Nowhere Safe

by Bush, Nancy

  “No . . . I don’t know. I said I’d think about it. They can’t jack me around that way, although I suppose I should check with Louisville, too.” She sighed. “We could really use the money, so maybe I should work out a new deal with them.”

  Graham’s mind was traveling ahead. If SHE were gone, he could go through the school day on Monday and then a bar that night. Maybe pick up on somebody new . . . Dangerously, his thoughts cruised to Molly and he felt almost ill with wanting. Molly, in his last period class. So alone and forgotten while her other classmates were shooting out breasts and hips like the cows they would eventually become. That hadn’t happened to Molly yet, and by the looks of her mother, who was small and petite and as flat chested as a board, it might not at all.

  “Is that for me?” Daria cooed, looking down at his pants. Then she reached forward and grabbed his hard cock and he jerked in surprise, sloshing his coffee onto her. She jumped back and cried, “Shit, Graham! Didn’t you even drink any of it?”

  He put the cup on the counter, his vision of Molly shattered by her sharp rebuke. He looked at her down-turned mouth and felt fury rise in him, a volcanic tide.

  “What?” she asked, recoiling a bit.

  “Nothing.”

  “Darling, you looked mad enough to kill.”

  “Nah. Just sorry that I ruined your blouse.”

  She glanced down at the brown stain on her fat breasts. “Well, you should be, you bad boy. Now, where were we . . . ?” And she reached back to his now flaccid member and started stroking.

  When she bent down to his zipper Graham stared over her head and thought about Molly and Monday and how he would take care of her. She was his little girl. She was his.

  And he grew hard again.

  September arrived at the site of the domestic violence case to learn that a woman had shot her husband in the chest, a wound from which he’d died. The woman was weeping and shaking and saying that he was the one with the gun and she’d just tried to take it from him. From the early signs of the destruction around the room it looked like her story might be correct. The tech team was there and September let the uniforms take the woman into the station to get her full statement.

  Blake Maharis had finally gotten back to her as she was driving to the hospital to check up on Stefan. He was out on a missing persons case: a girl had disappeared from her boyfriend’s car on Thursday night and hadn’t been seen since. He’d taken down the information and was back at the station and September asked if he would take a statement from the woman who’d shot her husband when she got there, which he agreed to. He was young, dark haired, and swarthy skinned with a set of white teeth—too good looking for his own good—about her same age and eager to move up to detective full time.

  The guy from mall security called her back as she was parking her car, but her initial hopes were dashed when he said he was sorry, but there were no videos of the parking lot on the night September had requested. In fact there were no videos from the past month. Some screw-up in their system that hadn’t been fixed, apparently. From his tone, September wondered if he were lazy or inept or both; she could tell he wasn’t going to lift a finger to help.

  With thoughts of calling the mall owners and ratting him out to see if he was telling the truth, she forced herself to shut down her phone and forget it as she drove to the hospital. The doctor still hadn’t called back, so she was going to him.

  As she walked toward the front doors, pulling her coat close against a biting wind, her cell phone sang the ring-tone she’d assigned to Auggie. “Wonder of wonders,” she muttered, clicking the green ANSWER button. “Hello, there. Nice of you to get back to me.”

  “Hey, I moved your bed for you,” Auggie defended himself.

  “And thanks for that. Now get your ass back to work. I’m dying out here. Everybody’s sick.” She brought him up to date on Wes’s, D’Annibal’s—who’d finally phoned and related that he was sick as a dog, too—and George’s conditions.

  “Food poisoning?” Auggie said.

  “That stomach virus, most likely. Guy was sick with it first and it’s a bitch.”

  “What guy?”

  “Guy Urlacher. Have you forgotten all of us already?”

  He grunted his remembrance. “You want me to just leave the rest of this move to Liv and Jake?”

  “Yes. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but Jesus H. Christ, Auggie. I had to bring in Maharis. Everybody else is out sick.”

  “Except you.”

  “So far.”

  “All right. Things seem to be under control around here. I can come in. Where are you?”

  “About to go into Laurelton General.” She quickly brought him up to speed on Stefan’s condition, as far as she knew, and then hit the high points about the Ballonni investigation. Finding Dan Quade, Carrie Carter’s boyfriend, the would-be source of Special K, was free-falling off her priority list, though she knew Wes wouldn’t let it go as soon as he was able.

  “Nine, I need to talk to you about something later,” he said, sounding serious.

  September felt her frustrations boil over. “Today is not the day to hit me with something else.”

  “I said ‘later.’” He sounded as irked as she felt.

  “I’ve changed my mind. If it’s bad news, spit it out and let’s get it over with.”

  “I’m moving to Portland permanently. That’s all.”

  That’s all? she wanted to scream. She hadn’t realized how much it meant to be working in the same department as her twin. Sure, she’d scarcely seen him since she’d been promoted to detective, but she’d felt him with her, at least. A partner, a friend, an ally.

  “Well, good luck with that,” she said, then she clicked off, knowing she was being an ungrateful bitch and not caring—much. Okay, she cared, but he was really pissing her off.

