Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1)

by McFarland, Mary

  “Blaze, what about our crim quiz? And weren’t you gonna fill in at Omar’s for Angie again, same as you were last night?”

  No, no, no. I can’t let him back down. “Yeah? So,”I tease. He’s buying time. Why? “Come on, Stoke. I really need to make that video. The deadline’s coming up. If I don’t get it done, I won’t be eligible to re-enter the competition again until next year.”

  Stoke can easily check this on the Rockettes’ Web site. He’s quiet, taking his time, thinking over what I’ve just said. Inside, I shiver. Most likely, his thoughts would cause me never to want to dance again, but I press on. I can imagine only one way that black plastic garbage bag got in my fridge. And Robin didn’t put it there. He hasn’t been home since Monday. Even if he had, I know my brother. He wouldn’t harm Angie Miller, or anyone else.

  I recall what Aidan said. A snitch called in information to Newport this morning. A witness saw your brother hanging around the alley behind Omar’s when Angie Miller’s body was dumped. Didn’t DeeDee also say someone called in the tip about the shoulder in my fridge?

  Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. Same as with whoever put the girl’s shoulder in my fridge, there’s only one person who could’ve snitched out Robin. I’m talking to him, to Stoke Farrel, aka Megalo Don.

  Creepy. I’ve known for some time there’s something strange about Stoke. He thinks he’s smarter than anyone, thinks he’s smarter than I am. He’s not. Like I told him when he cut on me for missing my crim quiz, I know what trace evidence is. I haven’t spent all of this time studying criminology for nothing. He’s under-estimated me in one huge, fatal way. I’m a crip, like Berta says, but I’m no mental midget. It’s been years since that summer when Stoke and I played together as kids. We’ve grown up, and he’s changed so much I didn’t at first recognize him. In fact, it looks as if he’s had plastic surgery, or maybe changed his jaw structure. I don’t know what he’d done, but at last I recognize him. It’s also no accident we met my criminology class, I now realize. Stoke took the class no doubt knowing I was signed up. I recall the way I thought he’d been following me when I’d gotten off the bus to go to work at Verbote Deantal. He’s been stalking me.

  I’ve also recalled the reason my mom stoppeded letting me play with Stoke, who back then was called“Bubby.” The reason was Julianna Short. Julianna. Who no doubt to this day limps because of what Bubby—little boy no one would believe capable of such cruelty—did to her.

  “Stoke, are you still there? I’m gonna be late for my nine o’clock,”I lie, having no intention of going to class. I need an excuse to get inside his apartment and figure out who Stoke Farrel really is, to find evidence. Ha! I laugh, recalling how he’d chided me. If you’d come to class you’d know what trace evidence is.

  Oh, I know, Stoke. I know.

  If I can persuade him to miss class and get that video equipment, I’ll have my chance to search his apartment and prove it.

  “Okay, Blaze,”he says, finally agreeing. “I’ll get the equipment. You come to my place right after work tonight. We’ll make your video. I’m looking forward,”he adds,“to seeing you dance.”

  “I’ll be there,”I say, swallowing hard. It’s frightening that he’s suddenly so agreeable. “I’ll pick up a toothbrush at CVS before I come tonight,”I say. “And . . . Stoke?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks. I appreciate you being here for me. You’re a good friend. My Robin Hood.”

  “Was not Robin Hood always there for his Maid Marian?”

  “Sure thing,”I say, feeling my acting improving. Robin Hood was a thug who led good men into danger and to their deaths. The only difference between Stoke, and Robin Hood and Maid Marian, is they had better taste in clothing. And they weren’t cannibals.

  “See you,”I say, disconnecting.

  I put out my thumb to hitch a ride. I have work to do. My best friend’s been murdered. There’s a girl’s shoulder in my fridge in a black plastic garbage bag, and the cops think Robin put it there. My apartment’s a crime scene, so I’m officially homeless, and there’s LEOs crawling all over, probably pawing through my underwear and sniffing my G-string collection this very moment. Worse, my mom’s going to show up to“help.”

  But I am Berta Colby’s daughter.

  And Megalo Don’s worst nightmare.

  If I have my way, I’m going to be his demise, his end. I know criminals. Being a Colby, I know how they’re wired, how they think. I also know how to take them down.

