by Connie Mann
As a rule, she felt guilty for eavesdropping but not guilty enough to stop doing it. How else would she know what both Phillip and the housekeeper reported to her uncle about her?
Now, though, she had to know what he was saying to Daniel.
She took several deep breaths to slow her rapid breathing. Then she waited.
“No, sir. I respect Catharine. I told you that. She just wants to be friends. So that’s what we are.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never touched her? A young buck like you? She’s a good-looking girl.”
She heard movement and pictured Daniel leaping to his feet. “That’s what I’m saying. Just because she’s beautiful doesn’t mean I would take advantage.”
“So you’ve never kissed her?”
Silence. Catharine’s palms started to sweat. Would he admit to that one awkward moment when he’d stolen a quick kiss and she’d been so surprised she smacked her head into his? They’d laughed about it then, but the memory mortified her now.
“I did give her a quick kiss on the lips, once. She was horrified and said we should just be friends, so that was the end of it.”
“What if I don’t believe you?” her uncle asked smoothly.
“I’m sorry if you don’t, but it’s the truth. You can ask Catharine.”
“Oh, I plan to. Make no mistake about that.”
Catharine tensed, ready to rush back upstairs in case they came looking for her. But then she heard an awful choking noise.
“Daniel? Are you all right?” She heard pounding, as though her uncle was thumping Daniel on his back.
She waited for Daniel to say something, but he just kept coughing and choking while her uncle pounded his back.
“Get me some water,” her uncle barked.
Catharine had turned to race into the other room when the choking abruptly stopped. She froze. Her heart raced as the silence lengthened. What was happening?
Her uncle muttered a curse. “How much Devil’s Breath did you give him, Garcia?”
“Not too much. Just enough to be sure he told the truth.”
A pause. “It was too much. He’s not breathing.”
Catharine shook her head, trying to make sense of the words. Not breathing? Well, then do something! Help him.
She clamped her jaw to keep from crying out as indecision swamped her. Listen? Or run to help?
“He’s dead.” Garcia’s voice was flat.
Catharine reared back as though she’d been struck. This couldn’t be happening. She had to see for herself, to help, but some sixth sense kept her frozen in place. Her feet felt nailed to the floor.
“Get out of here, Garcia. Now. I’ll deal with this.” Her uncle’s voice was brisk, businesslike.
“Calm down and get me a duffel bag. I’ll take care of the body.”
Nausea climbed into Catharine’s throat. A duffel bag?
Garcia’s voice hardened. “You just deal with Catharine. I want her delivered as agreed. I won’t wait any longer.”
Catharine shivered, trying to make sense of his words. What did he mean exactly?
“This changes things,” her uncle said evenly.
“It changes nothing. I believe the boy. Her virginity is intact. I’ll expect you to keep your end of the bargain. I’ll make the body disappear. You get Catharine ready.”
“Look, Garcia, I’ll get you the money. I told you that. I just need a little more time—”
“You are out of time. I want the girl. And I will have her. Today.”
A long pause followed. Catharine held her breath as she waited for her uncle to shout a protest, to express his indignation. Instead, his casual words shattered her world. “All right. Fine. You will have her.”
Had she heard right? Was her uncle really giving her to Garcia, with his lecherous eyes and grabby hands? Surely she was dreaming and would wake up in her sterile twin bed, covers tangled around her, and realize it was nothing but a nightmare.
But when she heard footsteps on the tiles in the hallway, urgency propelled her into motion. She peeked around the door, checked to be sure Phillip wasn’t there, then leaped across the hall and raced up the stairs to her room. She ran right into her bathroom and threw up. Then she leaned against the locked door, hands shaking. Had she really heard what she thought she had? Or had the words been distorted by the air vent?
But in her heart, she knew it was true. Scary-looking people came to the condo at odd hours with bodyguards in tow. She’d overheard enough to know it had something to do with drugs. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she let them fall. How could this be? Had they really given Daniel something called Devil’s Breath? Just because he wanted to take her to the dance? Oh, Daniel!