  As soon as she hung up she remembered she’d wanted him to connect her with Jake. She hadn’t talked to him since she left this morning and she really wanted to hear his voice. If she couldn’t depend on her brother, she could at least depend on her boyfriend. Boyfriend, she thought. She detested that term because it didn’t say enough about their relationship. Fiancé said too much, but goddammit, why wasn’t there something in between?

  She walked into the hospital with a dark cloud hanging over her head. Everybody and everything was bugging her, and yes, she knew, probably, that it was mostly coming from inside herself, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t pissed off.

  “Detective Rafferty with the Laurelton PD,” she said tersely to the woman behind the curving front desk. “I’m checking on a surgical patient who’s now in recovery: Stefan Harmak.”

  Behind the woman, carved out of wood, was a hand-hewn plaque with the image of three Douglas firs chiseled into it and the words LAURELTON GENERAL HOSPITAL.

  New art, she decided, grudgingly admitting to herself that it was better than the plain metal letters that had spelled out the hospital’s name without any adornment.

  The woman checked her computer, then asked, “Did Dr. Rajput call you?”

  “No one’s called me. I was here last night when Mr. Harmak was brought in and taken to surgery. I’ve asked to be updated, but so far that hasn’t happened.”

  “Let me put in a call to the doctor.”

  You do that.

  September walked to the windows that looked out on the front parking lot while she waited to hear something. She knew she was on the verge of stepping off the ledge, going from merely acting irritated to becoming totally unreasonable. Taking a breath, she told herself she just needed something to go right. One break to fall her way.

  “Dr. Rajput will be right down,” the woman called to her, then looked away quickly, as if she expected September to bite her head off.

  She heard the elevator bell ding and looked over to see an Indian man in a white lab coat step off the elevator. She turned toward him and there was just something about his demeanor that telegraphed the news to her before she even had
to ask.

  “Detective Rafferty?” he asked with a slight accent.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he? Stephen Harmak is dead.”

  He blinked several times, then nodded gravely. “Yes, that is what I was going to say.”

  Jake looked at the queen-sized bed in his spare bedroom with satisfaction. He liked seeing it there, liked knowing September was almost completely moved in. Feeling Liv Dugan’s gaze on him, he glanced over at Auggie’s girlfriend, seeing the smile that quirked at the corner of her mouth. “What?” he demanded.

  “You’re happy. That’s all.”

  He didn’t know Liv that well. She and Nine’s brother had hooked up the previous summer before Jake had reconnected with the Rafferty clan. But he sensed that she approved and that was enough for him. “Well, yeah,” he told her.

  “Living with a Rafferty . . .” She lifted a brow. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  “I don’t see you complaining.”

  “No.” The smile grew.

  Auggie had left a few minutes earlier and now Liv gathered up her purse and headed for the door herself. She and Auggie had come in separate cars because he planned to go to his job with the Portland PD afterward. But then September had called him, and she’d asked—make that demanded—that he come help her, and Jake was all for that. Whatever it took to get September home earlier.

  Liv and Jake had been left to wrestle the mattress on the bed and set up the nightstand. The rest of September’s furniture was dumped in Jake’s garage. Sometime in the future they would go through the pile together and sort out what she wanted to keep. There were still some smaller items at her apartment that she needed to box up and haul over, but the bulk of the heavy work was done.

  Jake said good-bye to Liv, then dialed September. He could tell from Auggie’s conversation with her that she was a bit overwhelmed, but he was hoping to talk to her for a few minutes and tell her about the canceled dinner plans, although when Auggie caught up with her she would know. In truth, he just wanted to talk to her.

  Her cell went straight to voice mail. Figured.

  “You’ve reached Detective Rafferty,” her voice said on the message. “Leave a detailed message and a number where you can be reached.”

  After the beep, Jake drawled, “Detective Rafferty, this is Jake from Apartment to Home Delivery Service. Your belongings have been left in good order. Unfortunately two-thirds of my team had to leave before the agreed upon payment—Thai food, I believe—was delivered and therefore the debt is still outstanding. I’m sure some other arrangement can be made to . . . fill the bill, and I hope you can offer recompense later this evening. I’ve put the invoice in the Johnson file. Please open it as soon as you return.”

  He was grinning as he clicked off. Hearing the dryer buzz, he realized the sheets were dry and he headed out to the laundry room off the garage. He was returning with the wad of sheets in his arms when he heard his cell phone buzz on the table.

  Dropping the pile, he swept up his phone, but the ring-tone was his default, not September’s assigned song. Looking at the screen, he saw the number had no name attached to it but he recognized it all the same: Marilyn Cheever, Loni’s mother.

  He said one choice word and debated on not answering. He didn’t want to talk to Marilyn or Loni or anyone in the Cheever family ever again. He was, in fact, sick to the back teeth of all the drama and endless conversations and hand wringing.

  He actually walked away from the phone, but it kept on buzzing. “Damn it,” he finally said through his teeth, striding back to sweep up the cell. “Hello,” he said coolly.

  “Jake? Oh, God, Jake. It’s Marilyn.” Her voice was unsteady.

  “What’s happened?” he asked without enthusiasm. This scene had played out too many times for him to be nice.

