19 Souls

by J. D. Allen

  “She teach you to protect your cash?”

  She shrugged.

  “How did she teach you to hide the money? Can’t leave it around here in boxes.”

  “In the bank, of course.” She smiled. “In my momma’s name. High-interest CDs.”

  And the woman still lived in this bleak neighborhood? Maybe she just worked down here now. “In your mother’s name?”

  “Yep.” She took another hit and blew slow, dancing smoke rings. “Sure you ain’t a cop?”

  “Nope. No interest in what you’ve accomplished here, Jelissa. I just want to stop a guy from getting dead.”

  “Okay. It was mamma’s name, only I switched that up too. Flipped the names around. Easy enough nowadays to use it without ever going to the bank. Use my iPad to do all the banking. Cash goes in the ATMs.”

  “Brilliant.” He dropped his cigarette butt on the ground, stood, and stomped it out. “Thanks, ma’am.”

  “You want an escort out?”

  Car lights turned off a side street. The cab. “No thanks, my ride is here.”

  He gave her a pantomimed tip of the hat and got in the cab.

  42

  Sophie sat in the van watching the new age diner. The lot was empty, and the only lights on were the safety lights above the back door.

  She’d decided to snatch the waitress on the morning drive in. After talking to momma, Sophie realized that she’d left a very troublesome loose end dangling in the wind. She needed insurance. Bean had seemed rather taken with the little blonde during their initial meeting. It made her valuable.

  Sophie waited in the beginnings of the new day, parked behind the diner, assuming the staff parked here as well. Between the drive and the waiting the hard van seat was killing her ass. Carla was restless.

  “You need to pee?”

  The pup whined. No way to tell her she had to hold it, was there?

  “Oh all right, but you have to make it quick.” A stretch of the legs wouldn’t hurt. She got out and made sure Carla’s leash was attached. She tucked an injector pen in her waistband. Always prepared, right?

  Carla sniffed around the gravel lot as if there were gold to be found. Or bones. They must be the doggie equivalent of a rare metal. Given the mush and vegetarian fare that Bean had been eating in that diner … “Probably not a bone in sight, sweetie.”

  A tiny red Honda popped into the lot. Old enough Sophie figured it for an eighties model. Behind the wheel was the little blonde. “How fortunate.” She’d supposed the cook would show up first, requiring a plan for getting the girl out back alone, but fate had helped her once again.

  Carla barked.

  “Why yes, little one, you may help me take our prisoner,” she cooed to the dog.

  Sophie nodded to the waitress as she got out of the car, and then let the leash drop. Carla, as if following mental instructions, ran to the girl.

  “Carla!”

  She meant it to sound panicked. Urgent. The girl spun back to them, saw the situation, and placed herself in the line of fire. Not that she needed to do much. Carla was heading right toward the girl. She abandoned her things, swept down, and caught the pup as Carla bounded up.

  “I got her.”

  Sophie limped a little as she took a step toward the waitress. In response, the girl hurried to bring the dog over. People were cattle.

  “I got her. I’ll bring her to you.”

  She made her way right to Sophie and stopped within two feet of the van. Cow to the slaughter. Except this particular cow would have to wait for her appointment with the blade. Dead hostages aren’t worth much.

  “Thank you so much.” She reached out to get Carla, but stumbled and quickly reached for the girl to steady herself. In the process, she smashed the injector into the girl’s shoulder. The girl caught Sophie and prevented her from hitting the ground. Even though she didn’t let Sophie falter, she did let out a little yelp at the pinch of her flesh.

  “I’m so sorry.” Sophie tucked the spent syringe away while acting as if she were trying to regain her balance. “My ring does that occasionally.” She held out her hand to show the girl that there was a silver ring on her middle finger. It was designed as a butterfly with two stone encrusted wings with pointy ends.

  “I’m constantly pinching myself … and everybody else. But my daughter gave it to me for Mother’s Day and I can’t bear to not wear it at least occasionally. Didn’t break the skin or anything, did it?”

