Thirty-four years ago, Dale was the one who knocked at the door. Angie’s uncle. Her savior. Her pimp.
This was how Angie knew about the bricks of cash Dale kept under the spare tire in his trunk. Escape money, he always called it, for the time when the detectives he was working with turned their detecting his way. They never figured him out, and meanwhile, Dale had earned and gambled away fortunes. There were always more abandoned girls to exploit. There was always more cash to be made. And there was always Angie on the periphery, waiting for him to notice her.
He was the closest thing to a father that she had ever had.
Every home the state placed her in, no matter how good or bad, Angie always found a way back to Dale. She became a cop for him. She took care of his problems. She looked after Delilah when most of the time all she could think about was wrapping a bag around the girl’s head and watching her suffocate.
Will had no idea that a cop had pimped Angie out. He was as good as Dale Harding was bad. Will did things the right way. He followed the rules. But he also had that same feral, animal side to him that Angie did. Will could dress in a suit and keep his hair cut over his collar, but she saw through the disguise. She knew how to push that button that brought out the beast. Over the years, Angie had toyed with telling him about Dale. There was a time when Will would’ve tracked Dale down, put a bullet in his gut, if he found out what the man had done to Angie.
She wondered what he would do if he found out now. Probably talk to Sara. Discuss how tragic Angie’s life was. Then they’d go out to dinner. Then they would go home and make love.
That’s what bothered Angie the most. Not the blow job, not even the hand-holding, but the ease between them. The sensation had permeated the room.
Happiness. Contentment. Love.
Angie couldn’t remember ever having that with Will.
She should let him go. Give him permission to have the normalcy that he had yearned for his entire life. Unfortunately, Angie never did the right thing when she felt wounded. Her inclination was to lash out. Her inclination was to keep hurting Will until he finally hurt her back.
Angie stubbed out the joint in the ashtray. Everything she hated about Jo was everything that was inside of Angie.
She looked at her watch. 11:52. The clock felt like it was moving backward.
Angie got out of her car. The sweltering heat almost pushed her back inside. The temperature hadn’t dropped with the sun. Her thin cotton shift was little more than a handkerchief, but she was still sweating. She leaned against the trunk. The metal was too hot. Angie walked down the side of the road, careful not to go too far. Her nerves were rattled. She had tapered off the Vicodin too quickly. She was concerned about Jo. She was scared of Laslo. She was terrified of Dale. She was worried that her plan to neutralize Kip Kilpatrick would come back to bite her in the ass.
Dale always said you had to use an ax, not a hammer. Angie figured she might as well use it to cut off the head of a snake.
A woman screamed.
Angie’s head jerked toward the street. Toward the Rippys’ driveway. Toward the sound of a woman begging for help.
‘Please!’ Jo screamed. ‘No!’
Angie popped open her trunk. She didn’t take her gun. She found the tire iron. She kicked off her heels. She ran down the street, arms pumping, neck straining, the same as Will when he had chased her car yesterday morning.
‘Help!’ Jo screamed. ‘Please!’
Angie rounded the corner to the driveway. The gates were open. The house glowed with lights. Music thumped. There was no security guard. No one was watching the cameras.
‘Please!’ Jo begged. ‘Help me!’
Reuben Figaroa was dragging his wife by the hair. Jo’s bare feet scraped across the grass. He was taking her to the woods, away from the house. He wanted to have some privacy.
‘Help!’
Angie didn’t give him a warning. She didn’t tell him to stop. She held the tire iron over her head as she ran toward him. By the time Reuben realized she was there, Angie was swinging the heavy metal bar at his head. She felt the iron shudder in her hand, vibrate down her arm and into her shoulder.
Reuben dropped Jo. His mouth was open. His eyes rolled back in his head. He fell to the ground, unconscious. Angie raised the iron again, this time aiming for his knee. The one with the brace. The one he’d had surgery on. Time was moving slow enough for her to register the fact that the best orthopedist in the world had given him five more years of playing basketball and with one swing of her arm Angie was going to take that away.
‘No!’ Jo stopped Angie’s hand. ‘Not his knee! Not his knee!’
