Hard As It Gets: A Hard Ink Novel

by Laura Kaye

  Neutral. Right. Charlie being kidnapped, hooded, and dragged away in a van. “I’m trying,” she said, gripping her mom’s locket tight.

  “You’re doing great, Becca. Don’t doubt it for a minute. Oh, but unless you want to have a heart attack patient to care for, don’t run into a dark space without letting me clear it first. She could’ve been leading you into a trap.” That arched brow made a reappearance, and it was as sexy as it was stern, though he probably didn’t intend the former.

  “I’m sorry. All I could think about was losing her.”

  He kissed her forehead again. “I understand that. But I’m more worried about losing you.”

  The words overwhelmed her with emotion—gratitude for his concern, admiration that a hard-edged soldier could show such tenderness, and another feeling, too. One that created a warm, expansive pressure in her chest. “Okay,” she managed. She opened her palm and showed the locket to Nick. “This was mine. It’s from my mom’s jewelry box in my room. I have no idea how Charlie would’ve gotten it.”

  Nick frowned. “When was the last time he was at your place?”

  She shook her head. “He came over for Christmas. So, about four months ago?”

  “Let’s get you out of here and we can talk more about it.” He grasped her hand and led her back to Beckett and Shane, who had been standing guard outside the hallway. As they all made for Nick’s car, he said, “Street thugs grabbed him Monday morning. Emptied his room.”

  “Well, that nails down time of disappearance, but it only hints at who took him,” Shane said. “Where to now?” He paused at the driver’s door to his big charcoal gray pickup.

  “Back to Hard Ink, I guess,” Nick said.

  “Wait.” Becca leaned into the crook of steel created by her open car door. “Can we go to my house?” She knew she couldn’t stay there, but there were some things she’d really like to check on and bring with her. And the morbid curiosity to see just how wrecked the place was had been crawling up her spine for the last day. She knew what Charlie’s apartment looked like. Was hers better? Worse? Maybe it was stupid to fixate on it, but the unknown felt harder to deal with than just facing it.

  Nick frowned. “That’s a bad idea.”

  His words didn’t surprise her at all, or deter her. “Just long enough to pick a few things up. While we have everyone with us?”

  “Hold on,” he said, pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket and holding it out. “Marz? On speaker again. What’s up?”

  “Hey. Just relaying that a Walt Jackson called for Becca through the reward line. Asked if she could return to his place as soon as possible. That make sense to you?”

  “Yeah,” she and Nick said at the same time.

  “Also, FYI, we’re done with the cab trace. Charlie was grabbed from the Road Star Motel last Monday morning. Found a witness,” Nick said. Another moment or two of small talk, and they hung up.

  Torn between disappointment at not getting to go home and anticipation of what Walt might have to say, Becca nodded. “Let’s go, then.” She slid into the soft leather seat and settled into the corner. Man, she was tired, just bone weary. But no matter how bad she felt, it couldn’t possibly come close to what Charlie was going through, and that’s what she had to remember. With Nick and Beckett murmuring in the front seat, she almost gave in to the lull of the road noise and let herself drift off.

  Becca wedged open the oval locket and frowned. The pictures that had always lived inside, one of her dad in uniform and another of the three kids, were gone. Marla had replaced them with pictures of her own, apparently. Vibrating with anger, Becca tore the images out and snapped it shut.

  Back at Walt’s, Nick said, “Don’t tell him anything about what we learned today, okay? It’s great that he was willing to help, but we have no idea who his son is, and you don’t really know Walt all that well.”

  Scrubbing her hands over her face, Becca nodded. “I feel like we can trust him, but I get your point. I won’t say anything.”

  Nick led her over to Shane’s truck. “The landlord’s skittish. You mind keeping a lookout? Unless you’d rather head back?”

  “No. I’ll stay. I’m feeling a little like we’re flappin’ around in the wind. Makes sense to stay together,” Shane said.

  Nick tapped the open window. “Agreed. Won’t be long.”

