“I have a smartphone, but I have no idea how to send pictures. All I use it for is making calls,” Cristy said, handing over her phone to Laney. “Send them to yourself. But Laney, I’ve worked very hard to leave Cristal Waters behind. Please keep my name out of it.”
“It might be too late for that. The police know your real name and your address. I got them when I eavesdropped on a detective,” Laney said as she snapped a couple of shots of the two photos, then she deleted the photos and the sent files from Cristy’s phone.
“Great,” Cristy said. “So I was right to be on pins and needles. They’ll probably be here any minute now.”
“Cristy, call Detective Ethan Delancey at the Eighth Precinct. He’s handling the investigation into Sills’s murder. He’ll take care of you.” She paused for a second, then dug a card and a pen out of her purse. “Here’s one of my cards.” She bent over the hall table and wrote rapidly. “This is Ethan’s—Detective Delancey’s name and number on the back.”
Cristy shook her head. “I can’t imagine a situation where I’d want to call a policeman, but thanks for the number.” She looked at the card, then stuck it in the pocket of her robe. “I’ll keep the card because it’s got
your
number on it.”
Chapter Ten
The police superintendent had finished his press conference and was taking questions when Ethan’s phone vibrated. He’d told dispatch not to call him until the press conference was over. If this was the dispatcher, she was cutting it very close.
“Delancey,” he said, stepping backward behind the curtains, away from the crowd of reporters and onlookers. The number on his screen wasn’t familiar.
“Detective Delancey,” the man said. “I’m Grayson Reed. D&D Securities. I was assigned to stake out this address for you.” He read off Laney’s address.
“That’s right. What’s the matter?”
“I’ve just handcuffed a woman who was breaking into the house. White female, mid-thirties, blonde—”
“What about Laney—Ms. Montgomery?”
“She isn’t here. I’ve—”
“Not there? That’s impossible. I had an officer—”
“Detective,” Reed said with studied patience. “I’ve been here just over an hour, but until this person showed up there was no activity inside. The name on her driver’s license is Carolyn Gertz. It’s a Mississippi license, expired. Probably stolen or faked. I’m having her license plates run.”
“Carolyn?” Ethan said. “We’ve been trying to locate her on a related matter. Where are you now?”
“I’m inside the house. I’ve called Dispatch to send a police cruiser for my detainee.”
“What do you see there?” Ethan asked, terrified that something had happened to Laney before the security agent had gotten there. “Any sign of a struggle?”
“No. Also no purse or car keys. I did find a card on the foyer table that had the name of a local car dealership and the hours of its courtesy van. I believe—”
“Son of a—” Ethan started before he cut himself off. “She got a damn loaner car. Hell, she was gone before you got there.”
“That’s my conclusion, too,” Reed said. “Here’s the cruiser now. I’ll follow it to the Eighth in my own vehicle and give my written report. Will you be there?”
“I can’t say for sure. I may be pursuing a suspect of my own who’s driving a dealer car,” Ethan said. “I’ll have someone waiting to take her into custody. Thanks.” He hung up and rushed back to the station. He had to call the dealership and get the make and model and plates of the loaner car so he could track down his runaway victim.
But where had she gone? She had told him she’d wanted to go home and sleep, so why hadn’t she done that? He sighed in frustration as he headed for his desk. Dixon was sitting there, absorbed in a report.
“You’ll never believe what Laney did,” he said, tossing his car keys onto the desk and flopping into the chair.
Dixon looked up. “Um, got a car from somewhere and went down to Meraux to see Cristal Mackey?”
Ethan stared at him. “It’s Christine Mackey. Who told you about her?”
Dixon held up a smartphone in a white case.
“That looks like—”
“Laney’s phone,” Dixon said. He slid it across the expanse of desk between them. “Take a look at the phone log.”
Ethan pressed keys. “I already knew she got a loaner car. But how do you figure she knew about Cristal’s real name and where she lived?”
“No idea, but the name and address are in her phone.”
“Where was her phone anyhow?”
“It was under one of the chairs in the interview room where you were talking to her earlier.”
Ethan slammed the phone down on the desktop. “That’s what happened. She heard me talking to the officer who ran down Cristal Waters for me. Damn it. I should have been more careful.” He stood and reached for his keys. “I’ve got to go,” he said, just as his phone rang.
“Delancey,” he growled.
“Detective, it’s Holt, head of the lab. One of my techs told me you were asking about a phone that had been bugged.”
“Right, I was, but I’m in a hurry right now.”
“Give me half a minute. He mentioned that you were leaving the bug in the phone so as not to tip off the hacker. Well, everything he told you that the bug can do is true, but there’s more.”
