Her thoughts turned to the email writer, TK. Not everyone was qualified or lucky enough to become a Gambini girl. Every day, hundreds of young girls ran away from home, many of them heading to Hollywood, thinking they were going to be the next big stars. Within hours of arriving on a bus, they were drugged, carted to a not-quite-so-glamorous city, and prostituted out to the elites who wanted something young and fresh. The majority of them ended up in unmarked graves.
Andi entered the building and stood for a moment in front of the elevator, her mind flashing back to the last time she’d come there. She’d taken the elevator then too, because her legs had been too weak and her bare feet too bloodstained and swollen to attempt the stairs. Get a grip, Carter. You’re going up this time, not down . She pressed the button for Apartment 23.
“Hello?” The voice was sultry, and Andi wondered if she’d come at a bad time. If Jasmine was expecting a client, she wouldn’t be very talkative.
“It’s Andi Carter, Jasmine. Can I come up?”
A buzzer went off, and the elevator door opened. Andi stepped inside, an all-too-familiar shiver running down her spine as the door shut. Whiskey, malt, bourbon, Scotch, rye—the door opened, and she exited, making her way to number 23. A small seed of satisfaction brightened her day. I made it in five that time.
Jasmine was waiting for her and waved her in with a lovely welcoming smile. “Take off your shoes, please.”
“Fan of winter wonderlands, Jasmine?” Andi asked, kicking off her sandals. The room was freakishly white, from the carpet to the leather couch and huge armchair. The only color in the room came from the modern paintings that adorned the walls and the plants scattered around the room.
“I like the purity of white. Would you like something to drink?”
“Coffee would be great, but can we drink it in the kitchen or dining room?” Andi smiled at her hostess. “I’m somewhat of a klutz at times.”
The kitchenette was a bright sunny yellow, and Andi took a moment to study Jasmine. She was dressed in a floor-length white negligee, which accented her voluptuous curves and long brunette curls. The exact opposite of the gum-chewing, sauntering prostitute she’d talked with yesterday, this Jasmine exuded sophistication, class, and subtle sex appeal. Her makeup had been applied flawlessly, and it was hard for Andi to understand why she’d chosen her current profession. With her looks, she could easily grace the covers of fashion magazines. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I mean, if you’re expecting someone, we can do this later.”
Jasmine set a tray on the small table and motioned for Andi to take a seat. Her lush red lips parted in a smile as she poured two cups of black coffee. “I don’t allow clients in my apartment.” She glanced at Andi with a twinkle in her hazel eyes, which highlighted bits of amber. “Only friends.” She passed a cup to Andi and sat. “And I told you, if you ever needed me to call me. So, what did you want to talk about?”
Andi retrieved her notepad from her purse and placed it on the table. She was taking a big chance by sharing information with Jasmine, but her instinct told her she was safe. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the banker’s death. The girl who killed him contacted me. She’s young, scared, and says there are twelve bodies out there. What do you know about another group operating in the area and using young girls?”
Jasmine sighed. Her long, perfectly tapered nails clicked against the side of the cup. “I’ve heard rumors someone is running a group of very young girls”—she lifted her head, meeting Andi’s gaze—“again.”
“Any names?”
Jasmine rose, crossed to the china cabinet, and pulled out a photograph. “I don’t have them, but there’s a ten-thousand-dollar reward for any information on this girl. I’m betting she does, and that’s why they’re looking for her.”
“Who’s offering the reward?” Andi studied the photo, her heart pounding against her rib cage. The girl was young and pretty, and her smile suggested happier days. “And where did you get this?”
“We don’t know who’s offering the reward. Stuart gave me the photo last night and asked me to keep an eye out for her. He’s looking for her too, but obviously for different reasons. He wants to uncover whoever is behind the new ring and stop them.” Jasmine lifted a shapely shoulder and smiled. “He doesn’t like anyone using young girls. It gives the business a bad name. And you know how much he hates competition.”
