“Oh — ah — ouch,” Cable whined his way to the door.
Slice returned to the computer. The screen showed ninety-five percent of the virus had been transferred. Another few seconds, and it would begin its act of absolute data destruction.
“Come on, come on!” Slice urged the program on.
“Phillips is coming!” Cable croaked from the door, wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve.
“Stall him,” Slice said, staring at the computer monitor, willing the transfer to hurry up and complete itself.
Cable took a second to straighten his pants, then lurched out into the hall as Phillips came rushing along the corridor.
“Number four!” Cable yelled, pointing over the psychiatrist’s shoulder. “Number four went that way!”
Phillips stopped in his tracks, confused and alarmed by the sight of the giant lumbering towards him. “What? Where?” he stammered and spun around, unable to stop himself from looking back.
“Follow me, Doc!” Cable rushed by Phillips, grabbing the bewildered man’s arm and half-lifting, half-dragging him down the hall.
Back in the doctor’s office, Slice nodded, satisfied that the virus had hit home and was taking immediate effect. “Gotcha!” He removed the flash drive and rushed to the door, looking out and catching a glimpse of Cable hurtling out through the main exit with Phillips in tow, the psychiatrist’s feet barely touching the ground, his arms and legs flailing helplessly as he was dragged out of sight.
Slice stepped into the hallway and headed in the opposite direction, leaving via an emergency exit just as the building began to fill with a stream of grumbling, bemused staffers.
Chapter Nineteen
Slice had been unable to get Cassie out of his mind. Where had she gone? Was she okay? His gut told him the answer to the latter was no. When he got back from Phillips’ office, he went straight to his bedroom to change into a black t-shirt and sweatpants; he had big plans for tonight — heating a frozen dinner and watching television. When he heard the alert noise, he stopped, knowing it wasn’t any of his electronics. Scanning the room, he bent down, and under the bed, he found a cell phone encased in pink.
“Get back here NOW,” the message read.
Scanning a couple more messages, Slice realized that Cassie was smart enough to have a second phone but had accidentally left both behind. “Gotcha,” he yelped. Or at least, he hoped so.
When Slice had first moved into the house, the top things on his list were the bedroom and bathroom. The rest could wait. A man could cook all his meals in a microwave while gutting the kitchen, but he needed someplace to sleep and shower. He’d only recently moved on to other parts of the house, renovating it by himself, one room at a time.
He crossed into his newly-completed office and bounced into the comfortable chair behind his oversized desk, both new purchases. He’d needed the space and was tired of the springs in the old chair poking him in the ass. He had turned the desk sideways so he could look out at the beach through the picture window and also keep an eye on the door, in case someone made the mistake of coming into his house without an invitation.
He picked up his phone and dialed the number the text had come from, blocking his number so it wouldn’t show up on the texter’s phone. There was so much background noise, however, that he couldn’t hear who answered the phone, and they hung up after a minute.
He rolled his shoulders and neck, each side cracking, then hunched over his keyboard. According to public records, the number belonged to one Pixie Rose. A few more clicks turned up that she was the owner of the Jailhouse Bar on a seedy street in Venice. Why the hell was someone from that rat hole in contact with Cassie? He’d only been there once, in his drunk days when he didn’t care where he got a drink. Before he could order, a fight had broken out, and he’d slipped out the back.
Standing, he forced his feet into a pair of running shoes and grabbed a sweatshirt on his way out the door.
Slice sped down the Pacific Coast Highway; he wanted to put the top down on his Porsche, but reminded himself where he was headed and settled for rolling down the windows. Even with the alarm, his sports car could disappear right out from under his nose in that neighborhood if he wasn’t paying attention.
Traffic was unusually light, and he made it down to the neighboring city in record time. He exited the freeway and made his way to the Jailhouse, circling the block. Eyeing the thugs hanging around, lounging over their motorcycles, he drove two blocks over to an overpriced French restaurant.
