Wrong Chance (24 page)

“What if we're dealing with a serial killing team?” Hakeem said as a dumpy man with aggravated acne hustled toward them. “Three of 'em.”

“That'll be one for the history books.” She wiped traces of their breakfast from his mouth with a thumb. Their eyes locked. Their lips dangerously close. Hakeem held his breath.

“Here you go,” Dumpy said, handing Aspen an impound invoice. “Yup, came in Saturday, April the twenty-third at twelve seventeen in the morning.” Sweat dripped from his forehead; his breathing labored.

Hakeem and Aspen eyed each other, both understanding that they were at the scene of the crime while Yancee's car was being towed.

Aspen scanned the paperwork. “Has anyone touched the car or removed anything from it?”

Dumpy shrugged. “Sorry, Detective, that I can't say.”

Hakeem knew what that meant: Dumpy was about to get a full dose of Aspen Skye. Poor Dumpy, Hakeem thought.

Aspen's eyes glazed over; her jawbone throbbed. She looked at Dumpy as if he were incompetent, retarded, or both. “So what in the hell do you have supervisor stitched on your shirt for? Point us in the damn direction of someone who
can
say.”

“What I meant—”

“Exactly what the hell did you mean?” She tapped out a Newport as Hakeem looked on, wondering what was in her that made her go from zero to one hundred at the slightest irritation.

Dumpy said, “My employees haven't removed or touched the car after it was hauled in. There's a drug rehabilitation center and methadone clinic at the end of the block. We get vandalized weekly. Addicts climb my fence at night and steal car radios, TVs, and anything else they can carry outta here to get a fix.”

•  •  •

Inside the police garage, the crime scene techs busied themselves gutting Yancee's Camaro and collecting potential evidence. Tony Adams excused himself from the others and went over to Hakeem and Aspen.

“Detectives,” he said.

“Tony.” Hakeem nodded.

In lieu of a greeting, Aspen said, “What you got?”

Tony glanced back at the car as the front seats were being removed. “Lifted seventy-two sets of latent that were made by five different people. Two sets were made by children. Got hits on another two sets as soon as we fed them to AIFIS.”

Aspen's heart started pounding. “That's great. Who, Tony?”

“Of course one combination of prints belongs to Yancee Taylor. The other combination are—”

“Scratch's,” Hakeem said, “if he told the whole truth.”

Tony nodded.

“What about the fifth person?” Aspen said.

“Nothing in the database.” Tony pulled out a plastic evidence bag and held it up. “We also found this stuck to the dashboard.”

Inside the bag was a yellow Post-It note. Written in blue ink were the words
C.F. Wood Chips, 4:30, Thursday.

“Does this mean anything to either of you?”

Hakeem said nothing.

“Dammit, I think it just might.” Aspen snapped a picture of the note with her phone. “I could kiss you right now, Tony.”

He blushed.

They faced each other in the square of the kitchen like two prizefighters with their titles on the line.

Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

“I swear to God.” Jazz pulled her hair into a ponytail and propped the sunglasses on her head. “I swear if you bounce that ball one more time—ever—in my house, I'll leave you here and never come back.” She wore a jean skirt that showed off her long legs and a fashionable pair of sandals that highlighted her pretty toes. The tantalizing cover to her latest novel and the URL of her web site was printed on the front of her dainty T-shirt.

Fear flashed in Jaden's eyes. “You wouldn't.”

Jazz saw it as plain as day. “So that's it, huh?” Translation:
I got you all figured out.
“You're scared to be alone.”

He palmed the ball, feigning a dribble, testing her resolve.

She picked up her keys, eager to make good on her promise. “Try me. I dare you. You're hateful, mean, and rude as hell with your smart-ass mouth. I would love to leave you.”

“You're lying.”

“Bounce the ball and find out.”

He pretended he would bounce it.

“Jaden, I'm so sick of you. Stop faking and do it so I can turn my back on you.”

