by Kylie Brant
She pulled up her files, smiled at the pop-up header. BENNY’S SECURE-IT ELECTRONIC VAULT: YOU’RE WELCOME! Her friend could make a fortune off his encryption/decryption know-how, but instead preferred to spend most of his time creating increasingly complex video games. He assured her the market for his products was endless. She’d had to take his word for it. She wouldn’t know an Xbox from a Gameboy.
She clicked on the file entitled Tattoo. When she’d first gotten out of the academy, she’d combed the Department of Justice’s Missing Person Clearinghouse for pictures and descriptions that matched either her or the man she’d killed in L.A. There were dozens of informal registries available online, as well, but after three years she’d finally admitted the truth: whoever she’d been in her former life hadn’t been missed. And apparently neither had the men who’d been sent to kill her. She’d tucked away the desolation that had occurred at the thought and focused on other leads.
Ria had long thought that the identifying mark shared by her and the two assassins was the single best clue to her identity. She’d recognized the intricately detailed image of Pegasus and concentrated a great deal of time on what the tattoo might mean. But chasing that particular lead, too, had proved fruitless.
Aside from the figure in mythology and the constellation by the name, there were Pegasus references to sailboat racing, change systems, software, imaging tools, direct TV, opera and satellite boosters. The companies and products bearing the name were infinite. Trying to find any link at all between her and one of the references had failed.
Nor had she been able to find any artist’s rendering that matched the picture on her ankle. When she’d switched her focus to tattoo artists themselves, she’d known it would be a lengthy process. There were an estimated ten thousand in the United States alone. Ria had looked up the licensed designers and sent them copies of the rendering, without finding a match.
Of course, some states didn’t require licensing and many tattooists operated without one. Learning that many left the profession after a few years had underscored the futility of her search. There wasn’t even a way to ascertain if she’d gotten the tattoo in the States.
But three months ago she’d found a lead that had sparked a new level of excitement. She’d been working for the DPD when an APB had come across the computers for an escaped convict with family in the Denver area. The name and accompanying photo hadn’t rung any bells for Ria, but her attention had been caught by the description and picture of his distinguishing marks. One had been a tattoo of a winged horse. It had been crude, the detail not nearly identical to hers, but close. Far closer than any others she’d seen.
He’d eventually been apprehended in Colorado Springs. She’d contacted the arresting officer, and at her request he’d elicited from the prisoner the origin of the tattoo—a prison artist in the Donaldson Correctional Facility, a maximum-security prison. Tracking down the man had brought her to Alabama, and led to taking this job.
And tomorrow, she’d finally talk to the artist for the first time. He’d proven elusive and decidedly uncooperative to date, but she’d used her position to arrange a private interview with him at the prison. Whatever it took, she was going to get him to tell her what he knew, if anything.
Her heart kicked up at the thought, and she schooled herself to stay calm. She’d been disappointed too many times in the past by promising leads that ended up fizzling. But despite her best attempts, she couldn’t downplay the anticipation curling through her. Tomorrow’s meeting would probably prove to be yet another dead end. But there was a distant possibility that it might supply her with some of the answers she’d sought for so long.
She scrolled through the information she’d compiled. She might never know which of the numerous references to Pegasus was the connection to the tattoo she bore, but the one she always came back to was the myth. Her favorite variation on the legend identified the famous winged horse, who used to carry lightning and thunder for Zeus, as the son of Poseidon and the Gorgon Medusa.
Staring at the screen, she reread the legend again. She had to keep believing that somewhere the answers to her past existed. And when she discovered the truth, there would be a reckoning.
This time, she’d be the messenger wreaking thunder and lightning on the person responsible for her situation, and for Luz’s death.
The thirst for vengeance was a familiar one. But in the next moment a diverting image of Jake Tarrance flashed through her mind, and a sliver of remorse pierced her. There wasn’t room in her life for anything, for anyone, but her search. There would be no reason on earth for her to ever see the man again. But try as she might, she couldn’t help regretting that.
Chapter 3
“You’ve been dodging my calls.”
Because the truth in the accusation was irrefutable, Ria didn’t bother denying it. Instead, she stared calmly at the county commissioner and tried not to focus on his physical similarity to Elmer Fudd. It wouldn’t do to antagonize the man, or to underestimate him. She already knew he was a savvy politician, and the driving force behind her predecessor’s resignation.
“After the raid yesterday we were pretty busy with booking. It was a fairly large bust. By the time the entire place had been searched we found nearly five and a half pounds of crystal meth.” Because his ire still didn’t seem dampened, she added for effect, “Street value would be upwards of a million.”
The man blinked his slightly protruding brown eyes, and it took him a moment to answer. “Dollars?” His voice squeaked disbelievingly. At her nod, he lunged across her desk, grasped her hand to shake it vigorously. “Good job, Sheriff. Damn good job. You’ve outdone yourself this time.” Face wreathed in smiles, he released her to pump his fist in the air. “Damn, this feels good. If you added up all the busts that no-good Winston made in the fourteen years he held office, you wouldn’t come up with half that amount. That man was mightily be-liked, but he was all vine, no taters. Wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he was getting paid off to look the other way.”
