LUCY: The Complete Lucy Kendall Series with Bonus Content (The Lucy Kendall Series Book 5)

by Stacy Green

  “Lucy, please.” Kelly didn’t waste much energy on her plea. She knew me too well. “I wish you had a firearm.”

  “Chris and I discussed that,” I said. “I’m considering it.” But guns made it so easy to kill, and they were easier for the police to trace. Could I stick to my methods if I owned a gun?

  “I’ll call Kenny,” I finally decided. “He can’t resist giving in to me.”

  13

  I’m a brave woman. I’ve traipsed through some nasty areas of Philadelphia alone, my pepper spray and self-defense moves at the ready. But even I wasn’t dumb enough to go into the Strawberry Mansion area of North Philadelphia alone. After some nagging, Kenny finally relented. Now we drove down Lehigh Avenue in his battered pickup, doors locked and our white skin making us stand out in a decidedly bad way.

  Strawberry Mansion reminded me of the images of Third World countries that charity organizations use for fundraising. Drugs and violence ran the neighborhood, and it was nothing to see someone scrounging through overflowing trash for their next fix or meal, or both. The sidewalks flowed with garbage no one seemed to care about.

  “This all started in 2003 with the murder of a teenager,” Kenny said as we eased down the street. “Since then, gunfighting has hurt a bunch of bystanders. Witnesses are too scared to come forward, and the streets just get more and more dangerous. The young men living out here are from a generation of anger, and they’ve just made things worse.”

  I peered out the window. A young black female bolted inside her house. “But the drug situation here is very real.”

  “Sure it is,” Kenny agreed. “But it’s not making the money it used to. All the shootings have sent customers away and brought in the cops. And it’s the same old story with an impoverished area: image is everything. These boys gotta earn their place and the respect of the alpha group to survive. So they’re doing what it takes. And they tell themselves this stuff is more important than money.”

  We crawled past a crumbling brick row house. “Number 2021.” The numerals were barely visible on the cracked glass above the door. “This is part of the Philadelphia Housing Authority.”

  Kenny snorted. “They’re doing a great job with the place, aren’t they?”

  I shrugged. “There’s only so much money allocated to them, and the housing authority does the best they can. It’s the nature of poverty that really amazes me.”

  “I don’t follow,” Kenny said.

  “Kids from areas like this try to get out, and their family or peers resent them.” I’d witnessed the same scenario time after time during my years with CPS. It was one of many harsh realities I learned to face. “They’ll call them out for leaving their people, for turning their back, that sort of thing. The support of your immediate circle–or the lack of it–is a powerful thing. Most of the time, the achiever will give up and go back to his roots.”

  “Exactly why things will never change.” Kenny made a U-turn and headed back down Lehigh Street. “Why are we here again?”

  “Because I’m investigating a man who goes by the name of Preacher. He’s involved in child sex trafficking, and I think he’s Riley’s pimp. Kelly traced the number he gave me back to this place.” I stared at the building’s grimy windows. “I honestly thought it wouldn’t have an address. But maybe Preacher isn’t as smart as I gave him credit for.”

  “He might live with family,” Kenny said, “and figured it was safe enough to use the number.”

  “Probably.” I didn’t add that Preacher had to be making enough money from trafficking to afford a better place than this. But for whatever reason, he’d chosen to remain.

  “What exactly are you hoping to find out?”

  “Preferably, his real name. But somehow I doubt you or I will get that information.”

  “I expect not. So what else? Please tell me you’re not going to knock on doors.”

  “I’m not stupid enough to do anything besides drive around. I’m hoping to see Riley or another girl her age who looks like she doesn’t belong. Or even better, Preacher himself. That will at least confirm Kelly’s information.” I glanced at Kenny, who looked nervous. We’d stopped at a red light where three young men had taken up residence. The tallest one had his back to us, and another young man hung over his shoulder. But the shorter man–or more correctly, barely legal teenager–watched us with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Have you heard anything from your sources?”

  Not taking his eyes off the men, Kenny hit the gas. “No. But I’m still waiting on a couple of people.”

