by Ronica Black
“That went well.” Gary exhaled.
“Yeah, thanks for backing me.”
“Hey, I’m not messing with that woman.”
“Why not?”
“Because she can bench-press me, that’s why. Besides, she’s top notch. Former federal agent.”
“What?”
“Yeah. She’s new. Been with CCSD less than a year.”
“What was she, ATF or something?” Patricia could imagine Sinclair in black SWAT clothes storming into a run-down shack after dozens of illegal weapons.
Gary sank his hands into his pockets. “FBI.”
“No kidding?”
He nodded and they both watched as Sinclair stopped to speak with the man next to Ruiz.
“What is she doing here in Valle Luna?”
Gary shrugged. “That’s where the story ends. I only got as much as I did because Hernandez’s cousin works for CCSD. They’re both here today, so I got the rundown on her.”
“She left the FBI for Corona County.” Patricia faced into the blowing wind, wondering what Sinclair’s story was.
“They’re paying feds shit these days.” Gary clued her in on his theory. “A rookie on Valle Luna PD makes more than a G1.”
Patricia was snapped out of her trance when Ruiz came walking up like a bull in a ring full of bloodthirsty matadors. He adjusted his wire-frame glasses, sweat sprinkled across his brow. His eyes were wide and paranoid, and he seemed jumpy. His intensity was palpable.
“I want you both out ahead of the others walking with the dog handlers. Anything’s found, I want you all over it.”
“Yes, sir,” Gary replied.
“Sir, even if we find something, if it’s in their jurisdiction it’s theirs,” Patricia said.
His eyes flew up to hers. “I know that, Henderson. But this is our case. I can’t afford for them to fuck it up. So I want you here, investigating like it’s yours, understand? If there’s a discovery on their turf, I want you to take pictures right away, get as much info as you can.”
She sighed and nodded, and he stormed off, already yelling to the next guy.
“This is not going to be fun,” Gary said as they started walking. “I feel like I’m ten years old again and playing capture the flag.”
Patricia laughed softly. “I hear ya. But I just keep hoping that we’ll find the one clue that breaks the case.”
Gary glanced over at her. “You better hope it’s found on our turf.”
*
Erin laid the phone down on the end table. It was the tenth time she’d called Liz that day and still no answer. She’d left message after message, but Liz hadn’t returned a single call.
She’d woken to an empty house, alone on the couch with the Dobermans lying at her feet. In the bedroom, she found their bed already made and the fresh scent of Liz’s cologne in the air. Erin had been crying ever since, feeling completely lost and alone.
Wiping away warm tears, she rose from the couch to fetch her keys. The dogs followed her to the door and gazed tenderly at her as she set the alarm and headed outside for her car. The small Toyota SUV still smelled new. She’d resisted Liz’s attempts to buy her something more expensive. Erin started it up and followed the circular drive out through the gate. She drove in silence, her nerves on edge. She’d been patient long enough, had given Liz her space time after time. She could wait no longer. After forcing herself to drive the speed limit the entire way, she pulled into a rare parking space in front of La Femme. She took a deep, anxious breath and exited the vehicle.
Music thumped in her ears as she crossed the parking lot. She wondered if Liz was watching her, and what she might be thinking. The two large female bouncers at the door nodded entry toward her as she stepped in front of the long line.
The club was hot and crowded, wall to wall with sweaty lesbians dancing the workweek away. Erin swallowed against a tight throat and realized she felt just as nervous as she had the first time she’d entered the club all those months ago.
Only now she had different questions that needed answering.
Angling through the mass of people, she squinted against the dimness and flashing strobe lights and headed directly for the staircase. Tyson stood watching the crowd and she could tell by the surprise on his face that Liz had yet to spot her.
He greeted her with his usual courtesy but his dark eyes kept shifting.
“Is she here?”
He looked worried, then ashamed.
“She won’t return my calls,” Erin shouted over the music. She’d even tried to contact Tyson, but he too had avoided her calls.
“I’ll let her know you’re here,” he said, pushing in on his earpiece.
