But he'd never see his former coworkers again. So who would know?
Besides, it was because of Latisha and Marcie that he couldn't go to Franklin Boulevard to pick up a prostitute.
After all the teasing and flirting he'd done with Mary, he wanted a woman.
Badly. And there were two right here. Two who had nothing better to do. Two who were ripe for the taking.
They were just black women. What would it hurt?
Come on. Go for it.
Maybe if he relieved some of his sexual tension, he'd be able to concentrate, make a decision about Mary. Then he might not be so influenced by the desire to get in her pants....
Returning to the bedroom, Malcolm flipped on the light. Both girls shrank away from him, but his gaze lingered on Latisha. His father had taught him from the time he was just a boy that minorities weren't worth his attention. But the younger of the two...she was quite pretty, if he let himself look at her that way. She had large tits, an itty-bitty waist and nice round hips. And she didn't have the welts, freshly swollen lip and black eye he'd given Marcie when he'd dragged her into the house from the van.
"I know how you can guarantee your ticket home," he said.
Latisha's eyes widened and grew wary at the same time. She'd noticed the change in his voice and manner, but the promise of his words proved too difficult to resist. "H-how?"
"Spend half an hour with me in the bedroom, doing whatever I ask, and I'll let you go. I promise."
"In the bedroom?" she repeated, looking as if she was about to be sick.
"What's thirty minutes?" he asked, trying to make it more appealing. "Thirty minutes for the sake of freedom."
"Will you let my sister go, too?"
69
"Sure," he said. "But that'll cost the whole night."
Marcie struggled to scoot closer to Latisha. "Don't do it," she warned. "He's lyin'. He'll drag you outta here and you won't be comin' back, and not 'cause he took you home. He's gonna kill us both. That's what he's gonna do."
Malcolm felt his hands curl into fists. Marcie was right. He had no choice.
But it angered him that she wouldn't at least hope for the best. "Shut up! I'm not talking to you, you crackhead bitch!"
"Please, don' do this to her," Marcie begged. "It's me you're mad at. She ain't done nothin'."
"But she's the one I want. So stay out of it." He nudged Latisha's knee with his foot. "Take off your clothes."
Latisha whimpered but didn't act.
"Come on," he persisted. "Your sister's the one who's lying. I might kill her before we're through, but I won't hurt you, not if you've been good to me."
Tears slipped from her eyes, but it was Marcie who began to plead. "Please.
She's my baby sister. She's a good girl. She ain't never been with a man. Take me. I can make it fun. It's me you want to punish."
This was the most respectful Marcie had been, but Malcolm knew how deeply she hated him. It was all an act to save her sister's sorry ass. "You've got to be kidding me," he responded. "Look at you!"
"You won't be able to tell what I look like in the dark. Jus' take me outta here, so she don't gotta hear it, and I'll make it worth your while. I promise."
She'd try to kill him, more likely. He didn't find her appealing. And because of her, he had to go to the trouble of getting a new phone, which meant he needed another alias. He preferred Latisha. But he'd never forced a woman before. He'd spent fifteen years as a cop, believing that rapists were the worst kind of scum, second only to pedophiles. Did he really want to become one of them?
Even prison inmates had no respect for a rapist. He remembered wondering why they didn't have enough pride to use some self-restraint, and here he was, facing the same temptation. It showed how much he'd changed, but he didn't want to think about that.
Attempting to ignore the part of him that still balked at what he was about to do, he stepped forward. He'd unchain Latisha and drag her ass out of here if he had to.
But Marcie got in front of her. "No!" she cried. "You won't take her! Let her 70
be!"
The stupid bitch was willing to take another beating. He'd probably have to fight them both. And if it got too violent, he wasn't sure he could get it up.
"Shut your ugly mouth and go to sleep," he snapped and walked out. He didn't want Marcie or Latisha. He wanted Mary. And he was going to have her.
He just needed to figure out how.
Jane was getting out of the shower when the doorbell rang. She wrapped a towel around her head and pulled on her robe before peeking through the blinds in the kitchen. It was David.
