Sinful Deception Page 3

  Shane nodded. “When she first left, she went to this place called Second Chance. She said it was a home for girls or women who needed a place to stay until they could find a job or something. She called me from there the first night.” His shoulders began to shake, and he lowered his head. “That was the last time I ever heard from her, and now she’s dead.”

  Alex joined him on the couch and placed a hand over his. “Have you had any form of counseling, love?”

  “Get out of here!” Mrs. Hardy shouted. “There’s nothing wrong with him, and no damn shrink is getting near him while I’m still breathing.”

  Alex stood up and glared at the woman, who obviously felt little empathy for her son’s plight. She didn’t know a lot about American social welfare, but she resolved to find someone to call and check on his situation. And the grandbaby’s. She wouldn’t put it past the bitch to put a two-year-old in a dog crate.

  “Don’t you glare at me! I got a right to raise my own kid any way I want to.”

  Alex pulled a business card from her jacket pocket and offered it to Shane. “If you remember anything else you think might help us, ring me. Or if you need to talk.”

  “He won’t be calling you.” Mrs. Hardy sneered. “Damn Brit. I’ve got some dangerous friends. One call from me and…”

  Alex walked toward her, trembling with rage. “I’ll be getting in touch with the child protection agencies when I leave here, Mrs. Hardy. They’ll be checking on Shane—and your grandson. If I were you, I’d clean up this pigsty, or you may not have the right to raise your child any way you want to.” She brushed past the woman. “I could and should arrest you for threatening me. Instead, I’ll let you go through the system.” Alex opened the door and slammed it behind her, taking in a deep breath then letting it out slowly. She was still seething as she threw herself into the passenger seat. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Whoa, not before you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Stubborn, inconsiderate mothers who fail to open their eyes and see what pain their children are going through is what’s wrong. Just drive, Crimshaw. I’m too angry to talk right now.”

  “You want to give me a hint as to where you want to go next?” he asked, starting the engine.

  “The chief said to interview the boyfriend and the parents. Let’s go there. I think I’m in the mood for them.”

  “Maybe we should stop somewhere and get a cup of coffee, let you cool off before we tackle the parents.”

  “Are you doubting my professionalism, Crimshaw?”

  “Not in the slightest, but these parents just identified their daughter’s dead body this morning. You go in there with that thunderous look on your face, and the shit might hit the fan.”

  Alex sighed. “I’ll be fine once we get there.”

  Crimshaw motioned toward the apartment building. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Their story would make a good American movie. Young boy from the wrong side of the tracks falls in love with a beautiful girl, her parents hate him, push him away, and the daughter runs away to be with him. Only his mother wouldn’t let her come there.”

  “You find out where she went?”

  “Some place called Second Chance. Maybe we should check it out and leave the parents until later.”

  “Never heard of it. Let’s swing by the station and see what Derek can dig up for us.”

  Alex sat back in the seat, closed her eyes, and continued her deep-breathing exercises. She’d wanted to grab the woman and strangle her. Maybe the fact that the chief had taken the Patterson case, which was directly involved with the Escape Artist, away from her was bugging her worse than she’d thought. She couldn’t remember ever getting that angry before. “Turn on some music.”

  He fiddled with the radio until he found an old rock-and-roll station. “Didn’t think you liked American music?”

  Alex smiled but kept her eyes closed. “I don’t.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Val Jackson turned on the video monitor. She hoped John and Elisa had picked up a better crew of specimens this time. One of the last three had been riddled with venereal disease and addicted to heroin. Disappointment washed over her as she studied Thirty-Five, definitely an addict. She flipped the screen to Thirty-Six and shook her head. It would take her at least a month to clean them up before she could even start the treatments. Damn. Her finger lingered over the keyboard, and with a sigh, she flipped the screen to Thirty-Seven. Her eyes widened, and she sat forward. Unlike the other two, who had banged and screamed themselves into a snot-covered mess, Thirty-Seven was simply lying on the bunk, hands beneath her head, resting. Intriguing. She was pretty. With the right makeup, clothes and hairstyle, she could be smashing. The first thing she’d have to do was get rid of the bleached-blonde hair. She would look fabulous as a brunette. Val continued to study the monitor as her fingers hit the intercom key.

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Rico, would you bring in Thirty-Seven. I’d like to talk to her.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Val sipped her morning coffee. Her gaze never leaving the monitor, she watched the exchange between Rico and Thirty-Seven. The girl was smiling at him. I need a better class of specimen, and to get that, I need a better class of employee. Thirty-Seven might turn out to be useful.

  ~

  Candy allowed a man she assumed was an orderly to lead her down the hallway, her eyes studying the surroundings. They passed two doors: thirty-five and thirty-six. She heard the sound of weak cries coming from behind the doors.

  They passed a door labeled Lab, and Candy shivered for the first time. The guy seemed nice, and she’d avoided looking directly at his face. The huge red welts covering the entire right side told her he’d been in some kind of accident and most likely suffered a chemical burn. He stopped in front of a door and knocked.

  “Come in.” The voice was soft, almost melodious.

  He opened the door and ushered her in. “Thirty-Seven, Dr. Jackson.”

