“I’m betting the turnover in the Black Diamond is fast. Star, the waitress, didn’t work there when Noel did. Even Grimes said he’d only been there the week before Noel disappeared.”
Mark frowned. “Good point, but—”
“I got more.” Confidence sounded in Juan’s voice. “When I saw the unfinished painting in Bates’s apartment, it felt as if I’d seen it before. I had. At the Noels’. The girl in all her paintings is her daughter. And when I opened Bates’s phone, her background is the carousel picture. Only Mrs. Noel’s in it, too.”
“Maybe Noel sent it to Cindy before she died,” Mark said.
“No, Lacy was a baby then. Plus, there’re other pictures. Photos of the Noels with the child. Whoever took those pictures has been following the Noels. I don’t think a friend would go that far. Also, I found a rabbit’s foot in Bates’s purse. Another picture at the Noels’ was a picture of their daughter with a rabbit’s foot. Her grandmother gave it to her.”
“Okay, I’m warming up to the idea,” Connor said.
“Then there’s the poetry. She writes about seeing her friend’s face in the mirror.”
“But if that’s Noel in there”—Mark pointed to the ICU doors—“where’s Cindy Bates?”
“Unfortunately, I think I know that, too. I’m betting she’s buried in the Henleys’ backyard. I think someone killed Bates thinking it was Noel.”
Connor didn’t look convinced. “Why do you think she’s buried there?”
“The poems imply someone’s in that garden, and Bates keeps going there, like she’s grave sitting.”
“Damn,” Connor said. “If you’re right, you really knocked this one out of the ballpark.”
“Shocking isn’t it?” Juan said. “I brought a fingerprint scanner. We’ll know soon.”
“Are Noel’s prints in the system?” Connor leaned back on his heels.
“Yeah. I checked. She was arrested a few months before she went missing.”
“Then let’s do this.” They walked into the ICU.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thirty minutes after the prints came back, Juan parked in front of the Noels’ tile store. He walked inside, still unsure how to deliver the news.
“Welcome,” a male voice called from the front counter.
Juan and Mr. Noel made eye contact. Noel looked at a woman at a corner desk. “Lola, watch the store for a bit.”
Mr. Noel waved Juan forward. “You got our message?”
“What message?” Juan asked as he followed Mr. Noel behind the counter.
“We didn’t have your card with us, so my wife called your office.”
“Sorry, I’ve been out.”
Mr. Noel stopped in front of an office. “Then why are you here?” He drew in a sharp breath. “You found her?” His expression darkened. “If my daughter suffered, don’t tell her mother.”
“Let’s sit down.” Juan motioned him forward and saw Mrs. Noel inside the office, working at a desk.
“I’ve got it right here. It’s crazy.” Mrs. Noel pushed an envelope toward him.
“What’s crazy?” Juan asked.
She motioned to the envelope. “The money we just got. It came yesterday but I didn’t open the envelope until this morning. Five dollars in a birthday card is one thing, but this is ridiculous.”
“How much money?” Juan remembered Star, the waitress, saying Bates was selling the drugs to help an orphaned kid.
“Almost twenty thousand.”
“That is a lot of money,” Juan said.
“But he’s not here for that.” Mr. Noel’s tone signaled confusion. “What’s up?”
Juan started. “You were right, Mrs. Noel. Your daughter isn’t dead. In fact, I’m sure it was her who sent the money.”
Mrs. Noel’s face paled. Mr. Noel let out a graveled gulp of air. “Are you…? Don’t tell us this if you aren’t sure.”
“I’m sure. But your daughter is in the hospital. In the ICU.”
“My girl’s alive?” Mrs. Noel sobbed, then asked, “What’s wrong with her?”
“She was shot. Doctors believe she’s going to make it, but she’s still unconscious.”
Mrs. Noel bolted up. “Is she at Westside Hospital?”
“Wait.” Mr. Noel motioned for his wife to stop. “Who shot her and where’s she been all this time? Is someone after her? Is she safe?”
