The Shark (Forgotten Files Book 1) (10 page)

“Jo-Jo was one name she mentioned. Another was Cassie. She said they were all pals. Looked out for each other.”

Riley glanced at Sharp, who was paying close attention. “Did your daughter have any tattoos?”

“A butterfly and a star.” She dropped her voice a notch. “When she showed them to me, I told her not to tell her dad.”

“What about the initials
JC
on the back of her neck?”

“She didn’t have a tattoo like that.” Hope glistened. “Do you think you’ve made a mistake because my Vicky didn’t have a
JC
tattoo on her neck?”

“We have it right, ma’am,” she said. “The tattoo is new. Did she have a boyfriend?”

“She dated a boy named Jax. Do you think it was his initials?”

“I think JC was her pimp,” Riley said. “I think he marked her as his own.”

Mrs. Gilbert wiped away a tear from her cheek as it spilled. “That’s not my daughter. She wouldn’t have sold herself like that.”

“Our daughter,” Mr. Gilbert said, shutting off his phone, “was a free spirit. She did as she pleased. If you have questions, you should talk to her
boyfriend
. Jax Carter.”

“He works in Richmond tending bar,” Mrs. Gilbert said. “I have his phone number.” She moved into a side room where she retrieved her phone from her purse. She scrolled through the numbers, and when she found Jax’s, she rattled off the number. “He’s older than her, but Vicky really liked him. And he wouldn’t put her on the streets like you said.”

“Is he the friend she was living with?” Sharp asked.

“Sometimes. But not all the time. They fought from time to time.”

Sharp’s jaw clenched. “How did Vicky break her arm?”

Mrs. Gilbert twisted her fingers around her wrist as she looked at her husband.

“The fracture is a spiral shape,” Riley said. “You get those kind of breaks when someone twists your arm.”

“I never hurt her,” Mr. Gilbert said.

“No one said you did,” Sharp countered while continuing to study Mrs. Gilbert’s face.

“Ask her boyfriend,” Mr. Gilbert said.

“How long have they been dating?” Riley looked at the mother.

She glanced at her husband and then tipped her chin up a notch. “About six months.”

“Do you think he did it?”

“He must have.”

“Well, this break goes back a few years,” Sharp said in a calm tone. “She would’ve been about fourteen when it occurred.”

Mr. Gilbert drew in a breath. Bonnie stood beside him but kept distance between them. “She was an active kid. She fell a lot. That doesn’t mean we hurt her. And that’s all I’m going to say. We aren’t answering any more questions until our attorney calls us back.”

Riley closed her book as she glanced at Sharp.

Slowly, Sharp pulled a card from his pocket and held it out to Mr. Gilbert. He didn’t take it. Sharp laid it on an entry table. “This is only the beginning, Mr. Gilbert.”

“We won’t be talking to you again unless our attorney is present,” he said.

“Well, sir, that’s your choice, but I can promise if I find out you’re responsible in any way, I won’t be nice next time,” Sharp said.

“That a threat?”

“Thanks for your time.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Thursday, September 15, noon

When Bowman was in the bureau, there’d been rules to follow. But now that he was out, the old standard operating procedure didn’t apply. His intention wasn’t to break the law, but he knew how to bend anything to its breaking point.

Back from Washington, DC, he glanced at the text from Shield’s contact in the state police. The female victim had been identified and the connection to his tree-hugging pal, Jax Carter, was established. Bowman made his way along the hospital hallway, already knowing Carter’s room number. He wasn’t interested in dealing with attorneys or Miranda rights. He simply wanted to have a chat with the man who had last sold Vicky Gilbert.

The room was dark when Bowman entered and Carter was lying on his back, his eyes closed. Sleeping like a baby. Bowman unplugged the call button and settled in the chair next to Jax. For a long moment he simply stared. He wondered if a guy like Jax had lured Riley into the poker game twelve years ago. Had she been drugged and sold as well? He lightly pressed his finger into Carter’s wound.

“Jax Carter.”

Carter’s eyes popped open, his gaze searching wildly. When he saw Bowman in the chair, Jax recoiled like a cat. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I can find you anytime.”

Paling at the sound of the familiar voice, Carter reached for the buzzer and pressed it. Nothing happened.

“It’s just you and me now,” Bowman said, rising.

Carter sat up in bed, trying to put distance between them. “What do you want?”

“I want to know who you sold Vicky Gilbert to.”

“I don’t know who she is.”

Bowman’s teeth bared into a very unfriendly smile. He gently laid his hand on Carter’s leg. “Sure you do. You’ve been selling her for the last couple of weeks.”

