Merciless (6 page)

The cops had found the bones. So what? He’d been careful. There was no trace of him on the bones. No evidence to link him to what he’d done.

His nerves calmed as he ticked through the steps that were to come.

Eventually, the cops would put a name and a face to the bones. They’d learn what they could about her. They’d ask her family and friends who could have done such a horrible thing. But in the end … they’d come up empty-handed.

No one could link him to her. No one had seen them together. There were no e-mails, faxes, or texts that they’d exchanged. His very silent partner, who would never talk to anyone about anything, had arranged the meeting.

He thought about the cops running around in circles like crazed dogs, trying to figure out what end was up. They’d growl and beat their breasts, but in the end they’d find nothing.

The notion that Detectives Kier and Garrison would be left with an unsolved case—a blot on their records— had its appeal. In fact, it gave him great pleasure.

He thought about the last minutes with the woman. Her eyes brimmed with fear.

Save me. Please spare me. Please!

But of course he had not. The thrill had been watching the life seep from her eyes. With each delicious second, death had drained the color from her face until it was a pale lifeless mask.

He glanced down at the white femur bone on his desk. So smooth and white. Like polished ivory. Later tonight when the house was quiet, he would begin carving the next pawn in his chess set.

Wednesday, October 5, 9:15
A.M.

Thoughts of Sierra tugged at Angie as she pressed her cell phone to her ear and waited in traffic. On hold she was forced to listen to the elevator music her doctor’s office played while they held their patients hostage.

“Sierra, where are you?” she muttered as she tapped the steering wheel with her index finger. “Tell me you’ve not done something really stupid.”

She watched the light in the intersection turn green, and she eased forward with traffic. The elevator music droned as she inched along.

Angie ticked through the details of her last meeting with Sierra. It had been about money. Sierra wanted more from her divorce. She’d been angry. But Angie had sensed the young woman played a role. Outraged victim. The orphan. The world had once again dumped on Sierra Day, Sierra had repeated. Angie remembered how her own impatience had thinned as she’d listened to the young actress’s rants.

“He’s made you a fair offer,” Angie said. “I suggest you take it.”

With the dramatic flick of her fingers, Sierra tossed the edges of her blond hair over her shoulder. “I will not settle. It is not fair. It is an outrage.”

A headache thumped behind Angie’s eyes. “It’s a good offer. Take it, and get on with your life.”

Green eyes narrowed. “Are you on his side?”

Annoyed, Angie sat back in her office chair. “Save the drama for everyone else. I don’t care.”

The hysteria melted from her demeanor. “Fine. No drama. But I want more money.”

Angie put on her blinker. Just as she made a sharp right turn into the parking deck a block from her Old Town law offices, the on-hold music stopped.

“Miss Carlson. You still with me?” The nurse’s pert tone clipped at each word.

Angie cradled the phone under her ear as she downshifted the gears on her BMW and rounded another sharp turn. “Still here, Mrs. Davis. Did you find my test results?”

“Sure did. They are all negative, except for the blood work. We are going to run that a second time.”

Angie’s anxiety level, which on a good day hovered in the high range, shot past stressed to panic. “What’s wrong with the blood work?”

“The markers are slightly elevated. Likely, it’s nothing to be worried about, but we need to be sure.”

“Do I need to come in and have more blood drawn? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“No. Like I said, we can rerun what we have. If it’s high then I’ll have you come back in.”

“So basically you don’t think the cancer is back.”

“That’s my guess.” The brittleness had vanished from the nurse’s voice. “But no one can say definitively until the tests give us the all clear.”

“When will you call?”

“Tomorrow. Friday at the latest.”

“You’ll call as soon as you know?”

“We will.”

“Thanks.” She hung up the phone and let it drop to her black wool skirt.

Angie had awoken from the surgery, her body numb and heavy with anesthesia. Tubes ran out of her arms and nose. She opened her eyes, knowing what the doctors had done to her so that her life could be spared. Through the haze she made out the shape of her father. He sat at her bedside, reading one of his precious books.

“Dad?”

He closed the book and pulled off his glasses. “Angelina.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t let you do this alone.”

She’d only told him about the surgery yesterday. She’d not wanted to worry him and told him she’d handle it alone.

His presence stirred something in her, and the emotions she’d held on to so strongly broke free. She let the tears roll down her cheeks. “Did they do the surgery?”

“Yes. The doctor said it went very well.”