Nausea churned as she replayed the rest of the conversation. They’d been talking about her virginity like it was a commodity. Deliver her? She twisted her hands together to stop their shaking. Without batting an eye, her uncle had promised her to Garcia. She had led a pretty sheltered life, but she understood what that meant, and it terrified her. Had they really killed Daniel over it?
She turned and threw up again, heaving until there was nothing left in her system.
Maybe Daniel wasn’t really dead; maybe they’d been wrong. Maybe he was just unconscious. She had to try to save him. Somehow. She had to. She could call 911. The paramedics would know what to do. She had her hand on the doorknob, ready to run down the stairs and prove it was all some crazy mistake or get to a phone and call for help, when she heard footsteps coming up toward her room. She wiped her eyes and splashed water on her face. Her uncle. Or Phillip. Oh God.
Her heart raced like a runaway train, but her head suddenly cleared. She had to think. If this nightmare was all actually true, she had to pretend she knew nothing. Otherwise, who knew what her uncle might do?
Somehow, she had to find out where they were taking Daniel. Try to save him. She didn’t think for a second that Garcia would take Daniel to his house, so letting them bring her there wouldn’t help. She’d have to bide her time, then escape. But for now, she’d hide behind the invisible, passive persona she’d adopted for most of her life.
When her uncle knocked on the bedroom door, she stayed where she was. “I’ll be right out.” She made her voice sound weak and shaky, which wasn’t hard to do at that moment.
“Are you all right, Catharine?”
She leaned over the toilet and pretended to heave some more. Then she flushed and ran water in the sink, swished mouthwash. “I am not sure what it was, but I think today’s school lunch did not agree with me,” she said wanly as she opened the door. She gripped the knob like a lifeline, all the accusations crowding her tongue begging to escape, but she wouldn’t let them loose. Daniel’s life might depend on her acting ability right now. She kept her head down, as was her custom, and didn’t look her uncle in the eye. But she could only carry the charade so far. If he looked too closely, he’d see her fury. She couldn’t allow that.
“I am sorry to hear it.” In a surprising move, he touched her shoulder, then quickly pulled his hand away. She didn’t think he’d ever offered comfort before. She nodded and kept her eyes averted.
“I will have Mrs. Chen send up a tray with tea and toast.”
“Thank you, Uncle.” She looked past his shoulder. “Where’s Daniel?”
“That is what I was coming to tell you. He said to give you his regrets. He had to leave, but he will see you at the dance tomorrow night.”
Hope sprang up in Catharine’s heart. He was all right. She’d misunderstood, somehow. He’d just been unconscious. Everything would be OK.
“Phillip will drive you to your music lesson in”—he checked his watch—“one hour. Kindly be ready.”
After her uncle left, she collapsed on the bed, shaking. It was what he hadn’t said that terrified her. Phillip would take her to Garcia, though whether before her lesson or after, she didn’t know. She prayed with every fiber of her being that Daniel really was OK, but the two men’s casua
l dismissal of him, their indifference, filled her with doubt.
She swallowed hard and tears slid down her face as she pictured his smile and easy manner.
Curling into a ball as grief overwhelmed her, she let the tears fall until there were no more. Gradually, through her grief, a stone-cold determination grew. She sat up and wiped her cheeks. No more tears. They solved nothing.
If Daniel really was dead, somehow, some way, she would figure out how to make her uncle and Garcia pay. Her uncle might not have given him the drug, but he was there. He’d allowed it to happen and he didn’t care. That part was the worst of it. Daniel’s life didn’t matter to them. Who were these people? Her parents had been distant, but not without hearts, without souls.
First, though, she had to get out of here. Then she’d find Daniel. Until she knew for sure that he was dead, she wouldn’t give up hope.
Glancing at her watch, she realized she didn’t have much time until they came for her. She made her way downstairs to the kitchen. “Hello, Mrs. Chen.” She nodded to the tray with tea and toast waiting on the counter. “Is that for me?”