Angie struggled, trying to free her arm, to take that final swing.
‘Please!’ Jo begged. ‘Don’t! Please!’
Angie looked at the tire iron. Saw her daughter’s hand gripping her own. The first time Jo had ever touched her.
‘Let’s go,’ Jo said. ‘Let’s just go.’ She was begging. Her eyes were wild. Blood poured from her nose and mouth. She looked like she didn’t know who she was more afraid of: Angie or her husband.
Angie forced the muscles in her arm to relax. She jogged down the driveway, ran down the street. Her shoes were still in the road. Angie scooped them up as she walked by. She was throwing the tire iron in the trunk when Jo caught up with her.
‘I need him to play,’ she said. ‘His next contract—’
‘Get in the car.’ Angie threw her shoes into the back seat. She didn’t want to hear excuses. Even as Jo left, she was planning her way back.
The engine was already running. Angie strapped on her seat belt. Jo got into the car. Angie pulled away before she could close the door.
‘He saw me,’ Jo said. ‘I was trying to—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Reuben had recognized Angie. She had seen it in his eyes. He knew she worked for Kip. He knew that she was his fixer. And now he knew that Angie had taken his wife.
Jo reached for her seat belt. The buckle clicked. She stared ahead at the road. ‘Do you think he’s dead?’
‘He passed out.’ Angie looked at her watch. How long before Reuben came to? How long before he called Kip and Laslo and Dale?
‘What have I done?’ Jo mumbled. It was sinking in now, the price she would pay for her disobedience, the cost of returning to her life. ‘We have to stop. We can’t do this.’
Angie told her, ‘I’ve got the video.’
‘What?’
‘I have the video of Marcus and Reuben raping that girl.’
‘How?’ Jo didn’t wait for an explanation. ‘You can’t use it. They’ll go to jail. LaDonna—’
‘I’m not afraid of LaDonna.’
‘You damn well should be.’
Angie swerved into a parking lot. She pulled into a space beside a black Ford Fusion. ‘Here’s the key.’ Angie dropped the sun visor and let the key fall into Jo’s lap. ‘Go to the motel. Wait for me.’
‘We can’t do this,’ Jo said. ‘The video. They’ll kill me. They’ll kill you.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Angie’s fists were clenched. She was overwhelmed with the desire to punch some sense into her child. ‘It’s over, sweetheart. This is the end of the line. There’s no going back to Reuben. There’s no going back to anything.’
‘I can’t—’
‘Get out.’ Angie leaned over and pushed open the door. She fought with the seat-belt buckle. ‘Get out of my car.’
‘No!’ Jo clawed at Angie’s hands. ‘He’ll find me! You don’t understand!’ She scanned Angie’s face, looking for compassion. When she didn’t find it, her face contorted in agony. She covered her eyes with her hands. Sobs came out of her mouth. ‘Please don’t make me.’
Angie watched her daughter cry. The girl’s thin shoulders were shaking. Her hands trembled. The act might be heartbreaking to someone who actually had a heart.
Angie said, ‘Cut the shit. I’m not buying it.’
Jo looked up at her. There were no tears in
her eyes, just hatred. ‘You can’t make me do anything.’
‘Was he sweet to you?’ Angie asked, because that was the only thing that made sense. ‘You got out of jail, and instead of beating you, he said everything was going to be okay? That it was going to be different from now on?’
Jo’s nostrils flared. Angie had hit the mark.
‘Is that how he roped you back in? “Oh baby, I love you. I’ll take care of you. I’ll never let you go. I’ll never abandon you like your mama did.” ’
‘Don’t you throw my mama back in my face.’
Angie grabbed Jo’s chin and jerked her head around. ‘Listen up, you dumb bitch. Reuben saw me. He knows that I’m helping you. You think your mama didn’t give a shit about you? That’s not even half of what I’m feeling right now.’
Jo’s tears were real now.
Angie tightened her grip on the girl’s face. ‘You’re gonna get in that car and you’re going to drive to the motel and I’m going to pick up your son and we are both going to get the hell out of here. Do you understand me?’
Jo nodded.
Angie pushed the girl’s face away. ‘Give me your phone.’