  They crossed to Walt’s house, and he opened the door just before they reached his stoop. “Got the message, I see. Come in.” He stepped into the light of the hallway, revealing a busted lip.

  “Walt, what happened?” Becca said.

  “He got jumped is what happened,” a man said as he stepped into the foyer. Probably about forty, with Walt’s coloring, eyes, and freckles, and a tattoo of a snake coiling around the length of his right forearm.

  “Not their fault. Becca, this is my son, Louis Jackson.”

  “Hi,” she said with a quick shake. Nick and Beckett followed. “What happened to you?” she asked again, fear mixing with her exhaustion and hunger and making her shaky.

  “Had a visitor downstairs. About two hours ago. Masked. Caught him coming out of Charlie’s. Chased him off but—”

  “He got punched and knocked down for his trouble. Lucky it wasn’t worse,” Louis said, eyes flashing.

  “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?” Guilt rushed through Becca’s body. She couldn’t believe whatever this was had spilled over on Walt, too.

  He waved a hand. “Nothing that won’t heal.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t break a hip, Pop.”

  Walt scoffed.

  “Why the hell would they come back?” Nick asked. “Can we borrow your key, Walt? I’d like to see if anything’s changed since earlier.”

  The old man fished the key ring out of his pocket. “Bring it right back.”

  Nick turned to her. “Stay here and stay inside. We’ll check it out.”

  Nodding, Becca watched them leave. She could just make out the sound of Charlie’s door opening. What the hell was going on? She turned back to Walt. “God, I’m really sorry. Do you need me to check you over? I’m a nurse.”

  “No. Come on in and sit down,” he said. “Just a banged-up elbow, mostly. Survived worse. Will survive this.”

  LOUIS SAT NEXT to her on the couch and pulled a stack of paper in front of him, including the sketch of her assailant’s tattoos. “I didn’t recognize the man, but I might know the tattoo,” he said, his tone less angry now. “See . . .” He pointed to the solid square she’d seen on the back of her assailant’s hand. “This by itself doesn’t mean anything, but it could mean something if there was more to it.” Grabbing a blank notepad he’d apparently brought for this purpose, he drew a series of symbols:

  “I’m sorry. Would you mind waiting until my friends return? I don’t want to forget anything or miss asking a question.”

  Louis tapped his pen on the page. “Sure. I’m sorry about your brother, by the way.”

  Becca nodded. “Thank you.”

  Long minutes passed. Occasionally she heard a dull thump or the low murmur of a voice from downstairs. Still holding her mom’s locket, she twisted the chain and turned the pendant in her hands. She flipped it open again, sadness filling her at the loss of the family photos. Why had Charlie taken the necklace? And when?

  Becca leaned toward the lamp on the end table. There was something in the ovals where the pictures went. She gasped. A string of letters and numbers filled the two spaces, roughly engraved, as if by hand. She turned the silver to catch more light. The right side read, “WCE.” The left side was a string of numbers: 754374329. Without saying a word, she snapped it shut and slid it into her jeans pocket, her heart suddenly beating fast. She’d show Nick when they got home.

  A knock sounded at the front door, and Becca nearly jumped. She rose as Walt and Louis made their way to the foyer, and Nick and Beckett followed them back into the living room a moment later.

  Tension and anger radiating off him, Nick held
out his hand. Two rectangular pieces of what looked like metal filled his palm. “Bugs,” he said. “That hadn’t been there this afternoon.”

  “One audio and one video,” Beckett said.

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Becca said. “They already have Charlie, why would they monitor his house now?”

  “ ‘Monitor’ is precisely the right word. I think they’re watching for who’s coming and going. Maybe they already know someone’s searching for Charlie. Reward flyers have been up for a few hours, so it’s possible. And the timing would make sense.”

  Beckett stepped to the coffee table. “Those are map symbols for churches.”