“I was just about to bring it to you.”
Catharine forced a smile. “I’ll just eat it here, if that’s all right.” She looked around the stark, utilitarian room with its wall of windows. “I like it here.”
Mrs. Chen eyed her with suspicion but then waved a hand and went about her business, checking the roast in the oven. The smell made Catharine’s stomach roil, but she swallowed hard and pretended this was just another day. When the intercom sounded and her uncle requested a drink, Catharine saw her opportunity.
The minute the door closed behind the housekeeper, she hurried to the kitchen desk and pulled open the drawer where the household cash was kept. She’d stumbled upon Mrs. Chen putting bills in her apron one day, so she knew where to look. Worried she’d get caught, she quickly counted out ten hundred-dollar bills and stuffed them in the pocket of her school uniform.
She made it back to the table and picked up her tea just as Mrs. Chen hurried into the room.
Catharine finished her toast, thanked Mrs. Chen, and slowly walked upstairs, feigning weakness.
Once in her room, she stashed the money in her violin case. Then she changed out of her school uniform and into a blue blouse, dark slacks, and comfortable shoes, so she could run. She tucked Daniel’s school picture and a photo of her parents into her violin case alongside the cash, then looked around the room. There was nothing else here she needed or wanted.
With a deep breath for courage, she picked up her mother’s violin and walked calmly downstairs just as Phillip rose from his chair. “Are you ready, Miss Catharine?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She glanced at the closed door to her uncle’s study, but it didn’t open. She let out a sigh of relief.
She tried to stay calm as they drove through the city, but desperation clawed at her. How was she going to get away from Phillip? Would he take her straight to Garcia?
When Catharine realized he was taking her to Mrs. Wu’s second-floor apartment in a less-affluent part of the city, relief and hope shot through her. She had an idea.
The elderly lady shuffled to the door, nodded to Phillip, and then led Catharine inside with a tight grip of her bony fingers, as always. “Have you been practicing?”
“Yes, Mrs. Wu. Every day.”
The older woman eyed her with the same disdain she’d sometimes seen in her mother’s eyes. “Let us hope it will finally make a difference.”
Catharine nodded, eyes downcast as expected. Then she gripped her stomach with one hand, violin still in the other, and made a moaning sound. “Bathroom, sorry,” she gasped and ran down the hall to the small bathroom at the end. Once inside, she locked the door and spun to the small window. She unlocked it and tried to open it, but it was stuck.
“Miss Wang? What is going on?”
Catharine made a retching sound, then flushed the toilet to cover her grunt as she shoved the window open. It finally eased up enough for her to squeeze through. She pushed her violin case out onto the fire escape, then stepped up on the toilet seat and climbed out. She looked down. Phillip stood by the car, but unless he looked over his shoulder and up to the corner of the building, he wouldn’t see her. She had to hurry.
She tiptoed down the metal stairs and stopped when she reached the ladder. If she lowered it to reach the ground, the noise would alert him.
She glanced at the sidewalk below, then at the hedge that separated Mrs. Wu’s building from the next one. It would have to do.
Clutching her violin, she climbed down as far as she could, then leaped out and into the hedge, making sure she didn’t utter a sound when she crashed. Twigs and branches poked her, and she was scratched all over, but she lay perfectly still, panting, hoping Phillip hadn’t heard.
When he didn’t burst around the corner, she carefully climbed out of the hedge, relieved she hadn’t broken anything. She brushed the leaves from her clothes, picked up her violin case, and eased down the alley between the buildings. Once she was out of sight, she picked up her pace, racing from one alley to the next, her only thought to escape before they realized she was gone.
By the time Mrs. Wu stumbled downstairs and told Phillip that Catharine had climbed out the window, she was on a bus headed across town, wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses.
With nothing but her mother’s violin and some stolen cash, Catharine Wang disappeared.
