For the next few minutes, she told herself that she had made a mistake and she didn’t remember the plate number correctly. The problem was that Tomi hadn’t forgotten a name or number in almost seven years. Physical objects she often misplaced, but facts, figures, and faces? No. There was no way that she would ever forget the African-American man who’d approached her outside a news studio in a black Mercedes . . .
“Ms. Lehane?” the man inquired from the car.
She’d frowned, but kept walking.
“Ms. Lehane, I know that this is rather odd, but I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time?”
“For what?” she asked, marching.
“Just to talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“Well . . . it’s sort of a personal nature. It’s not an appropriate topic of conversation to be shouting out of the window.”
She stopped and so did the car. “I don’t get into strange cars with men I don’t know. Tell me what you want or get lost.”
The man’s smile widened while he spoke inside of her head. “I want to talk to you about the powers I believe that you and Abrianna Parker have developed over the past six years.”
She stared at him, heart racing. His mouth hadn’t moved, but she heard him clearly. “Well?” she asked, pretending not to have heard him. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you want?”
The man’s cocky smile dropped. “Can you not hear me?” he tried again.
“Look, buddy. I don’t have all day.”
“No. Of course not,” he said aloud, his frown deepening. “There must’ve been some sort of mistake. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
The window rolled up and the Mercedes pulled away.
A shiver went down Tomi’s spine at the memory of the strange encounter. On a notepad, she’d sketched the man’s face from memory. All that was missing was a name. Who was this man, and how was he able to talk inside of her head like that? How did he know about her powers? Powers. She was uncomfortable with the word. It wasn’t like she was some Marvel or DC comic superhero. She could do a few odd things—like move small objects with her mind—and maybe she was stronger than the average female, but she wouldn’t use the word powers. Still. Who was he?
* * *
The black Escalade pulled up into the empty lot of La Plume restaurant and parked. From the backseat, Zeke rolled down his window and looked at the building, trying to ascertain whether anyone was inside.
“Are you sure that he’s here?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. He arrived forty-five minutes ago,” Spider answered.
“Good.” Zeke slid his shades back on and opened the back door. The cool October wind whipped around and ruffled Zeke’s jacket as he marched toward the back of the building with his two henchmen falling in line behind him. When he stopped, his men advanced forward and pounded on the door.
Zeke waited for it to open, and when it did, it was by a teenage boy with a mop in his hand. “Yes?”
Defoe shoved the teenager back, where he tripped over a large yellow mop bucket and crashed to the floor. “Where’s that fat fucker of a boss of yours at?”
Scared, the teenager stammered, “I-in the prep room.”
Zeke and his men moved deeper into the restaurant, having no idea where the prep room was. They didn’t have to travel far, and it was impossible to miss the heavy set chef, poring over paperwork on a steel table. When the large man looked up, he blinked a pair of long faux eyelashes at them. Disgust churned Zeke’s stomach.
Recognition registered in the man’s face, followed by fear. “Can I help you?” he asked, stepping back. “We’re not open.”
Zeke removed his shades and glanced around. “Nice place you got here.”
“Thank you.”
Zeke moved around like a health inspector, pretending to be interested in the cleanliness of the place. The stalling tactic was to make the fat dude sweat.
“Uhm. What is this all about?”
Zeke sighed. “Your name is Tyrone Hollis, right? A.K.A Tivonté.”
“Yeah.” The chef glanced over his shoulder when Spider and Defoe moved behind him. Now he was torn on whom he should watch.
“You catered my party the other night, correct?”
Tivonté swallowed. “Yes. Was . . . there something wrong with the service?”
“No. Actually, the food was magnificent,” he answered. “Many of my guests praised your services.”
“Ah. Good.”
Another block of silence lapsed.
“Are you looking to book another party?” Tivonté asked.
“No.” Zeke sighed. “I want you to tell me where I may find your friend Abrianna Parker.” He stepped in front of the big man and cocked his head. “She is a friend of yours, isn’t she?”
The fat fuck lied, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“No? Wasn’t she and some of her other friends working as servers at the party the other night? Hmm? I have to admit, the disguises were pretty good, but not quite good enough.”
Tivonté shook his head. “I hired a lot of students from the CulinAerie School. I don’t know everybody’s name.”
Zeke paused and weighed whether he’d gotten this whole thing wrong. Had Abrianna tricked this guy into hiring her for the party, or was he in on the whole thing?”
Tivonté shrugged. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything more than that, other than my van got jacked that night, too. Cost me a shitload of money.”
Zeke’s glare hardened. He didn’t like the possibility that he could be wrong. He was looking forward to killing someone over Tanya’s death. A long silence ensued, and then Zeke signaled his boys.
Spider and Defoe jumped the chef, pounding him into the floor.
Tivonté howled.
The teenager, who’d watched everything from the corner of the room, dropped the mop and took off running out of the back door.
The beating went on for a full ten minutes. At that point Zeke was bored. “All right. That’s enough,” he said.
Spider and Defoe stood up, huffing and puffing over the bloody body.
