by CJ Lyons
"LT, I can do that in the car," Taylor protested, reminding Lucy of Megan. "Can't I come? You might need me."
When he turned those puppy-dog brown eyes on her, it was hard to remember Taylor was only three years younger than she was. But he had a point, he wasn't tech support anymore, he was a full-fledged agent. "All right, ride with Walden."
Walden followed her into her office where she donned her Kevlar. "Got the warrant."
He closed the door and leaned against it. She still hadn't figured out why the door was solid wood when the walls around it were glass, but decided it was a good thing if you were going to have 200 plus pound guys like Walden leaning against it.
"What's the problem?" she asked, adjusting the velcro straps and shifting her shoulders under the weight of the bullet proof vest.
"Aren't you moving kind of fast on this? Let the locals set up surveillance, lock down the block. We wait until morning, we can have it narrowed down to an exact location, get reconnaissance, maybe even get a helo up. More planning time, more back up, better chance of everyone getting home in one piece."
Lucy smiled. It was the most polite insubordination she'd ever experienced. He was right: it was by-the-book, the way things were meant to be done at the Bureau.
"Burroughs told me a joke while we were riding together today," she said. "How many Feebies does it take to change a light bulb?"
Walden came close to glaring at her, then played along. "How many?"
"All of them. 10,000 to study the problem, 2600 to fill out forms in triplicate and wait for approval, 17 to monitor from a safe distance, and one agent to go undercover and bribe a confidential informant to climb the ladder and do the dirty work."
He shrugged, palms up, hands empty. "Your point being?"
"You been working this case all day. You think that was Ashley and her boyfriend getting high, calling mommy dearest to gloat?"
His face went blank but behind his eyes a battle was being waged. "We don't have any evidence she's in immediate danger. Standard procedure—"
Lucy leaned forward, hands slapping her desk. Technically Walden was her second-in-command. It was his job to point out any potential flaws in her thinking. But she also needed to know where he stood, how he was thinking. Not just what the rule book said he should be telling her.
"If it was your case, your call. What would you do?" she asked, keeping her face nonjudgmental, meeting his gaze head on.
There was a long pause. Longer than it would take either of them to recite the appropriate sections of the FBI's op-manual.
Finally Walden came closest to a genuine smile she'd seen yet from the man. His lips parted wide enough that she could actually see his top teeth as his lips curled upwards. For a second, maybe even two.
"I'd go in hard and fast, ready for anything. I wouldn't wait."
She cleared her Glock, checked the magazine and reloaded it after chambering a round. "My feelings exactly. Any problems riding with the kid?"
He gave a small shake of his head. "Nah. He just likes to talk a lot is all. Unless you want to keep an eye on him. It is his first real deployment."
She'd thought of that. Taylor was wound tighter than a meth tweaker, but that seemed to be his nature. "He'll do fine."
He nodded and stepped toward the door, then turned back. "You sure? It'd give Burroughs a chance to feast his eyes on a fine piece of big, black man's ass."
She snapped her head up at that. "What are you implying, Special Agent Walden?"
All evidence of his smile vanished. She strode around the desk to stand beside him. "Surely you don't mean that your ass is better looking than mine?"
A rumbly chuckle escaped him as she craned her head to look over her shoulder at first her rear, then his.
"No ma'am. Never."
"All right then." She leaned against the conference table and looked out the glass walls to where Burroughs was talking on the phone, lounging in Walden's chair as if he owned the place. "I appreciate the offer, but it's not a problem I choose to address. At least not at this time."
He mimicked her position, also staring at Burroughs, his face falling back into its usual expressionless mask. "Can I ask why?"
"First of all, for guys like Burroughs, nothing I say or do will change them. It's in their DNA. Second of all, it's not my job to try to change him. It's my job to find Ashley. So I let Burroughs look all he wants. Who cares? As long as I get what I want."
The half-hidden smile crept back. "You're using him."
