by Mary Burton
She hesitated, managed a professional smile, and quickly riffled through the endless small talk topics at her disposal. Weather was safe. Cases were not, even if she was tempted to ask what had summoned him away this morning.
Sooner Tate stepped into Charlotte’s line of sight, cutting off her view of Rokov. “Hey, thanks for what you did in there. I know I was a bit of a bitch and I’m sorry.”
She glanced beyond the girl to Rokov. He tossed a questioning look her way and then turned his gaze back to his partner.
Charlotte focused on the girl and was grateful he hadn’t approached. “It’s okay.”
An awkward silence settled as they stared at each other. Sooner rubbed long fingers, sporting rings and black nail polish, over worn jeans. “I need a little help.”
“Are you in more trouble?” It was like Grady not to tell the whole story.
Annoyance flashed in Sooner’s green eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“Look where we are, Sooner. I just got you off a theft charge.”
Sooner’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need your elitist bullshit.”
Charlotte didn’t rise to the bait. In fact, she found the girl’s flare of temper amusing. “Sounds like you do need my elitist bullshit.”
“I don’t need you or anyone else. I can do what I need to alone.” Her tone had risen and a few folks around them glanced in their direction.
“Sooner,” Charlotte said in a softer tone. “What do you need?”
Sooner flexed her fingers and then with a conscious effort released the tension from her body. “I want to open a shop. A place where I can put down roots. Read fortunes. Crystals. I’m tried of traveling with the carnival.”
The ambition didn’t really surprise Charlotte. In fact, she was proud of it. “Does Grady know about this?”
“No, and I’d like to keep it that way. He can be controlling.”
Charlotte couldn’t disagree. “He doesn’t want you to leave.”
“No.”
“According to the papers, this is the last season for the carnival,” she said.
“Don’t believe it. Grady uses the last season angle to get us more press. He’s been playing that card for a couple of seasons.”
So like Grady. Always playing an angle. “And when he hits the road again next year?”
“He’ll come up with something. He always does.” She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. “The thing is, I’m tired of the road. I want a real life.”
She’d felt the same way at that age. “And a shop is the answer.”
“I’ve got money saved. And I’m good with the cards. I get a lot of repeat customers.”
“That doesn’t mean you can make a living.”
“I’m the biggest draw at the carnival.” Sooner spoke directly with no bravado. “I can turn this into a business.”
She admired the girl’s ambition. She might be naïve, but she wanted to go places. She was Charlotte eighteen years ago. “So what do you need from me?”
“I don’t know much about leases. And I don’t want to put my name on a contract without someone reading it.”
“You want me to read the lease agreement.”
“Yes. And I’d like you to see the space.”
“Why me, Sooner?”
“You’re all I got, Auntie Charlotte.” No missing the edge. “Nobody at the carnival could help me, and if they did, they’d tell Grady. And he’d do something to screw it up.”
“Nobody gets out unmarked.” Mariah had voiced those same words often.
“You know Grady well.”
She swallowed. “I know his type.”
“If you’re my mother’s sister, he’s what, your stepfather?”
“Not anymore.” Her grip on her briefcase handle tightened. “I’ll help you with the lease. When do you want to meet at the site?”
Sooner’s eyes narrowed. Clearly her curiosity of Charlotte and Grady warred with her desire for help. Desire and ambition won. “Anytime Thursday would work. I just have to tell the guy a time.”
Charlotte fished her BlackBerry out of her briefcase and checked her calendar. “How does one work?”
“I don’t have to be at work until five.”
“One it is. Do you have the address?”
“It’s 101 Washington Street.”
“Nice area.” And right smack dab in the middle of her world. The past had arrived in Alexandria and had set up shop.
“It’s a small space in a bookstore, but it’s in a high tourist area. And traffic is king.”
“You’ve learned a few lessons from Grady.” She’d learned her own share of lessons from Grady. Most weren’t good lessons but a few were. Like it or not, the guy knew how to work the crowds, and he knew how to spin a profit out of nothing.
However, the comparison didn’t sit well with Sooner. “I’d like to think I figured out a lot for myself.”
“Don’t be offended. It’s a compliment. See you Thursday.”
“Sure. Thanks, Aunt Charlotte.”
“Please, just call me Charlotte.”
A small grin lifted full lips. “Charlotte it is. And Charlotte, I won’t horn in on what you’ve got going here. I can see that I make you uncomfortable. It’s a big enough city, so we won’t ever have to see each other.”
“I don’t have a problem with you being in town.” The first hit of shock had eased, and her mind was already crammed with more questions for Sooner.
“Sure you do. It’s written all over you. But it’s okay. It’ll be like we never met after Thursday.”
She watched the girl walk away, already knowing she’d go to the mat for the kid.
“So who was the girl?” Rokov’s deep baritone voice hovered above her.
Charlotte remembered why she and Rokov would never make it. One day she’d have to lie to him. And that day was today. “She’s a kid I represented in court. Pro bono work.”
