The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1)

by Mary Burton

  Testing. They were always testing. “You can explain that to the judge at your bail hearing. Not a big deal but a night of lost wages.”

  “That’s bullshit,” the man said.

  “Yeah, ain’t it?” She reached for her phone.

  He held up his hands. “Fine. I got a driver’s license.” He dug a worn wallet out of his back pocket and plucked out an ID.

  She glanced at the name. “Tony Rivers. Mr. Rivers. Ladies,” she said, looking at the two girls. “Do you have identification, please?”

  Both looked at Tony, clearly waiting for his permission. When he nodded, the shorter of the two said, “I’m Sandy Jones.” She dug a driver’s license from a small purse and handed it to Riley.

  According to the license, she was eighteen and came from Texas.

  The other girl shifted her stance, brushed a lock of blond hair from her eyes, and did the same. “I’m Cassie Lawson.”

  Cassie. “You know a gal named Jo-Jo?”

  The girl shoved her hands in her pockets. “I don’t know anybody named Jo-Jo.”

  “Really? I heard you two were friends.”

  Cassie stole a look at Tony. “I don’t know anything.”

  Riley looked at the ID, knowing with Tony around, the girls would not talk. According to the ID she was eighteen and from out of state. “What are you two ladies doing here?”

  Sandy glanced at Tony. “Just standing around. There a law against that?”

  “Yes, it’s called loitering.” She handed Cassie back her license.

  She had little reason to detain them, and they had no reason to answer her questions. Trying to make nice, she softened her tone. “I’m looking for a guy. His name is Jax Carter. You know him? I’m guessing he’s one of your competitors.”

  “Ain’t never heard of him,” Tony said.

  “Really? From what I’ve seen, you two have a lot in common. He had a few girls hanging out with him as well.”

  “Lucky man,” he said.

  She smiled, doing her best to look friendly. “You strike me as the kind of guy who’s smart. Who knows his competition.”

  “I know what’s going on around me.”

  “I’m not here to bust you, Tony, or cause trouble. I want Jax and Darla. Tell me about them. You seen them around lately?”

  His jaw tightened. “Ain’t good for business to talk to the po-po.”

  Testing again. Her hand shifted to her phone. “I was hoping for a little help, but it looks like I’ll now have marked cars following your every move. You won’t be able to sneeze without one of my guys seeing it happen. You want that?”

  Tony rubbed his chin as he seemed to choose between the lesser of two evils. “I ain’t the man’s babysitter.”

  She reached in a back pocket and pulled out a picture of Vicky, which she’d gotten from the Department of Motor Vehicles. Careful not to refer to murder, she said, “Either of you know this girl?”

  The girls barely scanned the picture. Each shook their head no and glanced at the ground. Tony leaned over and looked at the image. “She hangs out with Jax. Don’t know her name. What happened to her?”

  “She’s dead. Strangled to death.”

  He grimaced and his gaze lost what little charm he projected. “I didn’t kill nobody.”

  “I never said you did,” Riley said. She stared at the trio. “What can you tell me about the girl? And don’t tell me you don’t know.”

  Tony flicked the ash off the edge of his cigarette. “Some of the guys liked the looks of her. Fresh meat. Everyone wanted a taste. Jax had only worked her a couple of weeks when he received an offer on her that was real sweet. The buyer wanted a girl that still looked fresh.”

  Riley shifted her stance, doing her best to chase away an uncomfortable feeling growing inside of her. “You know who this guy was?”

  “Jax knows. Darla knows. I never saw him.”

  “Tony, you mind if the ladies answer the question?”

  Slowly he shook his head. “Fine.”

  “There was a car I saw,” Sandy said, after a moment’s hesitation.

  “What car?”

  “Big black car. Tinted windows. It parked next to their motor home.”

  “Did anyone get out?”

  “No. No one got out,” Sandy said. “It was a fancy car, so we were all paying attention. That kind of ride doesn’t come here all that often.”

  “License plates?”