“Since when do I need an invitation?”
Erin unhooked the red velvet rope and ascended the stairs quickly. The darkness thickened as she climbed. She slowed as she reached the top, taking in the poorly lit room outlined by numerous couches that were all occupied by women talking, laughing, making out.
Erin approached the bar, the only illumination in the room. The bartender gave her a wave and motioned toward the far railing. Erin followed her line of sight and stopped in her tracks. Liz leaned on the rail next to a blonde Erin recognized as one of La Femme’s regulars. She was a yoga instructor, and Erin knew without asking that she’d been a lover of Liz’s. She accepted that as history, along with the countless others that Liz had been with before her.
Erin watched as the two began to laugh.
Liz was laughing. She hadn’t seen Liz smile in days, much less laugh.
Liz turned slightly toward the other woman and Erin caught sight of a satellite phone clipped to her waistband. Erin hadn’t seen one since the night Kristen Reece had had tried to kill them all, Jay included. Liz told her she’d given the phone to Jay but hadn’t heard from her since.
So why did Liz now have a replacement? One she hadn’t told Erin about? Erin felt her stomach collapse as the blonde leaned in and whispered in Liz’s ear. Her hand lingered on Liz’s upper arm, the fingers lightly stroking up and down.
Liz smiled her crooked smile in response, the one that drove Erin wild. The one that whispered, “Oh, yeah.”
The Studio Kings came over the speakers singing “Let’s Have Sex” and the two women began to dance, dangerously close. They kept their hands to themselves but the intent was evident, evident in their eyes and in the way they moved. They were speaking without talking, fucking without touching. The music kept on, pounding and pounding, insisting that Erin see. Liz moved as she’d only moved with her. Hips, rhythm, eyes, lips. The blonde responded, inching closer, raising her hands into the air, offering and taking as if Liz were kissing her neck, holding her hip and thrusting into her with her fingers. They were fucking. And oh so enjoying it.
A sharp cry escaped Erin’s throat as Liz stepped into the blonde and held her. Erin clasped her hand over her mouth and tried with all her might not to erupt in tears. Liz looked over and her grin vanished. She mouthed the word “Erin,” and took a brief step toward her.
Erin turned, unable to stand the look on her face. Liz’s motives were written all over her, and the pain of seeing it and knowing it burned painfully in Erin’s gut. She ran for the stairs and nearly toppled down them to the bottom. She stormed past a questioning Tyson and ran in a mad sprint to her car. Sobs rocked her body as she leaned against the SUV. The pain she felt was unlike any she could ever have imagined. Jealousy, betrayal, confusion…as if she didn’t really know who Liz was. The pain kept hitting her over and over again, hard smacking punches that just wouldn’t let up. Just like the fucking pounding music she could still hear. It just wouldn’t stop.
Desperate to get away, she began pushing buttons to unlock the car, but accidentally set off the alarm. She cursed and cried, managing to shut it off and unlock the doors. She climbed inside and started the engine. As the SUV came to life she glanced back at the entrance to the club.
Liz wasn’t there. Liz wasn’t coming after her.
<
br /> She pulled out of the parking lot, her insides being eaten alive.
Liz, she cried to herself. Why?
*
“Do you want me to have her followed?” Tyson asked, looking to his visibly distraught boss.
“No.” Liz stared through the crowd to the main entrance where Erin had fled.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he began cautiously.
“I do mind.”
He clamped his mouth shut for a couple of seconds, but his concern overcame his well-disciplined respect. “I was going to ask if everything’s okay.”
His boss stood still, her eyes fixed on the door. He couldn’t quite read her but he could tell she was worried, and hurt. It was evident in her eyes, even if her body seemed stoic. He thought briefly about reaching out to touch her arm, as if somehow to ground her in reality, but when she turned to look at him, he lowered his hand quickly. Eyes as hard as stone yet full of insurmountable pain bored into him.
“No, Tyson, everything is not okay.” She flung the velvet rope to the side and headed back up the stairs.