“He told you?”
“He told me about a young reporter who came here fifteen years ago with big dreams and a whole lot of promise.” She poured cream in her cup and stirred thoughtfully. “She fell in love with a local police officer then got caught up in an investigation that went wrong.” She took a sip, grimaced, then poured in more cream. “About what you told me yesterday, and I figured out the rest myself.”
Not all of it. Even Gambini doesn’t know the full story. “Why do you do this, Jasmine? You’re beautiful and clearly, from the way you talk, polished and cultured. You could do anything you wanted to.”
“Let’s just say, like you, I’m looking for someone.”
Andi stared down at her cup, aware she wouldn’t get anything else no matter how hard she pushed. “Can I keep the picture?”
“Sure.” Jasmine reached for Andi’s notepad and pen then jotted down a number. “That’s my private phone. If you need to talk, or if you find her, send her to me. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
“Thanks,” Andi said, standing to leave.
Jasmine rose and walked with her to the door. “I’ll keep my ears and eyes open. If I hear anything I’ll call you.”
~ ~ ~
Keeping her hands firmly on the wheel and her eyes on the road, Andi avoided the liquor stores on every corner. Somewhere out there was a young girl who needed help, and to do that Andi would have to be a hundred percent. Her cell rang, and she rummaged through her purse with one hand until she found it. “Carter.”
“Don’ come back to the apartment. I’ll pack a bag for you and meet you at O’Reilly’s.”
“What’s going on, Irish?”
“The Garda came by. I told them you’d left for the office, but I don’ think they believed me. They left two outside and I don’ like the looks of them.”
“So how are you going to get out?”
“I have me ways. See you in thirty.”
Taking a sharp left on Maple, Andi gunned the motor and maneuvered through the back streets to O’Reilly’s. Did I use Jasmine’s name? She tried desperately to remember the article she’d written for today. “Damn it.” Pulling to the curb she parked and grabbed her cell, dialing Sinclair’s number.
“Andi, where the hell are you?”
“Never mind that, Sinclair. Don’t use the picture with today’s article, and check to make sure I didn’t use the prostitute’s name. It’s important.”
Andi heard his computer boot up, and the sound of his heavy breathing in and out as he read through the article. “No name, but it won’t be as effective without the picture.”
Andi expelled the breath she’d subconsciously been holding. “Take it out. I’ll explain everything later. Have the police been there?”
She could hear the squeak of his chair as he leaned back. “A couple. I think you better tell me what’s going on, Carter.”
“I got an email from the killer. I’m going to lay low and out of sight for a few days. I’ll have Shamus send you my articles.”
The line was silent.
“Sinclair?”
“You be careful, Carter. I’ve got your back.”
She choked down a laugh as she ended the call and weaved into traffic. Sinclair was at least sixty-five, an inch shorter than her five-three, and weighed less than a hundred and fifty pounds. She’d have more protection if she bought a poodle.
CHAPTER SIX
The silence of the pub was unnerving, and Hannah O’Reilly, Patrick’s oldest daughter, was straightening up the bar when Andi walked in. “Where’s Patty, Hannah, and where is everybody else?
”
“Dad’s in the kitchen. He and the young Irish boy are waiting for you. Papa told everyone to leave. Now that you’re here, I’m going to lock up and put the closed sign on the door.”
Andi pushed through the double doors to the kitchen, conscious of the hushed voices that tapered off as she entered. Shamus turned his head away, but not before she noticed the swollen nose and blood-stained shirt.
“What happened, Irish?”
Patrick gestured at a chair. “Have a seat, lass. It appears the two of you have yourself in a pickle.”
Andi ignored the chair and turned Shamus’s face to hers. “Who did this? The police?”
“Nah, some big yoke with huge hands.” He ducked his head. “He got your suitcase, Andi, and your laptop.”
“Don’t worry about that. Are you okay?”
