘Wha?’ Her eyes grew wide with helpless panic, as her mouth failed to fully form the word.
‘And ketamine was mixed with the cocaine. That’s my special blend. You’re not going to be able to move, so don’t try. For the next few minutes, you’ll wish you were dead. And then you will be.’
Unlocking her phone’s screen required her fingerprint, so he took her hand and pressed her right index finger to the start button. Presto. He flipped through her photos, just to make sure she hadn’t taken any of Alice. He didn’t want any connection whatsoever.
Excellent. No photos. He’d throw her phone in a dumpster the first chance he got.
He pulled the door closed and drove through the broken gate and away from Lovers’ Lane. Then he removed the SIM card from her phone and tossed the phone into the first dumpster he saw. Driving another few blocks, he pulled to the curb, stopped, and dropped the card into the storm sewer. Next stop, Ohio River.
The river made disposal so very convenient. And on the minuscule chance the SIM card was found, the river itself would have destroyed any data stored there. He grimaced. And people still eat fish that comes out of that river. Oh my God.
Speaking of fish . . . He hadn’t had dinner yet. He wondered what Mallory had prepared, hoping it would taste as good warmed up. Better not be fish.
Two
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Wednesday 12 August, 11.30 P.M.
She was clacking again. And humming, really, really off-key. But Decker didn’t mind. The sounds she made were real. He wanted the real. He kept clawing to get to the real. But the dark kept pulling him back and he was so damn tired of fighting.
But she was clacking and humming so he held on to that. What was the song? He knew that he knew it. Even as off-key as she hummed, he knew it. The name of the song hovered in front of him, too far away to grab. And then, words. She was singing.
‘How I wish . . . how I wish you were here.’
Ah. Pink Floyd. Still really off-key. And so damn sad. Why’s she sad? He needed to know, but he couldn’t . . . couldn’t ask. Couldn’t make his body move. A surge of fury pulsed through him, but it fizzled quickly. Just not enough energy to fuel the mad.
Then the clacking stopped. The singing stopped, her voice breaking as she sang about the two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl. He panicked when he heard the rustle of her movement. Don’t go. Please don’t go. Touch me again. Please. That had felt so nice and he’d wanted to tell her so. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like that.
A wet sound found its way into the dark, followed by her ragged sigh. She was crying. Don’t cry. Please. He relaxed when the clacking began again. She was still sniffling, but at least she wasn’t leaving.
‘Fucking Pandora,’ she muttered. ‘Throw me sad songs. Make me cry like a damn baby. Like I need that today. What I need is some happy.’ The clacking paused. ‘Hey, Griff, you want some happy too? Maybe it’ll help you wake the hell up and tell me what I’m looking for.’
Music flowed faintly and he wanted to get closer, to curl into it. He could barely hear.
There was a slight pressure on his pillow and the music got louder. Yeah. That. Thank you. She’d put her iPod next to his ear. Then he wanted to laugh. He knew this song, too. Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah. She was playing him Disney songs.
‘This is my secret playlist, so you gotta promise not to tell,’ she murmured as her fingers brushed his forehead. Yes. Please. More. But her touch disappeared and he wanted to scream. Wanted to beg. Touch me again. Please. ‘It’s labeled “Death Metal”, just in case somebody gets a peek at my iPod. I got a reputation as a badass to uphold, you know. But sometimes even badasses need some happy, and everybody loves the Mouse.’ She was standing close, her voice a quiet murmur in his ear. ‘Even freaking big tanks like you.’
The clacking resumed and he relaxed again. What was she doing? Open your eyes. Find out. But his eyelids were too damn heavy. He wanted to tell her to talk to him. He needed to hear her, needed to find his way back. She’d talked a lot before. When he was awake before. Almost awake, anyway. She’d talked and talked.
Sometimes to me. Sometimes to that other woman. Decker didn’t care about the other woman. Didn’t care about the music. He wanted to hear her. Needed to hear her.
Need to tell her . . . His mind stilled. This was important. He needed to tell her . . . What?
The music kept flowing. Kids’ songs. Happy songs. Turn off the music and talk to me. He needed to hear her more than he needed the music. But the music went on.
Then he remembered, and it was like a shock to his brain. I need to tell her about the kids.
She sighed again and the clacking stopped. ‘Break’s over, Griff.’ He heard the rustle, felt her by his bedside, and the music stopped. ‘I gotta get back to your damn recordings, which you should know are really boring so far. But don’t worry. I’m not giving up.’
Wake up. She’s going back to the chair. Wake the hell up! Do. It. He forced his eyes open and— Holy fucking God, that hurts. So bright. Too bright.