“More?” A tingle of apprehension started up Ethan’s spine. “More what?”
“Some of these new bugs can activate the microphone on the bugged phone and display GPS locations even if the phone is off. Also, the hacker can see everything in the bugged phone’s address book. If the hacker is online when the bugged person enters a new contact into the address book, the hacker can see it in real time.”
Dread settled on Ethan’s chest, heavy as lead. “Thanks. I’ve got an emergency.” He hung up. “Laney’s in big trouble. Whoever bugged her phone knows where she is.”
“Where is she?”
“In Meraux, going to see Christine Mackey. I’ve got to get out there. Call the sheriff of Meraux for backup, will you? Tell them to come in silent and give the deputy in charge my cell number so we can coordinate.”
Dixon sat up, grabbing a pen and writing down what Ethan told him. “Sure thing. I’m on it.”
“Wish me luck, Dixon. If I’m right, Sills’s murderer is on Laney’s tail.
* * *
L
ANEY
GAVE
C
RISTY
the card with Ethan’s number on the back, hugged her and started for the door. But before she took three steps, the door crashed open with a loud, splintering sound.
Laney, gun-shy since Sills’s murder, threw herself sideways, shouting, “Get down.” She landed behind a table that sat just to the right of the front door. She pushed the table over to provide a bit of cover.
The first figure that burst in through the splintered door nearly stopped her heart. It was him. The man in black who had killed the senator and injured her. He was the same height, with the same long, lean form. He was standing in the same awkward position and brandishing what appeared to be a similar weapon. The only thing different was the mask. This time he wore a black and silver Mardi Gras mask that covered only the upper half of the face.
He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she had a split second to examine the mask and the face. What she saw gave her a jolt.
Could she believe her eyes? She wasn’t sure. She quickly assessed the black-encased body. The silhouette wasn’t just lean, it was skinny. The tight black sweater and pants hinted at spare bones and sinewy muscles, the recognizable body type of a dedicated runner. Her gaze focused on the front of the sweater. Were those small, barely discernible breasts? And what was it about those shoes? She squinted. They were platform boots. High ones. No wonder the figure looked awkward.
The man in black was not a man at all. It was a woman.
In those few seconds while Laney’s brain was working that out, the woman in the Mardi Gras mask moved into the room and backed against the wall, motioning for another black-clad figure to enter. This one was taller, larger, unmasked and—Laney did a double take— familiar. She’d seen the man before. But she couldn’t remember where, and she didn’t have time to rack her brain. She had to concentrate on staying alive, because now, Mardi Gras had spotted her.
But to Laney’s surprise, she paid no attention to her. She gestured to the man. He walked over, grabbed Laney by the scruff of her neck and hauled her to her feet. He pushed her against the wall with more than a little force and pressed his forearm against her throat. “Don’t give me any trouble, sister,” he said.
Despite her terror, and despite the fact that the pressure on her throat was making it a little hard to breathe, Laney almost laughed at his fake
gangster
accent. She held up her hands. “No trouble here,” she responded.
Mardi Gras’s attention was on Cristy, who was standing in the center of the room. She pointed her weapon. “Okay, whore,” she said in a smoky, booze and cigarettes voice. “I know you’ve got pictures of Sills. I want every shot of him—by himself and with other people.” She paused for barely a second, in which Cristy didn’t move.
“Did you hear me? I want those pictures—now!”
Laney’s hand twitched to reach for the pocket of her jeans where she’d stuck the photos. Hopefully the corners weren’t sticking out. And hopefully the man, who was over six feet tall and bulky, wouldn’t search her.
“Stay still!” he growled, pressing his thick forearm harder into her neck.
“Oh—” she croaked, grabbing his arm with her fingers and digging her nails into his flesh. “Can’t breathe.”
He jerked backward, then pressed against her again. “Scratch me again and I’ll cut your fingernails down to the knuckle.”
Cristy had her hands up, palms out, and was telling Mardi Gras that she didn’t know what photos she was talking about. “All the pictures I have are in that box,” she said, gesturing with her head toward the box on the coffee table. “In fact, I was just looking at them this—”
“Don’t even try to lie to me, you heathen,” Mardi Gras said. She brandished the gun, but didn’t move any closer to either Cristy or the box. “Put that ratty box in a bag.”
“A bag?” Cristy repeated. “What kind of—”
“Shut up and do it! Trash bag, grocery bag. I don’t care.”