Shamus nodded and held up a flash drive. “He didn’t get what he was looking for. After the Garda showed up, I was afraid they might take everything, so I saved a copy of the email. Then I transferred everything and wiped the laptop and me phone clean.”
“You’re the one who deserves a raise. I need to get to the office. Jasmine’s picture is still on the computer there.”
Patrick placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her into the chair. “Sit down, lass. The lad called Sinclair. It’s all taken care of.”
“You know me better than that, Patrick. I have to be sure my sources are protected.”
“Aye, lass, but not without help.”
The double doors swung inward, and Jerry Palano strolled in, followed by Hannah, who carried a tray with four beers.
“Damn you, Patrick O’Reilly.”
~ ~ ~
Tracy slipped into the library. The people looking for her weren’t the library type, so she should be safe for a short time. At least she’d had a shower that morning, and the extra donuts she’d stuffed in her purse from the continental breakfast would keep her from starving.
“Can I help you?” The voice held a tinge of criticism and an underlying tone of contempt.
Tracy knew how she looked. Even with the shower, her clothes were still filthy and smelly. She smiled at the lady behind the desk. “Yes. Your newspaper section, please?”
The woman scrunched up her nose and pointed to the back. “On the right. Don’t make a mess, or you’ll have to pay for it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I thought librarians were supposed to be all helpful smiles. Evidently not that old crone. Tracy walked along the aisle, searching the titles until she located the Daily Drudge. Thankfully, the library was almost empty, and Tracy grabbed the paper then sat at a nearby table. She started to read. She’d almost given up hope when a personal ad caught her eye. Now I wish I’d kept that phone Mollie tried to give me.
She folded the paper neatly then placed it on the rack. She could feel the old woman’s eyes following her every move as she walked toward the desk. “Do you have internet here?”
“Of course. You’ll need a library card and your own account.”
Tracy stuffed her hands in her pockets, pretending to look for the card. “I guess I left my card at home.”
Crone-face raised an eyebrow, her glasses sliding further down her nose. “Well, you can’t use the internet without a card.”
“No problem.” Picking up one of the free bookmarks, she returned to the shelves of books, and pulled a pen from her purse. Writing a quick note on the back of the bookmark, she strolled down the aisle looking for the perfect book, one no one would want to read. She pulled one from the shelf and checked the card inside. No one had checked it out in three years. Who wants to read the history of snails? Tracy placed the bookmark inside then returned the book to the shelf. She continued to stroll, removing books, flipping through them then replacing them on the shelf.
A throat cleared behind her. Old-crone-face was staring at her, with her nose crinkled as if she smelled something distasteful. “Can I help you find something?”
“No, I was just leaving.” Tracy brushed past her and headed toward the entrance. She’d hoped to hide out in the library until it closed, but that plan wasn’t going to work unless she found some new clothes. She hated the thought of going back to the hole under the bridge, but she’d only had enough money for one night at the motel. I’ve got to find a phone before that old goat discovers the bookmark I left.
Keeping her head low Tracy trudged up the sidewalk until a familiar figure walked toward her. The construction guy. Heart racing, she stepped into a doorway and waited for him to pass. He’s the bastard who took Wendy away.
Tracy walked slowly, watching his every move and keeping her distance. Maybe if I follow him, he’ll lead me to Wendy. Something in his swagger infuriated her. She placed a hand inside her purse and clutched the hilt of her knife. He cut across an alley, and Tracy glanced around to make sure no one was looking before slipping in behind him. She stopped after a few feet and squeezed against the wall. The man had also stopped, and he was having a heated conversation on the phone. Tracy pulled the knife from her purse, hugging the wall as she moved forward slowly.
“Yeah, she’s buried under six feet of concrete on the new project on Sycamore.” He laughed. “Perfect timing. We poured the basement yesterday. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
An involuntary scream erupted from her lips as she clenched the knife and rushed him. “Why did you have to kill her? She wouldn’t have told anyone. None of us would have told anyone.”