“You want to leave me for real?”

“I'm more than ready to go. You pushed and pushed me away. Now give me the reason I need to seal the deal.” She set her chin. “My sanity is too precious to keep allowing you to put me through hell because you won't accept my apology.”

“You can't leave me.”

With a hand on her cocked hip, she said, “And why the hell not?”

“ 'Cause.”

“Because what, Jaden?”

“ 'Cause you're more afraid of abandonment than I am. I got your number.”
Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

“Good riddance.” Jazz's long, confident strides quickly carried her through the house.

“Don't leave me,” Jaden said. “Take me with you.”

She kept going straight toward the front door without so much as a backward glance.

“Okay, okay, okay, I'm sorry. Please don't leave.”

“Should've thought about that before you disrespected me and did exactly what I asked you not to do.”

“I won't do it again.”

“Too damn late, Jaden. I'm gone.” She snatched the door open and Leon was coming up the walkway.

Now she was in for a real fight.

A
gasp punctuated her surprise and got caught in her throat. Only her eyes blinked because it was an involuntary action. Everything else was too damn scared to move. She felt pure terror burrow deep into her heart.

He said, “Need to talk to you.” He was sickly-looking and way too skinny. He'd lost at least thirty pounds since they sat at a conference table with their lawyers and signed divorce papers.

The sound of his baritone voice thawed her. She clicked the lock on the security screen door between them in a hurry.

“You can't leave me like this,” Jaden said.

Over a shoulder, she said, “Shut up. Just shut up.”

“Who are you talking to?” Leon stepped closer to the screen door, trying to see around her. His jaundice-colored eyes were sunken and distant.

“I know you didn't violate the restraining order to mind my business. What do you want?” Without permission, her heart tried to stab its way through her chest. In their twelve-year history, she never dared speak to him with such contempt. The thought of it now turned her into a nervous ball of energy.

“You can look at me.” His once beefy shoulders slumped forward. Defeated.

Until Leon said that, Jazz had no idea her gaze was downcast.
The practice was beat into her so thoroughly, it became a natural reflex in Leon's presence—in any assertive man's presence. And now that he'd given her permission to look at him, she still couldn't find the power to lift her gaze.

“Do it,” Jaden said. “Now's the time to get back everything he stole from you. Look him in his eyes.”

She whispered, “Please be quiet.” Then she eased the sunglasses onto her face, killing all possibilities of a personal connection.

“Uh,” Leon said, taking a deep breath. “I'm sorry for what I did to you. I know that don't make my insecurities excusable or fix things, but I'm sorry. You didn't deserve my bull.”

“Lift your head,” Jaden said.

“You came here to say you're sorry for destroying everything good within me after all these years?”

“Yeah,” Leon nodded. “And I risked you putting me in jail to do it.” He blinked a tear loose. “I'm sorry, Jazz.”

“Well, you said it. I'm shutting my door now.”

“Wait, please,” Leon said. “Hear me out.”

“Look him in the face and say it.”

Again she glanced over her shoulder at Jaden and whispered, “Say what?” Her expression softened toward him.

“Get mad and say what you need to say. Let it out.” He spun the ball on his finger.

“Who are you talking to? Who's in there with you?”

Her head snapped back toward Leon. “None of your fucking business.” That felt great…empowering.

Leon shrugged. “I deserve that.”

“You're damn right you do.”

“That's it,” Jaden said, “get mad. Take a stance and reclaim everything he took.”

She raised her head a smidgen, building confidence inch by inch. Anger intoxicating her.

“Do it,” Jaden said. “What are you waiting for? Tell him.”

“I was terrible to you.” Leon scratched his beard stubble. “Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“Forgive you? I hate you. You kicked my baby out my stomach.”

“That's what I'm talking about,” Jaden said. “Raise some hell.”

