by Lucy Farago
“Harry’s Bar?” she heard herself ask.
Harry, an ex-Marine and owner of the neighborhood bar, charged ten dollars for anyone who wanted to grab a mattress in the apartment above his place. He kept drunks from driving home, and he kept Maggie informed.
“Right. You know he has this code about ratting the kids out, but if she’s there he might tell you.”
Riding a bicycle, right? Or was this some kind of penance? She only hoped Hannah hadn’t called her ex-pimp. The fine for trafficking minors ranged from one to five hundred thousand dollars. Such a large fine plus seizure of all property might scare some pimps—but not this one. “What are the odds she called Devan?”
“Unfortunately, knowing her mother, Empire State Building high.”
If she wanted to find Hannah, it had to be before Devan had a chance to drive the sixty miles out of Vegas from his cathouse to pick her up. “If he gets to her first, we’ll lose her. I’ll call you when I know anything.”
Twenty minutes later and six blocks east of the old strip, Maggie parked down the street from the pub. This time she’d spotted the off icer tailing her. A serial killer was targeting women who danced at Heart’s Desire. Maggie wasn’t a dancer, but she did work at the club. Knowing there’d been someone following her was a little disconcerting, until she remembered that.
When Maggie explained Hannah’s situation to the officer following her, he was sympathetic. It had taken some doing, but she managed to convince him to stay out of the way and out of sight.
Waldo, a street saxophone player named for his red and white striped T-shirt, stood on the corner, instrument case open for money. Upon seeing her, he stopped his sultry jazz tune. “Hey Mags, long time no see. You scoping out the redhead?”
“Yeah, you know her?” she asked, forgetting Waldo saw and remembered everything.
“Aren’t they getting tired of running that one down?”
“Waldo, I have to get to her before Devan does, so if you’ve seen her …”
“Devan, huh? He should be behind bars. She’s upstairs. Harry told her to go back, but she’d have none of it. She’d take off every time someone came by to look for her.”
“Thanks.” Harry’s place was fashioned like an old Irish pub, a square bar dead center. A little too early for the bar crowd, only a few of the regulars sat on the wooden stools listening to one of Harry’s Marine stories while he poured a draft into a large frosted mug.
When he saw her, he motioned upstairs with his thumb. “It’s been a while, doll. Good to see ya.”
She nodded and forced herself to unclench her jaw. “Nice to see you too, and thanks.” Maggie headed for the back staircase, and took the steps two at a time. She liked Harry, but right now she wanted out of this bar before her brain fully registered what she was doing here.
Floorboards creaked as Maggie made her way down the dank, narrow hallway to the back corner. She made herself move, shook out her fists, drawing a resounding breath. She regretted the latter. As she passed a grungy bathroom in need of repair, the stench of urine was overwhelming. Some things never changed. The room on the left was men only, and inside a junkie in a sweatshirt and tattered jeans who’d seen better days grimaced as he shot up. As long as they kept to themselves, Harry kept his baseball bat under the bar. From the apartment on the third floor, rusty bed hinges complained as Willow, the prostitute who rented the place, was working.
When she opened the battered oak door to the room on the right, a scrawny kid flew into Maggie’s arms, knocking her back a pace.
“I’m sorry.” Golden eyes that had seen far too much for their young years, pleaded with her. “Take me back.” The explicit sounds of two people going at it carried through the air grates. Hannah’s arms tightened around Maggie’s waist. “I don’t wanna end up like her. Maggie, please, I’m sorry. Devan’s coming.”
“Hannah—” Maggie stopped, deciding now was not the time to explain dumb moves. “When did you call him?”
Hannah chewed her bottom lip. “An hour ago.”
“Shit, come on.” She grabbed the girl’s wrist. “If we’re lucky, he hit traffic.”
As they passed a window in the hall, through filthy glass and ragged curtains, Maggie saw the white Caddy parked on the street. She spun Hannah around. “Fire escape!”
From the fire escape at the far end of the building, they’d be able to take the back alleyway and sneak around to Maggie’s jeep across the street. As she struggled to control her trembling hands and open the painted-over window, she tossed Hannah her purse. “Find the mace.”