“We don’t know everything. But she’s been using Cindy Bates’s identity. As for who shot her, we’re still trying to figure that out. But we haven’t let out to the media where she’s hospitalized.”
* * *
By noon, Juan was parked in front of the Henleys’ house.
Mr. Henley hadn’t taken kindly to news that he possibly had a body in his backyard. Not that Juan blamed him.
When Juan got out of his car, he heard barking. The front door to the house opened and Mr. Henley, wearing an attitude, stepped out.
“I sure as hell hope you’re wrong,” Mr. Henley said through tight lips.
“We all do.” Juan rotated his shoulders.
“Where do we think the body is?” Duncan, the owner of the cadaver dogs, bounced on his heels, excited.
“Backyard,” Juan said.
While Juan introduced Mark and Connor to Mr. Henley, Duncan opened the van. Two dogs, a German shepherd mix and a large poodle-looking dog, bounced out, but immediately sat and waited for Duncan to put their leashes on.
Sweat rolled down Juan’s brow as he watched Duncan lead the dogs into the backyard. If the animals didn’t pick up anything, it’d make his assumption come off as half-baked. Part of him still hoped he was wrong. Was it too much to ask that Bates was just off somewhere living her life in the shadows?
Probably.
The dogs, noses to the ground, moved back and forth. As they neared the back corner of the yard, both animals pulled harder on their leashes. At the birdbath, they sat and barked.
“We got a body,” Duncan said as if it was a good thing.
“I wondered why the plants always grew better over there.” Mr. Henley shivered as if appalled.
“I’ll call Stone,” Mark said, referring to the medical examiner. “He’ll bring a dig team.”
“All from a poem.” Connor patted Juan on the back. “You did good on this one.”
Good? Juan preferred to save victims, not find them dead. But cold cases usually meant discovering cold bodies.
Juan’s cell rang. He pulled it out, hoping it was Jody. It wasn’t. It was the hospital, not the number he associated with Vicki’s room, but the one from the ICU. Shit, it’d be a bitch if Abby Noel died now.
* * *
Mark and Connor waited at the Henleys’ for the body to be exhumed. Juan headed to the hospital to talk to Noel, who’d woken from the coma. He had one hour before picking up Bell. He couldn’t be late. Not even for this.
Abby and her mom looked up when he entered the room. “Can I have a moment with your daughter?”
“She’s still weak,” Mrs. Noel said.
“I understand.”
The woman left with reluctance. Abby Noel’s face was still bruised, her nose swollen. Tears brightened her blue eyes. “How did you figure it out?” Her voice came raspy and raw.
“The pictures on your phone. The paintings. The poetry. And the rabbit’s foot.”
She brushed tears off her face. “You’ve been up here before this, haven’t you? I recognize your voice.”
He nodded and sat in the chair beside her bed.
She blinked. “I didn’t kill Cindy.”
“Who did?” His tone came out all cop.
“I didn’t know him, but I’d seen him at the strip club a few days before it happened. Him and two other guys came looking for my boyfriend, Cheng Liu. Someone said they were from California.”
“Did you see him kill her?”
“No.” Emotion shook her voice. “Cheng asked me out that night, and Cindy had agreed to work my shift for me. No one could tell
us apart if she wore a blond wig. I’d loaned her my car. I was with Cheng when…I saw him get shot.”
“What happened?” Juan asked.
“I was waiting in Cheng’s car while he went back to his apartment for his phone. An SUV pulled up, I heard shots, saw him fall.” Abby shuddered.
“What did you do?”
“I ran into a bar next door to the parking lot. When I went back to Cindy’s house to get my car, I saw the guy leaving her house. I know they thought she was me.”
Juan’s mind raced to keep up. “So the person who you saw leaving Bates’s house is the one who killed Liu?”
“I don’t know for sure.”
“Did this guy leaving Cindy’s place drive the same SUV?” Juan asked.
“No, but I knew he was one of the guys who came to the Black Diamond a few nights before.”
Juan gave her a few minutes before asking, “Do you think you could describe that guy?”
She nodded.