  The girl rubbed the spot. “I don’t think so. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  Carla jumped up on the girl’s leg. She reached down and rubbed the dog. Carla wallowed in the attention, rolling over, kicking happily as the girl scratched the pup’s belly.

  “She’s such a cutie. What is she? A Yorkie?”

  Shit. Sophie had no clue. That sounded as good as anything.

  “Yes. A mix.” That should cover it. “I recently adopted her and we’ve bonded so well. The rescue people said she was with a dreadful family before. I haven’t had a friend like her in ages.”

  Carla came back to Sophie’s voice. The friend part was true anyway. Sophie had no clue how the people before had treated the dog. They had left her tied up outside a coffee shop, so how good of doggie parents could they have been?

  “I love her so much. But with my injured hip, I’m having a heck of a time traveling with her today.”

  The girl swayed, trying to hold her balance. Lost to the effect of the drug, she stumbled backward. She caught herself on the van.

  Sophie had filled all the syringes on hand for a man-sized dose. This little blonde was short and thin. Shit must be hitting her pretty hard.

  “Could you help me get her into her crate?”

  “Sure.” The girl touched her front teeth. Pulled her hand away and then looked at her fingers, wiggling them out in front of her face. Poor thing must be feeling a little numb. Sophie needed to hurry before she began to hallucinate.

  “Great.” Ignoring the girl’s obvious altered state, Sophie limped the few feet to the back of the van. The waitress picked up her bag and her apron where it had landed in the short altercation when she got her injection. That would save Sophie a trip back to retrieve it. Someone else should be showing up soon. Prep had to be done in a kitchen before the day started, and light was now visible on the horizon.

  Sophie waited by the back of the van. The girl wobbled as she took a few steps, shaking her head as if she could shake off the growing effects of the ketamine. Not a chance, girl. You’re toast.

  “Right in here.” She thought of the witch in the fables who tempted children to her house with candy and then cooked them. Sophie didn’t even need to include Carla in the charade anymore. The girl wouldn’t know a dog from a dishwasher in less than a minute.

  “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Oh dear. Here … ” Sophie opened the van door. She’d had the interior of the van custom built. For business travel, of course. One side of the cargo area was a deep plush bench covered in outdoor, cleanable carpet. It was wide enough for a nap and narrow enough for a seat. The wall behind it was cushioned with lots of matching pillows. “Have a seat. I’ll get you some water.”

  The other side had a small mounted table for working and several built-in cubbyholes for storage of … things. Like knives and injectors, bandages and food—stuff she might need on the journey to bring Danny home. She was very happy with how it had turned out. Comfortable and practical.

  She helped the girl in.

  “Thanks,” she said, not at all concerned that the van was decked out like a killer’s lair.

  Sophie reached to the cubby that held her knife. She unlatched the drawer and pulled it open. The metal shone up at her, begging. “What’s your name, dead … I mean, dear?”

  The girl’s head smacked the back wall of the van a
little harder than Sophie had intended when she tried to turn her attention to Sophie’s voice. Her eyes were glassed over. She was almost gone. “What?” Her head drooped to the side.

  “Your name?”

  “Name. Name. Sa … Sandy.” She tried to touch her face again. Her hand never made it past her chin. She missed completely. Her eyes rolled back.

  Sophie closed the back door and locked it. Carefully, she latched Sandy’s legs in the cuffs built into the base of the bench. They were in plain view. If not for the drugs, the girl would have surely seen them and questioned their reason for being.

  Sophie smiled as she tucked the seat belt across the girl’s torso and snapped her in. No argument. Sandy was smiling as Sophie tied her hands in place.

  Her arms were hanging awkwardly, so Sophie fixed that. No need to make her uncomfortable. She would be a guest until Sophie got Danny safely to the house.

  If Bean showed up in the meantime looking to thwart the master plan—and he might—Sophie had a card left to play. She couldn’t resist tracing her fingers down the girl’s young face. Her complexion was perfect, her skin tight, her lips full. Her life had been spent around people who loved her.

