Killer Love (3 page)

She stared at the mug shot, not wanting to touch it, but wanting to wish it away. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” she responded, not even trying to keep the resentment out of her voice. She knew Luke had done the right thing but she wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. She had to take her anger out on someone. Besides,
he’d
been one of her bad decisions. It had turned out better than most, they were still friends, but nonetheless, still a mistake.

“I’m expecting a call.” His tone became business-like. “I’m leaving my cell on silent but I had a message from an informant. He couldn’t reach me so he said he’d call the office with the information. Didn’t leave a number where I could call him back. Can you take a message and I’ll call you when I get a chance?”

“Sure, no problem. Desk jockey Grimes at your service.”

“Del, listen...”

“No. I’m tired of listening to you. Tired of getting stabbed in the back by my friends.”

His heavy sigh spoke volumes. Regret...sadness...but righteous confidence that he’d done the right thing.
Whatever
.

“I gotta go,” she said. “I’ll take your message.”

“Thanks.”

She felt guilty when she hung up. Just a little. If he hadn’t told her his phone was off, she might have called him back to apologize. He was involved in a dangerous undercover operation. The same operation she’d almost screwed up by sleeping with a suspect. Anything could happen to him. Agents often died in the field.

Luke was her best friend. He’d been nothing but kind to her, letting her cry on his shoulder after every failed relationship. And, he’d been the perfect gentleman when he’d ended their fling, somehow making her feel he was doing her a favor, while at the same time breaking her heart. When she spoke to him again, she’d be nicer. As bad as the situation was, it wasn’t his fault.

An hour later, the call he was waiting on came through. The man’s voice was hushed, disguised.

“This dude says the cargo’s at a warehouse near the river.”

Delia jotted down the information. “You have an address?”

“Yeah,” sarcasm dripped from his tone, so thick it was unmistakable even through the phone line. “He gave me the address in case I wanted to mapquest it and pop in for a little look-see at the contraband.” The man snorted, then continued. “Of course he didn’t give me no address. He was just braggin’ about how they got this high dollar cargo and they’re all gonna be rich. This guy was switching off with a few other guys, guarding the goods. From what Butler was askin’ about, it sounded like it might have something to do with the case he’s got.”

Delia was tempted to take her frustrations out on this smartass, to lambaste him with a few words that would make a sailor blush. But, she decided not to. What little help he gave was better than nothing, and if she pissed him off, he might withhold even that.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” she asked with forced civility.

“Well, I don’t exactly have the address, but I know pretty much where the warehouse is. When the guy headed out, I followed him, figuring if I got something real good, Butler might show his appreciation by way of cold hard cash. Tell him if he wants to know what I found out, meet me at Nick’s pub on Manchester and I’ll take him there after he shows me some green.”

A thrill of excitement ran through her. They’d been looking for the girls for months. Girls who’d been snatched off the streets, runaways who wouldn’t be missed because they were already missing. The bastards were selling the kids to Mexican whorehouses. Luke was undercover to bring down the big guns behind the operation. The guy Delia had fucked was small potatoes. The FBI wanted the evil master mind...the asshole in charge.

She didn’t know how long it would be before she’d hear back from Luke. With only a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Butler asked me to take your call and handle it. I’ll meet you and you can take me to the warehouse.”

“You got cash?”

“Yeah. I might share it if your info proves helpful.”

“You don’t share it, you’ll never know.”

She didn’t know if what he had was legit, but it was worth a shot. Not only was Luke unreachable, if she discovered the girls herself, she’d get the credit. And this was big...maybe big enough to get her back in the field. And to wipe the smug grins off the other asshole agent’s faces.

Delia pulled on her leather jacket and left without saying a word to anyone. She wasn’t going to share this, not until she saw how it turned out. The last thing she needed was another stain on her record.

****

The informant traded his information for fifty bucks. She knew he expected more, but when faced with a choice of fifty dollars or a trip downtown for trying to squeeze a federal agent, he decided she had enough green to buy his information after all.