But he wasn’t about to close his eyes again, because she was there, her face inches away from his, brown eyes wide and mouth open in shock. Then she smiled at him.
He knew her. Red hair like a sunrise. Pretty pale skin. Freckles across her nose. Kate. Her name was Kate. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. Fucking mask. Fucking tube. Need it out.
‘Welcome back, Agent Davenport. It’s about time you woke up.’ She caught his wrist before his hand made it to the mask. ‘Don’t. Do not touch this tube. I’m ringing for a nurse.’
Kids. He needed to tell her about the kids. Desperation grabbed at him and he struggled to shake off her hand, but she tightened her grip.
‘Griffin, stop.’ She was calm, but firm. ‘If you try to pull out that tube again, they will put you back under. Do you understand?’ Her expression softened even though her grip didn’t. ‘Don’t be afraid. You’re going to be okay. I promise.’
He believed her, so he stopped struggling. Still he didn’t drop his hand, just in case.
She smiled at him again. ‘Thank you. You might not remember me. My name is Kate.’
I knew that. He relaxed a little more. He’d gotten that right.
‘Special Agent Kate Coppola,’ she continued, her voice calm. ‘I was with you when you were shot. I need you to settle down and listen. I don’t want them to sedate you again. You’re on a ventilator, but you’re going to be okay.’
He nodded. At least he hoped he had. He let his hand fall to his side, too tired to fight anymore. She brushed his hair off his forehead and his eyes slid shut. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. But her touch disappeared and he panicked again. No. Don’t leave. Stay!
He forced his eyes back open and relaxed again. She was still there. Need to tell her. He blinked hard.
‘I was just pressing the call button. I’m here, Griff.’ He frowned, and she frowned back. ‘That’s your name. Griffin Davenport.’
He shook his head, surprised when it moved. He’d been stuck . . . frozen for so long. He hadn’t thought he’d ever find his way out. His eyes teared up and he blinked hard. Shit.
But she was there to wipe away the wetness with her fingertips. He reached up with the arm that moved – the other one had tubes in it – and gripped her wrist when she would have moved her hand from his face. Again she smiled, and it was sweet. So damn sweet.
She stroked his forehead and he fought to keep his eyes open. ‘I’m not going to leave you, Griff. Not just yet anyway. At some point I have to leave so I can sleep. But I’ll be back.’
He frowned again and shook his head. Not Griffin. Not Griff. My name is Decker.
‘I wish I didn’t have to sleep, too,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘But I have to.’
He rested back against the bed, frustrated. Too exhausted to do more than stare at her.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Wait. What were you shaking your head about?’ She looked up and over toward the door. ‘He’s awake. And calm.’
Seconds later a nurse was at his side, smiling at him. ‘So he is.’
Kate looked back down at him, brows arched. ‘And he’s not planning to yank out the tube. Right, Agent Davenport?’
The nurse was busy fussing over him, but Kate stayed, her eyes never leaving his. ‘You’ve been here a week,’ she said. ‘They will take out this tube. Right, Nurse?’
‘Absolutely,’ the nurse assured him.
He didn’t need the nurse to say so. He trusted Kate and tried to tell her so. She gave him a little nod and another smile, so he must have communicated something right.
‘Keep talking to him, Agent Coppola. You’re keeping him stable and calm, and that’s a good thing. I’ll get the doctor in as soon as possible.’
Kate grasped his hand as soon as the nurse was finished with him. ‘They had to put you into a coma for a week. The bullet did a lot of things that I’m too tired to try to pronounce, but basically it messed up your lung. If they’d left you to heal on your own, it would have hurt like a motherfucker every time you drew a breath. So, the coma. Got it?’
He blinked. Keep talking, honey, he thought. You’re doin’ fine.
‘You had a chest tube, which they took out, but the ventilator is still breathing for you. As soon as they’re sure you can breathe on your own, they’ll take out this tube too. Don’t worry.’
He wasn’t. Not about that. But he was worried about something. What was it?
Right. The kids. What about the kids?
Dammit. He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember and it was important.
‘Sshh.’ Kate squeezed his hand and stroked his forehead with her free hand. ‘You just tensed up again. I need you to stay calm. If they think you’re about to go all batshit on them, they’ll knock you out again. One, I don’t think you’ll like that, and two, I need you to be able to talk to me. I gotta know what’s on those CDs that’s so important.’
Yes. Kids. On the CD. His hand went for the tube again and she tightened her grip.
‘Oh come on, Griffin. Really? Do not make me get tough with you. I guarantee you won’t like it.’ She pushed on his hand until it was flat on the sheet. ‘That’s better. I get that you want to talk about the CD. Once the doc comes in, we’ll figure out a system. I promise.’