If he could get the damn exemplars, what else stood in their way? "Like..."
152
"Someone who's been taking drugs, who's exhausted or ill or emotionally distraught, may write differently when in that state."
After what he'd seen on various forensic shows, he'd thought it would be easier. But ever since Colton and Emily had died, he'd realized that nothing about police work was easy. "I understand."
He hung up--and immediately started thinking about Jane again. How was she doing with the various Indian casinos? She hadn't called, but she hadn't been gone that long, either.
Should he act on her suggestion to tell Malcolm that Mary wanted to send him a package? Maybe if it came from Mary's work e-mail, it would lend him even more credibility. It would certainly build a more believable picture. And if he had Mary tell Malcolm she was shipping it via FedEx, they might be able to get an address out of him. Most people knew that FedEx and other couriers couldn't deliver to a P.O. box.
"You like to gamble, Malcolm? Let's roll the dice," he said and called to see if he could get hold of Mary.
It wasn't her first time. Marcie had been wrong about that. Latisha was on the pill. She'd been sleeping with a waiter she'd met at the restaurant. She just hadn't told her sister or anyone else. Although sex with Wesley Boss had been very different--merely physical, mechanical, an act of panic and desperation, not mutual attraction--Latisha couldn't regret it. She and her sister would both be dead if she hadn't done what she'd done.
As Wesley curled around her and began to doze off, she stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how well she'd survived the experience. She certainly hadn't enjoyed herself, but it hadn't been as bad as she'd expected. She'd merely separated her mind from her body, closed her eyes and imagined she was swimming in a deep pool, submerged under water, where she could see only murky shapes and hear only muted sounds.
In less than fifteen minutes he was finished. And he hadn't been cruel or particularly rough. She would've been grateful for that, except she was pretty sure his "normal" approach was what had her so confused. This was rape, or a form of it, yet there'd been no violence. She'd always associated rape with brute force.
Movement in the next room told her Marcie was as agitated now as she'd been when she fought to keep Latisha from going with Wesley. Because her sister 153
had received a quick kick to the face for her efforts, Marcie was more badly hurt than Latisha. But Latisha knew the physical injuries Marcie had sustained--so far--
would heal. She was more worried about the psychological damage. Her sister was already so angry at the world. Their mother, her father, certain schoolteachers and various peers had let her down so terribly. Marcie didn't need another reason to hate....
Resisting the urge to grab her clothes, Latisha drew a careful breath so she wouldn't disturb Wesley. She and her sister were alive. For now that was all that mattered.
"Am I too heavy on you?" he muttered.
She froze. He wasn't asleep, after all. And that was something her boyfriend might've said to her. "No."
"That was freakin' amazing," he gushed. "You did great."
How did she respond to such praise? She hadn't done anything at all except lie still and let him use her.
"It wasn't that bad, was it?" He rose up to see her face, and the entreaty in his expression surprised her. "No big deal, right?"
She could tell he wanted to believe it. He preferred not to acknowledge that what he'd done was one of the worst crimes imaginable.
She resisted the temptation to make him aware of what his actions made him. No self-respecting cop would've done this, yet he prided himself on his police background more than anything. But she was afraid he'd get rid of her that much sooner if she did. The memory of him standing in the doorway with that gun, which he'd since unloaded and hidden under the mattress, was too clear in her mind. She had to outsmart him, had to play him better than that. Chances were she'd gain more by winning his friendship. Someday maybe she'd be able to get a bullet or two from his pocket, where he'd dumped them, and load that gun he'd put under the mattress....
"You said if I slept with you, you'd let us go," she whispered.
"You rejected that offer."
She swallowed hard. "But...I came in here with you last night."
"Only to save your skin. That's not the same."
"So...will you ever let us go?"
He was lying down again. When he didn't answer, she tilted her head to look at him and found him watching her. "Of course. Someday," he said.