Cristy’s face was colorless. She was as terrified as Laney herself was. As Cristy backed toward the kitchen area with her hands still up, Laney struggled against the big man’s grip. She sucked in air audibly, exaggerating her difficulty breathing. “Please—” she choked out in a guttural whisper, then coughed.
“For goodness’ sake, George, don’t kill her yet!”
Laney coughed again and noticed that Cristy was moving steadily backward. She passed the island that separated the kitchen from the living room, and paused. After a second, Laney realized what she was doing. She was reaching inside a drawer.
Laney gasped. It was the drawer where she’d put her gun. Laney tried to shake her head, but Cristy had her eyes on Mardi Gras. All Laney got for her trouble was another thrust of the muscled forearm into her throat. She cried out wordlessly—almost soundlessly, and dug her nails into his flesh again.
With a growl, he flung her violently away from him. Her back slammed into the wall and she went down, the breath knocked out of her.
At that same instant Cristy took a sudden step to her left, which placed her behind the island. She ducked.
“Hey!” Mardi Gras shouted, taking a step forward.
Cristy raised her head, aimed her weapon and shot. The shot went wildly into the ceiling.
Mardi Gras shot back, splintering the corner of the island, then retreated and ducked behind the open front door. She leaned out and shot twice more.
Cristy rose up to fire back. The bullet went through the wooden door and Mardi Gras shrieked and cursed.
“Got you!” Cristy cried.
Get down,
Laney tried to say but no sound came from her mouth. She clawed at the wall and scrabbled to regain her footing. The man pulled a gun and fired at Cristy.
Cristy cried out and went down.
“No!” Laney croaked, her voice barely audible. She got to her feet as the man waited, listening, and the woman kept cursing and calling Cristy names.
Sneaking between him and the table by the door, Laney grabbed the narrow neck of the long copper vase and swung it with all her might, grunting with the effort. She had no idea if she had the strength to swing the heavy vase hard enough to bring him down.
He obviously heard her grunt, because he twisted toward her just as she followed through with her swing and hit him square in the temple. He went down like a rock.
Cristy cried, “Laney!” in a hoarse whisper.
Mardi Gras shouted, “George, finish her off, damn it. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.” She paused. “George!”
While the woman screamed, Laney was crawling over the downed man’s bulk and reaching for his weapon. It was huge and heavy in her hands, but she lifted it and backed away from him, pointing it at the door behind which the woman cowered. “Cristy, are you all right?”
“Hit in the shoulder,” Cristy gasped. “Can’t use gun.”
A harsh laugh erupted from behind the door. “Well, whore, it’s what you deserve. George. Shoot her and let’s get out of here.”
Laney aimed the gun, holding it with both hands and sure she was going to drop it any minute. “George isn’t available right now,” she called out. “If you don’t drop your gun and come out I’m going to shoot the door with his gun, and as big as it is, I’m thinking it just might blow a hole in the wood the size of—I don’t know—
you.
On the count of three.”
A shot echoed out and Laney heard wood splinter as a bullet zinged by her ear. The woman had blown a hole in the door she was hiding behind. Out of the corner of her eye, Laney saw the man stirring. Her arms were already becoming tired from holding the heavy gun straight out in front of her. She glanced at him, then at the splintered door as her mind raced.
Cristy was wounded, probably much worse than Mardi Gras, judging by their voices. George had been stunned for a while but now he was waking up. Laney had no idea what she was going to do now.
The big man lifted his upper body with his arms and shook his head, like a big cat or dog shaking off a nap.
“Don’t move,” Laney cried.
The man turned his head to look at her. She knew he saw her hands shaking with exhaustion from holding the gun up and out. He smiled, then laughed.
“Stop it!” she said. “Lie down flat.”
Mardi Gras peeked out from behind the door. “Don’t move, Elaine Montgomery,” she said, “or I’ll kill you.”
Laney knew she was beat. She was no match for the two of them. Her arm muscles were beginning to twitch with fatigue. And she was so worried about Cristy she could barely think.
Phone.
“Cristy,” she said. “Call the police.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” George said, groaning as he worked to push himself to his feet.
“Don’t move!” Laney shouted at him. “Do. Not. Move!”
“You don’t move,” Mardi Gras shouted.
And from somewhere, a third voice—a wonderfully familiar voice—said, “How about none of you move.”
It was Ethan. Before Laney could even wonder how he’d found her, he and a roomful of officers rushed in. After that, everything deteriorated into chaos. At one point, Laney heard an officer reading the man his rights as he marched him out the door. Two men with bulletproof vests and rifles disarmed the woman in the Mardi Gras mask not two feet from where Laney was standing. When one of them yanked the mask off, the woman cursed at him.