  How do you know that? Stupid girl. Just kill her now.

  “Hush. I need her.”

  You need to see her blood flow across the floor of this van. You need to christen the mobile retreat. You need to feel her pulse stop as the life leaves her perfect little body!

  Sophie closed her eyes. She could very well visualize all that, looking at her pretty face, holding her graceful neck. So much lovely skin to slice. She fought back the images, tried not to let the urge take over.

  Her heart pounded in her chest with anticipation. She did want to kill her now. She did want to feel the life flow out of that girl as Sophie held her, feeling her pulse, counting in time as the beats dwindled into nothing.

  She shook her head. It was harder all the time. Not killing. But this girl was important to the plan. She bit into the inside of her cheek hard enough to tear flesh, her eyes watering from the stab of pain. She fell back.

  “I’ll need her later,” she said to convince herself she was right. It was time to go.

  She got up and made her way to the driver’s seat, buckled herself in. She gripped the steering wheel with all her might. Carla followed and took her place in the passenger seat, all perky ears and bright eyes. No judgment from her.

  Fighting the urge to kill was always a battle.

  43

  Style wise, the new safe house looked incredibly like the last one. From the first scan of the windows, it simply had one more room downstairs. Miller’s car wasn’t there yet.

  Jim showed his ID and passed by the undercover at the door. Dan was standing in the kitchen in only pajama pants, which showed off a tattoo of a rearing stallion on his left side as he leaned on the counter. He held a small white mug close to his lips. One leg was crossed over the other, the top one wagging back and forth like an excited hound’s tail. But he wasn’t happy to see Jim like a loyal hound might be. His annoyance was clear to see.

  “Please tell me you found something.”

  There was a bay window and a sliding glass door across the back wall of this living room/kitchen combo. Not safe. Who picked these places?

  “Ready to spring this joint, huh?”

  “You have no idea. This place has some extra room and all, but I want to get out. I’m used to big open spaces. I feel like I’m in a fish tank. Diner, gambling, titty bar. I don’t care at this point.”

  Lynette rolled her chair into the room. “You mind that mouth, Danny.” She looked up at Jim. “Well?”

  She wanted info. He didn’t have what she wanted.

  “You catch my girl’s killer?”

  She was lucid today.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Hodge. I didn’t. Not yet.”

  Her articles were hung on the half wall between the eat-in kitchen and the living room.

  “What good are you then? All you po-po hanging around here. What good are ya? Go out there and find her.”

  “Mom.” Dan pushed her toward the kitchen table. “Sorry. Stephen’s nephew was here for a couple of days. Having a kid around did her some good, but now she wants to talk like she’s from the hood.” He looked down at her. “It’s irritating. But I’m glad to have her this engaged.”

  Jim handed her a book. He’d seen it as he paced the terminal last night waiting for his early flight.

  “This Side of Paradise. More crappy F. Scott?”

  “You might like this one better.”

  “Doubt it.” Her lip curled up like a teenager facing cooked spinach. “His books are all about the same things. Men whose failures are the result of their own shortcomings and the influence of women with low moral standards.” She scrutinized him. “Or is that why you like them, Mr. Bean? Hmmm?”

  Dang, that was an arrow right on target. “Maybe I should give up the classics and stick to a good mystery?”

  “Ah. No good,” Miller interrupted as he joined them in the bright kitchen. “As a master investigator, wouldn’t you always figure out who-done-it well before the end?”

  Jim wouldn’t count on that. “You’re the detective.”

  They exchanged a vigorous hand shake, but his face was a bit pinched. “Oh. And, thanks for not pissing off Lady Fed.”

  Heavy sarcasm. Had he pissed Agent Webb off? “You’re welcome?”

  “She was in my ear first thing this morning. Cursing up a storm because you’d left without permission.”

  “Permission?” Jim shrugged. None of her business, really. “Not on her payroll. No reason for her to be upset. Told her I had jet lag.”