"Well, duh. You heard Burroughs. It's his turf. If I stick next to him, I can maybe keep things from escalating if he takes it in mind to grandstand. And," she holstered her weapon, "if things do get hot and heavy, I can use him to direct the SWAT guys. I'm sure they wouldn't cotton to taking orders directly from a Feebie."
"I like how you think, boss." The almost smile became a real-life actual smile. Walden gave her a mock salute and left to gather his own tactical gear.
Lucy grinned as she grabbed her windbreaker. Nicest thing anyone had said to her all day.
Even nicer was the prospect that maybe she was wrong about all this, maybe Ashley had left just to spite mamma bear and papa bear and was waiting for them in Garfield, toked up and full of life.
Her gut told her otherwise, but it never hurt to hope.
Chapter 18
Saturday 11:32 pm
Guardino drove. She was a good driver, no complaints there. Burroughs appreciated the way she steered the big SUV through the Southside's Saturday night uncaring and unyielding traffic. She wasn't impatient, merely focused, looking ahead and anticipating openings in the flow, slip-streaming into them. At one point she turned on the red and blue wig-wags concealed behind the grill, then shut them off again once the snarl of congestion was passed.
No fuss, no muss, just getting the job done. He decided that was what attracted him most. Of course there was also the physical thing. Most women donning Kevlar looked squat, bulky, as if the layers of protection turned them into squared off blobs. Not Guardino. Even beneath the bullet-proof vest, she gave off a vibe that was all woman. Maybe it was the spread of her hips or the glint of Amazon warrior-steel her eyes took on when the body armor came out.
Whatever it was, it was making it hard to keep riding with her. Not without thinking the kind of thoughts a cop shouldn't be thinking about another cop, much less a feebie.
Needing distraction, he flipped open his phone. Found a text that didn't help matters any. Damn her. He'd told her he never wanted to see her again, but she was one of those women who didn't have the word "no" in their vocabulary.
I want to c u tonite, she had texted him. I want u to f me til I scream.
He tapped out a reply: no, can't.
She wrote back: Yes u can. Stuckup bitch won't give u what u need. Not like I can.
He tried again: no.
Her reply: YES. I know what u want, I can make it happen. Tonite.
He flipped the phone shut, saw Guardino glance at him. "Donkey Kong," he lied. "It relaxes me. I could download it to your phone if you'd like to play."
She waited a little too long before replying. He had the feeling she knew he was offering more than a retro vid-game. Had the feeling she knew exactly what kind of fantasies had been tantalizing him ever since he first saw her striding up the road at the vic's house, plowing through the uniformed cops faster than a bum through a baloney sandwich.
That's how it always was for him—same as with Kim and all the women before and after her. Lust at first sight. There was just a type of woman who crawled under his skin and set up shop there, teasing his nerve endings, tugging at his attention until he couldn't think of anything else.
Lucy Guardino was one of those women.
"I don't play games," she replied in a neutral but firm tone.
He shifted in his seat, putting his cell phone away. He got her message, loud and clear.
Jeezit, it was gonna be a long night.
"I got him!"
Lucy jumped as Taylor's excited voice shrieked through the radio.
"I used the GIS program to eliminate—"
"The name, Taylor." A yawn forced its way past her clenched teeth and she didn't bother to cover it.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. The apartment they're in is leased to Delroy Littles. It's on the second floor of the 5514 building, apartment 2-D."
"Littles? I know that name," Burroughs said, even as he was dialing his phone. "Friend of mine in narcotics has been looking for him."
"Makes sense. He's had several arrests, only two convictions—both for possession with intent to sell. First one for marijuana, second for methamphetamine." Taylor paused. "Never found with a weapon, does have one TRO from a girlfriend alleging abuse, though. Still on parole from the last conviction. Nothing outstanding."
Burroughs snapped his phone shut. "Narcotics thinks Delroy might be working with a big fish in the meth trade. They've been hoping to pop Delroy on a parole violation and turn him."