Zeke moved closer and squat down. “I’m cutting you a little break, fat man. But in case you do know Abrianna Parker, I need for you to deliver a message for me.” He reached over and lifted the back of Tivonté’s head. “Tell that bitch that I’m looking for her and she better hope the government finds her ass before I do.” He released his grip, allowing the man’s head to thump against the tile floor.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
8
The five-star luxury Hay-Adams in downtown Washington, D.C., has an unparalleled panoramic view of the White House, Lafayette Square, Lafayette Park, and the famous St. John’s Church. The beautiful Italian Renaissance–style building wasn’t as busy as it normally was at this time of year. They were still dealing with the nightmare scenario of having the speaker of the House killed on their premises. There wasn’t a police presence, but the hotel’s security had been visibly beefed up.
“Are you ready?” Kadir asked Julian. They were huddled in the back of yet another van.
Julian pulled a deep breath. “It’s not my first breaking and entering gig, but given the stakes involved I don’t know how I feel about being labeled as part of a domestic terrorist cell.”
“Ah.” Kadir waved off his concern. “After poppin’ your federal cherry by pulling off a kidnapping, this should be a piece of cake.”
Julian chuckled.
“How close are we?” Kadir asked Ghost, who was behind the wheel.
“T minus five,” he responded.
“Cool.” Kadir huffed. He avoided Julian’s gaze for a few seconds. He knew that he was being hypocritical assuring Julian about pulling this off while he wrestled with his own doubts and lingering questions about Abrianna.
“You and, uh, Abrianna have been friends a long time, right?” Kadir asked.
Julian shrugged. “Yeah. I guess you can
say that. We grew up on the streets together.”
Kadir nodded. “Has she always, like, been so strong? I mean physically?”
Julian hitched up a half smile. “So the fight this morning wasn’t nothing, huh?”
“I never said it was nothing. But I certainly didn’t expect that she could put me through a wall.”
Julian chuckled. “Yeah. She might need to look into anger management . . . among other things.”
Julian wasn’t really answering the question. If anything, he was adding more. However, Julian must have read the frustration on Kadir’s face and decided to cut him a break.
“You seem like a good guy,” Julian said. “I mean you seem like you really care for Bree. She deserves a good guy for once. But fair warning, she’s not going to make it easy for you. In fact, she’s going to make it damn near impossible.”
“Bree hinted about having a rough home life.”
“That’s putting it mildly—and nowhere near the tip of the iceberg.”
Kadir frowned.
Julian drew a deep breath while he seemed to come to a decision. “Look. Bree will probably kill me for telling you this, but . . . do you remember the Craig Avery case about six years back?”
Kadir shook his head. He had had his own issues going on about that time.
“It was a serial murder case. Crazy dude was snatching teenage girls off the street and torturing them. They attribute thirteen deaths to him. Only three girls were rescued from his basement. Abrianna was one of them. So damaged is a little understated.” Julian’s attention went back to the USB drive in his hand. “So all I have to do is stick this into the drive, and it will take care of everything?”
Kadir didn’t hear him. His mind was tangled up with the information that Julian had unloaded on him.
“Yo, man. You still with me?” Julian asked.
“Uh, oh. Yeah.” He shook and cleared his head before going back over the directions.
“We’re here,” Ghost announced. “Ready to rock and roll?”
Julian blew out a long breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Kadir smiled. “Then let’s do this.”
* * *
At Hadley Memorial Hospital, Castillo knocked on Shawn White’s door and poked her head inside. “Mind if I come in?”
Shawn stopped picking over a tray of food and sliced his cool blue eyes in her direction. “It’s a free country . . . supposedly,” he said in an unfriendly tone.
Castillo held onto her smile and eased farther into the room. “So how are you feeling?”
“Better.”
“Really?”
“I would complain, but what would be the point?”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I guess.”
She tried to gauge his mood and then couldn’t think of an easy transition to the topic that had brought her to the hospital, so she cut to the chase. “Madam Nevaeh is dead.”
“Oh?” Shawn said, unfazed.
“I take it that this isn’t news to you?”
“You can take it as me not giving a damn,” he said.
Castillo crossed her arms. “Without the madam, how is Abrianna ever going to clear her name?”
Shawn shrugged.
The change in attitude since the last time she’d visited him only deepened her suspicion. “Have you spoken to Abrianna recently?” she asked.
“No,” he lied.
“Look, Shawn. I know how close you and Abrianna are, but this is serious . . . and dangerous. If you know where she is, you need to tell me. I can help her.”
“How? You’re not even a cop anymore. You’re a private dick, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Castillo’s spine stiffened. “That may be true, but I still have very good connections on the force.”
Shawn didn’t respond.
“Seriously,” she pushed. “What’s the plan here? Sooner or later, one of those federal agencies will find her and, given the seriousness of the charges they’re going to hit her with, the government is not going to care one way or another if she’s brought in dead or alive. Her or the guy she’s running around with.”
Shawn sealed his lips and glanced up at the muted television set.
