by Sandra Owens
“That’s Peaches. Don’t know her real name, but she’s a regular over on Seventh Avenue and Seventy-Eighth Street.”
“In Liberty City?”
Spider nodded, his gaze on the TV. “Yeah. Always at that corner. She was a nice girl.”
“And you don’t know her real name?” he asked.
“Nope. She’s just Peaches.”
Although that didn’t help much, it gave them a little something to go on.
“Sometimes I’d give her a few dollars because she always looked hungry.”
More like she was strung out. “You know anything else about her? Where she lived? Who she was friends with?”
“Nope. She’s just Peaches.”
“Yeah, you already said that.”
Spider narrowed his eyes. “Why all the questions, Ace?”
Nate decided that Spider wasn’t as stupid as he pretended to be. “No reason. Just bothered me to think I might have seen her around.” He headed to the office to call Taylor.
“She’s not a regular around here,” Taylor said.
Josh nodded. “Yeah, someone would’ve recognized her by now if she was.”
“Where to next?” They’d started near downtown Miami, showing their murder victim’s artist rendering to everyone they came across. Taylor’s phone rang, and her heart skipped a beat at seeing Nate’s name on the screen.
“Hey,” she said.
“Any luck on an identification?”
“Well, hello to you, too.” He was always all business, and she couldn’t resist needling him at every opportunity. She smiled when she heard his sigh.
“Hello, Taylor.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” When Josh mouthed Nate? she nodded. “To answer your question, no luck on an identity yet.”
“I’ve got something for you. One of my customers recognized her from the news bulletin. Said she went by Peaches, and that she worked around Seventh Avenue and Seventy-Eighth Street in Liberty City.”
“That’s a start. We’ll head over there now.”
“Just be careful, okay?”
She chuckled. “It’s sweet that you’re worried about me.”
“I’m not sweet. Call me when you get home.”
“Will do.” No, he wasn’t sweet, but he was protective of those he cared for, which seemed to include her.
Nate was an intensely private man. She had no idea why he was so open with her, telling her things she wasn’t sure he shared with his brothers. What she did know was that the man had fascinated her since the day she’d met him.
For a good six or seven months after first reporting to the Miami field office, she’d been too afraid to even try to talk to him. But she’d find herself watching him, and as time had passed, she’d learned that underneath his daunting exterior was a man who cared deeply about justice, his brothers, and his team members.
First, she’d grown to respect him, and then over time, they’d become friends. After she’d been assigned to work with him behind the scenes on his undercover investigations, and they’d spent more time together, they’d somehow become best friends. That had surprised her, because he wasn’t the kind of man who—with the exception of his brothers—let anyone get too close. Why he’d let her in, she didn’t know.
She hadn’t meant for it to happen, but one day she’d looked at him and out of the clear blue, her heart had said, I love him. She might as well have fallen for Prince Harry for all the good it would do her. Nate might consider her his best friend, but he’d erected an impenetrable wall that she could only bang her head against. On one side, a close friendship was allowed, and on the other side was no man’s land—or, more accurately, no Taylor’s land.
Yet more than once, she’d caught him looking at her as if she were the proverbial glass of water to a man emerging from a barren desert. That heat directed at her in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t paying attention fed the hope that someday she could do the impossible and obliterate that wall.
There wasn’t any rule against dating a fellow agent, and there had been married agents at one time or another. Not that Nate would ever ask her out on a date, so Taylor wasn’t sure why she was thinking of the possibility that would ever happen.
“Where to?” Josh asked after they were in the car.
“Oh, um, Liberty City. Nate said one of his customers recognized her when they showed our artist rendering on TV. Her working name was Peaches.”
“Shouldn’t take us long to ID her, then.”
She hoped not. She was ready for a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a good book that would take her mind off their victims. They were women who’d had no one to care about them, but Taylor did. Her empathy came from having a mother who’d been a prostitute, from having grown up with other prostitutes babysitting her when her mom was working, and watching women she’d loved die because of the needle they’d stuck in their veins one too many times.
The only person who knew the depths of her sorrow was Nate. He understood why she was determined to catch the murderer. It was a miracle that she hadn’t ended up on the streets herself, and she probably would have if not for Rosie.
Rosita Manuela had taken in that frightened six-year-old girl after her mother had died. Overlooked by social services—fortunately, in Taylor’s opinion—Rosie had carted Taylor home with her after finding her crying over her mother’s body.
At least, that was what Rosie had told her. Taylor didn’t remember a thing from that night. But Rosie had always been evasive about exactly what had happened, still was, and it wasn’t until Taylor had joined the FBI and had searched for and found a police report that she’d learned her mother had been killed by one of her johns.
“Let’s see if we can get a name and get back to the car while it still has wheels,” Josh said, pulling to a stop at the corner their victim had worked.
Her trip down memory lane interrupted, Taylor glanced around, seeing the hostile stares of young men and women who didn’t have a chance for a better life. She wished each one of them could have a Rosie in their life. Of course, she and Josh were made as cops right away, so hopefully that would lend a little protection to the car.
