Drago reached over and clasped her hand. “We’ll find her in time.”
Did he really believe that or was he just trying to keep her calm? Whichever, she clung to his hand like it was a lifeline, which maybe it was. Because if Angel killed again, she didn’t know how she would ever forgive herself.
They sat in silence. Waiting. The seemingly relentless attraction between them at bay for the moment. Camille hoping…praying…that Jackson would find something to lead them to Angel before he killed the girl. She had to believe that he was following a pattern at least in his keeping Sandy alive the way he had the last two victims. They had to rescue her.
Camille couldn’t bear to have another kid die because of her. Emily already haunted her.
Then Drago said, “Wait, I see something.”
Camille looked to the building and spotted Jackson and the uniformed officer through the glass door. But they didn’t open it, instead headed in the other direction. The other officer waiting outside watched but stayed where he was.
“What are they doing?”
Drago didn’t answer, just gave her hand another squeeze. It seemed like forever before the two men came back from wherever they’d gone and stepped out of the building.
“So, what’s going on?” the waiting officer asked.
“The Internet connection was set up in a closet with a window to the back side of the building,” the other uniform said. “And it’s connected to an Ethernet cable running down the back of the building to a basement window.”
“No shit!”
“Guess what the cable is connected to in a storage bin in the basement?” Jackson asked.
“A computer?”
“A router. Bastard doesn’t even have to go inside to use it. He can sit out here on the street in his car and pick up a signal. You two stay here, but get the squad down the street, just in case our suspect shows up. I don’t want you to alert him. I’ll call Rodriguez to get undercover surveillance. And I’m headed for Welby Realty to see what anyone there knows about this Paul Fox. Maybe they have some Intel on him that’ll help.”
“Like a description,” one of the officers said.
“From your lips…”
Jackson took off and the uniforms headed for the squad.
“Should we follow him?” Drago asked.
Camille’s phone dinged. “Let’s see.”
She quickly read the text aloud: “Will keep you informed. Go home, get sleep.”
“That’s a good idea.”
Was he kidding? “How do you propose I sleep? Stress keeps me awake.” The reason she’d been up most of the night before.
“I can think of ways to make you relax.”
She squeezed her knees together. Instant reaction to that subtle sexy tone he used on her. “I’ll bet you can.” Not that she was going to let him. “What I need is coffee, possibly an infusion injected straight into my veins.” Realizing Drago was on his way somewhere, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you back to the office so you can drive your own car home. I assume you drove.”
“I did. My car is parked on Ravenswood.” She had to get it sometime, but she hadn’t planned on going home. “There has to be something we can do.”
“There’s something I can do, but I’m doing it alone.”
“You’re working for me, remember.” She gave him an intent look that rolled off him.
“Technically, I’m working for my brother. Justus would be really pissed off if I took you with me.”
“Pissed off? Where are you going?”
“To get some outside help. Something I have to do alone.”
Now her brain was racing with questions, but there was no talking to him about it. He had his mind set and that was that. She argued and he merely sank into a determined silence as he drove.
An irritated Camille gritted her teeth together. Let him think what he wanted. But she was not about to be left behind.
By the time he pulled up in front of his office behind her car, the sun had set and dusk had settled over the neighborhood. Good. Maybe she could use the shadows to her advantage, play a cat-and-mouse game and follow him. Opening the passenger door, she stifled a yawn that unfortunately was all too real. Her adrenaline had crashed and she was actually fighting to stay focused.
Drago growled at her. “Go home and get some sleep while you can.”
She avoided answering directly. “Call me the minute you know anything.”
“That might be awhile. And if Jackson contacts you, I want to know what he found out.”
“Absolutely.”
She slammed the passenger door and staggered toward her own car as if she could hardly move, waiting only until she heard Drago take off before hurrying to get in and start the engine. She was after him in a minute, driving double time to catch up. She thought she’d lost him until she got to a main artery and saw the black Trans Am ahead. Slowing down, she stayed back far enough and let another vehicle between them so he wouldn’t realize she was following him. He kept to the main streets, which was good for her. She kept swerving behind SUVs and vans and trucks so that he wouldn’t spot her.
If only her cell would ring. Or even ding. If only Jackson would call or text to tell her he had something substantive in tracking down Angel. But he hadn’t had enough time to do anything yet, and her cell remained silent as they drove west and then south.
Soon they were in less agreeable surroundings, and to add to her discomfort, dark was falling fast. Humboldt Park was gang territory. Well, much of the city was. But even though some areas of the neighborhood were in the process of gentrification, Humboldt Park had a reputation for Puerto Rican gangs and drug trafficking and drive-bys and innocent kids and old people getting shot because they weren’t fast enough or aware enough to get out of the way. And Drago was taking a route straight through the park itself. It’s not like she hadn’t done her time here, even recently considering Angel’s first victim had been found in the lagoon area in the middle of the park, but she’d always been armed before.
Don’t let Sandy be the next murder victim!
Suddenly she realized she couldn’t see the Trans Am. She’d let her mind wander for just a minute and now the sports car had disappeared!