“You’re doing a lot of that lately.” He smelled of motel soap and his own aftershave.
“Seems so.” Did she imagine that he’d sensed the lie?
“What was her offense?”
“Shoplifting.” Sooner vanished around the corner.
“She guilty?”
She arched a brow. “None of my clients are guilty, Detective Rokov. You know that.”
“That’s right. I forgot.”
“So what brings you to the courthouse?”
“There’s a shop down the street that might be able to help me with a case. I’d just parked and was passing by when I saw you.”
“And so you stopped.” Her BlackBerry buzzed, snagging her attention down at the screen. Unknown Caller. “Hey, I need to get back. I’m burning the candle at both ends today.”
He frowned. “Sure. See you soon, Charlotte.”
“Sure thing, Detective Rokov.”
“Detective Rokov?”
“It’s your name.”
“Kinda formal.”
“It’s the agreement.”
He leaned forward a fraction. “Time to renegotiate, counselor.”
Her phone buzzed again in her hand. “I really do have to go.”
“Run along.”
She walked away slowly and carefully as if she didn’t have one regret or worry. She glanced at her text. Appreciate the help. G.T.
G.T. Grady Tate. “Son of a bitch.”
What were the chances she’d seen the last of Grady Tate? Slim to none.
Rokov and Sinclair entered Tanner’s on King Street just as the owner flipped the Closed sign to Open. The owner was in his mid-sixties and had been in the custom leather business for decades. Rokov’s father had once said the man was an artist, and judging by the collection of leather jackets hanging from the wall, he didn’t doubt it.
“Mr. Tanner,” Rokov said, pulling his badge from his pocket. “Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”
The old man lifted his gaze from a gray leather jacket sporting a jagged rip and peered over
half glasses. Gray wisps of hair framed his thin face. “Daniel Rokov?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
“Of course I remember you. You worked for me for two summers.”
“That was a long time ago. I must have been a freshman or sophomore in high school.”
The old man smiled. “You’ve filled out, but you are much the same.” He glanced at Sinclair. “He was quite the conscientious young man. Never late. Never complained.”
Sinclair grinned. “I’ve always said he was a Boy Scout.”
Mr. Tanner nodded. “How is your father, Daniel?”
“He’s well, sir.” Mr. Tanner and his father had been friends for thirty years. His father had gotten Rokov that long-ago summer job. “I’ve not seen him in a while. This economy keeps menders like your father and I busy. Good for business but not so good for friendships.”
“Better to fix the old than buy new.” How many times had he heard his father utter those words?
“A notion that is again popular.” He set down the jacket and rose, shifting his stance from side to side as if working out kinks. “What can I do for you?”
Rokov unclipped his cell phone from his belt. “I’d like you to look at a picture of a jacket.”
“Sure.”
Rokov pulled up the picture. He’d been careful to snap just the jacket and not any part of the victim. “You know I’m with the Alexandria Police.”
“I do indeed.”
He held out the phone to Mr. Tanner. “It’s got your name on the label.”
He adjusted his glasses and leaned closer. “It was a custom piece. One of a kind. I worked on it for a month.”
“Who was it for?”
“A young woman with dark hair.” He held up his finger. “But I will have to look up the name. Just a moment. You will wait.”
“Of course.” He replaced the phone back in its holster.
The old man disappeared through a curtained doorway.
Sinclair glanced around the shop and moved to a black leather jacket. “So you worked here?”
“That’s right. I delivered pieces to clients, picked up supplies, ran whatever errand Mr. Tanner needed.”
“I thought you worked for your father.”
“I did that as well.”
She touched a brown jacket’s soft leather sleeve. “If I worked here, I’d be broke because I’d be buying all the stock. Gorgeous work.”
“Mr. Tanner’s work is top of the line. A piece from him will last forever.”
She flipped over the price tag. “I don’t think I can afford forever. The best I can do is the immediate future.”
“So it is with most.”
Mr. Tanner reappeared holding a white index card. “Her name is Diane Young. And she lives on Beauregard.” He rattled off the address. “So what has happened to Ms. Young?”
“It’s not good.”
Mr. Tanner frowned. “I am sorry. I remember her now. She was a nice lady. She told me she read fortunes. She said I would live to be very old. I laughed and said I was very old.”
Rokov wrote it down. “Thanks, Mr. Tanner.”
“Of course, Daniel. Tell your father I said hello.”
“I will.”
They moved back outside into the sunlight and each put on their sunglasses. “Do you think identifying the victim will be that easy?”
“Let’s hope.”
He sat in his office watching the video on his computer, earplugs tucked in his ears. The monitor was faced away from the closed door and he could easily minimize the image if someone entered unexpectedly.
The picture was crystal clear, and when he watched the scene on his computer, he felt almost an intimate connection. The world around him faded away, and he imagined he could crawl inside the computer and relive the event.
His hands around the witch’s throat, he stared into her eyes. They’d been playing their games for several days, and with each passing day her fear grew, heightening a thrilling sense of power.
