by Robin Perini
Neil grabbed Deb by the arm. “You can’t go any closer. You’ll contaminate the scene. They’re still marking evidence and shooting stills. Not to mention taking molds of shoe and tire prints. This is a huge area to process.”
The winter grass shifted in the wind, but it couldn’t hide the coppery stench. Deb gagged, all color leaching from her cheeks. “Then why did I come?”
Wexler held out a photo. “To start with, can you identify your sister from this?”
Deb grabbed the picture and viewed the nude body. “Where’s the face? Her hair? Why is the photo cropped just below her neck like that? Let me see down there. How am I supposed to know if it’s Ashley?”
“You don’t want to view the body if you don’t have to, Ms. Lansing. We haven’t found her head. Or her hands,” Neil muttered, barely able to look at her.
Deb put a hand to her mouth, but her cry of anguish still escaped.
Gabe took the picture from her and peered at the truncated body, twisted, mangled, and partially wrapped in a dirty, blood-stained sheet. Contusions everywhere. Barely recognizable, except . . . He looked closer. “Is that a tattoo on her ankle?”
“Yes,” Neil replied. “The number eighty-eight.”
Deb let out a choked sob and fell to her knees. “Ashley doesn’t have a tattoo. She’s terrified of needles. It’s not her.” She buried her head in her hands. “It’s not Ashley.”
Gabe knelt on the ground and pulled Deb into his arms. He met Neil’s gaze.
The detective patted Deb’s back, then turned away. “Thank you for coming. I’m glad it’s not your sister. We’ll work on identifying the girl. Her family needs to know.”
“Eighty-eight.” Deb suddenly stiffened. “Oh, no.”
Her knees shook, but she rose to her feet. “I just realized who it is,” Deb said, her voice choked. “It’s the girl Mylo and Justin played Point of Entry with. Her name is Britney Saunders. She disappeared, but Mylo sent Gabe a photo.”
Gabe yanked out his cell phone and started pressing buttons.
Deb moved closer to look at the images. “I remember Ashley mentioning the tattoo. She thought it was cool, but she just couldn’t work up the courage.”
A smiling face stared at Gabe from the screen. The picture of Britney with her family. Sure enough, when he zoomed in, those eights peeked out above her shoes. He held up the phone to Neil. “This is how she looked the day she disappeared. Red sweater, blue jeans, black jacket, and running shoes.”
Neil called over one of the forensics team to bring him the evidence bags. With gloved hands, the tech held each item open in turn, accounting for every clothing article that had been dumped several hundred feet away from the body.
“Looks like we’ve got our ID,” Neil said, his expression solemn. “Colorado Springs PD will notify her parents.”
Gabe shook his head. He’d met Britney’s folks. Nice people. They didn’t deserve this. No one did. He glanced over at the body bag that held what was left of Britney Saunders. Whoever had decapitated that young girl was either sadistic or they had no soul.
“Detective Wexler, we found something.” The evidence tech ran down the hill, another bag in his gloved hand.
“What is it?” Neil demanded.
“A cell phone. The glass is cracked, but it still has power.”
Gabe crowded in. Very carefully, the tech removed the phone and, using a tiny probe, pressed the keys to reveal the owner.
“It’s Mylo’s,” Gabe said, swallowing the guilt choking his throat. He looked over at Deb. “He tried to call me. Left me a message he was meeting Britney, and I had the damned phone off.”
“It’s not your fault—”
“Then whose is it?” Gabe said. How was he going to look himself in the mirror? That kid had believed in him.
Gabe played Neil and her Mylo’s message.
“Would he have set this up?” the detective asked. “Would Mylo have killed Britney?”
“No way. You heard him. He was scared. He’s the dorky kid you saw in that video clip I gave you. Can you see him attacking anyone?”
“Then where is he?” Deb scanned the surroundings. “I don’t see any sign of him or his car.”
Neil frowned. “From the scuffle that took place around the grave, I think his name should be added to the list of other kids who are missing.”
“Get inside.”
Sly shoved Ernie into Jeff Gasmerati’s office. Ernie pitched to the ground, his injured leg giving way. His nose hit the hard wood and he doubled over in pain. God, how had Sly found him so fast?
Ernie rolled onto his back and looked up into Jeff’s cold expression.
“Ernie, Ernie, Ernie. I thought you were family.”
Oh God. This was it. They’d found out. He couldn’t stop shaking. “P-please—”
“Shut up.” Sly grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground.
Ernie choked and Sly slammed him into a wooden chair at the edge of the room. He secured his wrists and feet, and Ernie felt warm liquid flowing down his pants leg.
Sly gave him a grin. “I figured you for a coward.” He turned to Jeff. “He’s ready, boss.”
Jeff strode across the room, his Gucci suit crisp. He bent toward Ernie and wrinkled his nose. “You been hiding in a garbage can, Rattori?”
Ernie nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s where I found him,” Sly said, “after he went out the window of the hotel trying to avoid this discussion.”
“Not very cooperative, Ernie.” Jeff pulled out his revolver. An old Colt .45.
The cold barrel slid up Ernie’s cheek to his temple and pressed against his head.