Now here she was, stealthily approaching the warehouse he’d directed her to. A sharp wind blew, biting through the leather jacket and into her flesh. She pulled her Glock and headed in a crouch toward the warehouse. So far, she’d seen no movement, no sign of life. If this was a dead end, it would cost her fifty dollars and a few hours, but she’d be spared the humiliation of the other agents knowing she’d followed a bum lead.

Windows were set along the sides of the building, but they were blacked out. Even when she made her way to one of them, stretched up to where she was eye level with it, she still couldn’t see inside.

She was debating whether to make a bold approach from the front, or give up and tell Luke his informant was full of shit, when she heard male voices coming from the west side of the building. She was on the north.

She crept alongside the wall, stopping when she reached the corner. Slowly, she peered around the building. Two men stood outside, one smoking a cigarette while the other stood next to him, hands shoved deeply in his coat pockets as he stomped the ground, trying to stay warm.

They moved away from the front door, in the opposite direction from her. Once they were far enough away, she turned the corner, keeping in the shadows, her back to the wall. She slowly made her way to the front door, eyes trained on the two men who moved further away. She didn’t know where they were going. Maybe to smoke a joint? Or maybe they were into each other and were sneaking off for a little man on man action. Whatever the reason, she was glad they were making her reconnaissance mission easier. Things were falling into place. For once, the gods were smiling down at her. If she found what she thought she might, this could turn out to be the best night of her life.

The door was closed, but the knob twisted beneath her hand and she stepped inside. The room was a large open area, dimly lit with a couple of floor lamps, one on each side. Three sets of tables and chairs were scattered throughout. One table held a deck of cards, a six pack of Dr. Pepper and a Mr. Goodbar wrapper. The other tables were empty. A ratty blue recliner sat against the wall, facing a television. Two folding chairs were on either side of the recliner.

A door toward the back of the warehouse beckoned her. Sweeping her gaze around the room, she confirmed she was alone. Quickly, she made her way to the door. This one was locked. If she shot out the lock, the men would surely hear her. If she didn’t, and the girls were inside, she couldn’t very well get them out. She leaned her ear against the door but heard nothing.

“Hey,” she said in a loud whisper, “Is anyone there?”

No response. Louder, she tried again, “Hey, I’m an FBI agent. I’m here to help you. Can you hear me?”

Still nothing. Making a decision, knowing that once she put it in motion, there was no going back, she fired two rounds into the lock. She heard a squeal from inside the room. Heart hammering with fear and excitement, she gave the door a kick and it swung open. Four young girls, looking dirty and frightened, crouched on individual cots, staring at her.

Relief whirled through her, closing her throat in a tight knot. She’d found the girls. They were okay. Not only had the tip paid off...she’d hit the freakin’ motherload.

“Don’t be afraid,” she told them. “I’m an FBI agent, I’m here to help you. Do you know how many men there are?”

Slowly, almost in unison, the girls shook their heads but didn’t speak. And didn’t come toward Delia.

She would hope there were only the two men, but assume there could be more. She pulled her radio from her belt and motioned for the girls, “Come on, we’ve got to hurry. Follow me.”

She led the girls toward the door she’d seen at the back of the warehouse. The men could possibly have gone around that way, but she was betting they’d enter the same way they left, through the front door. If they heard the shots, they’d enter sooner than later.

As she and the girls made their way to the back door, she keyed her radio. “This is Special Agent Delia Grimes, requesting backup at...”

The girls had slipped through the door and Delia was about to follow when she heard a shout from behind. “Hey...what the hell?”

She turned, aiming her weapon, dropping into a crouch. “FBI. Freeze!”

Just before the lights were extinguished, she assumed by the man still next to the front door, she saw that the man toward the front held a gun. Rather than following her orders, she saw a flash from the muzzle at almost the same time she felt a sharp, burning sensation in her shoulder. Then, numbness. She dropped the radio, throwing herself behind the door as she fired at the men. She didn’t know if she’d hit both of them, but she was sure she’d hit one as she heard a grunt and a thump.