Panicked, she picked up speed, darting her gaze between the vehicles ahead. And then she saw it as Drago turned west again, heading out into the neighborhood. She sped up and made that corner in record time. She followed him onto a side street, and he was nearly a block ahead and there was nothing between them. Then he slid the car to the curb and parked. He was out of the vehicle in a shot, holding some kind of package in hand. She tapped her brakes to slow. They were in a family neighborhood, a mix of bungalows and 2-flats and 3-flats. A big building down at the next corner. But Drago didn’t go to any of them.
Instead, he stopped in front of a motorcycle parked beneath a streetlamp.
She stayed in a darkened area, pulled to the curb, and cut her car lights and engine just as he looked over his shoulder. Apparently he didn’t recognize her car, because he raised that package that she now realized was really a helmet. He slid it in place over his head before mounting his bike.
What in the world was he doing? He’d said he was going to see someone…that Justus would be pissed if he took her with him. That meant somewhere or someone dangerous. Maybe both. This is what he was doing to help her?
And why on a motorcycle?
How was she supposed to trust him when he wouldn’t tell her his plans? What was he into? Knowing his past history didn’t reassure her. It made her worry about the girl’s fate even more.
When he zoomed out of his parking spot, she started her engine and pulled into the street without turning on her lights, going more than a block and letting him get some distance before doing so. If he spotted a car behind him now, he wouldn’t realize she’d been following him from where he’d left the Trans Am.
He kept to side streets for a while, which made
her nervous that he would wonder why the car behind him didn’t turn off. But then he came to the next busy street and went back north. And she did likewise a moment later, still able to see him though several cars now separated them. A few minutes later he got onto Grand Avenue, an angled street. She followed. A short way up, he slowed and headed into a parking lot. A quarter block behind him, Camille tensed. This was it, then, whatever it was. She drove by slowly. Couldn’t miss that the parking lot held not only several cars, but even more motorcycles.
Drago was just going inside the attached business: Hog Heaven Saloon.
A biker bar?
So that’s why he’d exchanged the Trans Am for a motorcycle. To have street cred here. He must be a regular, must know some guy who frequented the bar.
What more was there to the man that she didn’t know? He had a PI license. What was he doing hanging around with bikers, some of whom were notorious troublemakers? And lawbreakers.
One way to find out.
She drove around the block and then into the parking lot. Wouldn’t Drago be surprised when she waltzed in the door.
But once inside the crowded bar, she couldn’t immediately spot him. It was a giant room, L-shaped, with a big alcove on the other side, a sign designating it as a pool hall. Patrons dressed in jeans and leather and chains and headgear from baseball caps to scarves milled about, their voices adding to the cacophony. The sound of sports blared from giant televisions in more than one direction, and from yet another, the ding and blast of video games. The bar itself was a giant old-fashioned mahogany deal with an equally big mirror in back, maybe a century old or older. Impressive, but she was sure it wasn’t original to this building, which was more like a renovated strip mall from the sixties. The bartenders and waitresses all wore black leather pants and skintight sleeveless T-shirts claiming patrons should Drink Your Way to Hog Heaven.
Try as she would, she couldn’t spot Drago. But she couldn’t miss the fact that all eyes were turning to her as she forced her way through the crowd. Because she was a woman alone or simply because she was a stranger?
“Hey, sweetheart, what are you drinking?” asked a bartender who looked as tough as some of the customers. One side of his head was shaved, revealing a number of ear piercings, as well as a tattoo that started on his scalp and continued along his neck.
“Information. I’m looking for Drago Nance.”
He shrugged.
“He told me to meet him here and his bike is outside.”
“Sorry.”
Of course he didn’t look sorry at all. A little smug maybe.
Camille kept her voice laid back, even a little chirpy, like she was hot to find Drago. “Look, he just came in here maybe two minutes ago. He’s tall, has dark hair, blue eyes. He was wearing a tan T-shirt.”
“What are you—a cop?”
Camille started. Was it that obvious? The cop in her wanted to press the bartender the way she would a suspect. “Not today,” she said with a fake smile as if she was sharing a joke. Today she wasn’t a cop. Not officially.
“Feel free to look around for him,” the bartender said. “Can’t help you unless you’re looking for a drink.”
“I’ll pass on that for the moment.”
“Suit yourself.” He turned away to take care of a girl wearing a belly shirt and shorts.
Camille pushed her way through the crowd toward the back so she could get a better look at the pool hall. Nope, not there. Then she went in the other direction where several men were playing darts and another few video games. None of whom were Drago. She stood flummoxed for a moment. Where the heck was he?
Some bearded guy got all up in her personal space. “Hey, baby, buy you a drink?”
She said, “Sorry, not interested,” as she turned in a full circle, her back to him, her gaze piercing the crowd without finding Drago.
Then another biker wearing a jean jacket and thick gold chain around his neck asked, “Don’t I know you?” His was so close he was practically whispering and she could hear him.
Stilling the urge to elbow him to give her some distance, she said, “Nope, don’t think so,” then started to walk away.
“Yeah, I do. You’re a cop.” He said it like an accusation.