*
Once in her lair, Liz focused intently on the security monitors. She felt her body go numb as Erin’s SUV drove out of the parking lot. She had to let her go. Nothing was okay anymore. It was time to stop pretending.
She clenched her fists as her painful emotions hardened into anger.
Someone had to pay. Someone had to pay for all of this.
And she was going to make sure they did.
*
Tyson unclipped the velvet rope as his boss hurried down the stairs.
“Lock up tonight,” she instructed. “I won’t be back.”
“Shall I forward any calls to your house?” It was standard procedure. Any calls or questions he couldn’t handle, he forwarded to her.
“No. I’m not going home.”
“To your cell phone, then?”
“No.” She stopped for a moment, obviously frustrated. “No calls. Not tonight.”
He watched as she brushed by him to weave through the crowd to the back exit, where she punched in her code to unlock the door.
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered as the door closed behind her.
*
Erin silenced the alarm and shooed the dogs, too upset to greet them. Her brain was awash in liquid pain. Edges blurred, reality fogged. She filled bag after bag with her things. Shirts, blouses, jeans, socks. Drawers opened so hard their guards jammed. Her hands dug madly, tossing out her belongings, flinging them over her shoulders. When her fingernails scraped a drawer bottom, she stopped and yanked open the next one. Her body shook, her throat burned, but none of it seemed real.
When she was finished with the dresser she slid open the mirrored closet doors. She worked furiously, careful to leave anything Liz had given her. Robbed hangers swayed, shoes clumped in landing outside the doors. In a rage she attacked Liz’s hanging clothes, tearing them from side to side, the very scent of them too much to bear.
After collapsing in a crying fit she stood in the middle of the large closet, turning in a slow circle, taking in what was once her whole world. She and Liz together. She gazed past what appeared to be a small gray box on Liz’s side twice before she reached up to where it sat on the top shelf. She pushed the hanging clothes aside, exposing the safe.
She was somewhat surprised, having assumed Liz kept everything she valued locked up in her study. Her mind alerted her to the fact that she still didn’t have access to some of those locked drawers, a fact she normally pushed out of her mind or made excuses for.
But tonight things were different. Erin breathed deeply, trying to calm herself enough to focus. She stretched to her tiptoes but still couldn’t quite reach the electronic keypad. She searched the closet in vain and then went into the master bath to retrieve the vanity stool. Placing it at the foot of the hanging clothes, she braced herself in Liz’s wardrobe and pulled herself up. She wiped her wet cheeks and concentrated. Her heart beat madly, numb with pain but surging with a fear of what she might find.
She punched the keypad, entering first Liz’s birthday. Then her own. Then the date she knew was Jay’s. Nothing. She tried the alarm code to the house, the alarm code to the studio, to the club. Still nothing. Addresses, zip codes, phone numbers, any and all number combinations.
“Damn it.”
She thought as hard she could. About anything and everything that was important to Liz. She thought about Jay again. Liz rarely spoke of her sister, but when she did, Erin had found her recall from their childhood extremely vivid.
Erin jolted. She stretched upward and tried one more set of numbers.
7, 1, 85.
The lock beeped. Her temples pounded in anticipation as she pulled open the door. Tentatively, she reached inside.
She felt something. Paper. Stacks of it. She pulled it out. It was money. Three large stacks of hundred dollar bills. She fumbled through the cash, fanning it out, confused. There had to be fifty thousand dollars. She reached back inside the safe and ran her hand along the base. A folded piece of paper flew out, caressing the air like a falling feather. She returned the money and stepped down to pick up the paper. As she opened it, a small photograph slid out. She caught it before it fell.
She turned it over and focused on the faded photograph of two young girls with hair as black as night. Tears came to her eyes as she realized the smaller one was Liz. She appeared to be humoring the photographer with a forced smile. Both girls sat on a weathered porch swing.
Erin ran her finger across Liz’s smile. A little girl lost.