Damn. In the darkness, she couldn’t find her radio. The red indicator light at the top should help to pinpoint its location, but she couldn’t see even that. And she couldn’t venture from behind the door, she wasn’t sure if she’d hit either of the shooters. She was doubtful she’d hit both.

The girls. She had to get them to safety. Then, she’d figure out a way to call for backup. She could handle these two bozos on her own, or one if her aim had been true.

Slipping around the door and outside, she saw the four girls huddled together, shivering in the cold. They hadn’t run because they didn’t know where to run to. One girl seemed a little calmer than the others. She had shaggy purple hair and wore a thin red sweater over shiny gold pants. She stood with her arm around two of the girls while the other clung to her from behind.

Delia quickly approached the girl. “I need you to get away from here, get to a phone as fast as you can. My car’s parked on the road a mile or so that way.” She pointed the direction she’d come and handed the girl her keys. “Call the FBI and tell them to send backup.” She searched in her pockets for a business card and pen. Jotting down the address of the warehouse, she shoved the card at the purple girl. “You can reach them at this number. If you can get in touch with an FBI agent named Luke Butler, I need you to give him a message for me. Can you do that?”

The girl took the card and slowly nodded.

Delia gave her the message and watched until the girls had disappeared completely from sight. She turned, raising her weapon, prepared to re-enter the building to make sure one or both of the goons were incapacitated.

Barely visible as a shadow in her peripheral vision, she saw that, apparently, one of the men was quite capacitated. She registered the thought just before something solid slammed against her head, dropping her to the ground.

A trickle of warmth traveled from her temple into her eye as dizziness assaulted her. The ground seemed to move like the surface of an ocean, but she planted her palms against it, preparing to rise.

The man planted a shoe in her head and speared her face into the ground. Pain seared, hot and sharp from her neck through her head, so severe she thought her eyeballs would explode.

“I don’t know who the hell you are, lady. But the boss is on his way. He ain’t gonna be too happy about what you did to my buddy, and he’s gonna be downright pissed that you let those girls get away.” His voice, although threatening, held a touch of fear. She figured he probably knew his ass was fried, too.

So, she was finally going to come face to face with the head honcho. A fatalistic voice inside her agony filled brain told her it might be the last face she saw.

****

Clouds shifted across the moon in a thin line as Jade made her way to the office behind the pool house. The swimming pool was covered with a black tarp and the moonlight glinting on the plastic gave the impression of a deep, black abyss. Rain had begun to fall, spattering onto the cement, shimmering like iridescent confetti in the glow of her flashlight.

She pulled her jacket over her head. She hadn’t bothered with an umbrella, not wanting to encumber herself any more than necessary. Knowing Bryce’s watchdog, Berta, might come out to investigate the lights in his office, she’d decided a flashlight would be a more useful tool than an umbrella. She was certain Bryce had instructed the woman to keep an eye on his errant wife.

Even from this great distance, she could see the glow of St. Louis’ Gateway Arch as it rose above the city skyline, glistening in the drizzle falling from the clouds.

The sight always brought comfort to her. As if no matter how bad things were, how scary or how dark, the arch was there...familiar and solid like an old friend.

She let herself into Bryce’s office with the spare key he kept in the study. His workplace consisted of a reception area and his private office. In daylight, the lobby’s tile floors with swirls of silver and blue, landscape paintings and smoked glass walls exuded welcoming warmth. Tonight, with the reflection from the outer lights and the eerily moving shadows, the décor held a more sinister ambience.

She headed toward Bryce’s office door, rain squelching beneath her feet as she dripped on the floor. She’d have to clean that up before she left, she didn’t want to leave evidence of her visit.

A noise sounded behind her and she whirled, halfway across the floor. A quiver of anxiety traveled from her heart to deep in her stomach. She let out a pent up breath when she realized where the sound had come from. She hadn’t closed the door fully and the wind had pulled it, clicking it shut. Quickly, anxious to get this done and get out, she made her way to Bryce’s private office and turned the knob.