“Keep an eye on the man in the red T-shirt, leaning against the wall. He’s carrying.”
Josh’s gaze scanned the group. “Probably not the only one.”
When they exited the car, Red T-shirt took off, followed by several of his friends. One girl and a few others held their ground; the girl’s eyes daring them to mess with her. Taylor stepped up to her, showing her badge.
“We’re not after anyone here, okay? Just want to show you a picture, see if you can give us a name.”
The girl smirked. “We ain’t helping no pigs.”
“And I don’t expect you to, but this woman is from around here.” She held out the artist rendering. “She went by Peaches.” Taylor saw recognition in the girl’s eyes.
“What she done?” a boy standing behind the girl said.
“She was killed. We’d like to let her family know, that’s all. Do you know her name?”
He exchanged a glance with the girl, as if asking permission to tell them. At her nod, he said, “Linda Harding. Showed up around here ’bout two months ago.” He pointed to an abandoned building across the street. “Slept there most nights.” With that said, the boy turned and walked away, the remaining kids trailing after him.
Taylor stood on the sidewalk next to Josh, both of them eyeing the building. “I so don’t want to go in there,” she said. Especially at night. She hated rats, a leftover phobia from her childhood, and she just bet that place was crawling with them.
“If she’s been missing for two days, whatever possessions she had are long gone by now.” Josh gave an exaggerated shudder. “God knows what vermin call that place home.”
All true, but they still had to check out the building. She’d lived in such places as a child, knew that the people who called abandoned buildings home were desperate, sometimes dangerous.
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br /> “We need backup.” Taylor called Nate. While they waited, she and Josh returned to the car, put on Kevlar vests, jackets with “FBI” emblazoned on the backs, headsets, and ball caps that would hopefully keep the spiders out of their hair. She wished she had a hazmat suit, to be honest.
After stuffing some small bills into her jacket pocket—a few dollars in the hands of people desperate to know where their next meal or fix would come from might get questions answered—she turned and faced her nightmare. The building seemed like a big black hole out of a Stephen King novel, ready to suck her back into a past she’d tried her best to forget.
CHAPTER FOUR
After Nate arrived with his brother, he walked over to Taylor. She was standing ramrod straight, and when she glanced at him, he didn’t like the apprehensive look in her eyes. Her gaze skittered away from him, focusing on the building across the street.
Stopping next to her, he put a hand on her shoulder. “That building?” He didn’t miss that as she leaned into his touch, the tense muscles under his palm relaxed a little.
“Yeah. Peaches was the working name for Linda Harding, and that was what she called home.” She shuddered. “I hate rats. I can remember hearing them scurrying around on the floor at night and being afraid they’d climb in my bed.”
So her trepidation was because of childhood memories. Had she lived in places like that?
“Hope the thing doesn’t fall down on our heads,” Alex muttered as he and Josh joined them.
The place did look like it might fall in on itself at any moment. Why hadn’t the city condemned it and torn it down? At some point in the past, there had been a fire on the top floor, resulting in a corner of the roof missing.
“Well, at least it’s only three stories we have to search,” Nate said. “Alex, you and Josh start at the top. Taylor and I will work our way up.” He exchanged a look with his brother, Alex immediately understanding that something was going on with Taylor.
“Anyone else shaking in their boots at the thought of going in there, or am I the only wuss?” Alex said.
Nate gave him a slight dip of his chin in approval. Alex had a way of making fun of himself that eased tensions.
“Can’t say I’m excited about it.” Josh flipped the switch on his headset. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You guys are wimps,” Taylor said, resolutely marching toward the building.
“Is she going to be okay?” Alex quietly asked after both Josh and Taylor were out of earshot.
“I’ll make sure of it.” Nate slapped his brother on the back, then jogged to Taylor. Alex didn’t know of Taylor’s childhood, but his baby brother was observant enough to pick up on her tension and would probably have questions later. It was her story to tell, when and if she wanted anyone else to know.
They both activated their headsets and turned on their flashlights. As they stepped inside the building, Nate stayed next to Taylor, letting his arm brush hers, a reminder that he was with her. It took a good twenty minutes to clear the bottom floor. As they headed up the stairs, something small and furry raced ahead of them.
“Damn rats,” Taylor said, again shuddering.
Nate put his hand on her lower back, following her up. Normally, he wouldn’t touch her during a search, but he sensed she needed reassurance that he was there. Taylor Collins was one of the best agents he’d ever worked with. She was highly trained, kept herself in excellent shape, and had a brain she knew how to use.
Her anxiety had nothing to do with being incapable of doing her job. It was the memories assaulting her mind that had her so on edge. He wished he could take them away, erase all the bad in her past. Since he couldn’t do that, he’d do the one thing he could. Be here for her, while not making her feel incompetent.
“There’s someone sleeping in that corner.” She aimed her flashlight on a filthy mattress.
Nate followed her, and when they were close enough, he saw two girls huddled together as they slept. He guessed one to be in her early teens and the other to be a year or two younger, sisters from the looks of them. Too young to be alone and unprotected. Next to the bed were a half-full jar of peanut butter and an almost-empty package of saltine crackers.
