Once Craved (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #3)

by Blake Pierce

  Riley hesitated for a second. Justine interrupted before she could speak.

  “Nanette’s dead, ain’t she?”

  Riley was startled. Justine’s expression was steady and calm.

  “How did you know?” Riley asked.

  Justine emitted a gravelly chuckle. “Oh, it’s always an easy guess. Everybody dies sooner or later. For us working girls around this place, it’s usually sooner. Sometimes a whole lot sooner. And it’s never pretty.”

  Justine swallowed more beer.

  “I figure my number’s long overdue to come up,” she said. “Just biding my time.”

  The woman sounded resigned but not bitter. Riley felt a pang of sympathy. She didn’t know which was worse—living a lie like the escorts she had talked to that afternoon or facing grim facts like Justine. She couldn’t imagine how this woman had gotten to such a terrible point. How had her existence become so miserable that she didn’t even try to get out of this kind of life?

  “What can you tell me about Nanette?” Riley asked.

  “I only seen her a couple of times,” Justine said. “She was new around here. I could tell right off she wasn’t going to last.”

  Riley said, “We think she was killed last Saturday. Did you see her that night?”

  Justine thought for a moment.

  “I think the last I saw her was Friday,” she said. “I don’t think I saw her Saturday. She might’ve been here then too, and I could’ve missed her. I might have been otherwise occupied, if you know what I mean. I keep a pretty busy schedule for an old lady.”

  Justine slumped a little. Riley could see that she was letting some of her sadness and weariness show through.

  In a slightly choked voice, Justine said, “This is no place for the likes of you. Now I think you’d better get the hell out of here and find the bastard that did her in.”

  “I’ll do that, Justine,” Riley said. “Thanks.”

  Riley got off the barstool. It sure didn’t sound like she’d find that particular bastard here. But before she left she wanted to get a better look around. The main building would hold a store and shower rooms for the truckers. And outside, there was the big parking lot occupied by dozens of resting trucks. What might she find out there? Whatever it was, she felt sure that it was going to be as ugly as hell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Her stomach knotted with dread, Riley headed for the last part of Hank’s Derby that she needed to investigate. After leaving the bar, she had shown Nanette’s picture around the truck stop store, but no one there had been helpful. Now she had to see what might be happening among the parked trucks, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

  When she walked out of the main building into the warm night air, she didn’t see any hookers around. Maybe they’d been tipped off that an FBI agent was around.

  Across a wide stretch of pavement, rows of silent trucks occupied a big parking lot. Most of the parking lot lights weren’t working and those few that were created giant shadows. She walked slowly toward the mammoth vehicles.

  Everything was very quiet, and at first she thought maybe no one was out here after all. But as Riley made her way between two trucks, a door to one of them swung open. A burly man with enormous tattooed biceps climbed out and stood in her path.

  “Well, who have we got here?” he said, leering at her. “You don’t look like one of our regular girls. Much too proper. Poor little thing, you must’ve lost your way. Maybe you’d like me to give you a ride home.”

  “I don’t think so,” Riley said, trying to move past him.

  He grabbed her by the arm, swung her around, and pushed her backward against the truck. He leaned forward, straddling her with his arms. She couldn’t get away. She could feel anger rising, feeding on her deep-seated fury that men like this viewed women as prey.

  “Why not, baby?” he said. “I guess you’re new around here and don’t know how we do things. You just get in the truck with me. I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound. Honest.”

  Without a word, Riley rapidly lifted her knee, aiming at his groin. But he deftly parried the blow with his own leg. He was strong, and he weighed at least twice as much as she did.

  “Oh, so you’re gonna put up a fight, are you?” he snarled. “I like that.”

  He grabbed her arms and held her fast. His breath reeked of beer as his face craned toward her.