“Excellent. I’ll bring a sketch artist in.” Juan stretched out his legs in the chair. “What happened to you after that?”
“I called the new manager of the Black Diamond, said I was Cindy, and quit. I took her ID and moved to Florida to live with an old boyfriend. I was so afraid that if they knew I was alive, they’d not only kill me but go after Lacy. I pretty much stayed high the whole time I was away. But I thought about Lacy every day and eventually just had to see her again. I swore I’d get clean. I did it for her. But I realized that even clean, I was a screwup. How could I ever deserve to be her mother?”
“You were going to kill yourself.”
Crying, she nodded. “But first, I wanted to give her some money, so she could put it toward college and make something of her life.” She wiped her eyes and looked up. “I’m going to jail, aren’t I?”
“I can’t say that right now. Why don’t you just concentrate on getting well.”
* * *
Vicki stepped out of Bell’s bedroom after reading her a story. She found Juan in the kitchen washing dishes. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
He dried his hands on a towel and smiled back at her over his shoulder. “Just being a good neighbor.”
He’d picked up Bell from school, then stayed at the hospital for four hours waiting for Vicki to be released. After he drove them home, he left to pick up her medicines, and returned with bags of Chinese food.
During dinner, Juan passed his peas from his fried rice to Bell’s plate while Bell passed him her bamboo shoots. Sweetie waited under Bell’s chair for any little tidbit she dropped. The entire evening from vegetable swapping to goodnight kisses was just so Norman Rockwellish, so family-like, it made Vicki want to cry.
He moved away from the sink and brushed Vicki’s hair off her cheek. “How are you feeling? You need a pain pill?”
“No. I’m good.” And she was. The pain in her side was gone. She placed her hand on his chest. Warm muscles came against her palm. She could feel the slight thump of his heart. Her own pulse picked up. Lifting her eyes, she met his gaze and held it.
“I should…let you get some sleep. I’ll be here at eight to drive Bell to school.”
“You don’t have to drive her. I think I can—”
“I want to.” He leaned in. His lips brushed against hers. Not overtly sexual, but tender. And that made the moment even more powerful. She couldn’t help but wonder how she’d lived without this feeling for so long. The feeling that she wasn’t alone.
He pulled back. Not wanting to lose the closeness, she leaned her head on his chest. His hands shifted to her waist. They just stood there. Holding on.
He leaned his face down and pressed a soft kiss into the top of her head.
She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. “This feels good.”
“Real good.” His whispered words stirred wisps of hair at her temple. “But I should…go.”
Looking up, she lifted to her tiptoes. His mouth lowered and the kiss felt like a promise. It wasn’t until she watched him walk away—still feeling his lips on hers, the hum of his pulse against her ear—that she realized the promise he offered might not be the one she really wanted. Too bad he can’t be your boyfriend. ’Cause he still loves his wife.
She’d never been a forever-or-nothing girl. She’d learned to appreciate the here and now, to live in the moment, but she had a feeling her moments with Juan wouldn’t be enough. While this man, almost too good to be true, offered her protection and affection, he might not ever be able to offer her his heart.
Somehow she was going to have to remember that. Especially now that it wasn’t just her heart, but Bell’s, that could be broken.
* * *
With Antonio dead and Rex’s money burning a hole in his trunk, Pablo couldn’t return to his apartment. Rex would have all his men searching, offering a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus to the man who put a bullet in Pablo’s head. Not that he’d find him. Pablo had tossed his phone so he couldn’t be tracked and bought another one. The car had been left parked on a street of a bad neighborhood, keys on the dash. By now the vehicle was torn apart and sold as parts.
And since today was the day Jefferies had said he’d be home, Pablo had hunkered down at Jefferies’s last night and helped himself to the man’s scotch.
He’d slept late and passed time by watching the last season of Breaking Bad, which he’d never seen. Then he went through Jefferies’s things again and found another picture of Vicki. She was sitting in bed, the sheet pulled up to her chest, her shoulders bare. Had they just fucked? Staring at the image, Pablo imagined screwing her. Why not let her experience what a real man felt like just before she died.