A lump in her throat nearly choked her. “I’ll never have children.”

“No.”

She wept.

He patted her hand. “Maybe it’s all for the best.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “How can you say that?”

His eyes telegraphed sadness and pain. “Now you’ll never be vulnerable.”

With as much care as she could muster, she pulled into the tight spot marked RESERVED: A. CARLSON. She turned off the engine, set the parking brake, and released the clutch.

For a moment, she simply sat in her seat, hands resting on the wheel. “Shit.”

The old fears returned, and for a moment made it impossible for her to move forward. Sheer will kept her from driving to the nearest grocery, buying a bottle of wine, and driving home to polish it off. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

Those that called her The Barracuda would laugh if they saw her now. God, Kier would have a field day.

It was the flash of his face that had her straightening. He would never see her afraid, not as long as she had breath in her body.

Keys in hand, she grabbed her briefcase and got out of the car. Wasting no time, she hustled across the lot and punched the elevator button. She glanced at the numbers above and cursed the fact that the elevator was at ground floor. It would have to travel three floors to reach her. Twenty seconds if no one on the other floors lingered. But this time of day someone always dawdled.

Angie stroked her thumb over the worn handle of her briefcase, which had belonged to her father. She pressed the button a few more times.

In a distant corner of the garage, a car door opened and closed. She turned to see if she saw anyone. No one emerged from the shadows, but careful footsteps paced
back and forth. She leaned forward, trying to see into the darkness, but she couldn’t make out anyone.

Someone was there, but why not come out? Why just stand in the shadows and watch her? Her heart jumped. The elevator dinged. One floor down. The footsteps clicked back and forth, back and forth.

“Come on, damn it.” Perspiration trickled down her back. The elevator dinged once again and again. Two floors to go.

She searched the shadows, wondering why whoever was out there didn’t emerge. It was almost as if he or she didn’t want to be seen.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

And then the doors opened. A rush of relief washed over her so swift and hot that she nearly tripped into the car. She punched the ground floor button six times as she stared into the shadows.

As the doors were about to close, a man appeared on the lip of the darkness. She couldn’t make out his features, but she had the deep bone-chilling sense he stared at her.

The feeling that she’d been followed and watched chased her as the elevator rose to street level and down the block-long walk to Wellington and James.

Relief washed over her as she climbed the brick steps of the mid-nineteenth-century building. The large black lacquer front door was flanked by a set of windows made of double-pane glass. Window boxes brimming with red geraniums that had so far survived the chilly weather added a pop of color.

The exterior look was traditional, all very much in keeping with the colonial feel of Old Town Alexandria. However, her boss, Charlotte Wellington, was a stickler for security. That meant the front door that looked so
traditional had a state-of-the-art locking system that was always secure. You either had the pass code to punch into the keypad by the front door or you were buzzed into the reception area. No one just walked into Wellington and James.

Angie punched in the code, waited to hear the click of the lock, and quickly pulled open the door to find her sister, Eva, sitting in the lobby.

Eva was twenty-eight, four years younger than Angie, but Eva could have passed for a teenager. Straight black hair framed a heart-shaped face, and her petite frame usually clad in jeans and a dark T-shirt often had people dismissing her as an airhead kid. That was always a mistake.

Eva’s intelligence scored off the charts. She’d all but breezed through the college courses she’d taken this past year. She was expected to graduate by next summer with degrees in English and social work.

Eva had endured so much darkness in her life, and it would have been easy for her to be bitter, but Eva had never succumbed to anger. Her motto was “Eyes forward.”

As Angie entered, Eva rose, shouldering her knapsack. “Hey!”

Angie crossed the room and hugged Eva. They’d been separated for so long Angie had vowed never to let simple moments like greetings be ignored.

Eva hugged her back. “Your receptionist, Iris, let me in. She just had to run down the street for coffee. Said she’d be right back.”

“Iris without her coffee is a bad thing.” She glanced at Eva’s pale skin and the hint of darkness under both eyes. “You feeling all right?”

“Just burning the candle at both ends. Too much life to make up, I suppose.”

“So what brings you here this morning?” Angie said.

“A woman at the halfway house where I volunteer. She’s in trouble. I need a favor.”

In the last year, Eva had never asked for one favor. “Come back to my office.”

Angie led them down a hallway painted in a hunter green and decorated with expensive-looking landscapes. Charlotte was very into the Old Virginia, traditional look, which she said her clients preferred. Angie would have opted for sleek modern, but until she made partner such decisions were beyond her.