Privately, Ria was inclined to agree. From the amount of activity she and her deputies had detected in the last few weeks, she guessed her predecessor had either been deliberately blind or criminally negligent. Of course, the county had gone without a sheriff for two months after Croat had engineered the man’s resignation, among very similar accusations, but the drug activity hadn’t sprung up over night.
“Once we get this to the DEA, our share should be a hundred grand. The office could sure use a couple of drug dogs.” Given the man’s jovial mood, she figured timing for the request would never be better. “Once we get them, their handlers will require training, as well. I think it’d be a real benefit to the efforts of our department.”
“Drug dogs, huh?” Croat pulled at his bottom lip. She knew he was already thinking of the photo ops the animals would offer. “You might be on to something there, Sheriff. I’ll mention it to the other commissioners. I promised to call them as soon as we got the press conference lined up. Might have to expand on that, though. With a haul this big, I’m thinking we could interest the Birmingham News in the story. Maybe the TV stations, too.”
With effort, Ria kept the dread his words elicited from sounding in her voice. “It’s a big bust. I’m sure you’d get a news crew here.” She spun her chair to face him as he paced across her small office. “Probably make our job harder, but chances are we’ve already made the biggest raids we’re going to, anyway.”
Eldon stopped in midstride and sent a shrewd look her way. “How do you figure that?”
Affecting a shrug, she said, “I’m not going to pretend I wouldn’t welcome the attention for the job my deputies and I have been doing. But we’ve been hitting the manufacturers hard. Media just broadcasts that fact. Probably drive the rest of them further underground, make it more difficult for us to get a handle on them.”
The man waved away her argument. “More likely they’ll hightail it right out of the county, and that’s what we want, isn�
��t it? Make these lowlifes realize we won’t stand for that kind of criminal activity in Fenton County.”
The man’s optimism had Ria smiling. “The only thing that will convince them to move their operation is if the risk of exposure or their expenses grow too great. These guys gravitate to rural counties like this one because they can operate in relative isolation.”
She lifted a shoulder again, as if it didn’t make any difference to her. “It’s your call. Although if you wanted to hold off making a big announcement, say, for six months or so, we’d have more impressive numbers to report, as well as some new equipment to show off. Might make more of a splash. Maybe even warrant national air time.”
Clearly torn, Croat said, “National, huh? That’d be something, wouldn’t it? Maybe I’ll discuss this further with the other commissioners. They’re going to be all fired up about this latest news, no doubt about it. A million dollars. Huh.”
Wisely, Ria decided against pushing further. She rose. “Just let me know what you decide. I’ll have the report done in a couple hours, and have Marlyss send you a copy. I’ve got business at the Donaldson Correctional Facility this afternoon. Won’t be in again until tomorrow.”
He nodded absently as he followed her to the door. “Well, that’s good then. So how are you finding the help here?”
With little effort, she went along with his change of topic. “I have no complaints.” None, at least, that she’d voice aloud. Any problems she had with the deputies, Ralston in particular, she’d handle herself. She’d been in law enforcement long enough to know that department dynamics were best managed without involving outsiders.
“Good, good. We have a saying ’round these parts, that a new broom sweeps clean, but an old one knows where all the dirt is.”
Ria had quickly found upon her arrival in town that some of the locals had a saying for just about everything. Nevertheless, she could agree with the sentiment. It was because of her men’s prior undercover work that she’d been able to put these busts together so quickly. “I was able to hit the ground running because of the knowledge and training of the deputies. I don’t doubt that we’ll continue to work well enough together.” But if they didn’t, she wouldn’t be airing their troubles to the county commissioners.
Still the man hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “Reason I mention it is we had an individual who was vying to be appointed in Winston’s place. Won’t mention him by name, but I just wanted to be sure he didn’t take a distant turn with you.”
He had to be talking about Ralston. That scenario would certainly explain his attitude. “I’ve been pleased with the professionalism of this department,” she said evenly. “I expect it to continue.”
Croat gave a short nod, plainly relieved. “Good. I’ll leave you to your work then.”
As he exited she went back to the computer and finished completing the report on the raid, her mind only half on her work. There would be little else she could do to avoid the media spotlight if Croat and the others decided to go ahead with a big announcement.
She calmed the tension in her stomach. It was doubtful she’d be recognized even if anyone was still looking. She’d taken pains to alter her appearance, to match it to the woman whose identity she’d adopted six years ago. She’d dyed her hair and grown it out, donned green contacts and with the artful application of makeup made subtle alterations to the shape of her eyes and face. For all intents and purposes she was Rianna Kingsley. At least on the outside.
It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that the databases she needed to comb for answers were easily accessible to law enforcement personnel. The killing in Los Angeles had assured her that despite whatever she might be guilty of, her fingerprints weren’t on file in the justice system. It was enough to convince her that inserting herself in law enforcement was the most effective way to continue her search.