154
But he didn't mean it. He hadn't asked if she was on the pill, hadn't bothered with any birth control. That alone told her he didn't expect her to be around long enough to worry about getting her pregnant. Marcie had been right from the very beginning. He had no intention of letting them go. Their only chance was the one Latisha was taking. If she could make him want her, make him like her, he might keep her around and, in time, maybe she'd be able to create an opportunity for escape.
Or an opportunity to put a bullet in his chest.
"Are you ready to do it again?" she asked.
He raised his head. "You want more?"
Her muscles tensed with revulsion. "Why not?"
"There you go, girl. Doesn't hurt a damn thing, does it." He smiled eagerly.
"Give me a few minutes to rest."
When he eventually rolled on top of her, she hummed silently to herself, swimming in that same deep imaginary pool where she could feel nothing but the water swirling around her limbs. She and Marcie would get away. Wesley was human.
That meant he had weaknesses.
155
Fourteen
T
he pressure Jane felt to work fast made their day at the casinos seem interminable. She knew from what she'd witnessed at TLS that real investigations weren't like what she saw in the movies. They could be tedious. But this was her first experience feeling such intense personal responsibility to see that the case moved faster.
"We're getting nowhere," she complained to Jonathan after they'd spent several hours asking dealers and waitresses at each casino about the picture Sebastian had given her. Some said they'd never seen the man, others said they couldn't be positive--too many people passed through a casino to remember them all.
"You ready to give up?" he asked.
"I'm not sure what to do." She stood amid the flashing lights and clattering slot machines of Thunder Valley, gazing down at the photograph. "Maybe Sebastian's Wesley Boss isn't
my
Wesley Boss. Maybe I'm using the wrong man's photograph."
"Or maybe we're asking the wrong dealers."
"You think we should wait until later?"
"We don't know when he gambles. If it's at night, it makes sense to ask the dealers who work that shift."
She'd already thought of that, but waiting meant they'd lose even more time.
Marcie had been alive when she called. Was she still alive? What about Latisha?
"If I need to come back, Kate will have to stay at my in-laws' again," she mused.
"I'd offer to make the rounds for you but I promised Zoe I wouldn't work tonight," he said. "My hours have been crazy lately."
"I can do it," she told him. "Kate loves it at the Burkes'."
A security guard gave them a funny look, as if he suspected them of trying to do something wrong. What, exactly, that might be, Jane couldn't figure out.
They weren't even gambling. Maybe he'd seen her flashing that picture around and didn't like it. She always felt so
watched
in a casino. It made her uncomfortable.
But the fact that they'd caught this guy's interest gave her an idea.
156
Stepping around Jonathan, she approached him. "Sir, could you help me?"
Bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows like those of an old-time sea captain jerked together above murky gray eyes. "With what?"
After introducing herself and Jonathan, she explained their purpose. "Have you seen this man?" she asked once he understood.
He studied the photograph, but ultimately shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not."
"Is there any way we could view the security tapes to see if he's been in?"
"I'm not the one who can give permission for that. I'm guessing you'd need to contact the police and have them get in touch with management."
"There's already a detective on the case. I could talk to him, see what he can do," she said. But this was such a long shot. Would there be probable cause to get a court order, if one was necessary? And was it the best place to spend their time, anyway?
"Although..." Security considered the picture again. "I suppose I could check the tapes myself."
Jane exchanged a glance with Jonathan. "Would you mind?"
"How far back do you want me to go?"
"Would six weeks be too long?" Jonathan asked.
"Nah." He clicked his tongue. "But I'd have to do this on my own time, so it could take a while."
More discouraging news. Maybe David could shorten that time frame by gaining access to the tapes, but he'd have to work it out with the tribal council. Jane assumed they had jurisdiction. "We'd appreciate whatever you can do." At least it was a start.
"No problem."
She handed him the picture, along with her business card. "You can reach me here if you find anything."
"Will do."
Jane's cell phone rang as they walked out of the casino. "It's Skye," she told Jonathan in disbelief.
