Sinister (Shaye Archer Series Book 2)

by Jana DeLeon

  “I know this is a stupid question,” she said, “but I have to ask. Have you reported this to the police?”

  Hustle gave her a disgusted look. “They won’t do nothing. We’re all missing already and they ain’t looking for us now. What difference would my word be?”

  Shaye knew he was right. Street kids were runaways or those left with no family to care for them, like Hustle. As long as they weren’t causing trouble, the police didn’t bother picking them up because they knew within a day or two they’d be right back on the street. And ultimately, the police couldn’t launch an official investigation over someone who didn’t really exist in the first place.

  “Do you know Jinx’s story?” Shaye asked. “Is someone looking for her?”

  “I don’t think so. Her moms is a junkie. Jinx ain’t ever talked about her dad. She may not know who he is. For all I know, her moms don’t either. What little Jinx said didn’t paint a good picture of her, you know?”

  “Did Jinx do drugs?”

  “No way! She seen what it does to you. Her moms is wrapped up bad, though. She was hooking up with men to get a fix.” His face flashed with rage. “I think some of them men came at Jinx. I think that’s why she took off.”

  Shaye struggled to control both her anger and her disgust. As a social worker, Corrine had seen and heard most everything possible, and she discussed what she saw at length with Shaye, hoping to give her a better understanding of the things she could potentially run into as an investigator. Jinx’s situation was an all-too-common one for a young girl with an addict for a mother.

  “How old is Jinx?” Shaye asked.

  Hustle shrugged. “My age, I guess. Fifteen. Maybe sixteen.”

  “Do you know her last name?”

  “She never said.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a picture of her?” She was certain the answer was no, but it never hurt to ask.

  Hustle’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “You going to find her?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  He reached into his sweatshirt and pulled out a piece of folded paper. He unfolded it and passed it to Shaye. She lifted it up and marveled at the detail of the pencil drawing. The girl had a delicate face, pixieish, with big eyes and short spiked hair. Her expression was slightly indignant and had a bit of an edge—her tough look, Shaye guessed.

  “Did you draw this?” Shaye asked.

  Hustle nodded.

  “It’s incredible. Have you ever thought about pursuing a career in art?”

  “Jinx said I should. I was saving for some art supplies, figuring I could make some money in the square. She’s smart about things. That’s why I know something’s wrong. If someone got the jump on Jinx, it wasn’t a last-minute thing.”

  “You think someone planned to take her.”

  “I’m sure of it. So what do we do now?”

  Shaye leaned back in her chair and blew out a breath, trying to decide on the next course of action. “Two things. First, I need to see if anyone was looking for Jinx through the system. I know you don’t think that’s the case, but if someone was looking for her, the police could have picked her up and turned her over.”

  “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

  “Second. I want you to show me everywhere you know that Jinx spent time—where she worked in the square, where she hung out when she wasn’t working, who she hung out with, where she stayed at night.” Shaye looked directly at Hustle. “You have to be my eyes and ears on this. The street kids aren’t going to talk to me, not without your help.”

  “I’ll do anything you need. Just say the word.”

  “Okay. I need some time to work the system, and I have to have a convenient way to contact you. I’ll pick you up a cell phone tonight and get it to you tomorrow morning. With the holiday, the square will be even busier than usual tomorrow. We can start there. I’ll meet you in front of the Andrew Jackson statue at ten a.m. Does that work?”

  Hustle’s relief was apparent. “That’s great.”

  The waitress pushed plates with huge cheeseburgers and stacks of onion rings in front of them. Hustle’s eyes widened and he grabbed the burger and took an enormous bite.

  “It’s good, isn’t it?” Shaye asked, forcing herself to sound upbeat. The boy wasn’t starving, but he wasn’t getting enough to eat. She wished he’d let Corrine help him. If anyone could find the right situation for Hustle, it would be her mother, but Shaye knew she had a ways to go before Hustle trusted her with something that big, if he ever did. Still, there had to be a way to help without scaring him away. She’d work on that.

  She slipped the drawing into her purse, wondering what had happened to Jinx and already praying that it was something simple and safe, even though she had a really bad feeling that it was neither of those things.

  * * *

  Hinges creaked and a block of light illuminated part of the room. Jinx sat up straight, squinting into the light, trying to make out her surroundings. The room was bigger than she thought but solid stone construction, even the ceiling. She heard footsteps and realized that the light was coming from overhead. She was in a basement.

  She held a hand over her eyes and watched as a set of boot-clad feet appeared, every step echoing on the wooden stairs. Her hands started to sweat as the figure dropped lower and lower, first exposing his legs, then torso, and finally his face. It was the one thing she’d been desperately waiting to see.

  Disappointment rolled over her in waves, taking her breath away as the mask came into view. It was a Mardi Gras mask, one of those Venetian ones with the split color. This one was gold on one side and purple on the other. Fear coursed through her and she scurried to the back corner of the cage, hiding in the shadows. It was only when he stepped onto the basement floor that she realized he had something slung over his shoulder. Something big.