Carter hissed. “I didn’t—”

Bowman barely squeezed. “Who did you sell her to last?”

“I didn’t hurt that girl. She was alive and well the last time I saw her. Back off!”

Bowman’s fingers tightened on Carter’s leg. “You sure you don’t want to talk?”

Carter’s face turned white. “Just let go.”

Bowman released his grip but let his hand rest on the leg.

“Not saying that I sold her, but there was a guy. Lewis. Kevin Lewis. He was looking to party with a girl who had Vicky’s look.”

“What kind of look did he want?”

Carter shifted, trying to move his leg out of Bowman’s reach but only managing to scoot over a couple of inches. “Dark hair. Young. Fresh. Like her.”

“Why did he want her?”

“I don’t ask.”

“What happened when he didn’t bring her back?”

“I went looking for her. The girl had real potential.”

“A moneymaker,” he coaxed.

“That’s right.”

“She’d not worked the streets before?”

“Not really. But she was starting to make serious money.”

“Who introduced you to her?”

“My girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?”

Carter didn’t hesitate. “Darla Johnson.”

Bowman sensed Carter was willing to throw his grandmother to the wolves if it diverted some of the heat off him. “How did Darla meet her?”

“I don’t know. Online, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“She’s always on her phone checking out social media and shit.”

“Reaching out to girls like Vicky. Lonely girls. Lost girls.”

Carter shifted. “I don’t know. Ask Darla.”

“What does Darla say to the girls?”

“You’d have to ask her.”

“Where can I find her?”

“She moves around.”

“In a car? A camper? How does she get around?”

“We have a motor home. We like to stay on the move.”

“What’s it look like, Jax?”

“White. Midsized.”

“Tell me all that you know about Darla.”

“She has a rap sheet. Been busted a couple of times for drugs. Five foot four. Round hips. Blond hair.”

Bowman’s gaze dropped to Carter’s thigh. “That knife wound must be hurting now. I hear you took over fifty stitches. That little girl cut you good.”

Carter shifted, his eyes darkening. “That’s between me and her.”

Outside a cart rattled past, reminding him that this was not the time or place. “Not anymore. I’m in the mix now. Leave her alone.”

“Or what?”

Bowman squeezed again. “Do you really want to find out?”

Carter hissed in a breath. “No!”

A short knock on the door had Bowman backing away from the bed as a nurse entered. He lowered his voice. “See you soon.”

Vicky’s short, troubled life weighed heavily on Riley as she walked into the small coffee shop near the police station after she dropped off Sharp. A bell overhead jingled as she glanced toward a television behind the bar and spotted Eddie Potter’s face. The sound wasn’t on, but she could see he was interviewing an older, well-dressed man in the field where Vicky’s body had been found. The caption under the old man’s face read,
Cain Duncan, festival and concert promoter with Byline Entertainment
.

A young, thin man behind the counter glanced up from the stainless-
steel pitcher he was filling with freshly steamed milk. “Riley. Triple espresso?”

“Perfect.”

“So, you and Cooper catch any bad guys today?”

“Too many to count,” she said.

He grinned. “Coffee’s on the house today.”

“Why?”

“Appreciate what you do.”

“Thanks.” She dropped a few bucks in the tip jar. As she settled into a chair, the door opened and she spotted a tall man glancing at the menu above. Though his back was to her, she could see he was fit and radiated an energy that was hard to miss.

Going through the motions,
she thought as she tore the sugar packets and dumped both into her coffee. As she savored the combination of bitter and sweet, she glanced a second time at the man ordering a plain black coffee. Short dark hair cut neatly. Nicely dressed. In fact, the jacket was top-of-the-line and fit his broad shoulders well. His eyes remained forward, didn’t cut in her direction—but she sensed he knew exactly what was happening around him.

By her guess, he was a fed. Had the look. And they had their share of feds here, so she didn’t pay too much attention to them. She thought about the pitch she’d made to Sharp about ViCAP. No way the wheels of progress moved that fast.

She tugged her notebook from her pocket and flipped through the paltry notes from her interview with Vicky’s parents. Father was an ass, and she wasn’t sure if that was his constant state or if he was overwhelmed and in shock. Mom was in full-blown grief and juggling a load of guilt on top of it. She wasn’t sure if Vicky’s problems were of her parents’ making or stirred up by her own mental health issues. Either way, the kid had landed on the street.

“Thank you.” The deep timbre of the man’s voice drew her attention as he dropped his change, not just coins but also bills, into the tip jar. He didn’t bother with sugar or milk before he turned.