  “Thank you, Rico.”

  The man closed the door, and Candy stared at the woman. She was the most beautiful woman Candy had ever seen, even comparing her to the few movie stars she had watched on TV. Long auburn curls surrounded a heart-shaped face with plump lips outlined in red, and vivid green eyes studied her.

  The woman tilted her head to one side. “Please, have a seat.”

  Candy sat in the plush armchair directly in front of the desk, placing her hands in her lap. “Where am I? And who are you?”

  “Dr. Val Jackson. As to where you are, perhaps I’ll tell you after we talk. Would you like something to drink? Orange juice? Coffee?”

  “Coffee, two sugars, one cream.”

  Val rose, crossed to the coffee pot, and poured a cup. “Are you hungry? I can have Rico bring something in.”

  “Maybe, but the last time I ate, I wound up here.”

  Val laughed, turned, and took a sip of coffee from the cup before holding it out to Candy. “There are no drugs in this. I promise.”

  Candy accepted the proffered cup and took a sip. “So what did you want to talk about?”

  Val took her place behind the desk. “What’s your name?”

  “Candy Granger.”

  “Candy, that’s a pretty name. So what were you doing out on the streets all alone when John and Elisa found you?”

  “My mother told me to get out, so I did.”

  “Where were you headed?”

  Candy bowed her head. “I don’t know. Someplace where I could hole up for the night.”

  “Do you want to go home?”

  An image of Duke’s sneering face flashed through her mind. “No.”

  “Good. I may have a job for you, Candy, if you want one.”

  Someone knocked on the door. “Yes?” Val called out.

  Rico stuck his head inside. “I need to talk to you, boss.”

  Val rose. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  The door c
losed behind her, and Candy heard the key turn in the lock. She made a quick study of the room. Maybe Val Jackson really was a doctor. One wall was filled with bookcases lined with medical journals on pharmaceuticals. Several DVDs lay on the second shelf. Candy crossed to the door and listened. Silence. She moved behind the desk and studied the monitor. A row of numbers were lit up on the keyboard, and Candy pushed ‘thirty-seven’. The screen flickered, and the room she’d just left came into view. She held her breath and clicked thirty-five then thirty-six. What the hell are these people doing?

  Her gaze went to the shelves and the DVDs. The answer might be there. She rushed to the shelf, grabbed one, and returned to the computer. When she inserted it into the drive, the monitor screen flickered again, and Dr. Jackson’s voice filled the room. “Day five, Specimen Thirty-Three.” The camera zoomed in on a young girl strapped to the table, her body shaking uncontrollably as a white frothy substance dribbled down her chin. What the fuck?

  The sound of footsteps in the hallway caught her attention, and she ejected the DVD, returned it to the shelf, and took her place in the chair as a key grated in the lock.

  “Sorry about that, Candy. It seems I have a little problem with employees this morning.” Val walked to the desk, glanced at the computer, and raised an eyebrow. “How much did you see?”

  Candy swallowed hard, forcing her eyes to meet the green gaze across the desk. “Specimen Thirty-Three.”

  Val sighed. “A sad case. I had hopes the vaccine would cure her, but unfortunately, I was wrong.”

  “What exactly are you doing here?” Candy asked.

  “I have some wealthy clients that develop drugs for diseases that, so far, modern medicine hasn’t found a cure for. They can’t afford the trial-and-error process, so I do their trials, and they pay me well. I also do some research on my own.”

  “But I’m not sick, so why did you pick me up?”

  “Thirty-Three wasn’t sick, either. At least not with the virus I gave her after I got rid of the drug addiction.”

  Candy sipped the coffee, her mind digesting what Dr. Jackson had told her. “You mentioned a job?”

  “I find myself in need of better specimens. Ones not riddled with disease or so addicted to drugs that it takes months before I can even begin my study.” Val walked around the desk. “You’re pretty, and you’re smart. With the right clothes and a little training, you could be a real asset to me.”

  Candy finished the coffee. “What would I have to do?”

  “First, you’re going to have to take care of a little problem for me. Then I’ll know I can trust you.” Val walked toward the door. “Follow me.”

  Candy followed her down the hall to the lab, where Rico was standing guard.

  “Are they inside?” Val asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. They’re ready for you.”

  She opened the door. “After you.”

  Candy made a quick mental assessment of the room, which did resemble a hospital lab. There was only one way in and one way out. The friendly couple she’d met earlier, John and Elisa, were strapped to two metal tables, their mouths covered with duct tape.

  “I’m sure you remember John and Elisa?”

  “I doubt I’ll ever forget them.”

  Val laughed softly. “Oh, I think in time other more pleasant memories will take their place.” She walked to a row of cabinets along one wall, pulled on a pair of gloves, and filled two syringes with amber liquid. “I expect my employees to do as they’re told, Candy, and I expect them to protect me at all times. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Val brought a pair of gloves to her. “Put these on.”

  Candy slipped on the gloves, and Val handed her the syringes. “They don’t deserve a quick death, but since I have no specimens to work with, I thought perhaps the two of us would spend the afternoon shopping on Fifth Avenue. Simply shove the needle into their neck and push the plunger. The poison will do the rest.”

