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by Suzanne Steele

  “I won’t let you go this time. I won’t let you push me away either.”

  “I’m not good at the whole bonding thing, Trace.”

  “Neither am I. That doesn’t change the fact we belong together. Stop fighting what's meant to be. Let’s find this kid and move on with our lives—together.”

  His eyes are demanding an answer, so I say the only thing I know to. “I won’t run this time. Maybe it’s time for me to grow up and stop running. We’ve got more going for us than good sex.”

  He raises up on one arm and looks me directly in my face. “What would that be?”

  “We work well together. This psycho doesn’t have a chance against us.” I push down the guilt I’m feeling over the secret I’m keeping from him. I don’t know when the right time will be to tell him, but I don’t want to ruin this moment.

  “That’s the girl I know. Let’s get busy finding this sicko.”

  I’m not going to tell him, but I have to admit, the whole Chucky doll thing does have me creeped out. Somebody went to a whole hell of a lot of trouble to make their morbid point. That doll they left looks like someone took a lot of time to make it look real. The cuts, the blood, the knife, it’s enough to tell me we’re dealing with one sick pup.

  Her Satisfaction

  The rocking chair creaks in a rhythmic tone that gives me a morbid sense of satisfaction. I open the e-mail when my phone notifies me I have mail. A sick sense of glee goes through me when I see the picture of the mutilated doll my accomplice sent me. I guess the dumbass went by her house to see if she got the doll—that, and prove to me he liked my idea enough to do it. Why am I feeling jealous about some woman who goes around fixing people’s fuck ups? Maybe that’s why I came up with the morbid idea. I wanted to throw the cops off and make them think some psycho had abducted the kid, now I’m conflicted and want to get her back to her mother. Maybe I’m the crazy one in this sick game.

  I like knowing I’m causing fear in the woman who fancies herself being a fixer—oh physician heal thyself. She doesn’t stand a chance against me. Nobody’s stepped up to help me like she did this kid’s mother. That bitch would still be on the street if it wasn’t for the almighty fixer. Nobody’s ever helped me. They’ve all been just like Freddy. They acted like they wanted to help me when all they really wanted was to use me. The problem with that is I’m aging out. The only good thing I’ll ever be able to do is maybe get this kid back home, then maybe I’ll put a bullet in my brain and be done with this fucked up life of mine.

  “Look at the pretty dolly, precious.” I hold the phone up proudly showing the little girl in my arms the picture of the mutilated doll.

  “Dat’s ugly. What wrong wit that baby?”

  “I thinks she’s pretty. It gives her character.”

  “What’s caracta?”

  I chuckle at her attempt to say the word that’s too big for her little dialect. “Character is like personality. It’s what makes us different than everybody else.”

  “Do I have caracta?”

  “Oh yes, my love, you most certainly do.”

  “When do I get to see my real mommy?”

  “I am your real mommy now.”

  “So I have two mommies?”

  “Well, yes, I guess you could say that you do, but just for now. I’m looking after you. You can’t tell the bad man I’m going to take you back to your mommy. Remember our pinky promise. We don’t want to make him mad or he’ll act ugly.” For the first time in my life I’m not just fucking up one life, but numerous ones. I feel terrible about what I’ve done. I’ll never be able to live with myself if something happens to this kid. The fixer woman has no idea Freddy’s watching her every move. Of course her returning to her cop boyfriend wasn’t something he expected. He’ll have to be careful now that he’s dealing with a professional. I know even when I return the kid I’ll get charged. It doesn’t matter that a gun was put to my head. All they’ll see is a whore and her pimp who kidnapped a kid.

  He waited three years to get even and he plans on enjoying every second of it. All he keeps saying is: “That bitch took all my hopes and dreams and ripped them to shreds. I plan on doing the same to her on a much deeper level. She never should have gotten involved with my family when she did.” He calls his stable of women his family—somehow this isn’t how I pictured my white picket fence fantasy. The fixer lady saw Shelda on the streets one night and helped her get out of the lifestyle. I guess she was right on time because Shelda was pregnant. When Freddy found out she’d had his kid, he came up with the plan of kidnapping her. He’s trying to act like he cares about the fact he missed out on raising her. All Freddy cares about is the money he’s going to ask to get for her. I’m the only chance this kid has, and I don’t care if it kills me, I’m going to do something good with my life. I’d rather die than do time anyway. So, my days are numbered.

  Chapter Eight

  Trace

  Watching her fix coffee, dressed in nothing but my oversized button up shirt, gives me a peaceful feeling. I’ve missed her, and I have to admit, the betrayal did hurt. My back stiffens as I ask the question I need to know.

  “I’m only going to bring this up once, but I have to ask. Did you know you were going to do that press conference on me when you slept with me?” She turns making her way in my direction with two steaming hot cups of black coffee. She waits until she sits down to answer me.