Adrenaline pumping, she shoved the girl out first and followed her onto the rickety iron platform. She unhooked the latch for the retractable stairs. Nothing. After two panicked kicks, they clattered to the ground below. From the hallway, heavy footsteps pounded the floorboards. Luckily, Devan rocked the scale at three hundred pounds and he’d be hard pressed to make it onto the old ladder, let alone out the window. Rust scraped Maggie’s sweaty palms as she climbed down each rung, careful not to slip and hit Hannah. Rallying her courage, she ignored the nauseating fear. Overhead, Devan’s angry warning bellowed, jarring Maggie. Her head snapped up.
“If you know what’s good for you … fuck.” His shoulders jammed in the window frame and he had to wiggle free. He snarled and ducked back inside.
Jumping off the last few steps, they ran for the alley entrance. They just about made it. One of Devan’s goons came around the corner, blocking their escape. The rapper wannabe grinned a diamond-crusted grill for teeth. Long, beaded dreadlocks clicked as he shook his head from side to side.
Show no fear, show no fear, show no fear. Reacting on instinct, Maggie shoved Hannah behind her, taking the mace from the girl’s hand.
Trapped, their only means of escape was through this buffoon. Her eyes shot back to the ladder. Clutching the small can, she debated telling Hannah to climb, but uncertain if more men were waiting, she reconsidered. Long minutes later, Devan waddled around his man.
“Mags. I see you found Hannah for me. Thanks.”
“Funny, fat man, but Hannah’s coming with me.” Show fear and the lion would eat you.
He smirked and tipped his head as far as his fat, pasty neck would allow. “You the funny one. The girl is mine.”
“Maggie?” Hannah’s panicked voice broke from behind her.
The girl’s fear matched Maggie’s. “She’s fourteen and on probation. If she misses her check in tonight, they’ll come looking for her, and you.”
She could practically see the dust rolling off the block some might call a brain as he considered his options. The one thing he did understand was money. Young prostitutes were cash cows, as long as he didn’t get caught. Then the police could confiscate everything to cover the hefty fine. Maggie prayed Hannah wasn’t worth the risk.
He flicked his fat arm for Hannah to go. “Shit, girl, you more trouble than you worth.”
Guard still in place, Maggie backed Hannah out of the alleyway. With an unreadable expression, Devan let her go. As Maggie passed his goon, the dirtbag snagged her arm. “Run, Hannah!”
The girl hesitated. Maggie’s heart dropped.
“Run,” Maggie screamed, just as Devan’s meaty fist struck her cheek. Her teeth rattled as white pain lanced the side of her face and she fell, her head hitting the hard ground. The mace, her only defense, slipped from her fingers, a red haze stinging Maggie’s right eye.
“Look, let’s lay it on the line.” Cooper leaned forward onto his desk. “Stay above the law, and technically, I can’t stop you from doing your job, unless you get in the way of mine. Sheppard seems to know the captain real well. Had to or no way would the big man have given me the okay to watch Maggie and her girls. And I’ll take any help I can get.”
Christian never asked Sheppard what the favor was or how it was owed. It wasn’t his business. Honestly he never gave a shit, as long as it moved his cases along.
Cooper pointed a finger at Christian. “That
girl is like a daughter to me. You went from, let’s say, having a low regard about her, to what?”
“That’s between the lady and me.” He didn’t kiss and tell.
“I knew it,” Cooper accused. “Stay away from her.”
He understood the man’s concern, didn’t mean he had to like it. “You’re not her daddy.”
“I’m the closest thing she’s had in years. So if you think I’m going to stand by while you play games with her, you have another think coming.”
Normally, he’d tell him to go fuck himself, but the two were close and he wouldn’t disrespect their relationship. “I care about what happens to her.” Beyond that, he wasn’t sure. “I promise. I won’t do anything to hurt her.”
“See that you don’t.”
The two men were staring at each other, when a lanky officer interrupted their little tête-à-tête with a knock. Curious as to the file in the officer’s hand, Christian re-took a seat, crossing ankle over thigh.
