Jan Hambright - Relentless

“Emm.” Molly wagged her finger in Kate’s face and moved toward the door. “I’d make an exception for that one.”

“No way.”

“All the same, you need a man in your life. Someone safe.”

“Where have you been, sweetie? Cops are about as safe as a five-year-old with a lighter.”

Molly grasped the knob. “Okay, you’ve got a point, but maybe you won’t ditch the idea completely?”

“Maybe.” She hugged her friend. “Thanks for taking Cody overnight.”

“No problem.” Molly waved and strolled down the sidewalk to her SUV. She climbed in and pulled away from the curb.

Kate was about to go back into the house when she noticed the sleek black car on the opposite side of the street, exposed now that Molly’s Suburban was gone. Normally it wouldn’t have bothered her, but the windows were black. Tinted to the point she couldn’t see inside the vehicle. A customized Honda?

Riding a wave of caution, she hurried inside and closed the door. She was being silly, but she’d never seen the car in the neighborhood. She looked around and spotted Cody on the sofa, TV remote in hand and Rugrats on the screen.

She plopped down next to him and rubbed his head. “So what did you and Molly do yesterday?”

“Nothing, Mom. Just went to the zoo and saw the animals. I got some candy and we came home.”

“That’s not nothing, Cody. Did you thank her for taking you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good job.” She planted a kiss on his dark head and smelled his hair.

“Shall we go to see your daddy today, before you leave?”

“No. It smells funny.”

“We make exceptions for people we care about, son. Your daddy needs to see you.”

“Okay.” Cody fiddled with the remote. “He lets me push him’s buttons.”

She patted his leg. “That’s better. I’ll dry my hair and we’ll go.” She stood up and felt the weight of guilt turn solid in her stomach, as it did every time they went to see Jake Talbot, Cody’s father, a twenty-eight-year-old man strapped in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. A man she’d put there with a dare.

MICK SAT NEXT TO Sergeant Schneider’s desk with the Romaro file in his hand. “His address of record is Taft Street?”

“Yeah, real dump. I talked to the landlord. Said the guy was four months behind on his rent, claimed he hadn’t see him for almost a month. He opened the apartment, and damn if the refrigerator hadn’t seen the guy in a month, either. The power had been shut off and the place was a stinking mess.”

“Real winner, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Mick studied the autopsy photos. “So any idea who diced the guy?”

Schneider shoved a toothpick between the gap in his front teeth and rocked back in his chair. “Always looked like a revenge kill to me. Up close and personal, but I could never connect the dots. The crime lab didn’t find any trace evidence on the body. He was probably killed somewhere else and dumped in the river. No way to know where he went in. The killer didn’t try to weight the body, guess he knew Mississippi mud does a scrub job.”

“Did you talk to Romaro’s family?”

“Nobody to talk to. Couldn’t find a thread to unravel. It was almost like the guy appeared out of nowhere.”

“An alias?”

“That’s my guess, but he had ID on him.”

“Prints?”

“We ran him through AFIS. No record.”

Mick laid the file on the edge of Schneider’s desk, frustrated by the lack of information. The address Kate had given him for the house where she’d repoed the car was nowhere near the victim’s apartment.

“I’ve got a list of deadbeats.” He pulled Kate’s list out of his notepad. “My witness repoed Romaro’s car along with the rest of these guys. Let’s run them and see what shakes.”

“No problem.” Ben took the list, eyeing it carefully. “What do ya know.”

“You got something?”

“Orlando Durant. I can’t believe he bought a car. Stealing them is more his style. I got a fax a couple of days ago from the Michigan State Police. They caught him doing one hundred forty up I-75, headed for Canada. He was sitting behind the wheel of a brand new Maserati registered in his name. The kicker is there was a suitcase full of money in the trunk. They’re holding him for reckless driving and eluding an officer. We’ve got first claim on him, but he’s fighting extradition.”

“Let me guess. Grand theft auto.”

“Bingo, but there’s more. He’s claiming someone in Louisiana wants him dead.”

“Running scared?”

“Looks that way.”

“How soon are we going to get him back?”

“Couple of weeks, if finance coughs up the money.”

“I’d like to interrogate him, maybe he knows something about Otis Whittley.”

“I’ll let you know as soon he arrives.”

“Thanks, Ben.” Did Kate know Orlando Durant? “I owe you one.” He stood up and moved for the door.

“Anytime. Hey, I had a visitor this morning.”

“Oh yeah, who?” Mick pulled up short and turned around.

“Byer stopped by for his annual how-the-heck-are-you chat.”

Mick thought of the ex-partner who’d saved his butt more than a couple of times, but they’d fallen out of touch over the years. “How’s he doing? Staying out of trouble?”

“You know Bret. He’s top dog over at customs. Sitting on big money and bigger benefits. Something to do with manifest approvals.”

“I heard that, but then he always pushed to get ahead. Not like you and me, happy to be at the bottom of the food chain.”

Schneider smiled. “I wish the sharks at the bottom of the food chain would chew my butt off before next week. I’ve got to pass my physical.”

“Good luck.” Mick left the homicide division with a smile on his face. He hadn’t thought of Bret in at least a year. They’d grown up in the same town in Florida, attended the same college and played on the same football team. They’d become fast friends and eventually went through the academy together.

His cell phone rang. “Jacoby.”

“Officer?”

He recognized Kate’s voice, laced with panic. “Kate. What’s wrong?”

“You better come out to the storage unit. There’s been some trouble.”

“I’ll be right there.”

KATE STOOD AT the storage-lot gate, her face the color of a sun-bleached sheet. She put in the gate code and climbed in beside him.

“Did you touch anything?” The question came out like an accusation and he instantly regretted it.

“I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m sorry.” He touched her hand where it lay on the seat and felt her warmth invade the dark places in his heart. He put his hand back on the steering wheel where it belonged and made the turn down the row of units.

The door to the large unit at the end was open, the butt of the Beamer visible. “It’s still there.”

“You should see the inside.”

He braked and popped the gearshift into park. “I’ll get the lab boys over here and deal with the fallout later.”

“Fallout?”

“This car should be in impound. I should have called it in last night.” He looked at her, caught by the way her mahogany-colored hair framed her face and curled up on the ends. She was a beautiful woman. A flash of desire pulsed through him and settled in his gut.

“I wish it was there, too. I’m probably going to lose my job over this.”

“Don’t panic. Let’s have a look.” He got out of the car and moved into the storage unit. Except for the bullet holes in the trunk and the shattered rear window, the car was pristine. He bent closer and looked into the side window. The seats had been slashed and lay open. Stuffing littered the floorboards, white and billowy like a collection of clouds.