He wondered how long it’d take her to tell him where his money and book were. How much pain would he have to inflict?
Giving the photograph another glance, he debated how he was going to end Vicki. A knife? His hand around her throat, listening as she tried to breathe? Or maybe beat the bitch to death. She deserved to suffer for putting him through this last year.
He checked the time. The only flight coming in from Denmark today had arrived two hours ago. Jefferies should be here soon. After spending almost ten hours flying, surely the man would come straight home.
Pablo walked through the extra bedroom. He’d decided that even if Jefferies told him what he wanted to know and didn’t appear to recognize him, leaving him alive was too much of a risk. Or maybe he just liked killing.
The plastic tarp lay stretched out over the wood floors. He’d found some duct tape in the man’s garage. He’d even borrowed a few of Jefferies’s knives and had them set out on the one table in the room. He didn’t know how easy or hard Jefferies was going to make it on himself.
Yesterday, he’d picked up a fifty-gallon drum at a hardware supply. He’d worked a case where a body had remained hidden for four years in a storage unit. He reached down into his pocket to make sure he still had Jefferies’s key. He did.
Amazing how his time fighting crime made him a better criminal.
He’d been a good cop. Got a high from catching criminals and bringing their asses in. But the money sucked. He’d worked Homicide for a year, then moved over to Narcotics when he realized the financial benefits. He’d been doing his own thing when Rex approached him.
Those had been the good days. Rex paid him a nice salary to keep the cops off his ass, plus Pablo skimmed some off the top from the drug money Rex had rolling in. Stealing from him was addictive. Knowing he was smarter than one of L.A.’s biggest drug dealers gave him a sense of power. He almost wished he hadn’t killed his father, so the old man would have known just how good Pablo was.
Pablo grabbed another scotch and went to wait in the dining room. He’d be able to see headlights pulling into the driveway from here.
He’d disconnected the garage door opener. The plan was to come up behind Jefferies when he walked in the front door. Then lead him into the bedroom so the fun could begin.
Leaning the chair back on two le
gs, he recalled Alison scolding him not to do that to her furniture. Her furniture? As if she’d paid for it. That was the first lesson he taught her. Nobody scolded him.
After that she’d become this scared mouse, walking on eggshells around him. He hated that side of her even more. It reminded him of the role he’d had to play with his dad. For seventeen years he’d been his dad’s punching bag. In fact, it had been watching the cops trying to solve his dad’s disappearance—the disappearance he’d caused by murdering the vicious bastard—that had gotten him into law enforcement. If he could best them at their own game, think how good of a cop he’d be.
Thirty minutes later, Pablo paced Jefferies’s house. Where the hell was he?
Finally, headlights sliced through the dark house. Pablo moved behind the door. The sound of the engine rumbled outside. One minute. Two. The garage door wasn’t working. Idiot.
Finally, the purr of the engine stopped. A car door opened and shut. Footsteps slapped against the sidewalk. A shot of adrenaline fizzed through Pablo’s veins.
The sound of keys jingling came next. The door pushed open. Pablo moved in. He put his gun to the man’s temple. Jefferies, quicker than Pablo expected, swung around. A suitcase came at Pablo.
The blow caught him right in the stomach. The wheels of the suitcase bruised a few ribs. Air whooshed out. Pain hit. Pablo slammed into the wall, but bounced back. Jefferies shot for the door. Pissed, Pablo dove across the entry room, grabbed the guy by the neck, and slammed him into the wall. The crunching sound of head versus wall was gratifying.
The guy hit the floor. Pablo feared he’d killed him too soon. But no, he shot up. Pablo grabbed the guy around the neck and pushed his gun to his temple. “Fight me and I’ll just make this harder on you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Vicki put on her robe and combed her hair before Juan picked up Bell for school. Looking into the mirror, she realized the doctor had been right, today she felt like a million bucks. When she kissed Bell goodbye, Bell insisted Vicki needed to kiss Juan, too.
Don't Breathe a Word: Includes a bonus novella (Texas Justice Book 2) Page 25