  Sandy laughed. “It’s never smart to look too hard or to remember. It was nice and fancy. That’s all I got.”

  “Did any of you talk to the driver?”

  “Maybe I did,” Tony said. “I was getting a feel for what he wanted.”

  “And?”

  “He didn’t roll his window down much. He said he didn’t like what I had to offer. He wanted a different type of girl. Dark hair.”

  “Like Vicky?”

  “Yeah. Jax saw me talking and came up a few minutes later and talked to the guy,” Tony offered. “If he cut a deal, I didn’t see it, but he knew there was a buyer looking for a specific type.”

  “And this would’ve been last week. What night?”

  Tony dropped his cigarette and ground the ash into the concrete with his scuffed boot tip. “Friday or Saturday, maybe. I never saw the car again. And that’s all we got to say.”

  Riley pulled out her business cards, handing one to each girl. “If you ever need a hot meal, Duke’s is the place to go. It’s safe and he doesn’t allow for any shit under his roof.”

  “But he’s always putting people to work,” Tony said. “Who wants to sweep floors for minimum wage?”

  “Beats working on your back,” Riley said.

  He shook his head and laughed. Cassie laughed. Sandy did not.

  Riley tucked her notebook away as if she were wrapping up the interview when she said, almost as an afterthought, “Any of you hear about any high-stakes poker game?”

  Tony scratched his neck, and she noticed a spider tattoo clinging to the skin below his collar. “How high are the stakes?”

  “Top level.”

  Tony shook his head. “Shit. I don’t know about that. If the stake is more than a grand, it’s over my head.”

  Looking at him, she believed him. He didn’t roll large. “Okay.”

  She left the three standing silent in the parking lot. Sliding behind the wheel of her SUV, she studied Cassie and Sandy. She exhaled a breath she felt like she’d been holding since she first saw Vicky. The sheriff’s words echoed. She looks a little like you.

  “I don’t look like her.” As she muttered the words, images reached out from the shadows.

  Smoke. The clink of poker chips. Laughter.

  “She’s pretty,” a man said.

  “She’s your type, right?” a second answered.

  Her mind tripped and turned, swirling in a sea of drugs as strong hands gripped her face and twisted it upward. Her eyes fluttered open, but they did not focus.

  “Yeah, she’s my type. Perfect.”

  A car horn behind Riley blared, startling her. The light was green. She drove, doing her best to shake it off.

  Gripping the wheel, she increased her speed. “I don’t look like her.”

  Anxious, Kevin pulled off the main road and wound down the long graveled driveway that cut a mile into the woods and up a small hill to the old building. The structure looked as if it had once been a church, but there were no signs of life around. He checked his watch to make sure he wasn’t too early. He was right on time.

  This next game would be the turning point in his life. He still had the cash and sensed Lady Luck was with him now.

  The building was basic. Well built with white clapboards and yet a broken side window—nothing like the fancy, glittering Vegas casinos. A great thing, if you didn’t want to draw attention to an illegal card game.

  As he reached for his door handle, a shadow flashed in his side vision. A bullet crashed through the door and tore into his arm. Another ri
pped into his shoulder. Adrenaline jacked him up as he reached for his gun from the glove box. But before he could open the small door, a hail of shots sliced into his body.

  His last thought as blood oozed and his vision blurred was that Lady Luck was a conniving bitch.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Thursday, September 15, 5:00 p.m.

  Bowman was tracking Riley’s cell phone signal, and when she and the other agent drove to the high school, he had been on their tail. He watched her drop off the other agent, then drive to the first truck stop. He followed her to three more truck stops, and when she stopped at the gas pump and got out to fill her tank, he decided it was time to know the game plan.

  “Riley,” he said.

  She turned instantly, hand sliding toward her weapon. Her gaze locked on him.

  He kept his hands out of his pockets and did his best to keep his face as neutral as possible, except for a small grin. He could scare the devil on a good day and didn’t want to put up more roadblocks between them.