  “That’s right.” Louis stabbed his pencil point into a black square. “But they’re also gang symbols. If this is what you saw, Becca, then the man who tried to abduct you is a member of the Church Organization, a prominent gang run by a crime lord named Jimmy Church.” Looking up, he met her gaze, then looked at Nick and Beckett. “And surveillance like that is definitely within their capability.”

  “Okay,” she said, sitting down again.

  “See,” he continued, “gangs are hierarchical institutions, and they have different ways of showing that. One is with tattoos. In the Church organization, the simple cross represents an affiliate member, almost like a prospective member. Youngsters. The cross and steeple symbol represents formal gang members. They’re officially in the gang. These are the guys doing the street hustling of drugs and guns and prostitutes. The cross and tower symbol is for hard-core gang members, men in their twenties or thirties who have fully adopted gangs as their lifestyle and run crews of younger members, seeking to expand business and territory to earn status. At the next-to-top are the apostles, who hold the leadership positions, often running the gang’s front businesses. They’ve earned their seniority with a lot of time on the streets and in prison, usually, and now they have the money and the influence to stay mostly clean of the illegal activities, all while directing them. At the top, of course, is Jimmy Church, the Messiah.”

  “Uh, wow,” Becca managed, letting all that soak in. It was a whole other world. “Can I see?” He handed her the page. “I saw the square. That much I’m sure of. There wasn’t any writing beneath it. But it’s possible there was a cross atop it. I saw him from across the room, though, and I wasn’t really paying attention.” She looked up at Nick. “It’s possible there was a cross. I know there was something above the square.”

  He nodded. “Louis, what kinds of drugs does this organization sell? Any specialties?”

  “Well, everybody sells everything, but Church has been working to dominate the heroin trade for years. He inherited this organization from his grandfather, who back in the eighties sold most of the heroin in Baltimore. Church has probably built it back to about seventy-five percent dominance, so if someone’s selling heroin, they’re probably Church’s men.”

  “Can I ask why you’re willing to tell her all this?” Beckett asked, arms crossed, expression serious as a heart attack.

  Not even a little flustered by Beckett’s demeanor, Louis laced his fingers between his knees. “I did my time in a Baltimore gang, and I did my time in prison. Now I work on the city’s gang task force and run a community program that gives kids alternatives to gangs and helps gang members transition to civilian life. I met Charlie a few times and liked him. Would hate to know he’d been caught up in something with Church. And now it seems my pop’s in danger. I thought my expertise might be of some help.”

  “Thank you, it does help,” Becca said, looking from Louis to Beckett, who gave a nod and eased off. For the first time, his abrasive intensity struck her as being more like big brother protectiveness than just being a hard-ass for hard-ass’s sake. She even found it a little endearing.

  “Good. Now, my turn for a question,” Louis said. “Am I right in thinking that the three of you are here discussing this with me instead of the police because you’re trying to find Charlie without them?”

  Becca rose and glanced to Nick, unsure whether to answer.

  “Why do you want to know?” Nick asked.

  “Because you might not find the police as useful as you’d think on this. Church has people on the payroll everywhere. Deep pockets, man, and widespread influence.”

  Nick’s expression was a brick wall, but Becca felt way too awkward to just pretend the question wasn’t still hanging in the air. “Can we just say we’re not sure who to trust yet?”

  “Yeah, that’s cool. Well”—he lifted a half-inch-thick spiral-bound report out of his green canvas messenger bag—“in case I’m right, this might be useful to you.” The title appeared through the clear laminated cover: Maryland Gang Survey: Church Organization. “When you’re done with it, just get it back to my dad.”

  Becca leafed through the pages. The organization’s history, known membership, gang identifications, businesses, criminal records, and more fluttered through her vision.

  “It’s not everything there is to know, but it’s a lot of what we do know,” he said.

  Overwhelmed by the threat an organization like this could pose to Charlie—hell, to them all—she let the booklet flip closed with a snap of pages. “I know I keep saying this, but thank you.”

  He rose and met each of their gazes. “Don’t thank me yet. If Church has your brother, this situation is real serious. And it’s likely to get worse before it gets better.”