  “Hopefully something pans out.” We drove around the block to the back of the building. It looked even worse from this angle.

  “I heard on the news the owner of Exhale Salon was found dead yesterday. The woman you were after.” Kenny’s tone had changed. His voice was tight, as if something were caught in his throat.

  “I heard that too. I wondered when she didn’t show up for our meeting.” I filled Kenny in on my plan to milk Sarah for information. “But she didn’t answer the door for Preacher, and I didn’t try to get into the salon.”

  “Jesus,” he snapped. Evidently whatever worry he’d had about my involvement in Sarah’s murder had eased. “What if you’d been there when the killer showed up?”

  “Then it would have been two against one,” I said. I didn’t add that I would have been prepared. I’d have brought something a lot more threatening than cyanide. That thought gave me the perfect topic diversion. “I’m learning how to shoot.”

  Kenny twisted to stare at me. “As in, a gun? I figured you already knew.”

  “Why?”

  His cheeks reddened. “Well, you know how to take care of yourself. And you aren’t afraid of much. So I just figured…” his voice trailed off and he looked sheepish.

  “I’ve shot my stepfather’s Sig Saur a few times,” I conceded. “And it wasn’t pretty.”

  “So what brought this decision on?”

  “Chris thought it was a good idea, given some of my more dangerous jobs.”

  “Chris Hale?” Kenny’s red face turned the color of storm clouds. “The one whose mother turned out to be the real killer of those girls, and who got her other son labeled a sex offender and stuck in prison for most of his childhood?”

  “The very same.”

  He drove down the street. I wondered when he would find a place to park. Parking probably wasn’t a good idea, but the locals were going to get sick of us driving around gawking at them like tourists. “I don’t know about that guy.”

  “Seems like a hard decision since you’ve never met him.”

  “He comes from a really dark place, Goose.”

  “So do you. So do I. So what?”

  “I don’t like how he just popped up in your life all of a sudden.”

  I almost told Kenny that Chris didn’t just pop up, that he’d been watching me for a while, but caught myself. Instead, I gave Kenny a wry smile. “Yeah. He’s kind of a pain in the ass. But he’s a good friend. He helped me find Kailey. Helped me out of trouble with the police too.”

  “I guess.” Kenny looked like he wanted to say more. “I just don’t know if he’s the sort you want to get mixed up with.”

  Something like shame crept into my head. If only Kenny knew what sort I was and that I’d used his information to kill people. He’d be devastated. I’d like to think he’d understand in the end, but deep down, I wasn’t sure. “He’s all right, Kenny G. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  He didn’t laugh at my silly, singsong rhyme. “Lucy, I’m serious. Since you’ve met this guy, you’ve changed. You’re darker somehow. More jaded. Taking more risks, like coming into Strawberry Mansion on a goose chase. The Lucy I know wouldn’t have done that.”

  But I had. I’d done so many more things than Kenny realized. Chris’s presence in my life had only brought my true self into focus.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I think the last few months, seeing what happened to Kailey Richardson and real
izing how big the network of filth out there really is, has brought me down.”

  Kenny’s hunched shoulders eased down. “Well, that’s fair. But don’t let the world hurt you. There’s still plenty of good out there even if we don’t always see it.”

  I smiled my first genuine smile of the day. This is why I loved being around Kenny. He was a warm, fuzzy beacon of hope. “You’re right. I promise I’ll do better.”

  We stopped again at the red light. The three men had gone from curious to agitated. The shortest one, wearing a black jacket and a crisp white cap with gleaming white sneakers to match, strode toward us.

  “Shit,” Kenny hissed.

  I didn’t respond. My gaze was locked on the tallest of the three men. Attention on his phone, head down and his cropped hair hidden by a red, wool cap, but it was definitely Preacher. Dressed to fit in with his boys, not stand out.

  I shrank back in the seat. I doubted he’d recognized me, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  “That’s Preacher,” I said. “This is definitely his area.”