  Riley’s anger mutated into rage. The face she saw in front of her was no longer a drunken trucker. She felt that she was looking into the eyes of a deeply evil man who had held both Riley and her daughter captive. A man who had killed other women and tormented a good friend until she killed herself. A man she recognized all too well …

  Peterson.

  Riley snarled, giving him a head-butt and then whipping out her Glock and pointing it directly at his face.

  The man in front of her staggered backward in shock and fear.

  “Hey! Hey!” he cried. “No need for that!”

  The image of Peterson’s face faded back into that of a frightened bully.

  Not a killer, Riley told herself. You’ve already killed Peterson.

  Her hand was shaking. She had come very close to firing her gun—very close to killing a man in cold blood. Slowly she lowered the gun. Now she knew that it was just the trucker standing before her, but her anger hadn’t dissipated. She landed a tardy blow to his crotch, using the sharp toe of her shoe instead of her knee. He buckled over, groaning and gasping.

  Her weapon was still in her hand, and she smashed the butt of it against the back of his head. He fell flat on his face. She put her gun back in its holster and knelt down beside him. She grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back. His face was bloody.

  Short of breath, she managed to speak in a mock-kindly tone.

  “I’m Agent Riley Paige, FBI. And you’re right, I am kind of new around here, so maybe you could help me with a little something.”

  Still holding him by the hair, she pulled out the photo and held it in front of his face.

  “Did you ever see this woman? She’d go by the name of Nanette.”

  He grunted, “Huh-uh.”

  She jerked on his hair, pulling some it out by the roots. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “OK. Thanks.”

  She let go of him. He clambered unsteadily to his feet and staggered away toward the truck stop, cursing under his breath.

  Riley heard a voice from the passenger window of the next parked truck.

  “Hey, hard-ass FBI lady.”

  Riley looked up and saw a young girl’s face peering down at her. She gave Riley a thumbs-up.

  “Very dime,” she said.

  It sounded like the kind of slang Riley might hear her own daughter use.

  “I take it that’s a good thing,” she said.

  “Yeah. It means ten on a scale of one to ten. Maybe you could give me a self-defense lesson.”

  Riley rubbed her forehead, which hurt quite a bit.

  “To start with, go with head-butts only as a last resort,” she said. Then she took a better look at the girl.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “They call me Trinda.”

  The girl looked shockingly young.

  “How old are you?” Riley asked.

  “None of your business, old lady.”

  The girl who called herself Trinda was wearing thick makeup, like a little girl trying to look like a grown-up. But she looked like she might be April’s age.

  “You’re just about fifteen, aren’t you?” Riley said.

  Trinda said nothing, but Riley could see by her expression that she’d guessed right. Riley climbed up onto the foothold and peered into the cab of the truck. There was a mattress in the back of the cab with a pair of manacles on it.

  “Jesus,” Riley said. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing? I’m doing what all the other girls here are doing. And you’d better bo
ne out of here fast. My john’s just having a beer and he’ll be back soon. He’s big and mean, even for you.”

  “Do you have any idea what he might do to you?”

  Trinda shrugged. “He says he’s gonna pay me a hundred. He can do whatever he wants.”

  Riley felt positively sick to her stomach.

  “Come with me,” she said. “I’ll get you out of here. I’ll get you cleaned up and take you to some decent place to live.”

  Trinda sneered. “There aren’t any decent places to live. I’ve tried them all. Look, what do you think I should be doing instead? Flipping burgers for eight dollars an hour? On a good night here I can pull in three hundred dollars turning tricks. And it’s easy money—at least most of the time.”

  Then with a shrug, she added, “And when it’s not so easy—well, I’m tough. I can take it.”

  Riley was almost trembling with rage and frustration.

  “You shouldn’t be flipping burgers, and you shouldn’t be working for eight dollars an hour or three hundred dollars a night, and you shouldn’t be here. You should be in school.”

  “And going home after school to a nice house with a loving mom and dad, right? Believe me, it’s not an option. Look, if you’re going to get all moral like this, leave me the fuck alone, OK? Go do your job, whatever it is. I’m sure you’ve got more important stuff to do than hassle working girls.”