“I hear you’ve been talking, Ernie. A lot.”
Ernie squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t tell him anything. Don’t tell him anything. He doesn’t know the truth or you’d be dead.
The pressure increased against the side of his head.
The hammer clicked.
The gun didn’t go off.
Jeff chuckled and Ernie opened his eyes. “See, Ernie, I’m an honorable man. I’m willing to give you a chance to make it up to me. You know things. You’ve worked for me a long time.”
Ernie nodded. “Y-yes, sir.”
“Hand me the machete, Sly,” Jeff said with a smile. “And bring the torch.”
The man carried it over. Jeff ran his thumb across the blade. Blood pooled on his finger. He dabbed the cut with a crisp, white handkerchief, then stuffed it in his pocket. “I’ll ask you again. What did you tell Montgomery?”
Ernie swallowed.
Jeff made a tsking sound.
With a swish, he brought down the machete.
Ernie’s hand fell to the ground.
Pain sliced up Ernie’s arm. He screamed. Blood poured from the wound.
Sly loosely wrapped the stump in a towel.
Ernie’s entire body screeched with pain. He lifted his head.
“You betrayed me.” Jeff pressed down on the open wound.
Spots of light dance in front of Ernie’s eyes. He wanted to pass out. He prayed to pass out.
“Tell me.”
“Grace O’Sullivan,” Ernie panted through gritted teeth. “R-Russians.”
“See, wasn’t that easy?” Jeff turned his back. “Finish it.”
Sly lit the torch and grabbed Ernie’s arm, then shook off the towel.
Seconds later, Ernie’s world went black.
Ashley stared at the computer monitor, but she couldn’t think. She squirmed in her seat. She needed a bathroom, and she hated asking. She hated they controlled everything she did.
One quick glance and she eyed her guardian of the day.
The redheaded guy. If she could have avoided going to the bathroom she would have. Finally, she broke down and asked. He gave her a smar
my grin and told her to wait.
An hour later, he dragged her into the hall.
If he tried to come in the bathroom with her, she’d castrate him. Maybe she could break the mirror, grab a shard, and really do it?
“Move it, Lansing.” He shoved her in the back, making her stagger.
She scowled at him. “I could walk faster if you took me to the restroom when I first asked you.”
“Oh, is the little baby going to wet her pants?” he taunted.
Ashley clenched her teeth and turned back around. The mirror idea was looking better and better all the time.
Mop boy—Floyd—was cleaning out one of the bathroom stalls when they got there.
“Hey, pansy, get out of the ladies’ room. She’s got to use it.”
Floyd poked his head out of the stall, looked up at the guard. “Sure. Give me a sec.” He slammed the toilet seat down, rustled around a little, then walked out. “I’m not done cleaning the whole bathroom yet,” he said, shoving his mop bucket in front of the second stall, leaving the one he’d just cleaned as the only one available. “I’ll be outside.”
The red-haired guy followed, glanced in the stall, then stood back.
As Floyd passed Ashley, his eyes flicked in the direction of the stall, then he winked. “There should be enough toilet paper. If not, you’ll find an extra roll on the tank.”
Ashley struggled to control her mystified expression. What was that all about? How many boys her age discussed toilet paper with girls?
“Hurry up, blondie. I haven’t got all day to be parading you around. You have work to do. I ain’t gettin’ the crap beat outta me like Niko, so move it.” He shoved past her, almost knocking her into the wall.
“You are such a gentleman.”
He grabbed her chin and yanked her face to within inches of his. “Watch it, sweetheart, or I’ll show you just how wrong you are.” With that, he pushed her away and shut the bathroom door.
Shuddering, Ashley entered the stall and looked around. Okay, that was weird. There was plenty of paper left on the roll. Why had Floyd mentioned the one on the tank?
She stilled. The paper wrap on the roll set on the tank had been disturbed. She grabbed it. Floyd had tucked a note inside. She clutched the paper tight and sat down to read it.
Mainframe: Grid C shuts down that corridor and C2 exit. Set timer for 10:30 p.m. Security bypass lasts thirty min. Get out. Get help. Justin and Dave going, too. Tomorrow night. 10:45 p.m. Don’t fail.
The main bathroom door slammed open. “What’s taking you so long? Do I need to come in there?”
“Sorry, my time of the month. Takes a little longer,” she lied, praying they wouldn’t check. Oh God, what if they did?
“That’s disgusting.” The guard slammed the door.
Ashley memorized the note, tore it into pieces, did her business, then flushed the toilet. They would escape and bring back help.
Thanks, Mop Boy Floyd. She soaped her hands and rinsed them. You’ll have your justice for Fletcher. These bastards will pay for everything they’ve done.
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
DEB STARED OUT the front of the SUV while Gabe drove back to Denver. She couldn’t block the images of Britney’s body from her mind, couldn’t stop the ache low in her gut at the thought of what her sister could be going through. But Ashley was a fighter. Like everyone else in their family. She’d do whatever it took to survive. Deb had to believe that.
Her phone buzzed, and just the sound caused her heart to lurch. She glanced at the number, then pressed her hand against her stomach. “Hello, Father.”