  The shortest man had crossed the street and was only a few feet away from the truck. He spread his arms wide as if to challenge us.

  Next to Preacher was a younger boy, perhaps around eighteen. Now that the alleged leader had moved, I could see the boy hovered close to Preacher, mirroring his every move. Another protégé, perhaps?

  I didn’t have time to ask. The leader was too close, and Kenny hit the gas.

  14

  I didn’t hear from Chris until his shift ended and then only a simple text asking if he could stop by. By that time my nerves were frayed, and I’d nearly worn a path across my hardwood floors. My fat tabby cat Mousecop watched from his perch in the windowsill. Although Chris had dropped me off numerous times over the past few months, he had never been inside my apartment. My place in Northern Liberties wasn’t a dump, but it was lived in. The furniture, comfortable and generic, was unlike Chris’s pristine place in Center City. I reminded myself it didn’t matter. Chris had a trust fund to supplement his paramedic salary, and my chosen field wasn’t exactly full of wealth. Material things weren’t important to me, but the part of my brain that could never completely shed my mother’s judgment fussed about my plain and embarrassing decor.

  The buzzer announced his arrival; I let him in the building and answered the door on the first knock. I don’t really know what I expected. Chris was normally dressed to the nines, wearing designer coats and jeans and sweaters. Appearance was important to him, most likely because he had so many self-esteem issues. After all, some part of him believed he was destined to be a sociopath. Looking good established another layer to hide behind.

  But tonight Chris still wore his navy paramedic uniform, including a heavy fleece coat with the Philadelphia Fire Department’s logo. His short blond hair was mussed, his cheeks pink from the cold. A Band-Aid covered his left middle finger. He’d just come off a twelve-hour shift, and heavy shadows ringed his normally bright eyes. My insides warmed at the sight of him until I saw the expression on his face. Beyond the exhaustion was barely concealed anger.

  “Come in.” I stood aside. He walked past me, bringing his usual scent of musky cologne. Something deep inside me stirred. I squashed the sensation. “I take it you got my message.”

  Still glaring at me, he stood in the middle of my living room and unzipped his department-issued jacket. Mousecop jumped down from the window, stretched, and then strolled over to sniff Chris’s black boots. The cat’s mouth hung open for a moment before he hissed and stalked off, tail in the air.

  “Weird,” I said. “He likes most people. Then again, I don’t get a lot of visitors.”

  “I was inside a nasty house a couple of hours ago.” Chris finally spoke. “God knows what’s on my boots.”

  I hugged my chest. Feeling foolish and strangely intimidated, I hung back near the door and hoped he’d talk first.

  Chris raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  I sighed. “All right, so you’re pissed off at me for using you for an alibi. Sorry about that.”

  He gritted his teeth. “You also forgot my building has cameras. It won’t take Todd Beckett long to realize your lie. Backing you up means I lie to the police too. That could cost me my job.”

  My shoulders drooped. I shuffled to the nearest chair and plopped down. “You’re right. I realized my mistake as soon as I said it, but I couldn’t take it back.”

  “That’s unlike you.”

  “I know.” I still had no idea why I’d been so stupid. That’s how good criminals get caught. A shudder rippled down to my toes. Considering myself a criminal was new. In the eyes of the law, I was no doubt worthy of the death penalty. But my victims–if you could call them that–were the worst of the scum. Ask any average Joe on the street about killing child molesters, and he’d likely give me a pat on the back.

  “I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” I said. “I can’t blame you for telling Todd the truth.”

  Chris’s sharp expression finally softened. “I never said I did.”

  Our eyes met, his full of blue and warmth and loyalty, and mine feeling strangely leaky. I actually moved to cross the room to throw my arms around him but stopped myself. “You lied for me?”

  He nodded. “But we’re on borrowed time until the security footage comes back. So we’re going to have to figure out something.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Chris took off his jacket and folded it nicely across the end of my couch. His Philadelphia EMS shirt clung to his shoulder blades as he stretched. He quietly made his way into the kitchen, trailing his fingertips across the countertops. “Got anything to eat?” He opened the fridge as if he’d been in my apartment a hundred times before. As if he belonged.