  Riley pulled the truck door open.

  “I want you to come with me,” she said.

  The girl yanked the door shut again.

  “Not a chance. Do that again and I’ll yell for help. You’ll have truck drivers all over your ass. They’ll fucking kill you—after they do everything else they like.”

  Riley had no idea of what to do. With her Glock and her considerable fighting skills, she figured she could handle a bunch of drunken truckers. But what good would it do to make that kind of scene? Trinda would undoubtedly slip away in the mayhem.

  Still, she realized that there was something she could do. She walked away alongside the truck.

  “Good riddance, lady!” Trinda called out.

  While Riley jotted down the number of the license plate, Trinda yelled out again.

  “Hey, if you really want to help a kid in trouble, check over there.”

  Riley looked and saw that Trinda was pointing along the line of trucks.

  “Check out the truck at the end of the row,” she said. “You’ll find a girl named Jilly. She really needs help. She’s never done nothing like this before. She’s got no business being around here.”

  Trinda rolled up the window and disappeared from view. Riley walked across the blacktop toward the last truck.

  “Jilly?” she called out.

  A small, frightened voice called out, “What do you want?”

  Riley climbed onto the foothold and looked through the open window into the cab. Crouched on the mattress in back was a skinny, dark-skinned girl who didn’t look older than thirteen. She wasn’t dressed like a hooker. She was wearing sneakers, shorts, and a T-shirt just like any girl her age. Riley was stunned.

  “Are you Jilly?” Riley asked.

  The girl nodded.

  “What are you doing here?” Riley said.

  “Waiting for Rex,” the girl said in little more than a whisper.

  “Who’s Rex?”

  The girl said nothing. She looked absolutely terrified.

  “Who’s Rex?” Riley said again.

  “I don’t know,” Jilly said. “But the guy at the cash register said he’d be looking for a good time. He told me to just come out here and wait for him.”

  Riley opened the door and climbed inside the cab. “I’m getting you out of here,” she said, offering her hand to Jilly.

  “Who are you?” Jilly said.

  Riley showed her badge. “My name is Riley. I’m an FBI agent. You’ll be safe with me. I promise.”

  The girl looked straight into Riley’s eyes. She came forward and Riley put an arm around her shoulders. The girl was trembling.

  Before they could climb out of the truck, Riley heard a voice from below.

  “Hey! Who the hell’s in my truck!”

  Riley looked down and saw a beefy middle-aged man.

  “Are you Rex?” she said.

  “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

  Riley knew she should reach for her badge, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of the girl. The man saw Jilly.

  “Hey, what are you doing with this poor little thing?” he said to Riley.

  “What are you doing with her?”

  Rex’s mouth dropped open with disbelief.

  “Good God, I ain’t doing nothing with her! She’s just a kid. Who the hell are you? What kind of perverted shit are you up to?”

  At that, Riley turned partly away from the child and pulled out her badge.

  “Agent Riley Paige, FBI,” she said.

  Rex smiled, looking genuinely relieved. “Glad to hear it. We’ve got to get this girl home.”

  “I’m not going home,” Jilly said. “My dad will beat me up if I go back.”

  Rex looked at Riley. “Maybe you could drive her to Child Protective Services.”

  Riley took Jilly’s hand. They climbed down from the cab. She still didn’t know what to make of Rex.

  “I’ll do that,” Riley said. “But Jilly said some guy told her to come here. He said that you’d be looking for a ‘good time.’”

  Rex shrugged. “Sure, I like a little whorin’ around as much of the next man. But only with grown women, for Chrissake, not with little girls. You get this runaway out of here.”

  Riley led Jilly toward her car, feeling more puzzled than ever. Rex seemed like a good-hearted guy. Still, he liked his “whorin’ around.” Didn’t he understand that every working girl around here had once been a little girl just like Jilly? The whole thing didn’t make sense to her.