She froze, her cup centimeters below her lips as she looked at him. He wasn’t pretty-boy handsome. The profile was too rough around the edges, as if parts had been bruised or broken before. Shit. Clay Bowman.

He took a seat two spaces from her. Long fingers tapped the side of his coffee cup as he fished a cell from his breast pocket.

Riley sipped her coffee, her comfort level plummeting. Clay
f-ing
Bowman. The last guy she needed or wanted to see again.

Hiding was not an option unless she wanted to look like a wuss. She blew out a slow breath, set her cup down. No sense skirting this past mistake.

“Clay Bowman,” she said.

His dark gaze rose. “Riley Tatum.”

She was actually surprised he remembered her. He’d blasted into her world, made her want too much, and pushed her out of his life.

“So what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“A case.” He allowed his gaze to linger. “You look good. Life must be treating you well.”

“Can’t complain.” His voice struck a chord as familiar words echoed.
Do you have this?
Was he the guy who’d helped her on the side of the mountain?

“Glad to hear it. I always pegged you for greatness.” Bowman’s presence scraped her nerves and invaded her space as she faced him.

“Did you just arrive in the city?”

He studied her a beat. “Why do you ask?”

The dark paint was gone, but she recognized the wide set of his jaw and angled cheekbones. “I guess I thought we might have crossed paths in the last couple of days.”

“I have that kind of face.”

“You ever do any hiking?”

“Sometimes.”

He answered her questions but gave her nothing extra. He was the guy in the woods. She was sure of it. But he wasn’t willing to confirm and she was in no mood to play games.

Sitting around and playing it cool was not her specialty, and she wasn’t interested in chatting with a guy she once thought she might have been able to love. Shit. How could she have not recognized him on the mountain?

“It’s been a pleasure, Bowman. Glad to see you’re doing well.”

“You too, Riley.”

Waving to Seth, she crossed the coffee shop. “Thanks, Seth.”

As she moved, she sensed Clay watching her. Tracking her. Hell, he could be just as surprised to see her here. She kept moving.

Her SUV was already running, AC blasting so Cooper remained cool. When she slid behind the wheel, she shot a quick glance in Cooper’s direction. “The universe hates me today.”

Cooper looked up, then relaxed back.

Seeking distraction, she grabbed her phone from her pocket. A missed message. Realizing she hadn’t turned her ringer back on, she played the message. It was from Bonnie Gilbert, who simply said, “If you want to know more about Vicky, call her friend Rebecca Wayne. Rebecca knew more about my daughter than I did.” After rattling off Rebecca’s number, she rang off.

Riley dialed Rebecca’s phone.

On the third ring she heard, “Hello?”

“Is this Rebecca Wayne?”

“Yes.”

“This is Trooper Riley Tatum with the Virginia State Police. I understand you were a friend of Vicky Gilbert.”

“Yeah. So?”

“I’d like for us to meet. I want to talk to you about her.”

“I’m in school right now. And how do I know you’re a cop?”

“We can meet in public. I’ll show you my badge.”

She was silent for a moment. “I shouldn’t be on the phone, but I’m in the girls’ locker room.”

“When can you talk?”

“School lets out at three and I have tennis practice right after. I can meet you at the courts.”

“Great.”

Rebecca told her the school’s address.

“I’ll find it.”

Bowman sat in Seth’s coffee shop watching Riley Tatum through the window as she spoke on her phone. Garrett Andrews had tracked her cell to this location, and though he’d seen her on the mountain and at her home, he wanted to see her up close. She looked better than he remembered.

She noticed him the instant he’d entered the café—good cops knew who was around. Identifying him had brought a wicked frown to her face, and when he spoke, she knew he’d trailed her on the mountain. She’d called him out without giving him away. Savvy. Smart. But that was Riley. Never anyone’s fool.

Tall and lean, she carried herself with the straight-backed posture of someone with her sights set on the chief’s office one day. Her clothes were nice and crisp, with an edge. One glance suggested she was a gym rat, but she would have to be in good shape to maintain the tracking pace she’d set the other day.

She’d not given any physical indication that his presence bothered her as she rose and left, but he’d sensed her irritation. He shouldn’t care one way or the other if seeing him again affected her, but he did.

On his phone, he opened the e-mails from his office that profiled Riley Tatum. At thirty, she’d racked up several citations and a valor award for the rescue two years ago. There’d been talk of her moving to the investigative side, but she’d opted out to stay with her dog. Loyal. As he remembered.

Her arrest of Jax Carter had earned her media attention, which she’d shunned when the reporters surrounded her after the arrest. She did not like the limelight. He couldn’t fault her. She was a good cop.