Clean shaven, sharp haircut and polished buttons set him apart from the other officers. A new cadet. “Sir, I have the coroner’s report.”
“Leave it,” Cooper instructed.
“Yes, sir,” he said, dropping the report on Cooper’s desk.
“Thank you, Thomas.”
The lieutenant didn’t move, but managed a disturbing grin.
“You can go, Thomas.” Cooper motioned toward the door.
“Oh. Oh, yes, sir.” He turned and ran into the half-opened door, which he promptly apologized to before darting out, red-faced.
“Were we ever that … that … ?”
Christian grunted, grateful for the change of topic. “I was never a dopy, ass-kissing rookie.”
“Guess not. I heard about your final case with the agency,” Cooper snickered. “Way to go, Beck. I hear they still talk about … your performance.”
Christian shot him a dirty look. The man’s snorts only got louder, until finally the dam broke and he started laughing. “Are you just about done?”
Cooper cleared his throat. “I guess being a pretty boy has its advantages with the feds as well.”
Having heard it all before, Christian waited patiently for Cooper to contain his mirth. It didn’t bother him. He’d done what was needed to shut the bastards down.
Christian glanced at his watch and Cooper finally wiped away the last of his tears. But apparently he hadn’t had enough.
“You know, my wife might appreciate a few of those moves.”
Christian glanced pointedly at Cooper’s potbelly. “I doubt it. Talk to me after you cut down on the donuts. They’re worse for you than coffee.”
Cooper rubbed his stomach. “Nah, she can just keep on dreaming.” He gave a contented sigh. “Thanks, Beck, I needed a laugh.”
“Glad to be of assistance.” He saluted him.
Cooper returned to the more important business at hand. “Do you have anything to add to this case? Any theories that maybe you or Sheppard came up with?”
He’d been honest with Cooper. Well, almost. “Nothing you and I haven’t discussed.”
Christian’s temples started their slow, climbing throb to a migraine. Tomorrow he’d pay a visit to Juan DeSilva. Needing a couple of seconds to clear his mind, Christian stood. He walked over to the window separating Cooper’s office from the rest of the detectives. With his index finger and thumb, he cracked open the brown slat blinds and looked out into the squad room. A female officer was handing a file to a detective. What would it be like to date a cop? He cringed at the idea, of always wondering if someone had her back. He supposed the spouse of any one of those officers must think the same, man or woman.
Christian didn’t know what to think or, more to the point, how to react. Damn, he’d almost crossed the line. He spent his career with the FBI shutting down sex trade operations. For Sheppard, he’d hacked his way through jungles, gotten frostbitten in places no man should think about and dove deep into some of the world’s worst political upheavals, all to retrieve or rescue a woman someone thought would make good collateral. To tell the truth, he’d gotten sick of it. He’d even warned Sheppard. When this case was over the only thing he’d search and rescue better not have a pulse.
Up to now, he’d been able to keep his clients’ fucked up lives at arm’s length. Unless it helped his case, he didn’t want to know who they were, how they got there, and most of all how they felt about it. He went in, did what was needed and got out. He’d pass the victim over to another of Sheppard’s crew and be done with it. Getting involved meant he cared.
But he hadn’t followed his own rules with Maggie. If he failed to catch this guy, if she got hurt or worse, ended up like his sister … He had to focus on finding the killer, assign his brand of justice, then say good-bye to the preacher’s daughter. And keep his sanity.
Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t heard Cooper.
“Beck? Where did you go?”
He jerked his hand away from the window. The phone rang, saving his ass.
Cooper answered in a short, brisk tone. “What?” He paused to listen. “Thanks.” He hung up. “That was the car depot. The deputies tagging Maggie were driving navy Broncos.”
“Could she have been mistaken about the car she thought was following her?” Even as he asked, warning bells went off in his head.
The lieutenant considered his question. “The way she drives, hopefully.”
“What are you not telling me?”
“I’ll let you know when I know.”
Christian’s neck prickled, remembering the SUV from the church. “Damn, there was a white Durango tailgating her from the church. I’m so fucking stupid,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “He kept trying to get between us.”