  Candy approached John first, avoiding the terror-filled eyes. I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do this, I’ll wind up on one of these tables. She could hear Val and Rico whispering behind her. Imagining Duke in John’s place, Candy stuck the needle into his neck, pushed the plunger, and stepped away. She’d expected Elisa to be more difficult, but when Candy’s gaze met the grey eyes staring at her with hatred, laughter bubbled up inside her. I’m going shopping on Fifth Avenue. Something clicked inside her brain, something that had always been there, yet she’d controlled it before. She bent over the table, slowly pushed the needle in, and giggled.

  “Don’t hate me, Elisa. After all, it’s your own fault.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Did you call it in?” Reefer waited for Tamara to buckle her seatbelt, then started the car and pulled onto the highway. They’d spent the last two hours tearing up Patterson’s townhouse, which was a little nicer than they’d been expecting, considering Patterson’s pay grade.

  “Yeah. The chief wants us back at HQ. He knew we weren’t going to find anything unless the Escape Artist wanted us to.”

  Reefer studied her profile out of the corner of his eye. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What good would it do?” Tamara turned away to stare out the window. “We do what we’re told, right?”

  He chuckled softly. “I do, but what’s rolling around inside that head of yours?”

  “I could have gone undercover on this missing-girl case. If the Escape Artist has him, Patterson is already dead, so what are we wasting time on it for?”

  Reefer sighed and turned his attention to the highway. He’d known they were in trouble the minute he’d seen the newscast the night before. Few people knew Tamara’s real story, but it wasn’t his job to share that information. “Maybe you should talk to the chief. And you know as well as I do that if we don’t find the Escape Artist soon, he’s going to do something to Alex. Can you live with that, Tamara?”

  “Someone out there is butchering young girls, Ben, and I know what they went through before that. I can’t live with that.”

  The fact that she’d used his Christian name should have told him to back off, but he knew what she was thinking, and if she went off on her own again, she would get herself fired. Or worse, someone would kill her.

  “You know what you went through. You don’t know it was the same for them.” His voice rose. “If you want to stop this kind of shit, then you’ll work through the channels and help find the people behind it.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Yes, you can. You’ve damn well proven that over the last six years.” Reefer sighed again and lowered his voice. “We’re a team, Tamara. You close me out again, and this time, I’m walking away.”

  She turned toward him, her eyes widening. “You don’t mean that.”

  He pulled to the side of the road but kept his eyes straight ahead. “I love you, Tamara. I’ve loved you since the day I pulled you out of that hellhole. It’s a part of your past we can’t change, but I won’t keep going there. I won’t keep sitting around, watching you tear yourself apart every time one of these cases comes up. You tried to save them, and even if you manage to save one or two this time, it won’t bring the others back.”

  She sniffled, blew her nose, and dried her eyes. “I’m a Tonka toy, remember?”

  He wanted to turn to her, take her in his arms, and comfort her, but she wasn’t ready for that. He pulled into traffic. “I’m not.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Go to headquarters and see how the rest of the team is getting on. We’re not going to find Patterson until the Escape Artist tells us where to look. I would say Morgan has already checked to see if there were any similar killings anywhere else. Maybe we’ll get a lead we can actually do something with.”

  “This organ thing is sick. You don’t think it’s cannibalism, do you?”

  Reefer raised an eyebrow. “You mean like some specialty restaurant offe
ring up gourmet brains?”

  “Tell me you haven’t heard stranger things? Some people will pay big bucks for anything different.”

  The idea sickened him, but she had a point. “I’ll check some underground sources, see if anything turns up.”

  “Thanks, Reefer.”

  “For what?”

  She placed a hand on his leg and squeezed. “Saving my life again.”

  ~

  Alex sifted through the pictures they’d retrieved from the station. At least their trip hadn’t been a total waste of time, but there were no records on Second Chance, and no one had ever heard of it.

  Crimshaw parked in front of a large house. “I never trust a place without at least one complaint against it.”

  “Got one of those gut feelings, Crimshaw?”

  He opened his door and grinned. “I don’t think it’s gonna blow up, if that’s what you mean.”

  The place appeared to be in good repair. A few hanging baskets adorned the front of the large house, giving it a welcoming feel. “Seems a nice enough place,” Alex said. “I’m not so sure runaways would feel they belonged here, though. To me, it seems more like some kind of retirement home.”

  “I was thinking the same. If I was a youngster on the run, I’d keep running rather than stop here. Let’s see what’s inside.”

  Alex pulled the chain, which sent a rhythmic chime through the colossal house.

  A man in his early fifties with thinning grey hair answered the door. “May I help you?”

  Alex and Crimshaw produced their badges. “I’m Detective Fox, and this is my partner, Detective Crimshaw. Are you the owner of this establishment?”

  “No, an employee. Is there a problem?”

  “We’d like to speak to the proprietor, if we may.”

  “Wait here for a moment. I’ll see if it’s convenient for Mrs. Sims to see you.” He closed the door and left them standing on the doorstep.

  “What a strange man,” Alex said, shuddering for some unknown reason.