He seemed just as surprised as she was. "Calling from South America?"
"Must be."
When she hesitated instead of answering, he stopped. "Aren't you going to take it?"
157
Jane wasn't sure she wanted to. So much had changed since her friend and boss had left. She was searching for two kidnap victims, had made love with someone she'd just met--and she might be pregnant. She didn't want Skye to know about these things, did she? How much could she tell her?
"Jane?" Jonathan prompted.
"Of course." She punched the talk button before the call could transfer to voice mail. "Hello?"
"How's it going?" Skye asked.
Jane tried to put a smile in her voice. "Fine. What about you?"
"Could be better. We still haven't found the child we've been looking for. It's so difficult when you don't speak much of the language."
To escape the noise, Jane stepped away from the automatic doors but remained under the overhang to avoid the rain. The worst of the storm had passed, but it continued to drizzle. "How much longer do you think it will take?"
"Who knows. We've got some good leads, some extended family members who are sympathetic and asking around on our behalf, but there's no way to tell for sure. I'm hoping it won't be more than a week. I really miss David and the kids."
"They miss you, too."
"I hope I never have to take another job like this."
"You didn't have to take this one," Jane reminded her.
"Yes, I did. We need the money. Besides, someone's got to help out in situations like this. It's more of a problem than people realize."
Someone spoke in the background.
"Was that Ava?" Jane asked.
"Yes, she said these are tough cases."
There were plenty of tough cases at home. Jane was working on one--not that Ava would be happy to hear it. "No kidding."
"What's been happening at the office?"
Biting her lip, she turned away from Jonathan. She didn't want to see his reaction when she lied. "Nothing much, why?"
"Just wanted to make sure you were managing okay without us. It must be weird being the only one there."
"Jonathan's been in and out. And there are the volunteers to keep me company."
"So you're okay."
158
The smell of someone's cigarette wafted toward Jane, making her crave a smoke. "Of course. I'm fine."
"Good. Thanks for looking after TLS while we're gone."
She glanced around to find the person who was smoking, spotted the security guard and smiled enviously. She knew she'd never light up again, but that didn't always stem the desire. "Anytime. Be safe, and I hope to see you soon," she told Skye.
Jonathan frowned when she hung up. "Don't you think you should've told her?"
"Why? It's over already. I'm not going to sleep with him again."
A crooked smile curved his lips. "I was talking about the case."
Sebastian was at the gym when his mother called. He fished his BlackBerry out of the pouch of his sweatshirt, which he'd tossed on the floor beside him, and relaxed on the seat of the bench press he'd been using.
"I've got Malcolm's signature on stacks and stacks of checks. Will that work?" she said the moment he answered.
"No, a signature isn't what we need. It doesn't include enough letters. And signatures can be different from regular writing." He mopped the sweat on his forehead with the towel draped around his neck. "We have to have a letter of some kind. The more writing, the better."
"I don't think I'll be able to find it. Most men don't write letters anymore, Sebastian, at least not very often. If they do, it's on a computer."
"What about a greeting card?"
"You and I both know that Malcolm wasn't the type to give Emily cards."
"There could be more practical things."
"Like to-do lists and grocery lists? They get thrown away. Why would anyone keep them? If I had to provide a sample of
your
handwriting, I'm not sure I'd have any more luck, unless I could use some of your old schoolwork."
She had a point. He tended to call her or e-mail her. He didn't write letters--
or lists--unless it was on his computer or BlackBerry. But that wasn't the answer he wanted. "You've gone through every box?"
"Not every box. There are a lot here. Some are stacked too high or they're buried behind the furniture and are difficult to reach. But I've gone through the ones that I can get to without tearing the whole place apart." A change in tone 159
indicated tears. "I found Emily's journal. Seeing that, reading parts of it...was heartbreaking. And I'm finding plenty of Colton's schoolwork. The poor kid...." she said on a sob.