Her decision had limited her choices for a new identity. Documents could be faked, but background checks couldn’t. It wasn’t enough for her to present ID supporting her new name. She had to be able to present people who knew her.
Since that hadn’t been possible, she’d needed to find someone with an identity she could assume.
Pushing her chair back, she pressed a command on the keyboard and three copies of the report began printing out. Not for the first time, she wondered about the real Rianna Kingsley. Benny had hacked into the University of Iowa student admission files and she had pored over them, until she’d found one that suited. The young woman had been a senior at the college, the product of foster homes in Illinois, with no relatives she had contact with. Their height and age had matched well enough. From there it was a relatively simple matter to befriend her, and learn the pertinent information she’d be expected to know.
She’d gone to Colorado to establish the residency that would be a prerequisite to her admission to the academy there. But she’d kept track of the real Rianna. It wouldn’t do to have the woman show up in the same state she was in. But at last check she’d married and was residing in Florida. Perhaps the woman had at last found a family she could call her own.
The new Rianna Kingsley was still, for all intents, an orphan.
Separating the pages as they came out of the printer, she clipped the copies together and slipped one into a file folder. It hadn’t seemed as odd as it should have to adopt the identity of a woman who was, for the most part, on her own. There was a solitary core inside Ria that made her think she was used to it.
Hearing a commotion in the hallway, she grabbed the reports and headed to the door. The sheriff’s office, rather than being in the century-old courthouse in the town square, was a relatively new, one-level brick building on the northeastern edge of town. The county jail adjoined the offices and boasted top-of-the-line security systems, with a sixty-prisoner capacity, in addition to another half-dozen special management cells. She’d been pleasantly surprised by the first-rate facility and equipment in the department, but as Croat was fond of boasting, no money had been spared to make the county a premiere law enforcement facility.
A couple of years ago Fenton had even joined forces with two neighboring counties and built their own small forensics lab, where less complicated crime scene evidence could be processed far more quickly than at the regional labs in the state. Unfortunately for the previous sheriff, he’d failed to live up to the expectations that had accompanied the expansions.
Rianna handed the reports to Marlyss. “Have this folder sent over to the commissioners. Eldon is expecting it.”
The woman beamed a smile at her and took the reports, placing the folder in a manila envelope. “I’ll take care of it right away, Sheriff.”
Ria detected a degree of warmth in her voice that had been absent up to today. Apparently approving of the restaurant Marlyss had suggested had helped soften the woman toward her.
“What’s going on? I heard voices out here.”
The secretary jerked her head toward a closed door. “Got some bail bondsmen inside. Simpson took them to the intake desk. Looks like most of that lot ya’ll brought in yesterday is ’bout to get sprung.”
“Judge Rivers must have come in early this morning.” The man wasn’t known for keeping the strictest hours, a fact Rianna still wasn’t accustomed to.
“More than likely he’s got a date this afternoon with his favorite fishing hole and didn’t want work to interfere.” While she spoke, Marlyss efficiently got up and filed the two extra copies of the report. “He gets flustrated if a day goes by without him catching a mess of catfish to brag on.”
“I think I’ll check things out,” Rianna said, heading toward the door to the intake facility. When she opened it she saw immediately that the waiting area was filled. She recognized a couple of local defense attorneys at the counter. One was arguing with a bored looking jailer, while the other glanced at his watch impatiently. The other occupants of the room must be the bondsmen Marlyss had spoken about. None of them looked familiar.
There was
another man standing at the far end of the counter with his back toward her, counting out some bills for the clerk. Ria’s brows rose. Even from this distance, she could see that the size of the wad he was holding was impressive. In Denver she’d witnessed people coming into the station to post bail with Baggies stuffed with cash. Cynically, she wondered if the money stemmed from the sale of drugs similar to those confiscated in the raid. Sometimes justice seemed like a vicious circle.
The sight of the prisoner preceding Deputy Simpson down the hallway diverted her attention. It was the large man who had gotten away from Ralston yesterday, the one who had slammed his head against her cheekbone. Boster. His assault had given her a handy explanation for her nose’s slight swelling, as well. She’d made a point of adding resisting arrest to the charges against him. With any luck, that had added significantly to his bail.
The man caught sight of her and slowed, sending her an insolent smirk. “Nice bruises, Sheriff. Guess you met up with someone bigger and tougher than you.”
“Nope. Just a scumbag drug dealer who’s going to be a real popular bunkmate at the state pen.”
That wiped the smile from Boster’s face. “Well, I ain’t there yet, am I? My lawyer will make sure I never do a day of time, so don’t…” His words tapered off as his gaze swept the area, and his color abruptly receded. He stopped dead in his tracks, causing Simpson to nudge him forward again.
“Jake?” he croaked disbelievingly. “I mean…Mr. Tarrance. How did you…who called you?”
She went still at the name. Something about the stranger at the counter struck a belated chord of familiarity. With dread circling, she turned in the direction Boster was staring, and found her eyes caught by pale blue ones that sent a shiver of remembered pleasure skittering down her spine.