  “When I did that story, I really believed that woman. She had me convinced her husband was a player. She convinced me that one of his lovers had finally had enough and offed him. I think I let my view of you sway me.”

  “Your view of me?” She chuckles as she takes a sip of coffee before answering.

  “Yeah. That whole super masculine thing you’ve got going on made me wonder if you weren’t just assuming she was a gold digger. I thought maybe you had a problem with her being married to a man who had money, and you were assuming she was in it for that. I’m embarrassed the woman was able to deceive me. I think I’m the one who let my personal beliefs get in the way of the investigation. You know how I’m always there for the underdog. She portrayed herself as a victim and I fell for it.” I’m shocked when she covers my hand with hers and looks at me with sincerity. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry. I think after I screwed up I was just ashamed to see you again.” Now’s the time to tell him. Why the hell can’t I do it?

  “Still doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I knew I was doing the story on you when I slept with you. Sleeping with you was an accident.”

  “Yeah… I hate when that happens.” I’m sure she can hear the sarcasm in my voice.

  “You know what I’m saying. We’d been out drinking and our guards were down. Then, one thing led to another. I will tell you this, it was hard as hell to cover that story after being with you. I felt like such an ass—like you would think I used you. It was just too complex to try and fix.”

  “Ah, forever The Fixer. Well, I’ll tell you something, it wasn’t an accident and it wasn’t a mistake. It was meant to be. The fact we’re here again says that much. I won’t let you runaway this time. I’ll hunt you down. I’ve never been able to shake you. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life thinking about the one that got away, and I’m damn sure not going to spend a lifetime comparing you to every other woman I encounter. You’re strong; I respect that. And like I said: no other woman will ever measure up.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be. You’ve gained a crazed fan and you don’t want to cross that line again.”

  “And normally you’re so controlled.”

  “Consider it to be controlled mania.”

  “No. I think the maniac is whoever’s holding my friend’s daughter.”

  “Yeah, you’re dealing with a sicko. On that note, I’m not going to argue about it, I’m bringing some clothes here and staying with you—it may even be better for you to stay with me at my place. Whoever this is hates you, and hate tha
t deep can only lead to destruction. Anybody crazy enough to take a kid is crazy enough to try and kill you. And like I said: I’m not losing you again.” I’m shocked when she shakes her head yes in agreement. I was looking for an argument from her.

  “Enough reminiscing about past mistakes. You need to think about the cases you’ve had, and figure out who has a vendetta for you.”

  “That’s the problem… the list is endless.”

  We both look up when the front door opens and a little boy about three years old comes bounding in. I look at Amaya, and the panic on her face is evident.

  “You guys weren’t supposed to be back until later.” Her voice is cracking and her chin’s tilted—the way it always is when she’s hiding something.

  I watch horrified as the mini me stands in front of me and begins firing off questions. “Is that your big mudding truck out there?” I feel like I’ve been smacked in the face with a huge dose of reality as I look into the face of my son. Why would she keep this from me? How did she think I could not know when he looks just like me? For three years she kept the skeleton in the closet, and in a matter of moments, it has fallen out for everyone to see.

  Fuck being polite! I look at the babysitter and excuse her.

  “I think you need to go ahead and go. It looks like Amaya and I need to talk.”

  The babysitter directs her answer to Amaya. “Will you be okay?”

  That remains to be seen.

  Amaya

  I’ve never really thought about the irony of my job before. People come to me when their reputations have been threatened by scandal. I’m the one who does damage control in the public relations arena. You’d think they’d be grateful. It isn’t the people I bail out, it’s the people on the sidelines, the ones who wanted to see them go down. The urgency in Trace’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. Here I am in the middle of my own scandal—one of my own making.

  “Chase, go in your room and play.”

  “How could you keep something like this from me? You ran and hid because you were pregnant!?!”

  “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to help me.”

  “You don’t get to make that choice.”

  I watch horrified as Trace gets up and goes into Chase’s room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m packing my kid’s clothes and taking him home where he belongs.”

  “You can’t do that—take him from me.”

  “You’re going too.”

  “You’re crazy. You can’t just make us go to your house.” The slow methodical movements of a man who has been deceived scares the shit out of me as he stalks in my direction.

  “You have no idea. You robbed me of my choice and now I’m taking yours. You’re the one who’s crazy if you think I’m letting you put my son in danger.” He leans in so Chase can’t hear him. “Do I need to remind you of the doll?”

  “I don’t want to subject my son to a fight. We’re going to have to discuss this later on when he isn’t in the room.”

  “You’re a piece of work, Amaya.” The disgust in his voice makes me feel so ashamed. This isn’t how I pictured it being—breaking the news to him that he had a son.

  I make my way over to a chest of drawers to help him pack when my phone rings. When I see who it is, I go ahead and put it on speaker.

  “Are you okay, Shelda?”

  “You’re not going to believe this. Harold has been killed! You don’t think this has something to do with the kidnapping do you?”