  He walked past her without so much as a glance and opened the door to a cage across from her. Then he flipped the bag over his shoulder and stuck it in the cage. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer and her vision blurred. Sweat rolled down her brow and into her eyes, the salt burning, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the scene in front of her. She couldn’t even blink.

  He removed a rope from the top of the bag and pulled the ends of it, dumping a boy onto the floor. Leaning over, he cut the ropes around the boy’s wrists and ankles, then took the rope and the bag and backed out of the cage, closing and locking the door behind him. He turned around and even though he couldn’t possibly make out anything more than the outline of her body, he looked straight at her.

  Lifeless blue eyes stared at her from behind the mask, and even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was smiling. She pulled her arms tighter around her legs and dropped her head down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. She heard a low chuckle, then the shuffle of feet as he walked away. As the footsteps carried up the stairs, she opened her eyes and watched as the door above slammed shut, casting her into darkness again.

  She waited a bit, until she was sure he was gone, then inched toward the front of the cage, staring pointlessly into the pitch black. “Hey,” she said, “are you all right?”

  The echo of her voice was the only thing breaking the dead silence of the room. He was probably drugged as she had been.

  “Can you hear me?” she tried again, a desperate edge to her voice, but no answer was forthcoming.

  The door above the room flew open once more and she scurried back into the corner. The man with the mask slowly descended, carrying a white paper bag. He walked directly toward her cage, and she squeezed herself tighter into the corner. Jinx wasn’t afraid of a fight, but given the man’s size and the fact that she was still woozy from the drugs, she knew any attempt to overtake him would be futile.

  The man stepped up to her cage and pushed the bag through the bars. “That’s food. You’ll want to eat it. Where you’re going, you’ll need all the strength you can get.”

  He chuckled, and the hair on Jinx’s neck and
arms stood on end. Her body felt as if an ice storm had passed over it. He turned around and headed back up the stairs, closing the door behind him.

  The smell of grilled meat wafted toward her and her stomach growled. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but she was starving to the point of dizziness. She crawled toward the front of the cage, her arm outstretched, her hand feeling the floor for the bag. Her fingers brushed the side of it, and she snatched it up from the floor and pulled something round and wrapped in paper from inside. A burger. Water pooled in her mouth as she pushed back the paper from the burger. She lifted it to her mouth, then paused.

  What if it’s drugged?

  She lowered the burger for a couple of seconds, but starvation overrode her fear. If she passed out from drugs or from lack of food, the end result was the same. At least this way, she had an opportunity regain some of her strength and hope for a chance to escape. She shoved the burger in her mouth, almost choking on the huge chunk she bit off. She held her other hand underneath her mouth, making sure she didn’t drop a single morsel. She had no way of knowing how long she’d have to wait before she got more.

  Every bite counted.

  Chapter Three

  Shaye parked in front of her mother’s home and killed her car engine, but didn’t make a move to get out of her SUV. Her relationship with Corrine had always been solid, but lately it showed some signs of wear. Corrine had made it clear that she didn’t want Shaye to move out, but then Shaye was fairly certain Corrine would have had her living at home when she was ninety if she had a say. That one had been easy enough to get past.

  The second item on Corrine’s “I’m not comfortable with that” list was Shaye’s choice to open her own agency rather than continue working for the established agency she’d been with for three years while she was finishing up her degree. But Shaye knew what she wanted to do with her life, and chasing down people committing insurance fraud wasn’t the difference she wanted to make in peoples’ lives. Even that disagreement was one that had been overcome. Corrine’s profession wasn’t exactly limited to paper pushing.

  Then Shaye’s first case blew everything out of the water. Not only was it a criminal matter that had put Shaye up against a horrific serial killer, but Shaye’s representation of the victim had put Corrine directly in the line of fire. Her mother had been injured, and if it weren’t for a huge combination of timing and luck, she’d probably be dead.

  Which was really bad.

  But none of that was the worst thing. The worst thing, as far as Corrine was concerned, was that Shaye hadn’t told her why she was attacked, even though Shaye had figured it out at the hospital after Corrine was brought in. Shaye’s argument was that Corrine was entrenched in her home with round-the-clock private security, courtesy of Shaye’s grandfather, and New Orleans police parked on the street in front of her house, courtesy of her grandfather’s status in the community. No one could have gotten to Corrine unless they could walk through walls.

  And if Shaye had told Corrine the truth about her attack when it happened, her mother would have insisted Shaye give up the case. That was something Shaye couldn’t do. Emma Frederick needed her help, and Shaye had given her word. And even though Corrine couldn’t have forced her to quit, her mother would have worried herself to death and given Shaye so much grief that she would have wished she’d never told her the truth.

  So she didn’t. Not until it was all over.

  Shaye had been guilty of a lie by omission, and it had been a doozy.

  Thus the strain.

  Not that Corrine was holding a grudge. Shaye wasn’t even certain her mother was capable of doing such a thing. Corrine had never seen much point in investing oneself in the past. She’d always felt that today was the most important day. But now, Corrine knew firsthand what kind of risks Shaye was willing to take for her clients. She understood with a vengeance that her days of protecting Shaye were over.