“Hey, buddy.” He waved a twenty in the eager valet’s face. “Let me park here for about fifteen minutes. More of this when I get back.”
The young guy in tux pants and a white button-down shirt reached for the money, then stopped. “You gonna bring the cops here?”
“Just don’t want my car stolen while I grab a drink.” Slice snorted.
The valet grabbed the money and shoved it in his pocket. “Park in the end space over there. You have a straight shot to the street. Anyone asks, I never saw you.”
“Thanks.” Slice slid into the space and disappeared out onto the main drag. Standing in the shadows of the Jailhouse, he sized up the lurkers. Laughter was a good sign.
Blaring music greeted him as went through the bar, which was standing room only. He ordered a beer he had no intention of drinking.
The pink-haired bartender leaned in and asked, “Running a tab?”
He shook his head, not bothering to smile; he knew his face scared most people — damn scar. Well, men mostly; women seemed to gravitate to it, and he’d had many offers of creative ways to make it feel better. He watched as the twig of a woman — in a black tutu and what looked like a bathing suit top that offered up her ginormous breasts, which he’d lay money were fake — went to get his beer. Nice legs until you got to the motorcycle boots.
She set the beer down. Slice pushed money across the bar top. “Keep the change. Thanks, Pixie.”
She looked startled, pausing for a second, then went back to flirting with her regulars.
Slice removed Cassie’s phone from his pocket and hit redial. It started to ring, and Pixie hit the button on the side of her earpiece. He held up his hand, waving to her, and flashed the phone.
She stood her ground, glaring at him, and surveyed the bar. The last thing he wanted was for her to call for backup. Before she could do something stupid, he held up another bill, cocking his brow.
Pixie crooked her finger, and Slice leaned in. “This doesn’t buy you shit. Tell me what you want, and I’ll let you know the going rate.”
“I’m looking for Cassie. I’m worried about her.”
Whatever she expected, it wasn’t for it to be about Cassie and she looked genuinely shocked. “You the law?”
“Hell, no.” He shook his head. “A friend who wants to help her. She doesn’t belong on the streets, whoring for her brother.”
“No need to worry about Scott. He died of an overdose this morning. Word has it, she found the body and lit out. Been looking for her myself.”
“Can you give me some info: her last name and last address?”
“I haven’t seen her since I threatened to beat her ass for trying to whore herself up and down the boardwalk. She almost got arrested, but I jerked her away before that could happen. My hunch is she’ll be back on the beach — I hope panhandling and not the other. And what’s your angle? You don’t look like a pimp.”
“That’s good to know.” He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. This was the first break he’d had about Cassie.
Another customer called from the end of the bar. “Hey hon, I’m thirsty.”
When Pixie came back, she slid a business card at him; on the back was Cassie’s full name and address.
“Thank you.” Slice pushed money at her.
“Keep it. Just promise you’ll call and let me know she’s okay.”
He thanked her and left the bar. Cassie Henry couldn’t have gone far; she didn’t have a ri
de, money, or anyplace to go. She was going to surface around there somewhere, and when she did, he’d be there.
Slice drove by the address — a house that tilted left from wood rot and should have been condemned. An extended termite family was obviously living well inside those walls. The front door gaped open like a black hole, crisscrossed with police tape. There were a few porch squatters on the block, who could only be made out by their cigarettes burning bright. He surveyed the block, noting the street lamps and that not a one of them worked. He knew that after they got shot out a few times, the city refused to keep replacing them.
He’d removed his laptop from the trunk before leaving the restaurant parking lot, and now he waited patiently for it to start up. A fifteen-year-old didn’t have much of a background to check. Slice smiled as he perused Cassie’s school records, noting that she was an excellent student; she’d also skipped a grade and had been a straight-A student until she dropped out after her second year in high school. After a few quick checks, he came up with zero on her bother. He guessed Scott must have had a different last name. Cassie’s mother was deceased, and the space on her birth certificate for the father was left blank. A CPS report had been opened, the caller reporting an underage girl living in the house by herself, but when they’d gone to the address, the house had been empty. Case closed.
