Everywhere She Turns (26 page)

The slice across his cheek had been a mistake. She’d meant to cut the son of a bitch’s throat. He’d let her go, grabbed at his face. She’d scrambled away from him and threatened to do more damage if he didn’t get out. He had stomped out, cursing her and threatening to come back and finish what he’d started.

But he never had.

From that day forward he’d stayed clear of CJ and her sister.

Until a few years ago, after CJ had moved away.

She wondered now if Tyrone had lured Shelley in just to get back at her.

Nausea roiled in CJ’s stomach at the idea. Leaving had been the best thing for her . . . and the worst for her sister.

Twenty-five, thirty women and men, mostly men, sat or stood around under the bridge. Some were eating the leftovers they had probably discovered in trash cans; others were drinking from bottles camouflaged in brown paper sacks. Conversations lulled as she walked past the huddles. No one said anything to her, just looked. The fingers of her right hand were tucked in her jeans pocket. The cool, metal cylinder was comforting.

The roar and bump of the traffic overhead was rhythmic, almost soothing. Was that why, other than the obvious shelter from rain, the homeless gathered here?

So far, she hadn’t seen Celeste. CJ’s pulse kicked into overdrive. This wasn’t exactly the place to be at night, but she had to find that girl. Had to know she was okay.

A wild mane of red hair drew CJ’s attention to a huddle on the opposite side of the underpass. Her heart rate picked up, urging her pulse to skip. Dodging traffic she darted to the other side. The girls in the huddle stopped talking and stared at CJ.

“Hey, ladies.” CJ walked right up to the group as if she belonged. Her heart sank when she could see that the redhead was not Celeste. “I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

“What the fuck you doing under this bridge, bitch?” one of the women demanded.

Was she deaf? “I’m looking for a friend.”

Another swayed her shoulders side to side and made a sound of disbelief. “Do any of us look like we roll that way? I don’t think so. You take your lesbian ass some place else.”

Stay cool
. “No, I’m not looking for sex,” CJ explained. “I’m looking for Celeste Martin. She’s a friend of mine and I need to give her back that twenty I borrowed from her the other day.”

“Here, girl,” the largest of the skinny group said as she held out her hand, “I’ll give it to her.”

The ladies stopped puffing their smokes long enough to laugh at their friend’s joke.

“Seriously,” CJ interrupted, maybe a little more firmly than she’d intended judging by the glares aimed in her direction, “I need to find Celeste.”

Dead silence echoed beneath the bridge. The emptiness punctuated by the rhythmic flow of that endless traffic.

The big girl stepped forward, stuck her finger in CJ’s face. “You listen up. I don’t know why you out here slumming, or why you calling Celeste your friend, but you best mind your own fucking business or you be wishing you was back on Ledges or wherever the hell you came from.”

“If you really knowed Celeste,” one with a big ’fro hairdo accused, “you’d know she won’t be coming back here.”

“You got that right,” one of the ladies confirmed.

“Hell no, she won’t be back,” another chimed in.

“She done shit in her nest good,” the big girl added.

“Is she in trouble?” CJ was relatively certain she wouldn’t get an answer, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

All eyes settled on CJ. Some were filled with frustration and disbelief that she had to ask; others showed the same fear she’d seen in the eyes of the lady at the house on Beacon Street where Celeste lived.

“What she probably is,” said Big Girl, who seemed to be the leader of the pack, “is dead.”

“If she didn’t get the hell outta here fast enough, she definitely is,” ’Fro Girl agreed.

“Now get on outta here before you draw the po-po,” Big Girl scolded. “They be thinking we done kidnapped your white ass.”

“Thank you.” CJ hesitated long enough to garner another collective glare from the group before cutting back across the street, her heart thumping so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.

This was her fault. If Celeste was dead . . .

God, she didn’t want to believe she’d caused this, but there was no other explanation.

If CJ hadn’t been so caught up in obsessing about what she’d done, she might have paid more attention to the vehicle parked next to hers. Or the three big-ass guys hanging around her rental.

But she hadn’t been paying attention.

She never even looked until she was almost there and then it was too late.

She stalled. The rear passenger door of the fancy black SUV opened and Tyrone Nash emerged.

Fear coiled around CJ’s throat, squeezing off the ability to breathe.

She was in a public place, though it was closed. Traffic was steady just a few yards away.

Tall, thin, relatively handsome for a scumbag, Tyrone glared at her. The scar on his cheek stood out against his otherwise smooth skin. Clips from that night—his brute strength, her sheer desperation—whizzed through her head like a drunken bee.

“Dr. Patterson, I presume,” he said in that silky voice that he’d refined over the years. He could talk the talk with the most sophisticated in the city when he chose. But most of the time he
talked the same trash as those hoodlums serving as his bodyguards.

CJ restrained any reaction. She stared at him, hoped he saw the hatred in her eyes. This pig was responsible for the suffering of so very many women, including her sister.

The silk shirt and trousers and gaudy leather shoes likely cost more than his girls earned in a month or maybe two. The expensive sunglasses he wore, even at night, reflected her vulnerable position.

She truly was a fool, running around out here in the dark.

Edward was right. Braddock was right. Damn, even Ricky had been right about her.

Maybe she shouldn’t have given her official tail the slip.

Tyrone walked up to CJ, stood toe-to-toe, stared down as if assessing her under a microscope. “You just keep on.” He shook his head. “Warning after warning. What’s it gonna take to keep you out of my business?”

Maybe it was the fact that he was in her face. Or maybe she’d wanted to do this since her one lucid thought had formed after Shelley’s death.