  A guy in a Lexus pulls into a metered slot parallel to the sidewalk and rolls down his window. “Hi, there. You need a ride?”

  * * *

  I check the back seat to make sure he’s got no hidden passengers. I want no surprises. All I’m holding now is a cup of hot black coffee—a useful weapon—and my shiv, even more useful. There’s also my razor blade, but I’m saving it. Using it to cut anyone other than myself would be an act of extreme sacrilege.

  I jump in, stowing my backpack squarely between us on the console.

  “Where to?”he asks, leering.

  Clearly, he’s a perv. He’s sure no do-gooder trying to feel good by giving a hitchhiking college student a lift. Great. One more problem to deal with.

  “Campus. Where do I looklike I’m heading? Let me out near Echo.”

  Acting angry because I’ve deprived him of his morning trick, he pulls from the curb, turning on the radio and plugging in to the morning news. 700 WLW, the“Big One.”

  I should’ve known. It’s a local station that goes to thirty-eight states, or so the rabid announcer says after two guys finish ranting about the crime rate in Cincinnati. That gives me a laugh. The crime rate’s about to go up, unless I can do something to stop Stoke Farrel.

  “You . . . need anything?”the guy asks. “Money?”

  Hellfire.

  I shoot him a sideways glance. I’ve been warned about hitchhiking, but what am I supposed to do? I spent my last two bucks on coffee.

  “No, thanks,”I say, hoisting my steaming coffee cup, in case I have to toss it in his face. “How about you? Do you need anything? You know, like—legal trouble? I’m underage,”I lie, glad I look so young.

  “Just checking,”he says.

  I thought so. Pussy. Any of my mom’s boyfriends, my“uncles,”would be pawing all over me by now. I’d have to use my shiv, maybe even slice‘em up with my razor blade. But this one backs right off, so I settle in and think. How am I going to get evidence? Stoke’s an honor student and, like me, a criminology major. If he’s Megalo Don, he’s also experienced eluding the law. And dangerous.

  The man runs a red light and makes a left on Echo. The Lexus careening on two wheels, the guy shoots through another stop sign. I laugh. He can’t wait to unload me, under age jail bait and all. That lie works every time. It’s my small boobs and big innocent eyes. I can still pass for seventeen.

  So what evidence do I have that would help Aidan convict Stoke Farrel?

  None.

  Furthermore, other than my hunch about Stoke being Bubby, the kid I played with as a child, and who ate Julianna Short’s toe, how do I know for sure Robin isn’t Megalo Don? He’s begged me to trust him, and all I’ve done is suspect him of murder. But disloyal sister that I’ve been, I know Robin didn’t put that black plastic garbage bag with the girl’s shoulder in it inside my freezer, so Stoke had to. I pat my backpack wedged on the seat between me and Pervert.

  I feel myself softening toward Aidan, missing him.

  Should I call him?

  We’ll see. I need time. When I talk to him, I want to be in control of my feelings. Even though I’ve vowed to fly solo, I don’t know if I can. I wonder, after the way he made me feel when we made love, if I’ll ever be happy again without him.

  “Here,”I say, a block from Verbote Dental. “Let me out.”

  Pervert slides the Lexus to the curb and guns off before I can even close the car door. I peek at his business card, which I palmed from a box on his car seat, while he was listeni
ng to the“Big One.” He’s a lawyer.

  Chapter 41

  Alaina’s pissed. I get it in hind sight. I’d shown up. We went to bed. Next day, my brothers in blue showed up to arrest her brother, Robin.

  All unplanned. Or was it? Did I go to her apartment, hoping to get lucky, or did I go for the reason I told myself: to warn her?

  I shake my head. I can’t convince myself. How do I expect her to believe I didn’t use her so she’d roll over on her brother?

  I know she thinks so, but I didn’t.

  “Aidan, you are one lying bastard,”I tell myself. Sure, I went to her apartment to warn her about Megalo Don, but I kept telling myself I had no serious intention of sleeping with her. I barely know Alaina, except for what happened between us last night, but from the moment I first laid eyes on her, I had one thing in mind, and it had nothing to do with arresting her brother.