“What the hell is this BS that Ashley is missing?” Her father’s voice boomed out of the phone, no speakerphone needed. “I left her in your care. How can she be missing from a military academy? They barely let cadets off the grounds.”
She was afraid. She wanted to see me.
The truth hurt, so Deb settled for the facts.
“She was on her way back to the Academy. The police found the car she borrowed abandoned at a bus station.”
“Well, they damn well better find her, too.” Her father sounded every inch the general. “Tell me what happened!”
Deb forced her voice to remain steady. She recognized his rage and didn’t want to push it. She might be called the Admiral, but, because of his volatile temper, he was often referred to as The Bastard General, among other, less polite things. The name fit.
She gave her father the facts, just the facts, including the discovery of Britney’s body.
“This girl played some stupid game with the same kids as Ashley and now she’s dead?” he barked. “What the hell is going on over there?”
Deb held the phone away from her ear. “Gabe suspects all four members of Ashley’s team are missing.”
“Who’s Gabe? He the Homicide detective?”
How did she explain Gabe? What he’d meant to her efforts. Without him, the police would still think Ashley had run away. She chanced a glance his way. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. He met her gaze, offering with his eyes to step in. She shook her head and shifted away from him, staring out the passenger-side window.
“He’s someone . . . helping me with the investigation.”
“I caught that hesitation. You two shacking up or something?”
She wished. The thought whizzed through her head and she cleared her throat. “No.”
“Good. I don’t need you screwing around while your sister’s missing. You find her. You hear me?” Disdain laced every word.
“I’m doing the best I can, Father.”
“Yeah, well, we both know that your best isn’t always good enough.”
The pain came too swift, like a dagger buried deep. She didn’t need the reminder. Memories of the soldier crying out to her to bring the helicopter back peppered her mind. His name. Tate Tinsley. He’d had a mother, a father, two sisters, and a brother. A wife and three kids.
She couldn’t speak, just gripped the phone tighter.
Gabe reached across the seat and grabbed her free hand. He threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed. Half of her wanted to pull away and curl up in a tiny ball. The other half wanted to hand him the phone.
She resisted both.
“The Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office has a detective on the case.” She struggled with each word. “They’re working with the Colorado Springs Police Department. They’re doing everything they can.”
“They could always do more. I’m stuck in Afghanistan, Deborah. Can’t get leave.”
Code for something big was going on—more important than his family.
“You keep your mind on your business. Stay after them. Stay in their face. And don’t screw up again.”
Her father ended the call.
Deb lowered the phone from her ear, the cell slipping from her shaking hand.
She looked over at Gabe, then down at their entwined hands. He squeezed hers tight, and she let him. She just prayed he didn’t ask her to explain.
Even out the corner of his eye, Gabe could see her taking her father’s words inside. He would love to reach through the phone and pound some sense into the SOB. The guy seemed to relish cutting Deb down—and somehow Gabe knew it wasn’t because the General was worried about Ashley.
Gnawing on how to comfort her, Gabe turned the corner and headed the SUV back to his place. What could he say? “Your father—”
“Don’t,” Deb said quietly. “Don’t say anything.” She stared down at her hands and didn’t say a word. “He is what he is.”
“You know he’s wrong.”
“Is he?” Deb leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. “It’s my fault she’s out there. She’s my responsibility and no one else’s.”
“We’r
e going to find her.” Even to himself the words sounded too pat. They were far from locating Ashley.
They both knew it. And neither wanted to admit it.
She tilted her head to the side and opened bloodshot eyes. The bruise had worsened, but that wasn’t what worried Gabe. Fatigue and something more frightening marred her expression. She looked . . . defeated.
“I want to believe you, but sometimes things just don’t work out. Sometimes the good guys don’t win. Britney Saunders didn’t win. Those missing kids, none of them won.”
He couldn’t argue with her. He took the last turn onto his street.
He slammed on the brakes and let out a loud curse.
Deb jerked up. “What’s going on?”
Flashing lights and squad cars surrounded his house and the back of Sammy’s Bar. Cops milled around everywhere.
“It’s obviously not good.” Gabe pulled his vehicle into one of the few empty spots. He twisted in his seat to face Deb. “Look, I don’t know what happened here, but you don’t have to stay. Why don’t you take the SUV home?”
She unbuckled her seat belt. “Sure, you’ve stood beside me and you think I’m walking away now. Don’t even suggest it.”
“Whatever happened here isn’t about you or Ashley,” Gabe said, searching the crowd for some sign. Where were his brothers? God, if anything happened to Zach or Luke, he’d never forgive himself. Where was Hawk? His arm rested on the back of the seat. “This is about a job I need to finish. I must have been careless, and I don’t want to endanger you.”
She met his gaze head-on. “I took down a pervert cop today on my own. I think I can handle whatever comes my way. You can argue with me some more, or we can just get out of the car and see for ourselves.”
Certain they were making a mistake, but knowing Deb’s picture would likely be in the dictionary next to the word stubborn, he stepped out of his SUV. When his bum leg hit the asphalt, he landed wrong and fought against a groan. Most of the time, the thing held him up, but occasionally it would buckle. Three flights of stairs and hiking the hills today hadn’t helped.