  Fuzziness spread through my already foggy brain. I connected with very few people. My sister, Kelly, Kenny. And now Chris, in a way I’d not thought possible. He was the only person on this earth who came close to knowing my true darkness. Even more frightening was that he stayed around in spite of it. “There’s leftover sausage casserole. Put it in the microwave for a couple of minutes.”

  We sat in silence as the gentle whirring of the microwave filled the air. I couldn’t stop staring at Chris. His shoulders were broader than I realized. His hair darker in the back, almost brown. A small scratch peeked out from the collar of his shirt. Self-inflicted or left by a female conquest? My cheeks heated up just as he turned around, stuffing a forkful of steaming pasta in his mouth.

  “What?” He spoke around the food.

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  He sat down on a barstool and once again gazed around my small apartment. “I like your place. It’s very homey.”

  I laughed. “Is that rich people code for cheap?”

  “Not at all. It’s a compliment. My place is sterile, and I don’t have a clue how to fix it.”

  I’d never been inside his high-rise apartment, but I imagined it with lots of monochrome and steel. “Try color.”

  He smirked. “Good guess. And don’t think I’m not still pissed off at you.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t have used you as–”

  “It’s not that.” He savored another bite. “This is really good. Did you make it?”

  “Yep. Cooking is one of my little-known talents.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He licked the fork, finished his pasta and then washed the bowl out in the sink. He didn’t speak again until he sat down on the couch and fixed his perceptive eyes on me. I hated the way he seemed to see through every protective layer I possessed. Resting his chin on his hand, he yawned. “So what are we going to do about this alibi thing?”

  “I’m not sure what to do. Were you home that night and the next morning?”

  He closed his eyes. “I didn’t work that night. I went out with some guys from the department and then to my aunt and uncle’s.” An impish smile spread across his face. “Actually, I fell asleep there and didn’t
come home until around eight the next morning.”

  My heart leapt. “So…you won’t be on the security tape?”

  “Not until after the time frame Todd gave you.”

  “What did you tell him then?”

  “He asked if you were at my place. I said no, we’d gone out to dinner at Chatzky’s, a restaurant by my aunt and uncle’s. Then we went to their place and wound up too drunk to drive home. We crashed there, and then I took you home that morning. Dropped you off at 7:30.” He leaned back, spreading his arms over the back of the couch.

  My hopes crumbled. “Your uncle is the freaking ADA. He isn’t going to lie.”

  “That’s the beauty. They weren’t home. I had to go over to feed the dog. But their security system logs will show that I used the code to enter the house and then reset the alarm several hours later. No camera set up. But as long as you were home and not seen anywhere else, they can’t prove otherwise.”

  “What if they ask around the department?”

  He shrugged. “I doubt Beckett will specifically ask about my going out with the guys that night. It’s not something I do very often. They’ll tell him I’m a good worker, never miss a shift. All around good guy.” He wrapped his hands around the back of his head. “And one or two will probably tuck their heads, mumble and hem haw around, until they say it’s amazing how adjusted I am, considering where I came from.” His eyes dimmed into a hazy gleam. “If they only knew.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose as chills washed over me. “The papers pretty much covered most of it, didn’t they?”

  Chris’s arm wobbled making his head sway to the side. He sat up. “Most of what’s common knowledge, yeah.”

  More than two decades had passed since Chris’s father was sentenced to life in prison for murdering five women. At the time, authorities believed Chris’s mother, Mary Weston, was a victim of her depraved spouse. As we searched for Kailey Richardson, Chris and I discovered Mary Weston was Martha Becket, he and Justin were half-brothers, and Mary had been very much involved in the killings. Even worse, she’d done the raping and killing Justin had been accused of when he was a child. The woman’s web was terrifying and complicated, and Chris harbored immense regret. Growing up safe in his aunt and uncle’s home, he’d had visions of Mary’s involvement. He’d hoped they were his mind playing tricks on him.