‘I dropped it when—’
Angie patted her down. She found the iPhone tucked into Jo’s bra. ‘Did you tell your mother that I’m going to pick up Anthony?’
Jo nodded again.
‘If you’re lying to me—’ Angie stopped, because there was nothing to do if Jo was lying. ‘Get out of the car.’
Jo was too afraid to move. ‘He’ll find me. He’ll find us.’
Angie grabbed the front of her dress and slammed her against the seat. ‘You do this right now or I will cut your son into little pieces and mail him back to you.’
‘Reuben will give you whatever you want.’ Her voice was a shriek. ‘He’ll pay whatever—’
‘Anthony will pay.’
Tears streamed down Jo’s face. She had realized that she was out of options. Slowly she nodded, just like Angie knew she would. Women like Jo only ever responded to threats.
Angie said, ‘Don’t stop to use a pay phone. Don’t go back to Rippy’s. Get in the car. Drive to the motel. Wait for me.’
Jo got out of the car. She opened the door to the rental. Angie waited for her to drive off, to make sure she went down Piedmont instead of back toward Tuxedo Drive.
Angie rolled down the window. She tossed Jo’s iPhone onto the pavement. She resisted the urge to get out of the car and stomp it into the ground.
‘I knew it,’ she mumbled to herself.
She had known that her daughter was weak. She had known that Jo would try to back down.
Angie ran over the phone with her car three times before she took a left out of the parking lot. She headed toward Peachtree. Jo’s mother lived in a fancy condo near Jesus Junction, paid for by Reuben Figaroa. Angie had to be calm when the old woman opened the door. And she had to hurry, because she had no idea whether or not Reuben had regained consciousness.
The first place he would look for Jo was at her mother’s.
Angie checked her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess. Her eyeliner was smudged. She used her finger to straighten the line. She couldn’t look dangerous when Jo’s mother opened the door.
Was she dangerous?
Hell, yes, she was dangerous.
Angie’s cell phone rang. The noise filled the car. She reached around to the back seat. She blindly fished her phone from her purse. Too late. The ringing had stopped. She looked at the screen.
MISSED CALL FROM HARDING, DALE.
‘Shit.’ She’d wasted too much time in the car with Jo. Ten minutes? Fifteen? Reuben was awake. Kip had been notified. Laslo was on the hunt. Dale thought he could talk her in, that she was still a ten-year-old girl he could trick with candy while he rammed his cock up her ass.
Angie’s phone made a whistling sound. Dale had sent a text.
She swiped her thumb. A photograph loaded.
Anthony.
Eyes wide. Back pressed up against a blank wall. The long, sharp blade of a hunting knife pressed to his neck.
The word underneath read: GRANDSON.
Angie gasped. She had to pull over. Her heart had stopped beating. Her blood ran cold. Jo’s child. Her grandchild. What had she done? Why was this happening?
Another whistle. Another text. Another photo.
Angie’s hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold the phone.
Jo.
A hand around her neck. Her back to the window of a car door. Her mouth open, screaming.
Dale’s text read: DAUGHTER.
Acid filled Angie’s throat, shot up into the back of her nose. She pushed open the door. Her mouth opened. A stream of bile splattered against the pavement. Her stomach turned inside out. She tasted blood and venom.
What had she done? What could she do to stop this?
She sat back up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Think, she told herself. Think.
Dale had taken Jo. He had taken Anthony, or had someone else do it for him. He had sent Angie two photos, proof of life. The backgrounds were different. Jo was in a car. Anthony was against a painted wall. This was coordinated, planned, because Dale was always two steps ahead of Angie. He had looked into Jo. He had looked into Angie. He had obviously taken a great deal of time to build the web she now found herself trapped in.
She clicked on her phone.
She could already guess the answer, but she still texted the question.
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
Dale responded immediately: IPAD.
Dale had never trusted Angie. Not even with the little things. He must have taken the pieces of the smashed iPad to Sam Vera for examination. Sam had discovered it was not the clone. Dale had asked himself why Angie would go to the trouble of swapping them out. And then he had realized that a video Marcus Rippy wanted to get rid of was worth a hell of a lot more than a quarter of a million dollars in an escrow account.