  “What happened?” I really don’t want to answer her question. I find it way too coincidental that her husband got killed right after Angelina’s abduction. The deeper I go into this case, the more I’m convinced her past is catching up to her. Harold married her and took Angelina as his own after Shelda found out she was pregnant. I thought we’d done all we could to keep Angelina’s birth father a secret. That’s the funny thing about secrets; they have a way of resurrecting like ghosts from the past.

  “He was carjacked last night on his way home from work. He’d been working late at the office and got killed on his way home.”

  “Alright. Let me do some background work on him, see if he was having any problems with clients. As a lawyer, he was working with some pretty shady characters. This might not have anything to do with Angelina. Have you heard anything?”

  “No. Nobody’s contacted me. The police have hit the airwaves with her picture, making pleas for whoever has her to return her, that kind of thing.”

  “Good. Get a good night’s sleep because I’ve set up a press conference for you tomorrow.”

  “I’m just sick with worry. Every day that goes by makes me crazier.”

  “We’re going to find her. Try to get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow about eight in the morning.”

  Trace waits until I hang up to begin asking questions. “There’s no way this is a coincidence. The only thing that has me baffled is how it all ties together.”

  “You and me both.”

  “What’s the story with Shelda and Harvey?”

  “She met him after she found out she was pregnant. He married her and took Angelina as his own.”

  “So the pimp is for sure her biological father.”

  “I’ve spent years keeping this secret hidden. We aren’t for sure if it’s him or an old john. If Freddy has her, he heard about her on the streets, and he’s figuring because of the time frame, she’s his kid. That has to be his reasoning.”

  “We’re going to talk about that later—you and your secrets.”

  I lean in whispering in his ear and I hear his breath hitch. I can feel energy rolling off of him like he wants to slam my body into his and make me pay for all my secrets.

  “Whether it’s a john or her old pimp doesn’t matter. I got her off the street when I found out she was pregnant. I went through the whole thing with her.”

  “Yeah, like you should have gone through your pregnancy with me. You’re going to pay for this one, Amaya.” This time it’s him leaning in and whispering in my ear. “You are so going to pay. I’m going to use you, over and over, in ways you can’t imagine. I’m going to do nasty vile things to you and you’re going to like it.” He’s talking low so Chase can’t hear him, but his words are ringing like a loud bell in my ears. The fucked up thing about it is, it’s turning me on.

  “I’m willing to bet this pimp found out Angelina’s his baby. Bingo. You know how the streets are, people talk. Somebody saw her with a kid and all he to do was ask her age. He thinks that’s his kid.”

  “You think he had one of his girls help him kidnap her?”

  “Sure he did. The question is, how far along will she go?”

  “Now you’re scaring me. Let’s just hope his ruse doesn’t get attached to Shelda’s daughter. If this girl starts playing house with Angelina, it could get dangerous.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Let’s do the press conference and hope we can play on her emotions.”

  I’m glad to be talking about the case and not the fact Trace found out he has a son. Even now, I’m mentally doing what I’ve always done: running. No wonder I’m so good at covering up people’s secrets; I’ve had years of practice.

  Chapter Nine

  Her Success

  “I told you not to be smoking that shit in the house when the baby’s here.” The words are out of my mouth before I have time to think.

  He lunges in my direction, almost dropping the glass pipe, and it distracts him from a fit of anger. “The baby’s always here. I’m a nervous wreck.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure the meth is just what you need to settle your nerves.”

  “Hey, killing her husband wasn’t the easiest thing to do, ya know. I can’t get the image out of my head of his brain matter being spewed all over the windshield . This helps”—he holds the pipe he’s smoking from up as if it will help prove his point. “It was awful, so much blood, and that gurgling noise he was making. I just can’t get ri
d of the memory. At least the guy had a wallet full of money. I can’t believe that bitch lucked out and married a lawyer. It was right there on his business card in his wallet. She’s been living the highlife playing house in her big fancy house with my kid.”

  “You don’t know she’s yours. The girl was working back then, if you know what I mean.”

  “Don’t matter; she’s mine now. She’s in my house.”

  “No Freddy, she’s in my house.”

  I have a hard time believing killing someone bothered him. Maybe he does have a conscience. Meth has a way of overriding that though, and I’m sure not counting on it.

  “I’ve got heat on me now. There’s been nonstop coverage on that carjacking. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it.”

  Fear courses through me as I realize I’m an accomplice. Now he’s added murder to kidnapping. I hope that supposed conscience of his doesn’t come into play when it’s time to shoot me. I can’t do time and I’ve got nothing to live for.

  “Speaking of carjacking, where did you dump his car?”

  “Down by the river. I took his wallet and made it look like a robbery. The only fun part of it was setting his car on fire.”

  Great. I have a closet pyromaniac on my hands. Maybe he can burn me alive rather than shooting me. “Well, you couldn’t very well pass on the cash now could you? You smoke that shit faster than you can rob people for the money to cop it.”