  Shaye pushed open the car door and headed inside. While things might still be a little uncomfortable, she needed her mother’s help. The sound of the Beach Boys echoed through the cavernous front entry of the house, and Shaye shook her head. When Corrine needed to decompress, she always played the Beach Boys. She said the ocean was the most relaxing place you could be and the music reminded her of it. When she was younger, Shaye wondered why Corrine didn’t cash in her inheritance, chuck her horribly depressing job, and go sit on a beach for the rest of her life. But as she got older, Shaye understood the calling Corrine had to help others. It wasn’t easily ignored.

  She followed the music into the kitchen where Corrine was wrist-deep in dough. Her second-favorite way to relax was baking. That one, Shaye would never understand. Domestic pursuits held absolutely no interest for her, but she would admit to liking the results of her mother’s baking.

  “What’s on the menu?” Shaye asked as she stepped up to the huge marble-topped island counter and slid onto a stool.

  Corrine looked up and smiled at her. “Raspberry croissants.”

  Shaye groaned. “My favorite.”

  “Moaning about it doesn’t seem an appropriate response.”

  “Sensei Markham told me tonight I have to put in an extra hour of strength training every week. If you keep baking, I’ll have to add another hour of cardio.”

  Corrine flipped the dough over and started working the other side. “Why more strength training?”

  Crap. She’d walked right into the very topic she’d wanted to avoid. “We’re going to work more on close combat.” No use trying to hide it now.

  Corrine’s jaw flexed and Shaye could tell she wasn’t thrilled with the news. “Well,” Corrine said, “I’m not happy that you need the additional training, but I’m glad you’re taking steps to better protect yourself.”

  “You should come to training,” Shaye said, before she changed her mind. “I know this latest incident wasn’t about your job, but you can’t ignore the fact that it’s getting more dangerous to do what you do.”

  Corrine sighed. “I’m not ignoring it. It’s rather impossible to do so when your grandfather insists on calling every day to preach to me about quitting social work for a nice corporate office downtown.”

  Shaye grimaced. “Sorry.”

  Corrine glanced over at her, then flipped the dough, banging it on the counter. “You know how it feels from firsthand experience, don’t you? God, I’ve become my father.”

  “Nah, you’re not that bad. Look, Pierce loves his corporate games. That’s why he works so many hours. You and I aren’t made that way. We have different interests and unfortunately, sometimes they are dangerous. We can’t change the environment that surrounds our work, but we can better prepare ourselves to handle an increasing threat.”

  Corrine stopped pounding the dough and looked directly at Shaye. “Do you know what his next idea was—when I finally got it through his thick skull that I wasn’t quitting my job? A bodyguard. He wants to hire a bodyguard to stick with me while I’m working.”

  “It’s not the worst idea.”

  “Really? So I suppose if I suggested the same thing to you, that would be fine?”

  “I don’t think I’d get very far questioning people with some beefy, imposing dude standing next to me, but if you had someone at least driving you, they’d be on hand if things got bad.”

  “I’m not Miss Daisy.”

  Shaye shook her head. “Look. I know you’re thinking the attack on you was my fault, and you’re right, but that doesn’t mean you’re safe doing what you do. People are…I don’t know, meaner, have less to lose. I read this article that said one in twenty-five people are likely sociopaths. How many of them do you think you run across in a week?”

  “One in twenty-five, huh? Socialites in the Garden District probably account for the bulk of them.”

  Shaye smiled. “Probably, but there are plenty more spread around.”

  Corrine sighed. “What am I supposed to do? Our office doesn’t have the funding to sen
d out two social workers for each case—we can’t cover what we have now as individuals—and I’d feel funny having a bodyguard when no one else can afford that kind of luxury.”

  “No one else is heir to one of the biggest corporations in the state or daughter to a state senator. Has it never occurred to you that if the wrong person figured out who you are, they could hold you hostage?”

  “Of course it’s occurred to me, but I never considered it overly viable. I could say the same for you, you know.”

  “Since I try to stay out of the news and will do most anything to get out of those dress-up charity event things with the awful food and even worse people, my face is not as well known. Besides, I’ve been practicing martial arts for years, and I carry a weapon and am not afraid to use it. I’m not trotting through the Ninth Ward with a can of Mace as my backup.”

  “Fine. I’ll start taking classes with you, but I’m not going to have a bodyguard.”

  “Just promise me no more walking into abandoned buildings. If something seems off, call for police backup.”

  “The city would love me for that—calling them every time I see something off while doing my job.”

  “Then call me. Hell, call Eleonore. She’s not afraid to shoot someone.”

  Corrine shot her a look of dismay. “Don’t even go there. She had me digging mints out of her purse the other day and I almost had a heart attack. I’m surprised the ATF isn’t investigating that handbag.”

  Shaye smiled. “Speak loudly and carry a .45?”

  Corrine waved a hand in the air. “Enough. If I start thinking too hard about the contents of that purse, I’ll need Eleonore to write me a prescription for Xanax and she’ll make me explain why. That’s a level of exhaustion I don’t need. Tell me what you came for. I know it’s not a friendly visit. You have that look.”

  “What look?”