The furnishings in Angie’s office were in keeping with the firm’s look, but her bookshelves weren’t crammed with leather-bound volumes. Instead they featured bits of artifacts from her father’s museum and family pictures of Eva and their mother and some of her father, Frank Carlson. Angie had her icy Nordic look from Frank whereas Eva had gotten her dark gypsy looks from her father, Blue Rayburn.

Angie shrugged off her coat, hung it on the back door hanger, and held out a hand for Eva to sit in one of the leather chairs in front of her desk.

Angie took the seat next to Eva. “So tell me about this person.”

Eva smoothed her hands over her jeans. “You know her, as a matter of fact.”

“Do I?”

“Her name is Lulu Sweet.”

Angie sat back in her chair. She knew Lulu Sweet very well. Lulu had been the prime witness for the prosecution in the Dixon case. She’d been the prostitute whom Dixon had hired and brutalized.

After nearly two hours of abuse, he’d told a half-conscious Lulu that he had to stop. He didn’t want her to die yet.

She panicked and somehow managed to grab the light on the nightstand and hit him on the side of the head. He’d been stunned long enough for her to run naked into the streets, screaming for help.

“What does Lulu want?”

“She wants you to represent her.”

“Really? I would think I would be the last person she’d want as an attorney.”

Eva’s lips curled into a half smile. “She said, and I quote, ‘I want your sister to represent me because there is no meaner bitch alive.’”

Instead of being insulted, Angie laughed. “She said that?”

“Word for word.”

As a woman, Angie had pitied Lulu. But as an attorney she’d been forced to look beyond her youth and bruises. She’d focused on Lulu’s arrest record and her meth addiction. The woman had had a string of arrests under her belt, and she’d been known to perjure herself. Angie had used all those facts against Lulu and torn her apart on the witness stand.

“Lulu made it very clear what she thought about me the day she testified. She called me more than a few names as she was leaving the courthouse.”

“So she told me.”

Angie shifted in her seat. “So what is Lulu up to these days?”

“She moved out of the halfway house a few weeks ago and into her own place. Before the house, she did ninety days for possession. But she swears she’s clean now.”

“They all do.”

Eva shrugged. “I’m not a wide-eyed innocent. I’ve seen enough. I know when someone is using.”

“I’ll trust you on that. So if she’s not using and she’s out of jail, where do I fit into the picture?”

“Lulu has a son.”

Angie frowned. “I had her completely investigated. There was never a mention of a child.”

“She got pregnant shortly after the trial.”

It shouldn’t have mattered that Lulu wasn’t pregnant when she’d gone after her. But it did.

“She lost custody?”

Eva shrugged, seemingly unsurprised by Angie’s guess. “When the boy was born, Lulu was living with her mother. She’d been clean during her pregnancy, but when the baby was a month old Lulu took a hit of meth. Her mother found her sitting in a stupor with the baby crying in his crib. Her mother kept the baby and threw her out. And she really went downhill from there.”

“Okay.”

“That’s how she landed in jail. But she’s clean now.”

Angie’s thoughts jumped to the baby, who would be about nine months now. Unreasonable outrage burned through Angie as she thought about the baby. “You know my history, Eva. You know I can’t have children. I can’t defend a woman who is so careless with her child.”

“Her mistakes haunt her, Angie. She is truly upset by what has happened.”

“Upset doesn’t feed and clothe a baby, Eva. The kid sounds like he’s better off where he is, which I’m assuming is with the grandmother.”

“Lulu really wants her boy back. She wants to be a good mother to him.”

Angie couldn’t jettison the anger and opted to remain silent.

Eva hurried to say, “There is a custody hearing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I know. Her last attorney didn’t tell her about it until yesterday.”

“Okay.”

“Lulu and her mother are to meet before the judge who is deciding which one will get the boy.”

“There are plenty of other attorneys out there.”

“Yeah, I know. But she came to me and asked me about you. She wants you.” Eva pulled out a picture and handed it to Angie.

It was a photo of a boy, maybe six months old. He had bright blue eyes, a sloppy drooling grin that made Angie’s heart wince.

“The kid really loves his mother,” Eva said in a quiet voice. “Lulu has visitation, and she went to see him last week. He misses her.”

She handed the picture back to Eva. “I’m sure he does love her.”