  Pulling into my parking space at Newport PD, I glance into my rear-view mirror. “You look rough, Hawks.” Pulling a piece of carpet fuzz from my chin, I grin. I haven’t had sex that wild since I was sixteen. It feels great to be Aidan Hawks this morning, even if I do have a homicide case trying to spiral out of control.

  “Damned if I’ll let it,”I say.

  I’d been sleeping soundly, after my and Alaina’s third or fourth romp—I lost track after we moved from the carpet in the hallway to her tiny bed—when my beeper went off. It was the only morning in six years I regretted being a detective. If I hadn’t had this damn meeting with Captain Meyers this morning, I’d be in Alaina’s bed right now, kissing her awake.

  But I’d scrambled dutifully out of her bed, grabbing my badge, guns, taser and cuffs, and then I’d flown into her postage stamp sized bathroom and dressed.

  Once NPD and Cincinnati officers showed up, all hell broke loose, so I was on the phone with Captain Meyers when I realized Alaina wasn’t in her apartment. Worried, I’d gone outside, where I spotted the black and whites, the FBI blues and then Newport’s squad cars converging on the street in front of Alaina’s apartment building. In seconds, my sleep deprived brain had awakened.

  “Detective Hawks, get your ass over to 19807 Clifton Avenue, Apartment B-4,”Captain Meyers had yelled into my phone.

  I was tempted to tell him,“I’m already here.”

  When Alaina rounded the corner of the building, she looked terrible, like she’d lost her best friend. “I’m sorry, Aidan,”she kept saying,“I can explain.”

  Why’d she keep apologizing? What the hell had she been trying to explain? I had no time to find out because the whole area, including her apartment and the Coca-Cola truck sitting outside, had been turned into a crime scene. The news that her brother was a suspect, that he might even be Megalo Don, had kicked me into high gear.

  Was it her brother driving the Coca-Cola truck that night in the alley behind Omar’s? Has she been part of the Megalo Don murders all along?

  The last thing I want to believe is that she’s involved, or that her brother, Robin Colby, is Megalo Don, but it’s my job to ask the tough questions. I’ll call her when I get the chance and straighten things out between us. For now, there’s no concrete evidence. None—as yet. I’ll meet with Meyers and the Feebs, see what they know. Maybe I can get a better idea of what’s going on.

  Pulling my exhausted but satisfied body from the Buick, I want nothing more than to get my eight o’clock with Captain Meyers over and then go sort out the facts. The half hour of sleep I had, after Alaina and I exhausted ourselves, isn’t cutting it.

  “You piece of shit!”

  I step back. DeeDee comes flying across the parking lot, storming around the front of my car. What the hell did she do? Park beside me intentionally so she could ambush me?

  “Whoa! DeeDee, what the hell is this?”

  She tosses my blue windbreaker at me. It lands like a parachute on my face and clings there until I pull it off. “Where’d you get this?”

  Wrong question, but it’s already out, and I can’t—and don’t wish to hide—the fact I’m the windbreaker’s owner.

  “How could you? Aidan, I can’t believe you’d sleep with the likes of her.”

  “What’s it any of your business who I sleep with?”

  Before locking my Buick, I toss the windbreaker inside, keeping an eye on DeeDee. She’s clearly pissed, but that makes two of us. I hate standing here listening to her emotional outburst.

  “Any of my business? You’re my partner.”

  She doesn’t back off, keeps coming at me, blue eyes drawn into a scorching gaze of hate. “It’s none of my business who you sleep with, but I thought since you’d asked me over tonight we had something—”

  Hellfire. I want to tell her that her outrage is out of proportion to what it reasonably should be, but recognizing an unhinged woman, a furious woman, I stay calm. She’s wearing a Baby Sig, a .40 caliber on that svelte hip.

  Never should allow rookies to have guns. They always opt for the biggest hogs they can find.

  Wait a minute. I take a second look. “Nice gun, but that’s not the heat you were packing when we ate breakfast at Arnee’s,”I say, trying—and failing—to distract her. “that’s not your service weapon.”

  “I got a new one, alright?”

  “Okay,”I say, wondering if she collects guns like some women do panties. “Listen, DeeDee, I’m sorry if you feel I misled you, but we’re both adults.”

  “One of us is,”she says. “Not you.”