But this last time he was not playing any longer. This time, he was here to end their journey together and absorb the power of her magic.
He pushed her head under the water and held tight as she kicked and grabbed at his wrists. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he held her down. Her pulse throbbed faster and faster under his palms. Soon the energy would leave her body and enter his own.
He held so tight to her neck, the small bones of her throat snapped in his hands. Her feet kicked once. Twice. And then her heart stopped.
He closed his eyes, moaning as in a great rush the power hit him like a rough wave. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the fresh tattoo on her forehead, savoring the surge that rippled his body with tension.
He held tight to her limp body. His own arms and legs trembled as the flow of magic shot into him again and again until he could no longer endure it.
Finally, he released her, relieved as if he’d just made love. He cupped the witch’s lifeless face and then leaned forward and kissed her cold lips. “Go in peace.”
He reached for a straight-edge razor on a table by the basin and held it up for inspection. The overhead light caught the edge of the blade, making it wink. He raised his T-shirt and then made a slow slice across his belly.
The need to kill again was already strong. In years past, he could go months or even years between kills, but this time the urges had returned almost immediately. Why was his appetite so voracious? What in the universe so tempted him?
He touched the still tender wound on his belly, pressing until the welcomed pain distracted him from the Need. His heart raced and a bead of sweat appeared on his forehead. The pain would keep him focused. Keep him from killing too soon.
He’d discovered this blade therapy by accident when he was young. He’d been battling the urge to kill in those days, still fearful of crossing the line from light to dark. He’d been watching a woman through her bedroom window, studying her, and fighting the urge to kill. Someone—a neighbor, he supposed—had spotted him and shouted. His heart racing, he’d run through the backyards toward the woods. He’d been disoriented and so frightened. In his haste to get to his car, he fell on his palms and landed against the sharp edge of a rock. When he raised his hands, he saw the blood made black by the moonlight.
In the dark, as he’d stared at the blood, he’d felt sudden relief from the Need. The pain rolled through his hands up his arms. It wrapped him in a tender embrace that blocked out all worries and fears. As long as the pain of the wound had lasted, he’d been able to resist the kill.
He dug his thumb deeper into the wound. Pain pulsed from the long thin gash. He managed a smile and a deep cleansing breath.
The cell phone in his pocket vibrated and pulled him back to the world of the living and the real. He fished out the phone and checked the message. He texted back a response.
He rose, wincing joyfully as the wounded skin pinched and stretched. He grabbed his jacket and slid it on. Most did not understand the importance of his trade. Most did not know there were men like him who kept the world safe. But working anonymously was the secret to his success. As long as the world looked past him, he could continue to hunt.
Chapter 5
Tuesday, October 19, 11:01 a.m.
Commonwealth Attorney Levi Kane was a well-dressed man. His suits were hand tailored, as were his shirts. His gold cuff links were Dior, and his shoes had a fine polish that always caught the light. He had never had the look of an overworked civil servant but a man who saw the job as a stepping-stone to the next level. He was out to make a name for himself.
So when Charlotte’s phone buzzed and Iris announced that Kane stood in the lobby, she wasn’t totally surprised. She’d basically kicked his ass during the summations yesterday.
“Give me a minute and then escort him back.” She raised her gaze from the doodles. She’d written Mariah and Sooner on her legal pad and circled both dozens of times. She tore the top sheet, crumple
d it into a tight ball, and tossed it in her trashcan. Rising, she pulled her jacket from the back of her door, checked her hair in the bathroom mirror, and touched up her lipstick.
Calm. Cool. Reserved. Nothing can touch you.
When Levi entered her office, she was smiling and waiting, hand extended. “Mr. Kane. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
His grip was firm. “I think you know why I’m here, Charlotte.”
“Why don’t you have a seat?” She moved behind her desk as if to suggest the question wasn’t really a question at all but a command.
He checked his watch. “Sure.”
She leaned back in her chair. “So how are your wife and children? Last you spoke about them, your wife was in nursing school and the girls were in elementary school.”
He set his briefcase beside his chair and smoothed his hand over his red tie. “I’m always amazed how you keep tabs on everyone.”
It paid to know the competition. “I like you, Levi. It’s natural for me to ask.”
“Thanks. And all three are good. My wife will graduate from school in December and the girls love school. Mattie plays soccer and Josie wants to be a ballerina.” He pulled a photo from his wallet and showed it to her. “My three angels.”
The three had very bright, eager smiles. The littlest one had dark hair like her father and a gleam in her gaze much like Sooner. Sooner likely hadn’t played soccer or taken dance lessons.
Charlotte hesitated and then handed the photo back to Levi. “Lovely.”
Carefully he tucked the picture back in his wallet. “Now that we’ve played nice, let’s cut to the chase. You know why I’m here. The Samantha White trial.”
She folded her hands on her desk and willed all the distractions from her mind. “What would you like to discuss?”
“Your client is going to be convicted.”
It always amused her when someone told her what the future held. “Really?”