"Hi," she breathed as she let him into her condo. She'd managed to fall asleep a couple of hours after searching every reverse directory available to her, without any success. Then she'd gotten up and worked out before taking Kate to school in her sweats, like she did every day. But David looked as if he'd been up since she called him. Wearing a sport jacket, a tie and some chinos, he'd tried to smooth down his hair, but it stood up in back. Apparently, he hadn't showered or shaved, but it didn't hurt his appearance. With short dark hair, light green eyes and a rugged face, he was handsome despite being a little frayed around the edges. Jane had always thought so, even when she hated him all those years ago.
"Where's Kate?" He glanced toward the kitchen.
"School. She likes to go early on Tuesdays. There's a ceramics teacher who allows the kids to make things." She plucked at his lapel. "You didn't have to dress up just for me," she teased.
He indicated her robe. "I could say the same."
"You could've called first."
"I was in the neighborhood. Anyway, I had to dress for the entire day. Who knows when I'll have the chance to go home again. This past week's been crazy.
Fortunately, Jeremy's nearly thirteen, old enough to be some help with Chase and Jessica. And they love their sitter. But with Skye gone and the hours I'm pullin'..."
He sighed. "I'll be glad when she's home."
David worked too hard. Jane had heard Skye say it, had experienced it firsthand when she'd been married to one of his most sought-after suspects.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"No." He dropped onto her soft leather couch. "I have a caffeine buzz already."
71
"How about breakfast? I can get dressed, make you some eggs."
"No, I don't have much time. I stopped by to tell you I went to the station first thing and used the databases there. The number you gave me didn't match any records."
"So you need to get a search warrant?"
"I already did." He straightened the bear sculpture on her coffee table. "I faxed it to the various cellular companies before I came here."
"How long will it take to get a response?"
"So far I've heard from two. No luck. I'm waiting on the others. Any word from Gloria?"
"I called her when I got out of bed this morning. She's still planning to go to work today. She said she'd only drive herself crazy if she didn't."
He shook his head in sympathy. "The rent has to be paid. That kind of thing stops for no one."
"I can't imagine what's happened to Marcie and Latisha, David."
"Me, neither," he said. "There was no sign of a struggle. That's what's got me. They simply disappeared--together and in broad daylight."
"How often does that occur?" she asked.
"Not once since I've been on the force."
Jane tightened the belt on her robe. She was close enough to David and Skye that it wasn't any big deal for him to see her like this, but she would've felt more comfortable in her clothes. "Gloria told me that someone downtown thought this case might be related to the murders along the American River."
He made a face. "No, you and I both know who committed those murders."
"Exactly. So what gives?"
"I've never been able to prove it was Oliver. That means that technically they remain unsolved."
"Are you still
trying
to prove it?"
"There's no point in spending any more time. I've already dug up all there is to find. Claiming this case might be related was just an excuse to dump it on my desk. Everyone's so busy." Closing his eyes, he let his head fall onto the back of the couch. "We really need more help."
"That's why you're letting me get involved," she said.
He opened one eye. "No, you're involved because I knew there was no way to stop you. I'm intimately familiar with the diehard who trained you, remember?"
72
She offered him a coy smile. "Have you talked to Skye?"
"Last night before bed."
"Did you tell her I'm working my own case?"
"I left that out--rather conveniently, I admit." The tenor of his voice changed, grew more serious. "I figure she has enough to worry about."
He was the one doing the worrying. That was obvious. He didn't like his wife taking some of the cases she did. This time Skye wasn't chasing anyone accused of a violent crime, but South America was too far away for David to feel comfortable about her absence. Even though Ava was there, too. Every once in a while, he nearly talked her into quitting her job. But she couldn't give up on The Last Stand, couldn't walk out on what she'd created.
"I'll get dressed and make you some breakfast."
"No, I'm leaving," he said and stood. "I'll catch up with you later."