  “Then you went out to the fairgrounds.”

  Damn. “How did she know that? Did I have a tail? If her uptight agents go out to visit my informant … ” He didn’t want them bugging Jelissa or making any trouble after he’d promised.

  “She’s on her way here. Says she knows you know something. Threatening to charge you for interfering in a federal investigation.”

  Lynette cackled. “I knew you were trouble, Jimmy.” She chewed on the edge of a placemat. Dan took it from her.

  Jim checked his phone. “She didn’t call me. Went over my head to you … oh wait. I don’t work for you either.” He glanced past the FBI agent quietly lurking in the hallway to Dan. “Except you. I work for you. But that’s just a formality. This is my case too. And, yes. I got a lead on the money trail. But it’s just a lead.”

  “She was sharing, Bean. You have to return the favor. You can’t sneak out in the middle of the night.”

  “I did not sneak out. I took a morning flight. It’s only ten a.m. now, for Christ’s sake. I did share with her what we found on Sophie’s birth mother. I shared that.” He had planned to share this too, but it had been the middle of the night. He didn’t think it was urgent enough to wake up Agent Webb. “I’m going to go home and then over to Ely’s to follow this lead.” Jim squatted next to Lynette’s chair. “Look at me, beautiful.”

  She did, in her addle-minded honest way.

  “I expect things to get a little crazy around here soon. I want you to listen to Dan and the po-po and do exactly as they say.”

  Miller’s phone rang. “Gotta take this.”

  “Do you all have to treat me like a child?” She crossed her arms. “I’m no child.”

  “You are in danger, Lynette. Think of it as being treated like a VIP. If you were the first lady, you’d get the same handling. Hidden away at the first sign of trouble.”

  She seemed to consider. But her eyes were getting glazed. He touched her arm. It was frail and cool. “I mean it, woman. Follow orders.”

  “Fine. Get on outta here and scrounge me up some pomegranate marmalade.”

  He stood. “Yes, ma’am.”

  M
iller’s face said bad news. A detective really should have better poker face skills. He was still on the phone, but he covered the receiver and said, “I’ll run you to Ely’s. But we need to go now.”

  “Okay.” Jim’s curiosity bone was tickled. “Lynette, follow instructions. Okay?”

  “Yes, my love.” There was a warmth in her eyes for just an instant that made Jim feel like she meant it.

  He smacked Dan on the shoulder. “If this lead pans out, we’re golden. Once we have a money trail, it usually takes us right where we need to go. Just like the yellow brick road.”

  “Good. I want out of here. And I want to take care of Cynthia.”

  “I know you do.”

  Miller coughed and picked up what passed as Jim’s overnight bag. “Really, Bean. We need to go.” He gave a head fling as if no one would notice.

  “Okay, Captain Subtle. Giddy up.”

  As soon as they pulled the door shut, Miller continued his phone conversation.

  “Diner. Keys. Unlocked car in the lot. No one’s seen Sandy.” Miller kept talking but Jim couldn’t wrap his head around the fact Miller was talking about Sandy.

  “When?” They got in the car. Jim shoved his belt into the catch with difficulty. “Who the hell did this?”

  Miller hung up. “Don’t know for sure. They think she went missing this morning.” He started the car and turned on lights and sirens when they were a couple blocks away from the safe house.

  Jim’s blood pressure was rising. “What do we know?”

  “Her car’s there. Manager is sure he saw her leave last night. Silver van was exiting the parking lot when the manager got there this a.m.”

  “Silver van? What kind of van?”

  The cruiser blasted through red lights, the suspension tossing them like a small boat on high seas. Cars pulled to the side, some faster than others.

  Miller laid on the horn to insist traffic yield to the mass and momentum of the Charger as it careened through Vegas back streets. Jim closed his eyes. Not in fear of Miller’s driving ability. That he trusted. No. His mind was centered on one thing. Sophie Ryan Evers. If that woman hurt one little blond hair on Sandy’s head …