Nothing had changed since Angie was a child. She thought she was in control, but all the while, Dale was pulling her strings.
Her phone whistled again.
Dale had written: NIGHTCLUB. NOW.
MONDAY, 1:08 AM
Dale’s Kia was already parked in front of the club. Delilah leaned against the hood smoking a cigarette.
Angie was out of her car before it came to a full stop. The asphalt was hot against her bare feet. She raised her arm. The gun was in her hand. She pointed it at Delilah and pulled the trigger.
There was a bullet in the chamber this time.
‘Fuck!’ Delilah doubled over, clutching her leg. Blood squeezed out between her fingers. ‘You fucking bitch!’
Angie struggled against the need to pull the trigger again. ‘Where is Jo?’
‘Fuck you!’ Delilah screamed. ‘She’s fucking dead if you don’t do what you’re supposed to do!’
‘Where is she?’ Angie repeated.
‘You mean your daughter?’ Dale struggled to get out of the car. In the moonlight, his face looked almost completely white. There were flecks of dried skin around his mouth. His eyes were golden. He leaned heavily on the car. He had a revolver pointed at her across the roof.
‘Kill her!’ Delilah screamed. ‘Blow her fucking brains out.’
‘It’s just a flesh wound,’ Dale said. He was out of breath from getting out of the car. His skin was shiny, but not with sweat. ‘Take her gun.’
Angie pointed the Glock at Delilah’s head. ‘Try it.’
Dale told Angie, ‘You shoot her, I shoot you, I still get what I want because I got your daughter and you know what I can do to your grandson.’
Angie’s determination wavered. Jo. She had to think about Jo. If she thought about what Dale would do to Anthony, she wouldn’t make it through the night.
Dale said, ‘Dee, take the gun away from her.’
Delilah limped over. Her hand reached out, but Angie threw the Glock across the parkin
g lot.
‘Shit,’ Dale said. ‘Go get the gun.’
‘I don’t need no gun.’ Delilah flicked open a switchblade and pointed it at Angie’s cheek. ‘You see how sharp this is, bitch? I can slice open the side of your face like a watermelon.’
‘Do it.’ Angie looked her cousin in the eye. The same color iris. The same almond shape. The same fiery bluster, except Angie had the balls to back it up. ‘If you don’t cut me now, then the next time you see that knife, I’ll be cutting your eyes out of your head.’
‘None of you is doing shit. Put the fucking knife away.’ Dale’s tone of voice should’ve been a warning, but Delilah knew he would never hurt her. He said, ‘Search the car.’ When she didn’t move, he said, ‘Dee, please. Search the car.’
Delilah slapped the handle against the back of her hand and worked the blade closed.
‘Hey.’ Dale banged on the roof, waiting for Angie’s attention.
She looked at him. Her heart stopped. For just a moment, she forgot why they were here. Dale was dying. Not eventually. Not soon. He was dying right now. She could see the effects of his organs shutting down. His lips were blue. He wasn’t blinking. He had stopped sweating. The color of his skin reminded her of the thick, yellowed wax that she had to scrape off the coffee table if she left the candle burning too long. There was no spark in his eyes, just a dull, weary acceptance. Death shadowed every crevice of his heavily lined face.
Angie looked away so that he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.
He said, ‘Deidre Will?’
The alias Angie had written on Jo’s birth certificate under MOTHER.
Dale said, ‘You didn’t think I’d start snooping when you asked for the job at One-Ten?’
Angie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Will’s ring was still on her finger. She turned it around so that Dale couldn’t see it. ‘Where is Jo?’
‘Good as dead.’ Delilah was rummaging around inside Angie’s purse. ‘I’m gonna stick my knife in that bitch’s chest.’
Angie snatched the bag away. She asked Dale, ‘Where is Jo? What did you do to her?’
‘She’s safe for now.’ His eyelids were heavy. Saliva pooled into the corners of his mouth. The gun in his hand was held at an angle. ‘Whether or not she stays safe depends on what you do.’
The Kept Woman (Will Trent 8) Page 34