It was close to dawn when Cassie came slinking around the corner. Sitting on the house had been a long shot, and Slice wouldn’t have done it if he’d had anywhere else to check. He couldn’t believe she’d come back to this place, but when you’re out of options, you do stupid things.
He started the engine and rolled down the passenger window, coasting up next to where she snuck along the sidewalk. Cassie jerked in fear. Once she recognized him, however, the rigidity left her body.
“Get in,” he barked, pushing open the door. “You run, I’ll catch you. Which might bring the police, and you’ll end up in jail.” Most likely, he’d be the one to go to jail and she’d go to a foster home.
“I’m sorry, Slice.” She slid into the passenger seat.
“You okay?”
She nodded and burst into sobs.
Damn tears. He’d rather get kicked in the stomach.
He reached around the seat, retrieving a roll of paper towels from the back and ripping one off. “Here.” He thrust it into her hands, then patted her shoulder, feeling lame that he didn’t know what else to do. “You want to come back to my house, get some sleep? Then, once you wake up, shower, and get something to eat, I have a surprise for you.”
Cassie looked up as if to say, “What next?” Tears streamed down her face and she sobbed silently, which worried him. The fear was back on her face.
“Don’t worry. I give you my word you’re not going to do anything you don’t want to. But promise me, no running off again.”
Cassie nodded.
*
“Hey,” Slice greeted Cassie when she stumbled into the kitchen shortly after noon. He’d called Zach and told him about his houseguest, and his friend told him not to worry about any fires at the office and to call if he needed any help.
Cassie had arrived dirty from head to toe. He’d expected her to take a shower, but instead, she passed out on the bed. He’d covered her with a blanket and gone to get her a couple of towels and some clothes. They’d be giant on her, but at least they were clean.
He’d awoken early and gone to a nearby grocery store that stocked everything. In addition to some things for breakfast, he’d picked her up a pair of flip-flops. Later, he planned to take her shopping for clothes that actually fit. When he got back, she was in the shower. She’d left her clothes on the floor, so he bagged them and threw them in the trash.
When Cassie came into the kitchen, she picked up a box of pop tarts and laughed. “I love these, even if they are terrible for you.”
“There’s milk and orange juice in the refrigerator, but I figured I’d take you out to eat. You can order what you want; be better than anything I could cook.”
“Can I borrow a belt?” Cassie looked down at her sweats, which were rolled up at the legs and waist. “My pants falling down wouldn’t make a good impression. My clothes are missing. I thought maybe you’d let me wash them.”
“Threw them out.” Slice grimaced, remembering how bad they smelled. “Before you get all worked up, we’ll go get you something new to wear. Girls like that, right?” He arched his brows.
“You’re being too nice. I don’t want to like you and have everything crash and burn. Your neighbors are going to think you’re a perv.” Cassie smiled at him, and once again, he wished her brother was still alive so he could kick the hell out of him. Looking at her, you’d never know that she’d already been through way too much in her young life.
“They’ve already been warned to mind their own business.”
“What’s my surprise?” Cassie looked apprehensive. “I’m prepared for the worst. You don’t have to worry about me crying again; I don’t have it in me. Just spill.”
Slice took a breath and said a quick prayer that he’d done the right thing and she wouldn’t freak out. “I located your grandmother.” When Cassie sat silently with a shell-shocked look, he bit back a groan. Elena Henry — Belle, as she’d urged him to call her — had seemed like a nice woman and was eager to meet Cassie. In fact, he’d heard her crying softly into the phone. “She desperately wants to meet her only granddaughter. More than that, she’s offering you a place to live.”
Cassie crossed her arms. “She a drunk or something worse?”