His eyes widened for only a moment before he laughed, side-stepped, and shoved her to the ground. “Well, well, well, if it’s not the missing link. A lot of people are gonna be real happy to see you.” He pulled a gun from inside his jacket. “Now toss that knife over here.”
Tracy glared at him, the knife gripped tightly in her hand. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“True. I can kill you right now in self-defense, and no one will question it. Look on the bright side. You go with me, maybe you’ll get a chance to escape.”
Movement caught Tracy’s eye at the far end of the alley, and she watched as a blond woman moved swiftly but quietly toward them.
“You got five seconds, girly. Toss the knife.”
Tracy lowered the knife and slid it across the concrete. The blonde held one finger to her lips, smiled at Tracy, and winked. In seconds, she had the knife. She rammed it into the man’s back, pulled it out, and rammed it in again. He dropped to his knees, and a scream escaped his lips as the cell phone clattered across the alley. The blonde chuckled as she pulled back his hair and, with one swift motion, cut his throat. Dropping the knife beside the body, she pointed a finger at Tracy. “I should kill you now, but you’ve got twenty-four hours before I do.” She winked again then turned and fled the alley.
Blood spurted from the man’s gaping wounds, and sobs shook Tracy’s body as she picked up the knife. She wanted to scream and kick his body, but if anyone had heard his cries, they’d be there soon. She grabbed the phone, wiped the knife clean on his jacket, and ran.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Andi turned her back on Palano and glared at Patrick. “We don’t need his help.”
Patrick sighed. “Perhaps you don’t, but the lad’s name is on that article too. From the looks of him, I think he might be in a wee bit of trouble.”
“Swallow your pride, Carter.” Jerry pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “I did when I came back here.”
Patrick picked up his beer and stood. “Shamus, lad, come with me and we’ll clean you up. Don’t want to frighten your poor mum when you go home.”
Andi nodded her agreement, and Shamus reluctantly followed Patrick from the room. “So why did you come back, Jerry?”
“Off the record?”
“Depends on what you have to say.” Her chin jutted forward. “I’ve been known to bury a story before, remember?”
“I never asked you to do that.”
“Of course not. You just called the Tribune and told them if t
hey printed it, they would be sued, and I would wind up in jail.” Andi rummaged through her purse and pulled out her cigarettes. “Which, of course, got me fired and blackballed so that I could never work for a decent newspaper again. Thank you for that.”
Jerry sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Let’s not fight or rehash the past. I’m willing to admit I’m a bastard and move on. Patrick said you needed help.” He nodded to the cigarettes. “You can’t smoke in here.”
“You first.” Andi stuffed the cigarettes back inside her purse. She’d almost forgotten where she was. She didn’t give a damn what Palano thought, but she had far too much respect for Patrick to smoke in his establishment.
“The captain thinks there’s a group of rogue cops on the force, taking payoffs to look the other way on certain cases. He asked me to come back and try to flush them out.”
Andi laughed, the sound harsh to her own ears. “So you’re with Internal Affairs now? Never thought I’d see the day you would sink that low.”
“I told you why I was here. Now, what’s going on with you and the kid?”
“I got an email from Barnsworth’s killer. She wants to talk.”
His eyes darkened, and his jaw quivered. “When and where?”
“We haven’t gotten that far yet.” Andi stared into her beer, gripping the glass as though it was a weapon to keep her hands from trembling. She knew firsthand how dangerous a case like this could be. Patrick was right. They did need help. She just wished it came from a different source. “I placed a personal ad for her to get in touch with me.”
“So what happened to your partner?”
“All I really know is some big guy with huge hands roughed him up and stole the suitcase he’d packed for me, along with my laptop. He told me there were two cops outside my townhouse, waiting for me.”
“I’d like to see that email.”
The 13th Victim Page 4