They were still several blocks away from Broad Street, if Lucy remembered the map correctly. Which meant she needed a plan, fast. "We send Pittsburgh SWAT in hot and heavy, scare the crap out of Delroy and the girl in there with him. If the girl is Ashley, then we're good to go. If not, the extra firepower should help convince Delroy this is no ordinary parole violation, enough so maybe he'll talk to us about Ashley and give the narcotics guys what they need." She paused. "Anyone got any better ideas?"
"Sounds good to me," Burroughs said. "The SWAT guys love any chance to make a noise."
"If it isn't Ashley," Walden's thoughtful voice sounded over the speaker, "we could take Delroy back to the Federal Building—might add to the intimidation factor."
Burroughs chuckled. "Hell yeah. If Delroy thinks this is a federal beef, he'll shit his pants."
"And be oh-so-very grateful when we kick him loose to your narcotic squad instead." Lucy nodded. "I like it."
Twelve minutes later she, Burroughs, and the Pittsburgh SWAT Team leader, a guy by the name of Erikson, were huddled over a layout of the apartment building.
"Go in loud, but we need to minimize property damage and for God's sake, no shooting unless necessary," Lucy said, a little nervous that she wasn't dealing with the elite FBI Hostage Rescue Team. But Erikson seemed to understand the situation and was willing to play by her rules.
"My men know there's a civilian on the premises," he told her. "We'll neutralize all threats with minimal necessary force."
The stabbing in her left ear returned, her jaw clamping tight as she watched Erikson lead his men inside the building. She was grinding her teeth again. She forced herself to yawn, feeling the pop in her jaw and ear. Damn, she hated watching, waiting.
A few moments later the apartment's windows were lit up by an explosion of light and sound. A flash-bang grenade used to stun the occupants. Even from street level, Lucy could hear pounding footsteps and men yelling, "Police, down, down, down!"
She ran across the street and started up the steps. Burroughs followed close on her heels. By the time she reached the top, the radio was broadcasting the all clear. She entered the room, still filled with hazy smoke, to find the black clad, helmeted and masked SWAT officers straddling two civilians who lay face down, coughing.
Lucy crouched down beside the woman as Erikson restrained her arms with a flex-cuff and another cop patted her down. It wasn't Ashley, she saw right away.
"Gun!" the cop frisking the woman called out, drawing everyone's attention.
"Hell, that's not mine!" Delroy shouted. "I don't know nothing about no gun. Honest."
The cop pulled a .38 Smith and Wesson from the woman's boot and handed it off. A few minutes later, after finding no more weapons, they hauled the man and the woman to their feet.
"Find the cell phone?" Lucy asked.
"Sitting on the table. Still on."
"We'll need to bag and tag it." Taylor and Walden appeared in the doorway and she nodded to them to take care of the documentation. "See if there's any evidence Ashley's been here."
"You got it, LT," Taylor sang out, his eyes lit up brighter than the flashbang. Walden trailed after the younger agent, shaking his head, looking a tad embarrassed by Taylor's exuberance.
Lucy turned her attention to Delroy and his lady friend.
"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Littles," she started, scrutinizing him like he was a item displayed on E-Bay and the auction was heating up.
"Look," he craned his head forward, so anxious that spittle accompanied his words, "I don't know nothing about that gun, you can't hang me on that, I've been clean ever since I got out, you ain't gonna find nothing—"
"One call to your PO and I'll find something on a drug test," Lucy continued, stepping closer, violating his space and pitching her voice to a most intimate level. "Won't I, Mr. Littles?" It wasn't a bluff. He reeked of garlic and ammonia, that weird stench meth addicts exuded. He wasn't totally high, but he'd used recently.
"Please lady, you can't do that, don't call Havelock, the guy's got a hard on for me, he'll send me back so fast, and I ain't done nothing wrong. Please, can't we work this out?"
She smiled sweetly and stepped back. "Maybe. Depends how cooperative you and your friend are." She nodded to Burroughs. "Go ahead, take him in. I'll meet you at the Federal Building."