“Squeaky clean.” Slice handed her a report, like he would any other client. He’d never force her to meet the woman if she was opposed to it, but she wouldn’t like the alternative. The law would get involved. Going back to the streets wasn’t an option. He was resolved to prevent that from happening.
Cassie’s hands shook as she took the file from him, and she hesitated before opening it.
Slice watched as she read silently. He’d done a thorough check on Elena Henry and been relieved down to his toes to find that she had an unblemished record — not even a traffic violation. She was a retired schoolteacher, beloved by her kids. He’d called the school that morning and got a chatty secretary, with whom he flirted openly; the woman gave Belle a gushy review. He’d listened closely and hadn’t detected any sign of deceit in her voice.
“I don’t know…” Cassie’s voice trailed off.
Slice had expected her to throw the report back at him, but she surprised him by putting it in her lap. “Let’s go meet her. You don’t like her, you say the word and we’re out of there. You hit it off, you stay. Any, and I mean any, time in the future, if you hate it, call me. I’ll whisk you away and we’ll come up with Plan B.”
Cassie jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around his neck. “You’re the best.”
Chapter Twenty
“You really think she’ll buy the North Pole story?”
“My daughter will believe whatever I tell her to believe. She always has.”
Zach stared into Sebastian Rossi’s cold, gray eyes and wondered how someone so obviously criminal and calculated could father a child who’d grown up to become the ethical, honorable woman he loved so much.
Avalon’s father leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his flat, tennis-fit belly. “All you have to do, Mr. Lazarro, is go along with the story. Avalon must never know what truly happened to Phillips.”
Zach did not reply. He stood up and crossed Rossi’s office to the enormous panoramic window that looked out over the sprawling city a hundred floors below. “Why didn’t you just let me kill the bastard?” he asked without turning around.
Rossi grunted. “Believe me, I thought about it. I guessed that a man like you could never let anyone harm his woman without retribution. And I know you’ve killed in the past. But murdering Phillips would not be right. You may have blood on your hands already, Mr. Lazarro, but this would be bad blood. I don’t think
Avalon could live with that.”
“So Daddy just sweeps the problem under the carpet. Is that it?”
Rossi rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. He adjusted the cuffs of his designer shirt and straightened his tie, as if waiting for the insult to pass before he could proceed. “In a nutshell, yes. Isn’t that what fathers do?”
Zach turned from the window and sat back down in the chair opposite the man who was quite possibly his future father-in-law. A thought that, at that moment, he did not relish. “What about the boy? Does he get swept under the rug, too?”
“He was taken care of. Turns out, he wants to study polar bears. When it was explained to him that his father wouldn’t be accompanying him, he didn’t appear upset. Quite the contrary, in fact. He was relieved. His father’s death was made to look like a convincing accident. Plus, he’ll not have to worry financially. Phillips may have belonged to the dregs of the earth, but money-wise, he left his only son extremely comfortable.”
Suddenly, Rossi stood up and walked around his desk towards Zach. “Understand this, Mr. Lazarro. I don’t know why my daughter loves you. But I am sure she does. For some obscure reason I cannot fathom, you make her happy. And that’s all I care about.”
Zach shifted uneasily in his chair. He had met Avalon’s father on a few brief social occasions in the past and had always felt a thin edge of tension between them. And the way Rossi said “Mr. Lazarro” set his teeth on edge.
“But the lies?” Zach stood up to meet Rossi head on. “When do the lies stop, Rossi? Can you tell me that?”
For a few seconds, the two men stood eyeball to eyeball and the atmosphere in the office threatened to erupt with the heavy tension of testosterone.
“Avalon lies to me,” Zach ground out when Rossi didn’t answer. “She gets my whole frigging team to lie to me. And now you want me to lie to her?” His voice had risen to a shout, and a knock on Rossi’s door was quickly followed by a worried secretary peeking her head around the jamb.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Rossi?” She looked Zach up and down with a suspicious sneer.
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