She followed him to the door. "So you'll be in touch if--"
David's cell phone went off. She stopped, hoping whoever was on the other end might be calling about the warrant.
"Hello?" He cocked his head, listening. "Just a sec, let me grab a pen." He patted his jacket pockets and found a pad as Jane brought him a pen from a drawer in the kitchen. "Go ahead."
He scribbled something down, thanked whoever had called and hung up.
"Well?" she asked expectantly.
"That was Verizon. The number belongs to a guy named Wesley Boss."
"Do you have an address?"
"At this point, just a P.O. box. I'll head to the post office as soon as I have time and see if I can get a street address."
"Let me know when you have it."
He muttered Boss's name under his breath. "Wesley Boss...Wesley Boss."
"What is it?" she asked.
"That name sounds familiar."
"Why would it?"
"I've heard it before. Recently. Or maybe not." He stepped onto the stoop.
"Wait, I remember now. Some guy from New York came to the station a few weeks ago, asking about a Wesley Boss. He said Boss loves police work, forensic shows, ambulance chasing. He wanted to know if he'd been a nuisance or tried to befriend any of the officers."
73
Jane hid behind the door to spare the other people in her complex the sight of her in her bathrobe. "Why was he looking for Boss?"
David didn't answer. His mind was elsewhere. "What was the name of that guy?" He squeezed his eyes closed. "It was Greek, I know that. Coast? That's close. Hang on." He hit a speed-dial button on his phone and asked someone on the other end to check his desk for a business card with a Greek last name beginning with the letter C. "It should be in my top drawer," he told whoever it was.
While he tried to come up with the information, Jane took the towel off and started patting her head dry. Her hair was short and choppy these days. She needed to style it, before it dried.
"No...no...no...There's a New York address...That's it," she heard David say.
"What's the name?...Give me the number, too."
He still had her pen. He wrote the information on his pad, then tore out the sheet and handed it to her. "Call this guy and see if he ever found his man."
"You're willing to let me do this?" she asked in surprise.
"A homicide case I've been working for the past two months just went into fast-forward."
So the safety of Gloria Rickman's sisters wasn't the only thing keeping him up at night. "I'll take care of it," she said.
He tossed her a tired smile. "I'll get to the post office once I handle this."
"Okay." Jane read the name on the paper.
Sebastian Costas.
"What's his connection to Boss? Why's he looking for him?" she called after David.
He paused midway to his car. "He claims Boss is an alias for a man named Malcolm Turner, an ex-cop from Jersey."
"And?"
"He believes Turner killed his wife and stepson, then faked his own death."
"So Costas is a cop himself? Or a private investigator?"
"He's the father of the boy who was murdered."
Her thoughts immediately reverted to Kate and how easily she could've lost her five years ago, when Oliver went on his killing rampage. "Ouch."
"He might not be thinking clearly."
"Is there any chance he could be right? About Boss?"
"I placed a call to New Jersey. They're convinced Turner is dead. They have DNA to prove it."
"So this Costas is crazy or desperate or both."
74
David seemed to consider the question. "What he says is highly unlikely.
But...one thing I've learned in law enforcement--anything's possible."
"True. I'll talk to you later." She watched him drive away, then stared at the note he'd handed her. Maybe Sebastian Costas was out of his mind with grief or maybe he refused to believe that the man who'd killed his son was dead because he needed a target. Both were plausible scenarios. But Marcie's phone call had originated from a number owned by a Wesley Boss, and it was awfully coincidental that Mr. Costas was searching for a man with the same name.
Something was up with Mr. Boss. Whether he was actually Mr. Turner remained to be seen.
75
Seven
T
he ring of his cell phone woke Sebastian. Patting the desk, he managed to locate it without opening his eyes. "Hello?"
"You won't believe this," a female voice announced.
Biting back a groan occasioned by the crick in his neck, he sat up. "Mary?"
"Did I wake you?"
Still groggy, he checked the clock. It was after eight. He'd spent the night in front of the computer. "Looks like it's time to get up, anyway. What's going on?"