  Her chest rose as she pulled in a slow, measured breath. “Not polite to stalk, Bowman.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “What can I do for you, Bowman?”

  “I want to talk to you about the Gilbert case.”

  She glanced past him at his car, again calculating. He suspected she’d just shove him deeper into the doghouse. “Why?”

  “Did you find playing cards with the body?”

  Eyes narrowing, she stilled. “Playing cards?”

  “We can stand here all day and second-guess each other or we can find a place to talk. I might be able to help you with this case.”

  “I don’t need your help, Mr. Bowman. I’m pretty good at figuring these kinds of things out on my own.”

  “I was a help in the woods.”

  “I’ll give you that. But this isn’t the woods. Nor is it Quantico. We’re not a team.”

  He should have guessed she’d not forgotten a damn thing. “This case is bigger than you think. You’re in danger.”

  “Murder’s always pretty big, Bowman.”

  This close, he was struck by her looks. Thick dark hair that he knew was soft to the touch. Keen green eyes. Cut cheekbones. Beautiful. And she possessed a confidence that still appealed. “Is the case important to you because it hits close to home?”

  “There’s a dead young girl lying on a slab in the state morgue, Mr. Bowman. That’s why it’s important to me.”

  “I know you were a runaway when you were seventeen.”

  Her eyes narrowed as if he’d jabbed a raw nerve. “You’ve mixed me up with someone else.”

  “I haven’t.”

  Hands hitched on her hips, she tapped her finger against her belt. “You’re headed down a rabbit hole.”

  A woman passed by and glanced at the two of them, her gaze alight with curiosity. Bowman, aware he was leaning toward Riley, straightened and tossed the woman a sideways glare, his frown deepening, until she looked away. “I’m not having this conversation here. And I know you don’t want to have this chat in your office with your supervisor listening. My guess is that no one knows what happened to you.”

  Tension vibrated around her.

  “There’s a restaurant in town. Latrobe’s. You know the place?”

  “I know it.” And with no hint of shame, “It’s on your nickel.”

  “See you there in thirty minutes.”

  She studied him as he drove off. She didn’t like or trust him. That was crystal clear.

  When they arrived at the small restaurant, it was past five thirty. Patrons would file in during the next half hour, but for now they had the place mostly to themselves.

  He chose a curved booth in the back. As the waiter pulled out the table, Riley gracefully slid into the booth. She smelled of soap, no heavy perfume. No makeup covered her smooth skin. The brief time they’d been together, she never talked about her past, and he had been so wrapped up in his own that he’d never asked. Now he was deeply curious.

  He edged into the booth until his back was to the wall. This tactical choice put him a foot from her, but he wasn’t worried about invading her space. She could have moved to her left, but like most cops, she wouldn’t expose her back to the door.

  “How’s Cooper?” he asked.

  “You didn’t bring me here to talk about my dog, did you?”

  “No, but I do like Cooper.”

  “What exactly do you do for Shield Security? How does tracking fugitives and serial killers fit into the job description?”

  The waiter returned to fill their water glasses and leave two menus behind. When he was out of earshot, Bowman carefully unrolled his napkin. “Mr. Shield assigns duties on an as-needed basis.”

  She smoothed a small wrinkle in the tablecloth. “Just like that, he hires you to handle special projects.”

  “Our families have a history.” His tone said he wasn’t ready to discuss it further. He scanned the menu and zeroed in on the tenderloin. “I’m starving for a steak. Are you hungry?”

  “Sure. I could eat.”

  When the waiter returned, he took their orders. Riley closed her menu and chose the steak as well.

  “I thought women just ate salads,” Bowman said.

  “Hungry, angry women eat salads.” She laid her napkin on her lap. “I also eat real food. Bowman, tell me about Shield Security. Not much press gets out about that company.”

  “Feel free to call me Clay.”

  “No.”

  “We passed being strangers a long time ago.”

  Slowly, she shook her head. “Let’s keep it professional this time.”