Although his mother had left them, and his father was a son of a bitch who’d beaten them for the least offense, he and his brothers had grown up with a roof over their heads, and sometimes the old man had actually brought food home.
Taylor knelt beside the mattress, and when she gently brushed the hair away from the face of one of the girls, Nate swallowed past the lump in his throat. Had this been Taylor’s life until Rosie had taken her away?
“Sweetheart, wake up,” she said to the older of the two, lightly shaking her arm.
The girl shot up, rapidly blinking as she focused on them. Her eyes widened, she scooted in front of her sister—shielding her from view—and pulled a knife from under the one pillow they both shared. She jabbed her weapon at them.
“Easy, sweetie,” Taylor said in a soft voice. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
The girl darted her gaze to Nate. “You try to touch us, I’ll stab you.”
Following Taylor’s example, he knelt, staying at the end of the mattress. “I’m not going to touch you or your sister. We’re here to help you.”
The girl glared at him. “Yeah, like I haven’t heard that one before.”
Taylor opened her jacket, letting the girl see her gun. “If he tries to touch you, I’ll shoot him. What’s your name?”
“You the cops?”
“My name’s Taylor, and we’re with the FBI.” When the girl’s eyes skittered over to him, Taylor said, “That’s Nate. I promise that he won’t hurt you.”
Taylor glanced at him, and he got her message loud and clear. She wasn’t about to leave these two girls behind. Not surprised, he nodded. There was no way they could let these girls stay here, but they needed to know if their mother or father was around. You couldn’t just go and take someone’s kids.
“What’s your name?” Taylor asked again.
“Mellie.”
The younger girl sat up, and at seeing Nate at the end of her bed, she frowned. “Is he here for Mama?”
So their mother was a prostitute. If this was where Linda Harding called home, their mother would probably know her.
“Mellie, where is your mother?” Taylor said.
The girl pressed her lips together, refusing to answer. Their mother was probably in some rent-by-the-hour motel room with a john. Nate had to respect the girl’s loyalty.
Taylor edged onto the mattress. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me. I’m going to show you a picture. Do you know this woman?” She handed the oldest girl the artist rendering.
“Why do you have a picture of our mama?” the youngest said, peering over her sister’s shoulder.
“Shut up, Becky!” Mellie said.
Well, shit. Linda Harding had children.
“Third floor’s clear,” Alex said in his ear.
“I’ll give you a minute with them,” Nate told Taylor, then walked to the opposite wall. “Come down to the second floor. Taylor and I found Linda Harding’s daughters. We’re in the southeast corner, but I think there’re some others sleeping in some of these rooms. You two check them out, make sure no one bothers us.”
“Roger.”
Next, he called Child Protective Services, arranging for a social worker to meet them in an hour at the police station. Taylor walked to him as he finished the call.
“They haven’t seen their mother in three days. Mellie said she sometimes disappears for days at a time but that she always comes back.” She glanced over at the girls. “I haven’t told them she’s dead.”
He hated the tremble in her voice. “Let’s get them out of here before you tell them.”
“I wish . . .”
“You can’t take them home with you, Taylor.”
“I was thinking just for one night before they get lost in the system.”
“Yeah, I know.” She swiped at her other cheek with her fist, then inhaled a deep breath. “They’re not going to want to leave. They think she’s coming back any time now.”
“What would someone have had to say to you to get you to go with them?”
“I don’t know. Rosie didn’t give me a choice. She just dragged me home with her.”
“Then I guess we don’t give them a choice.” He nodded at Alex and Josh as they walked up. “All good?”
“Yeah. An old man threatened to gut us if we didn’t leave him alone,” Alex said. “In another room, a couple getting it on asked if we wanted to stay and watch.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’m traumatized for life.”
Josh grinned. “Yeah, I need a cigarette and a beer now,” he said, getting a laugh from Taylor. He lifted his chin toward the girls huddling on the mattress. “What’s the plan?”
“Someone from Child Protective Services is meeting us at the police station. Taylor wants to wait until we get them away from here to tell them their mother’s never coming back.”
Nate was glad to see Taylor laughing. Josh and Alex could always bring a grin to her face or make her laugh; him, not so much. Yet another reason he refused to give in to his desire for her. She needed a man who could make her happy, not one who had never once made her laugh. He walked back to the girls.
Taylor passed him, kneeling on the mattress. “Mellie, we’re going to find a safe place for you and Becky to stay.”
The girl shook her head. “No, we have to wait here for Mama.”
“Your mother would want both of you to trust Taylor,” Alex said, squatting next to Taylor. “What if I wrote a note telling her where to find you?” He glanced at the jar of peanut butter. “While you’re waiting for her, we’ll have some dinner. How does a cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake sound?”
“I want a cheeseburger and milkshake,” Becky said. She drummed her hands on her sister’s back. “Cheeseburger. Cheeseburger. Cheeseburger,” she chanted.
Mellie reached behind her, grabbing Becky’s fingers. “Stop it. Mama said we’re not supposed to leave.”