Castillo had been dismissed. She hung her head and huffed out a tired breath. Then a face came to mind, a face that she’d seen at Zeke Jeffreys’s party. She had seen him before. Seen him here in this room. Lifting her head, Castillo narrowed her gaze on Shawn’s gaunt face. “Maybe you’re the wrong person to talk to,” she said.
No response.
“Maybe I need to talk to the guy who catered Zeke’s party the other night.”
Shawn’s face tightened.
Jackpot. Castillo was on to something. “Yeah. You know who I’m talking about. Big fella. He was here the last time I visited. It was also his van that was stolen. What’s the name on the van? La Plume Restaurant? Am I right?”
The more she talked, the more Shawn’s face tightened.
“My God. What did you guys do?” she insisted.
Silence.
“Has Abrianna been here since the last time I visited you?”
Silence.
“You need to start talking to me. Does Abrianna have anything to do what happened to Madam Nevaeh? Did she kill her?”
Shawn snapped, “Don’t be ridiculous! Of course she didn’t kill that woman. Your friends in blue did that.”
“What?”
Shawn zipped his lips again.
“Shawn, talk to me. This situation is out of control. Abrianna may not have killed that congressman, but they most certainly can pin any death that transpired during a crime, like a police shoot-out, on her. It won’t matter if my friends in blue pulled the trigger.”
Shawn drew a deep breath and appeared to be evaluating his next words. “Bree just wanted to talk to her.”
Castillo’s brows lifted. “Talk?”
Shaking his head, Shawn changed his mind about having this discussion. “I think you should leave now.”
“Shawn, you have to know that I want to help her.”
Shawn’s face marbleized. “That’s the thing. I don’t recall anyone ever asking you for your help.”
* * *
Abrianna paced back and forth in the bunker, nibbling her nails down to stubs. The knots in her gut doubled. Here she was again, asking her friends to put their lives on the line. Shawn was still recovering in the hospital, Draya was nursing a bullet wound, and she herself ignored her own aching injuries. She didn’t like leaning on them, though none them complained. If the roles had been reversed, she would do the same thing for any one of them. Right now it all felt like it was . . . too much . . . too overwhelming.
“This is taking too long,” Abrianna fretted. “Something has gone wrong.”
Roger glanced up from his terminal with a reassuring smile. “They haven’t been gone that long. Relax.”
Abrianna stopped pacing. “Don’t tell me to relax.”
Roger threw up his hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”
“I’m sure you are,” she said. Her grudge against Roger had developed last week when she’d caught him trying to cop a feel when she was passed out. After she put a gun in his face, he’d been trying to get on her good side ever since.
A computer beeped.
Roger smiled. “They’re in,” he announced, pecking away on the keyboard.
“Yeah?” Abrianna and Draya crowded around him.
“Okay. Let’s see what we got here,” Roger said. “Let’s hope that the hotel stores their digital video files for more than a few days.”
Abrianna frowned. “What do you mean?”
Roger said, “I’d imagine hotels would store daily surveillance for a short time before erasing for new space on the server.”
Abrianna’s stomach dropped. “Shit.”
His fingers flew across the keyboard.
“How long does it take to do something like this?” Abrianna fretted.
“It depends,” he answered, shaking his head as he entered row after row of what seemed like random numbers and symbols.
“It depends on what?”
“On how good their security system is. Since it’s not your average motel, I’d imagine this place dropped a mint on security. Their clientele would demand it.”
“Are you any good at this?” Draya double-checked.
The other hackers, working at other terminals, snickered.
“What?” Abrianna whipped her head around.
Roger bragged, “I’m one of the best—next to Kadir and Ghost, anyway.”
Abrianna smiled. “Yeah? Kadir is that good?”
“I know him by reputation. Word is there’s not a system around Kadir can’t get into. Total rock star. Ghost has been trying to get him back into the game to help lead the next revolution against the federal police state.”
“Police state? You guys really believe in that conspiracy theory shit?”
Roger looked up. “Don’t you? A Supreme Court judge murdering the speaker of the house; who else would believe that shit but us?”
“He got you there,” Draya said, elbowing her.
Abrianna’s cocky smile vanished.
“All right. What time did you and the congressman arrive at the hotel?” Roger asked.
“Oh. I don’t remember. It was late.” She hunched over his shoulder while he went through the stored videos.
Another twenty minutes and “Bingo,” they said together. On screen played the surveillance video of Judge Katherine Sanders strutting down the hallway toward the Presidential Suite.
Abrianna grinned. “I got you, you bitch.”
* * *
Castillo returned to her car, pissed, more with herself than with Shawn because, at the end of the day, the kid was right. Nobody had asked her to put her neck on the line to help Abrianna Parker. The only job that she had been hired to do was to investigate the former Speaker of the House for Tomi Lehane. That job ended when someone blew back his scalp.
It wasn’t like she didn’t have a ton of cases sitting on her desk back at her private detective firm, the Agency. However, at the moment, spying on cheating spouses held zero interest for her. Then again, there were also the missing children’s cases growing colder by the day. But for those, she had run headlong into another brick wall. The frustration of hitting one dead end after another was demoralizing.
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