“You didn’t get a plate, did you?”
“No,” he said, frustrated at his own ineptness. “I was focused on keeping up with her. Like that mattered. I know where she lives.” He jammed his hands into his front pockets.
“Good thing you did. If it was the killer and he was on her tail, you scared him off.”
Panicked, Christian sat up in his chair. “You still have someone watching her, right?”
At the sound of his phone ringing, Cooper muttered, “I need a damn secretary. And yes, I have someone watching her. What now?” he snarled at the caller, then his frown deepened. “Where the hell are they? Damn rookie. I’ll kill him. How long has she been inside?” He waited for an answer. “No, I’ll go myself. Stay at her house.”
She? Christian’s stomach muscles tightened.
Cooper slammed the phone down and scrubbed his hand over his face. He let out a frustrated groan then growled, “Maggie’s gone after Hannah.”
“What does that mean?” he asked. Why would she be going after anyone?
“It means she’s trying to recover a runaway. Trouble is, that runaway has one nasty pimp.”
Christian shot to his feet, the words runaway and pimp had him beating Cooper to the door. “What the hell happened to her tail?”
“Maggie happened. If she’s lucky, she’ll have Hannah before that piece of shit shows up.”
“And if she doesn’t?” he asked, following Cooper through the bullpen and down the stairs.
“Let’s hope I get there before he does,” he said, shoving the door open.
Outside they headed to the squad cars. Cooper pointed to a black and white. “Get in if you’re coming. She’s about twenty minutes away. That pimp is one of the nastiest sons of bitches you’ll meet. She’s butted heads with him before.”
“And she’s doing it again? What the hell is she thinking?” But as he struggled with his seatbelt, he knew exactly what she was thinking. She was trying to find a runaway before it was too late.
“She’s thinking,” Cooper said, putting the car in drive, “just not about herself. The kid is fourteen. Tell me you wouldn’t do the same?”
He would, but they weren’t talking about him. “I’m trained. She isn’t.” He watch
ed the speedometer approach sixty and silently willed the needle to rise.
“That’s not totally true. I made her take shooting lessons a few years back and the county trains their frontline workers in self-defense. I’ve seen her flip a guy three times her size on his ass. Problem is, Devan’s six times her size and doesn’t travel alone.” He glanced over at Christian. “Stinson told his replacement that she’d been inside Harry’s Bar ten minutes, no one else going in or out.” He went on to explain how she’d convinced Officer Stinson to give her space.
In her defense, and as much as he hated to admit it, Maggie had had a point. It didn’t make him happy, but he could understand why she’d done it. Going through all that effort just to have the kid bolt would be counterproductive. Plus, if the girl trusted her, bringing in the cops would destroy Maggie’s reputation.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, each men lost in his own thoughts. Maggie didn’t deserve some scumbag coming down on her for caring too much. She was doing a job she had been specifically trained to do. Guess he and Maggie had something in common after all. But damn, the woman was reckless. What if someone like Maggie had helped his sister? Would he still consider her reckless? How different would his life be had Claire never died?
He’d give it to the lieutenant—the man could drive. They made it in twelve minutes. Christian got out before Cooper. On the street, a scruffy looking redhead hopped back and forth, taking a few agitated steps toward an alley then turning around, frantically chewing on her nails.
“Hannah,” Cooper shouted to her.
Christian ran toward the alley. Something had scared the girl. From between the two rundown apartment buildings he heard Maggie shouting.
“You’re an asshole!”
“And you’re a bitch who needs to be taught a lesson.”
As he rounded the corner, a fat motherfucker went to kick Maggie, who was on the ground, curled on her side. She rolled away, but not fast enough. His foot caught her back. Another street thug stood by and watched. Christian wanted to kill someone. Instinct told him to go for his gun but as he reached under his jacket a man in his late fifties with short gray hair, most likely an army vet, came into the alley, a baseball bat in hand. Christian didn’t think. He grabbed the bat. Approaching the two men he swung with everything God had given him, smashing the fat fucker across his head, knocking him down. He rounded on the other one, only this sack of shit was armed, his gun pointed at Christian.