Delroy gagged as he tried to find the right words. "Federal? I ain't done nothing federal, hey, can't we talk this out, I'm clean I tell you, you can't do this, I got rights you know—"
Lucy smiled as two SWAT officers started to drag him out. Stopping them just as they reached the remnants of the front door, she said, "Go ahead and let him wait here." She gestured for them to place Delroy onto one of the kitchen chairs. "If you're straight with me, Mr. Littles, maybe we can avoid the trip down to Carson Street."
"I told you, I ain't done nothing wrong." He gave the last word a twang, drawing it out to two syllables. "So of course I'll co-op-er-ate."
Lucy stood in front of him, forcing him to stretch his head back to make eye contact. "Since you're in custody, I need to explain your rights to you, Mr. Littles." She gave him the Miranda warning. "Do you want a lawyer? If you do, please tell him that you're being charged with first degree murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, felony sexual assault, gross sexual imposition, sexual assault of a minor, assault and battery, and terroristic threats."
His eyes bugged out at her litany of charges. He opened his mouth, licked his lips, debating his options, then closed it again. Lucy let the silence lengthen.
"If you are convicted of any of those charges, given your record, you're facing life in prison," she added salt to the wound. "If you are convicted of homicide, you're facing a death sentence." She leaned forward, her face a few inches away from his, close enough to smell the fear oozing from his pores. "So tell me, Delroy. Would you like your lawyer?"
"I-I ain't done none of those things. Just tell me what you want lady, I'll play it straight."
"I want to know where you got this cell phone." She dangled the evidence bag containing Ashley's phone before him.
"I found it."
Lucy raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"No, no really, I did. Someone left it at the bus stop on Liberty Avenue. I found it yesterday."
"Did you make any calls from it?"
"Yeah, yeah, but only two. See I didn't have no charger and the battery was low, so I took a look and found these nasty pictures of a girl. Figured maybe the owner was a married guy or something so I could shake him loose a few bucks. A finder's fee, you know?"
"Go on."
"So I called the last dialed number, figured that'd be his home. Only this lady answers. Freaked me out and I hung up. Then tonight me and Hildy we were just goofing around and we called the lady back, just to mess with her, ya know? Didn't mean nothing by it."
Lucy straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. Delroy squirmed, his gaze locked onto hers as he pleaded. "Honest, we was just fooling. Ask Hildy, she'll tell yo
u. Look, there's nothing federal about it. You got the wrong man."
"No, Delroy. You got the wrong phone. This phone belongs to a little girl who was kidnapped."
His face fell. "Aw shit. You're kidding me."
"Wish I was. Now, I'm going to check out your story and do my best to keep you out of a federal penitentiary. But the only way you can strengthen your case is to give the Pittsburgh Police your full cooperation. Can I count on you for that?"
"Oh yes ma'am, whatever you say, I'll do it, I will." The words gushed out as his eyes widened with fervor.
"I'm going to let these fine gentlemen take you into custody. But if I hear you haven't cooperated with them..." She scowled, letting her threat sink in before gesturing to the SWAT guys to haul him away. Delroy went eagerly, already jabbering to his escorts.
Lucy picked her way through the detritus that covered the floor and went into the bedroom where Taylor and Walden were finishing their search. "Anything?"
"Some drug paraphernalia, a few pieces of women's clothing but nothing that matches what Ashley was wearing," Walden answered. "No signs of anyone being held against their will."
"No computers," Taylor said with a disappointed frown. "Nothing but Ashley's phone and a trac-phone that was in the woman's purse."
Burroughs returned. "What about the woman?" He nodded to the other room where two more SWAT guys were watching Delroy's lady friend spout off tirades of highly explicit and imaginative expletives. "You want her?"
Lucy considered. With Delroy's being a parolee, she had a little legal standing. Tenuous, but it was there. She didn't have any standing with Delroy's friend. "We have an ID on her?"
"Yeah. Hildy Figeruaro. Age 22, no wants, no warrants. From the looks of her, she's been popping heroin and meth. She's pretty strung out now, it's hard to get anything coherent out of her."
"Why don't you have PBP take her in on the weapons charge, give her time to sober up? Then if I need her, we'll know where to find her."