  “Look, we’ve got a meeting—”

  I glance toward the NPD annex. Truth known, Captain Meyers and Wes are probably up on sixth floor, watching me take heat from DeeDee, and laughing.

  I angle my body toward my Buick’s front end to make myself a smaller target. If bullets start flying, maybe I can duck. A firefight in NPD’s parking lot won’t look too good, but DeeDee’s not displaying the usual tears of female anger; instead, she looks like an enraged killer. I catch her gaze and hold it, hoping I can use the psychology I learned earning my degree at King’s Point.

  “I only asked you to dinner, okay?”

  I didn’t ask you to marry me.

  She snorts.

  “I think you’ve become fixated on me. Sexually.”

  DeeDee snorts. “You’re an ass, a cold-hearted bastard, and the last man I’d get”—she’s practically spitting nails—“fixated on.”

  “I know, I know. You’re right,”I say, agreeing—afraid not to—and easing around the Buick’s front end. “So I’ve been told.”

  “For the record,”she says, closing the distance between us,“I don’t give a damn which whore you sleep with.”

  Hearing her call Alaina a whore makes me want to grab DeeDee and choke her, but ever the diplomat, I keep trying to calm her. “I’m glad you don’t care about who I sleep with, although I don’t think your behavior at the moment supports that. But for the record, Alaina’s no whore. She’s a nice girl—”

  DeeDee’s eyes narrow. For a second, I worry the gunfight I’m working to avoid is now a foregone conclusion. I’m a homicide cop, not a hostage negotiator. I’ve obviously said the wrong thing—again. By now, however, I know anything I say is going to be wrong.

  “That . . . girl,”she spits,“who you chose to fuck”—more spitting and hissing, undoing her obvious lie and revealing DeeDee’s jealousy—“is the sister of Megalo Don, the serial killer you’re supposed to be investigating for several homicides. Don’t you have any fucking professional ethics, Detective Hawks?”

  What am I doing arguing with a rookie? I take a threatening step toward her. “Are you accusing me of doing something unethical by sleeping with Alaina Colby?”

  “Yes. She’s a fucking witness for Christ’s sake. She’s also Megalo Don’s sister.”

  “I’m lead on this case, but I had no idea Robin Colby might be Megalo Don?”I ask, holding back a disgusted snort. I want to keep this discussion rational, a steadily increasing challenge.

  “Robin Colby’s a suspect, DeeDee
. No one’s offered any forensic evidence proving he’s Megalo Don.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty, right?”she says. “Who died and made you Captain America?”

  Captain America? I smile. “It fits.”

  “You stupid—”

  Why is DeeDee so damned angry? I made no promises.

  Understanding strikes me like a lightning bolt. Now that I’ve slept with Alaina, DeeDee knows I won’t be sharing myself with her. It’s got to be what’s pissing her off. I gaze at her. Dark circles cup her blue eyes. She’s had little or no sleep.

  “You’ve been spying on me, haven’t you? You tailed me last night. That’s how you know I’ve slept with Alaina.”

  She snorts. “Why would I do that?”

  I take another threatening step toward her. “Someone’s been tailing me for days,”I say. “Was it you? Did you hide in Alaina’s closet? Take pictures? Hmmm? Get your kinky jollies, did you?”

  “Fuck you.”

  And wouldn’t you love to?

  “Your snitch could be wrong about Robin Colby,”I say, risking a glance toward the NPD annex’s sixth floor window. If she decides to shoot me, I want witnesses. “Have you thought about that?”

  She shakes her head. “Wrong again. Evidence backs us up. He’s Megalo Don. Maybe you don’t want to believe Robin Colby’s our killer because you’re screwing his sister. Have you thought about that?”

  I don’t tell her I went to warn Alaina she could be Megalo’s next victim. “Megalo Don could also be just some nut case who’s got a bone to pick with Alaina or Robin.”

  “Then what is that dead girl’s shoulder doing in Alaina Colby’s refrigerator?” DeeDee’s blue eyes smolder. “Or . . . now that you’ve had a little of that Colby pussy, maybe you’re not inclined to think sheput it in there?”

  I almost laugh. DeeDee’s hidden her foul mouth, but now she’s showing her true colors. “DeeDee—”