  Chapter 17

  “Hey, Nick? I found something,” Becca said when they got back in the Charger.

  He and Beckett turned in his seat toward her. “What?” Nick asked.

  She fished the necklace they’d retrieved from the maid out of her pocket and opened it. “Look at the inside surfaces in the light.”

  Nick turned on the overheads and held it up. Someone had carved letters and numbers into the silver. “Were these here before?”

  “No. The pictures that were in there were mine, so I know there wasn’t writing in there before. Charlie had to have done this after he took it. No idea what it means, though.”

  Beckett reached for the necklace. “You drive. I’ll call this in to Marz. He can start running searches on both strings.”

  Not long after, Rixey eased the Charger into a spot across the street from Becca’s house. His gut told him bringing her here was a bad idea on about fifty-two levels—especially with what they’d just found at Charlie’s. But if he was going to live up to his word, he had to be a partner and not a dictator, much as that sometimes sucked—not because he wanted to control her but because he wanted Becca safe and happy.

  And her house was damn unlikely to achieve either of those goals right now.

  He turned in the driver’s seat and met her expectant gaze. God, even with everything the day had thrown at her, she was beautiful and brave and still clinging to hope. And with what they’d learned at Walt’s tonight, holding onto any kind of positivity was a damned act of heroism.

  “No more than ten minutes, Becca. You’re not going to have time to tour the whole place. Find the things you want to take, throw them in a bag, and we’re back out the door.”

  She nodded, clearly eager to go inside.

  Shane was on the sidewalk, weapon drawn, methodically scanning the street.

  “Okay, here we go.” Nick unholstered his gun and nodded at Beckett, then the two men got out and Rixey released the seat forward for her. Bracing herself on his hand, she stepped onto the pavement, and Nick was on her like white on rice. He hustled her across the road, Shane and Beckett flanking them. Key in hand before they hit the steps, Rixey reached around her when they got to the door and slid the grooved metal home. Inside, he flicked the switches on the front wall and urged her in so the guys could enter behind them. Last in, Shane secured the door.

  Nick was wishing they’d made this trip during the day so the interior lights wouldn’t have advertised their presence when he heard her.

  “Holy shit. Ho-ly shit. Holy freaking shit.”

  Sta
nding in the middle of what looked like a tornado’s debris, Becca surveyed the damage as she turned in a slow circle, her face pale with shock. When her eyes landed on him, it was like being sucker punched in the solar plexus—her pain and fear sucked the wind right out of his lungs.

  He crossed the room and took her hands. “When this is all over, we’ll make this right. Okay? Important thing is your safety. You weren’t here when they did this, and I don’t want you to be here should they decide to return.”

  She heaved a shaky breath. “Right. Okay. Um, I think everything I want is upstairs.” A series of expressions played out over her pretty face, and he literally watched her shove back the panic and steel herself.

  Shane and Beckett took up positions at the first-floor doors as Rixey followed her up the stairs. He felt her sense of loss like a jagged rock in his gut. And, man, he would’ve done anything to bear that burden for her. But sometimes life forced you to walk through the shit whether you had a good pair of boots or not—and it was apparently Becca’s turn.

  Sonofabitch.

  From the steps, she made for the bathroom, but stopped abruptly with an “oh” when she turned on the light. The mirror was shattered, shards everywhere. “Jesus. I’ll never get the glass out of the bottom of my shoes if I go in there. Who would do this?”

  “Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”

  “I’ve got a professional first-responders-type first-aid kit in that closet over there,” she said. “Thought it might be good to have on hand.”

  Hanging onto the molding, Nick leaned in and grabbed a towel off the bar. He flipped out the fabric and settled it over most of the glass. The terry muted the sound of the crunching as he crossed the narrow room.

  “It’s a red backpack.”

  In the closet, the pack easily stood out. He slung it over his shoulder. “Anything else?” Something caught his eye and he grabbed and tossed it to her. “How ’bout that?”