  Riley got Jilly into her car, then sat down in the driver’s seat and called the local police. She gave them the license number she’d written down and described the truck.

  “I’m at Hank’s Derby truck stop,” she said. “The driver’s got a teenage girl. She goes by the name of Trinda. Get here fast before he can take her anywhere. And bust him but good for child trafficking. Throw the goddamn book at him.”

  When the policewoman on the phone agreed to send someone out, Riley said, “There’s something else I need to know. I’ve got a juvenile with me, a fourteen-year-old who says she can’t go home. I need the address for Child Protective Services. Or someone who will be open right now.”

  The policewoman gave Riley the address of an emergency shelter in downtown Phoenix. “I’ll call and tell them you’re coming,” she said.

  Riley turned to Jilly, who was looking up at her with a worried expression.

  “Fasten your seat belt,” Riley said. “I’m going to take you to someone who can help you out.”

  Jilly fumbled with the seat belt with hands that were still trembling, and Riley had to help her latch it. Then she started to drive.

  “Where are we going?” Jilly asked, in a little more than a whisper.

  “There are people who can give you a place to stay. They can even find you a new home if you need one,” Riley said.

  Jilly seemed to be thinking that over. “I can’t go home anymore,” she finally commented.

  Riley asked, “You said your dad would beat you. What about your mom?”

  “She’s not there,” Jilly said. “She went away years ago. My older brother left, too.”

  “So it was just you and your dad?”

  “Yeah,” Jilly replied. “And he drinks a lot now.”

  Riley concentrated on driving the car, following the automated instructions to the shelter. Beside her, Jilly sank down on the seat and seemed to be asleep. Riley wondered what was going to happen to this child now. Would she just run away again? Would she wind up like Justine someday? Or would she even live that long?

  She had to
ring the bell at the emergency shelter doorway, but after a few minutes a voice on the speaker asked what she wanted. Riley identified herself, and a tired but sympathetic-looking woman came to the door and let them in.

  Jilly was still holding onto Riley’s hand, so she followed them down a hallway to an office. She thought the place looked clean enough, and the woman seemed genuinely interested in the child. Jilly let go of Riley’s hand and sat down in the chair by the desk. Riley gave the woman her card, and said she’d check in tomorrow. When she left, Jilly was cooperatively answering questions while the woman typed on her computer.

  When Riley got back into her car, she realized that she hadn’t found out anything about Nancy Holbrook’s death. She might have to go back to Hank’s Derby to further investigate. It all depended on how Bill had fared with his suspect, Calvin Rabbe. She’d check in with him as soon as she got a chance.

  Meanwhile, nausea over all she’d seen threatened to overwhelm her.

  I hope Bill’s got something, she thought. I want this case to be over with.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bill felt a rush of anticipation as he neared the gated entrance of Calvin Rabbe’s sprawling Spanish-colonial home. The man who lived behind this fence was very likely to be the killer who had taken a woman’s life and thrown her body into a lake. Bill was determined to find out for sure.

  He had done a little research on Calvin Rabbe before driving out here. Ishtar Haynes had been right—the spoiled bastard hadn’t done a day’s honest work in his life. He’d spent his childhood and teen years getting expelled from boarding schools, then had gotten kicked out of all the best Ivy League universities without getting a degree.

  Now he was living with his divorced mother in that mansion.

  It figures, Bill thought.

  Rabbe’s dependence on the family matriarch added to Bill’s suspicions. The man was sounding more and more like a spoiled rich momma’s boy who might have a lot of unresolved resentment. Bill was starting to look forward to putting this guy away.

  But as he drove past the entrance, he could see that getting to meet Rabbe might be complicated. Even getting admitted to the grounds would involve a bit of protocol. Security cameras flanked the gates to the property. You had to ring a buzzer and announce yourself. Bill wasn’t sure how to proceed.