Her stomach lurched and she whipped back around to face him. He must recognize her even if she didn’t know him. No sense in denying it. “What if I am?” Would that get him or one of his friends talking?
Appearing decidedly unfriendly, he moved in on her, and a couple of his buddies stopped their conversations to watch.
“You arrested my brother Bobby a coupla years ago. You put him in stir for somethin’ he didn’t do.”
Aware that his comrades were now flanking him, she said, “I wouldn’t know.”
“That’s right. You wouldn’t know. So why didn’t you keep your nose out of his business?”
“When I make an arrest, it’s because I’m doing my job.” Not that she had a clue as to who his brother Bobby might be, but she was pretty sure the arrest must have been related to a drug charge since she’d had a stint working undercover for Vice back then. “The state’s attorney’s office apparently had enough evidence to make the charge stick.”
This time when she tried to turn her back on him, he caught her upper arm in a viselike grip. Hard.
She gave him an intense glare. “Let go of me.”
“Maybe I don’t wanna.”
Her stomach knotted. Great time to be weaponless. She could force him to let go of her—she’d aced her physical training—but the guy had a huge weight advantage on her. Chances were, he could take her if he pushed it. Worse, more of his cronies were gathering closer, as if they wanted a piece of her, too.
“Look, I didn’t come here to give anyone trouble. I’m just looking for a man—”
“Here I am, baby!” the bearded wonder offered.
“So just let go and we’ll call it a night. Deal?”
“I don’t think so.” Still holding on to her, he shoved her against the wall. “Payback is a bitch. Oh, no, you’re the bitch!”
Oh, crap! She was going to have to fight her way out of this anyway—if she could, considering the guy’s backup. No one was trying to talk down the bastard. They were egging him on, looking like they were ready to share in the fun. Mentally gathering her defenses, she was trying to decide how to get away. She could do some damage to his thumb on her arm—that would make him loosen his grip and maybe she could run—when she heard a door behind her open.
And then Drago’s voice. “What the hell?”
He was standing in front of the door with another man, whose tattooed arms were as rough as the leather he was wearing. His head was completely shaved, and a braided beard hung from his chin.
“Let go of her!” Drago yelled. “Now!”
“Keep outta this, asshole!” her attacker spat. “Ain’t none of your business.”
“The woman is mine.” Drago made that sound convincing even to her.
“Then come get her.”
“Fight!”
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
“Fight!”
The myriad voices ran together in a chant as Camille stiffened her neck and whipped her forehead into her attacker’s nose. It crunched and he shouted in pain and let go. Blood spurted all over her. And then Drago grabbed him. The biker fought back, but Drago easily overpowered the bigger man, throwing him against the bar and pinning him there, hand locked around the guy’s throat. He pummeled Drago’s back, but she could see Drago tightening his grip until the guy’s arms went limp and he gasped for air. Jesus, was he going to kill the bastard?
“Next time someone tells you to leave his woman alone, do it! Bother Camille again, and I will make sure you’ll wish you were dead.”
He said this in a perfectly even, matter-of-fact tone that shot a chill up Camille’s spine. She could hear every word clearly because the people in the bar had gone eerily silent, the only sound mechanical, emanating from game machin
es and televisions.
All eyes in the room were focused on them.
Her attacker was fighting to breathe…
“Okay, everyone back to whatever you were doing!” The guy with the braided beard was obviously in charge, because people turned away and voices buzzed and then rose until the room sounded exactly as it had a moment ago. “Drago…”
Drago let go and stepped back.
Braided Beard glared at the attacker, who was gasping for air. “Out, Buzzard. Now.”
The bastard choked out, “But, Titus—”
“One more word and I’ll ban you permanently.”
Buzzard gave them a filthy look, smeared the back of his hand under his still-bleeding, now-crooked nose, then indicated he was going. Two of his buddies followed.
Camille moved to Drago’s side.
He frowned at her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. My head’s a little sore.” She put her hand to her forehead and her fingers came away with traces of blood. Buzzard’s. “Oh.”
“You’re a mess.”
“Thanks. Really, I mean that. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do to get out of that situation.”
“I would have done the same for anyone.” He turned his back to her to speak to Titus. “Sorry for the trouble.”
“Buzzard would have found it somewhere.” Titus looked past Drago to Camille. “Tough lady. I assume this is the one who has the problem.”
“She is.”
Camille remained silent for the moment. She didn’t know what exactly Drago had told this Titus. Or why, for that matter. How was the owner of the biker bar going to help them save an innocent girl?
“I’ll look into it.”
“Thanks, Titus.”
The men shook hands and totally ignored her as if she didn’t exist. Okay, she was trying to play it cool after what had just happened. But now she was just getting pissed off.
So when Drago said, “We need to get going,” and tried to place a hand at her back to urge her forward, Camille ducked away from him and shoved her way through the crowd ahead of him.
When the customers realized who was coming through, they took a good, hard look at her. She must look terrific sprayed with blood. A ripple effect, the reaction went all the way to the entrance. She didn’t stop until she got there. Leaving the bar alone didn’t seem like a good idea, so she waited for Drago to catch up. People stepped out of his way and gave him wary looks as he passed. They were afraid of him.
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