She focused on the child next to her, who could only be Jay. The faces were so similar, the eyes a familiar blue. Jay’s hair was cut short in uneven strands, as if another child had tried to cut it. She wasn’t looking at the camera, but at Liz, a sad, distant look on her face. A little girl pained.
Erin knew without a doubt that the photo had been taken shortly after the man in the woods. After July 1, 1985. Liz had told her of Jay’s withdrawal, of the incessant hair-cutting. Erin fought back her tears as she concentrated on the paper. A series of numbers was written in the center in Liz’s hand.
Erin repeated the numbers several times until she had them memorized, and then returned everything to the safe. She returned the vanity stool and busied herself stuffing her bags and zipping them closed.
The dogs followed her down the hallway, their confused stares examining her bags as she set them down. She knelt and patted their heads, kissing them both on the snout, then stood and looked around. The pain had eaten away at her, leaving her hollow inside. She swallowed a fiery sob.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” she whispered into the air.
She heaved up her numerous bags and set the alarm. Then, without looking back, she walked out the door.
Chapter Ten
Liz gripped the steering wheel as she drove. Her mind was vicious, replaying the images that kept her foot pressing on the gas.
She could smell wet grass. The screen door slammed over the loud buzz of the cicadas. The throb in her forearm sang just as loud as she ran into her aunt’s house.
“Oh, my Lord.” Aunt Dayne jumped up from their old brown plaid couch and hurried to her.
Clutching her badly broken arm, Lizzie cried, “Jay.” She could hardly speak. “Hurry.”
“What is it now?” Uncle Jerry walked lazily in from the kitchen, a can of beer in his hand.
“It’s Jay! A man has Jay!”
“What?” Jerry lowered his beer. “What did you say?”
She tried to control her crying. “A man. He took Jay. He has her.”
“Oh, my Lord!” Dayne covered her mouth.
“What man?” Jerry demanded.
“I don’t know. We found this dead body and—”
“A dead body!” Dayne shrieked.
“The man was by the body,” Lizzie continued. “And he took Jay.”
Jerry crossed to the television set, set down his beer can,
and lifted his CB radio mic. He stared at her hard. “This better not be one of y’all’s little games.”
She shook her head. “It’s not. No, sir. I swear it.”
Jerry clicked the mic. “Earl, come back.”
“Jerry!” Dayne began to sob, hysterically. “What if he’s taken her, what if he’s gone?”
“Shut up!” Jerry shouted.
Dayne tugged Lizzie to the couch and examined her arm. “It’s not that bad,” she said over and over again, as if to convince herself.
Jerry cursed and called again. Earl and his brother Roger lived just down the road.
Static came over the radio, then a voice. “Go ahead.”
“Git Roger and your guns and git over here quick,” Jerry said. “Somebody’s took Jay.”
“Come again?”
“Somebody’s took Jay.”
“10-4.”
“We should call Sheriff Bowman,” Dayne said, still clinging to Lizzie. “We should call everybody.”
“Dayne, shut up! I’m taking care of it. Me and the boys is going to take care of it.”
“But the sheriff…”
“There ain’t no way he can get here fast enough and I ain’t waiting.” Jerry crossed the room to Lizzie and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Where are they?”
Lizzie shook her head, panicked.” I don’t know where he took her.”
Jerry shook her. “Lizzie. Lizzie, where was you and Jay at?”
“In the woods. At the ravine.”
“Down by your Papaw’s?”
She nodded.
He released her to approach his gun cabinet. After placing a worn Red Man ball cap on his head, he loaded his shotgun. Lizzie kept hearing the man’s evil laughter, hearing Jay telling her to run as the man dragged her behind the tree.
Dayne went into the kitchen and returned with a wet washcloth. She placed it on Lizzie’s arm. Lizzie stared through her, hating all of a sudden how weak her aunt always was. Bowing down to Jerry, unable to handle anything, numbing herself with booze. Lizzie threw the rag to the ground and hurried after her uncle, who stood near the screen door stuffing ammo into his pockets. Beyond the screen door, she heard Earl’s truck skid to a stop on the slick grass.