  He nodded. “Shield is based near Quantico. We handle mostly high-end problems that our clients need dealt with quickly and quietly.”

  “Such as?”

  He traced a path through the condensation of his glass. “Discretion is a big part of our appeal. But we generally find missing things or people.”

  “Nothing illegal.”

  “Nothing unethical.”

  She didn’t press that point. “I’m guessing Shield Security is doing well judging by the suit.”

  “It’s rewarding. By the way, you dress well.”

  She arched a brow. “Stop, you’re going to make me blush.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “We appreciate your discretion on the Carter arrest.”

  “If you hadn’t asked for silence, I would’ve given you credit. You passed up a lot of publicity.”

  “Which is exactly what we never want.”

  Small gold earrings dangled from her ears. He remembered she’d been wearing them during their night together five years ago. “So, if you’re doing so well and making money hand over fist, what’re you doing on my case?”

  He sipped his water, allowing the ice-cold liquid to cool his throat. “My boss, Joshua Shield, and I were both with the FBI twelve years ago and assigned to New Orleans. We investigated a series of murders. Four young women were strangled and their bodies left in plain sight in the space of weeks.”

  Sitting back, she folded her arms. Her expression was blank, as if waiting for the punch line. “Not following.”

  He realized she didn’t know about the four women. “At each murder scene the detectives found five playing cards. They all were hands from a five-card stud poker game. Three were definitely losing hands. One wasn’t terrible, but likely not good enough to win. And in handwritten black ink, Loser was scrawled on each.”

  Carefully, she leaned forward and tapped a fingertip on the side of her glass. “Like my victim.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Was the handwriting the same on the cards?”

  “Same word but each set appeared to be written by a different person.”

  “You said this guy killed four girls. And let me guess, they all had a similar look. Like Vicky.”

  “And like you, which you already know.”

  She didn’t respond.

  He sat back, tugging o
n the cuffs of his shirt. “Shield and I spent endless hours poring over evidence looking for this killer.”

  “What did you find?”

  “No forensic data. This killer, who became known as the Shark, is a ghost. He’s smart and knows how to cover his tracks. We never released the information about the five cards to anyone outside the case. No one in law enforcement would’ve picked up on the fact that those cases were connected to the Gilbert case.”

  “Who says we’ve connected our case to your cases?”

  He tugged the notebook from his breast pocket and carefully flipped through pages until he found the one he wanted. He wasn’t ready to play his trump card yet. “You’re smart, but your high school grades were average. Cs and Bs. SAT scores placed you in the top 5 percent, yet your schoolwork was lackluster.”

  “A teenager with a bad attitude about school isn’t new or unique.”

  The waiter arrived with a basket of bread and a small dish of herb butter. Bowman offered the basket to her first and was surprised to see her take a roll. His late wife had never eaten bread. She never ate steak.

  Riley tore her roll in half and buttered both sides. She took a bite and Bowman found himself glad to see her eat. He set a roll on his plate but did not touch it. “That kind of disparity between grades and tests always makes me curious. So I did a little more checking on you.”

  “Must have been a real slow morning for you, Bowman. Most people have better things to do than poke around in my boring life.”

  Impatience hummed under her words. She wanted him to circle back to the original thread of questioning. But he was in no rush to deliver. Getting this woman to talk or open up would not be easy. Too many layers of ice. “You’re not curious about what I found?”

  “I lived it, remember?” Again, her expression remained blank and showed no sign of reaction. She should have been a poker player. “Okay, let me have it. What did you find out about me?”

  The southern drawl sugarcoated the words, but he suspected underneath lurked a screw you. She didn’t like him running this show. And though he sensed she itched to tell him to spit it out, she wouldn’t. Control was too important to Trooper Tatum.

  “You come from a very wealthy family. After high school you moved to Virginia and worked at Duke’s diner while taking classes at the community college. When you turned twenty-two, you entered the state police academy. Most would consider that a very unexpected move for a girl who had her debut in New Orleans society.”