Chapter 2
Present Day—Nashville, Tennessee
The No Name Café was crowded, as always on Thursdays. To those who came every week to hear the band, tonight was no different from any other. But the woman known as Cat Johnson knew something was off. She couldn’t settle, couldn’t shake the dread that rolled through the smoke-filled room like an approaching storm. As she did before every show, she peeked through the curtain and studied the crowd, making sure there were no familiar faces. Just in case.
Everything looked as it should. Yet the nagging worry that had been expanding in her belly had grown fur and fangs and dug deep. Fear clawed at her heart with every minute that passed without a word from Joellen. There could be a simple, logical explanation. Maybe the sixteen-year-old runaway was sick, had lost her phone—but Cat’s gut wasn’t buying it. Something was wrong. She’d go track her down, Cat decided. The minute the show ended.
She scanned the crowd through her light-blue-tinted sunglasses once more. Reassured she was safe, for now, she smiled as she stepped onto the stage, her wide performer’s grin as much a part of her getup as the short-shorts and boots. She bowed at the hearty applause, careful of her braided blonde wig, and willed the worry away, at least until her set was over.
She grinned at her bandmates and slipped into the persona she’d perfected over the years. The band started the Charlie Daniels Band’s “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” and her eyes twinkled behind the tinted sunglasses and colored contacts. The crowd cheered. With a silent apology to her late mother and her classical training, she lifted her mother’s priceless violin and let herself get lost in the music.
“Great job tonight, Cat,” Walt Simms said later, sliding a big glass of water her way. The balding club owner smiled, showing the gap in his front teeth. “The crowd loves you.”
Cat gulped half the water before she set the glass down and shrugged. “I enjoy playing.”
“That’s obvious. Just as it’s always been obvious you’re way too talented—and too well trained—to be playing in a little dive like this one.”
“Come on, Walt. Nobody’s beating a path to my door. Besides, I like it here.” She leaned closer. “I didn’t see Joellen come in. Did she show up tonight?”
Walt had hired her to wash dishes, at Cat’s pleading, even though he didn’t need additional help. His eyes filled with pity and he looked away, busied himself drying a glass.
An icy chill slid down her spine. She leaned closer. “Walt? What do you know? You’re scaring me.”
Cat’s hands shook as she flipped pages until she found the right one. Her heart slammed into her chest as she recognized the face in the crime scene photo. “I have to go.”
Cat cracked one eye open and glared at the sunlight streaming through the tiny window in her studio apartment. Her heart pounded as she tried to orient herself, get her bearings, remember what had happened, but the sick feeling of dread sloshing in her belly told her she didn’t really want to. Not yet.
Something crinkled under her face, and she slowly rolled over and pulled the newspaper free. Swallowing the nausea, she waited for the room to stop spinning before she eased both eyes open and attempted to focus.
LOCAL PROSTITUTE FOUND BEATEN TO DEATH
The careless headline at the bottom of page six acted like a bucket of cold water. Cat’s mind cleared, and the anger came rushing back. She snapped her eyes shut and slammed a fist on the sagging mattress. The article said the girl, known as Star to those who frequented her corner of Nashville, had no identification and had been listed as a Jane Doe by the coroner. “Her name is Joellen,” Cat shouted. The sound slammed against her aching head and brought her surging to her feet.
Getting up proved a mistake, as Cat found herself on the bathroom floor a little while later, shivering, hatred and anger still churning in her gut. Worse, self-recrimination beat down on her like a cat-o’-nine-tails.
She leaned her head against the bilious green tile. She should have saved Joellen, gotten her away from her pimp and put her on a bus back to her family in Oklahoma, no matter how often Joellen claimed she was fine, that she had everything under control. She hadn’t been fine, and she hadn’t been safe, and Cat had known that with every fiber of her being. She’d tried to teach her capoeira, Brazilian self-defense, but she knew it wasn’t enough to protect her from the monster she worked for. Cat should have forced her onto a bus, anyway. Sent her somewhere far from here, somewhere safe.