She slapped him. Slapped him as hard as she could for being the scumbag he was. For luring desperate young women into a life of misery and shame. The rush of adrenaline that fueled the move receded as quickly as it came. She shuddered with the force of its withdrawal . . . or maybe from touching this bastard barehanded.

His bodyguards closed in. Tyrone held up a hand to stop them.

“I got a score to settle with you already, Dr. Patterson. So I’m gonna give you that, but you listen to me closely.” He leaned nearer still. “The next time you wake up with blood all over you . . . it’ll be yours.”

He turned and walked back to his fancy SUV. One of his goons opened the door. He took one last look at CJ, then climbed in. The goon sent her a look that said he knew something she didn’t, then got into the backseat with his boss. The final two loaded up and the vehicle barreled out of the parking lot.

CJ stood frozen beneath the distant glow of the street lamps. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. If she did, the emotions building inside her would burst free.

Tyrone had killed Celeste.

She didn’t have to wonder anymore.

She knew.

A car roared across the parking lot. Adrenaline blasted through her veins. She lunged for her rental. The car skidded to a stop next to her, trapping her between it and the rental.

That was just like Tyrone. To send his other thugs to do his dirty work. Bastard!

She jammed her hand into her pocket after her keys.

The front passenger window of the other car powered down.

Hurry!
She hit the unlock button. Reached for her door.

“We have to talk.”

CJ whipped around to face the familiar deep voice.

Braddock
.

Between the panic and the darkness she hadn’t recognized his car.

The margin of relief that trickled through her was instantly replaced by suspicion. Where the hell had he come from?

He would be pissed that she’d lost the surveillance he had assigned to her. Apparently he knew her well enough to pick up her trail.

The charge of fear that had propelled her into escape mode vanished like the final blink of warning before her cell phone’s battery died. Her body trembled. She couldn’t restrain it.

“Don’t just stand there, CJ. Let’s go.”

An argument was on the tip of her tongue. But he could have news.

She’d barely gotten the door closed when he hit the gas. Fumbling for her seatbelt, she asked, “Where are we going? Do you have news?”

He didn’t answer immediately. During that lapse of silence they passed a row of streetlights, allowing her to see the tic in his clenched jaw. Definitely angry.

“We’ve had this conversation. Just a few hours ago, in fact.”

“What conversation is that?” The idea that she hadn’t re-locked her rental and that her purse was in there vyed for her attention.
Dammit
.

“You’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t stay out of Nash’s way.”

Oh, that conversation
. “I didn’t exactly go looking for him.” That part was true. “He came to me.”

“Because you were what?” Braddock braked for a light, shot her a dark glower. “Going around asking questions about one of his girls? After having given Jenkins the slip? The man is already skating on thin ice. Do you want to help him get fired?”

She hadn’t thought about that. “None of the village residents would talk to me with him following me around. I was desperate to find Celeste.” Besides, Braddock should be utilizing his time trying to find Shelley’s killer, not keeping up with CJ’s activities. She could take care of herself.

Flashes of blood scrawled on her wall and poured over her sheets had her backtracking on that one.

“I don’t know how to get this through your head.” The light turned green and he set the car back in motion. “You can’t keep taking these risks.”

“If I don’t, who will?” That was the real question here. “Everyone’s afraid. No one will stand up to Tyrone.”

Silence throbbed inside the car.

She was right and Braddock knew it.

Something Tyrone had said to her bobbed to the surface of her churning thoughts. “The blood.” She chewed her lip to stop its quivering. “It wasn’t Ricky’s.”

“I know. I got a call from the lab an hour ago. I drove over to the Appleton house to give you the news, but you weren’t there. It took me a while to track you down.”

“You have my cell number.” She patted her pocket. “You didn’t try to call me.” He hadn’t wanted to call. He’d wanted to see what she was doing. Probably had been following her around when he got the call from the lab. “If you were that worried, why didn’t you call?”

“Because,” he admitted, “unlike Jenkins, I knew where to look. I’ve been following you around since you left the meeting with Cost at the clinic.”

CJ wanted to be mad. She wanted to yell at him. But she wasn’t stupid. She was grateful. Tyrone could have dragged her into his SUV and killed her the same way he probably had Celeste.

“He killed her.” The realization drained any remaining fight out of her. This was her responsibility. She’d gotten that girl murdered.

“You can’t be certain of that.” Another of those sidelong glances shot her way.

“It’s true.” CJ leaned against the headrest. She was tired. All of this was unbelievable. She’d stayed to help find her sister’s killer and she’d gotten dragged into the muck and mire of this dirty underworld. How could she get herself out and still learn the truth about her sister’s murder?

“Did Nash say that?”

“Of course he didn’t.” Why was Braddock patronizing her? “He said something like if I didn’t stay out of his business, the next time I woke up and found blood on my sheets it would be mine. It isn’t a confession, but I got the message.”

Braddock’s jaw started that rhythmic pulsing again, but he said nothing.

She’d just told him that Tyrone had committed a murder! What was wrong with him? “You have nothing to say? Shouldn’t you go question Tyrone or something?”

He cut her another of those looks. “You know the answer to that. It’s a little thing called lack of evidence.”

More of that thick silence.

She frowned as he slowed for a turn off Whitesburg. “Where’re we going?” She’d expected that he would just drive around, then take her back to the parking lot.

“Someplace where we won’t be interrupted.” He glanced at her. “While I try to get it through your head once and for all that you’re making yourself an easy target.”