  “It’s Loni.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She’s . . . she’s missing. She took off and she left a note.”

  “A note?” His heartbeat accelerated. A suicide note? Loni had never actually gone that far before.

  “Could you—could you help me? She needs you. I need you.” And she started softly crying.

  Loni’s parents had divorced years earlier. Her father had moved away and Loni had never been close to him. When her disease had become a serious problem, Marilyn had tried to turn to him for help, but he’d grown even more distant, not less. Jake had been the one who was there for both of them.

  “What can I do?” he heard himself say.

  “Help me find her.”

  He looked at the pile of sheets on the table, sighed, and said, “Okay.” September wasn’t going to be home for a while anyway.

  “Oh, thank you, Jake. Thank you.”

  Lucky’s quarry rolled out in the station wagon late in the day. She waited until he was out of sight, then followed behind him at a good distance. When he pulled into a grocery store, she drove into the same lot a few minutes later, parking several rows back. She wanted his name, but wondered if this was the time to get close to him. So many people around.

  When he went into the store, she climbed out of her car, squared the baseball cap on her head and walked across the lot toward him. She thought he was going to the grocery store but he turned into the cleaners beside it.

  She slowed her steps, following his movements through the large, plate glass window at the front of the store. It was a small space with a counter. If she were inside with him, he would immediately notice her, and this was not the place to make his acquaintance. Besides which, what would she say to the Hispanic woman behind the counter? Ask her for prices?

  No, it was better to just wait outside and so she walked past the store, darting a quick look inside. Her target was dropping off a woman’s blouse, pointing out what looked like a coffee stain to the clerk. Lucky kept on walking, turning before she reached the end of the strip mall where Dizzy’s Pizza stood, a local chain that had become both a place for tweens to play video games, hang out, and eat pizza, and for adults to sit in the bar area and watch sports on the lines of TVs suspended from the ceiling, and hang out and eat pizza as well.

  Lucky had just turned around and was walking back when she saw her guy heading her way. Ducking her head, she kept on going, nearly overwhelmed by the scent of his desire. She dared to look back once and saw that he’d entered the restaurant. She could see him hesitate for only a minute before heading to the tween side.

  She ground her teeth together. Bastard was escalating. She could feel it.

  What should she do? She wasn’t dressed right to lure him in. There were too many people and cars circling the parking lot for her to hit him with the stun gun here. It was just all around the wrong place to be, at this time of day.

  But she didn’t want to leave him alone with the unsuspecting tweens.

  After a moment she walked into the restaurant. One look and she saw his attention was already lasered on a young girl who was playing a video game while her mother stood by observantly. Lucky decided to take a minute to use the restroom and when she returned she had a bad moment when she saw the girl, the mother, and her quarry were all gone.

  But then she saw the mother and girl heading to a car and her quarry loitering by a newspaper box with change in his hand. However, his attention was really on them. Lucky dared to walk past him and toward the cleaners, but when the mother and child pulled out of the lot, he headed straight for his car.

  She stopped and stared straight at the window of the cleaners, all the while watching his reflection. When he was in his car, she moved quickly toward her own, racewalking the last few steps. He was pulling out of the lot as she jumped into the Nissan.

  She managed to find him easily enough. He was stopped at the light and through the rear window she watched him slam his palm down on the steering wheel in frustration.

  “No luck, huh, fucker.”

  He drove back toward his house. Just before he made the last turn to the side street that led to his driveway, Lucky pulled alongside hi
m in the left lane. She kept on heading forward, stealing only a small look, watching his tail lights turn red as he slowed for his driveway. He’d been thwarted in his hunting. Probably because the only girl he wanted—the youngest one—had been under her mother’s watchful eye and he couldn’t approach her. Or, maybe the woman she’d seen him kissing in the window kept him on a very short tether.

  Whatever the case, she sensed her hunting was over for today. Nevertheless, she reparked her car along the street, further back now and flanked front and rear by different cars, which might make her less noticeable. She would wait a few more hours and see what developed. Then she would go back to Mr. Blue’s and see how things stood there. If the situation were getting hotter, he might ask her to leave. She didn’t want to go, but she didn’t want to get caught, either. Hiram wasn’t known for exaggeration, and so she had to believe the police might come to his door, asking questions. Better for her not to be there when that happened.

  So . . . she might as well keep up her vigil.

  Switching off the ignition, she popped open the glove box, withdrew two energy bars, then pulled the baseball cap down over her eyes and leaned back, unwrapping the first bar and settling in for a long wait.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “This isn’t a suicide note,” Jake said with some relief.

  He glanced over at Marilyn Cheever with a sense of growing frustration. There was no denying that Loni had serious problems, but her mother’s fears were set off by a hair trigger these days, and they always included phoning Jake.

  Marilyn dabbed at her nose with a tissue, staring down at the unfolded page Jake now held in his hands. They were standing in her kitchen where Loni had propped her message in front of the salt and pepper shakers, so Marilyn had told him as she’d been holding the paper between shaking hands when he arrived at her house. Recently, apparently, Loni had moved back in with her mother, and though the arrangement seemed to suit Marilyn, Jake wasn’t sure how well it was working for Loni.