“You beat me, you bastard, because I love my family. I'll never forgive you.” Cinder block by cinder block, Jazz built a resistance to Leon, using hate and anger for mortar. She held her head high and proud. “You're a coward. A fucking poor excuse for a human being.”

Jaden said, “Give it to him.”

“Jazz, you don't know how bad I wish I could take it all back or how I wish I could've been a different man for you the day you walked into our dorm room.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his own gaze. “I swear I wish these things.”

“And I wish you die a thousand painful deaths. But we don't always get what we want, do we?”

“Knew you had it in you,” Jaden said.

“Shut the hell up!”

Leon looked up. “Who—”

“What, Leon? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I'm worried about you.”

She burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “I'm calling the cops.”

Buank. Buank—

She spun on Jaden. “That fucking ball better bounce outdoors from this day forward or you will find yourself by yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

Jaden nodded, his expression saturated in shock. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And that's the way you better speak to me from now on.” Jazz faced Leon again and couldn't contain herself. She burst into laughter. “You're too funny.”

O
nly a fifth of rum could momentarily stop Leon from feeling like a piece of shit. It had taken him two days to get over his suicidal contemplations and to choke up the nerve to step onto Jazz's porch.

“You can call the police if you want,” he said. “But I'm serious.”

Jazz was amused. Each time she tried to stop herself from laughing, she laughed harder. Laughed so hard he was sure tears clouded her vision.

He said, “It's Yancee's and your cousin's murder that has me worried about you.”

That silenced her.

“What are the odds of both of them randomly being killed by the Hieroglyphic Hacker? There isn't that much coincidence in the world.” He could tell that the conversation piqued her interest. Obviously she'd engaged similar thoughts. Novelists' minds clicked like that. Analytical. But he also knew she wasn't going to budge and be sociable. Not after all the hell he put her through.

She said, “I made funeral arrangements for Anderson.”

“Got an anonymous call the other day from somebody telling me I would die next. What do you make of that?”

It seemed to Leon as if a pensive calm came over her. After two solid minutes of quiet, Jazz said, “Explains your conscience all of
a sudden, whether it's real or fake. If that's all it took, I would've had someone send you a death threat years ago.”

“Jazz, I'm talking about people's lives. Has anyone heard from Chance?”

Jazz's brow raised above the frame of her sunglasses. “Why are you asking about him?”

“Because my life was threatened. Because Yancee and Anderson are dead. Because we were all in my dorm room that day. Because Chance learned the truth about Cash after the car accident. Think about it, Jazz.”

“But other people who weren't in the dorm were killed by the Hieroglyphic Hacker as well.”

“They were all murdered in Denver. Chance and Cash lived there during the times of those murders.”

“You're reaching,” Jazz said.

“And if I'm not, your life is in danger. You were with us and agreed to keep your mouth shut that day too. I'm going to talk to Cash about my concerns, and then I'm going to the police. The paper says that Hakeem Eubanks and Aspen Skye are investigating Yancee's and Anderson's deaths.”

“Good luck with Cash. I haven't heard from her in months.”

“You're a terrible liar. I know Scenario Davenport is Cash. Ain't that much plastic or reconstructive surgery in the world when you know who you're looking at.”

W
ithout knocking, Jamillah sashayed into Scenario's office like she was
the
Queen Bee of the place. “Reporters are ringing the phone off the hook, getting on my damn nerves. They're an incorrigible lot. Attorney Vivian Green is on line two. She wants to work out a deal on the Brooks case.”

Scenario was still in a funk behind GP turning her down. She yearned to be touched by someone meaningful. Someone she cared about. Someone she loved. Cheap fucks with strangers that only lasted long enough for her to get off weren't her thing. Only two men had ever understood the depths of her intimacy. And now she knew that if GP's marriage stayed solid, they would never share sexual understanding again.

“Thank you, Jamillah,” she said, wishing the craving between her legs would go away. She picked up line two. “Good afternoon, Ms. Green.”

“Let's talk dispo on George Brooks.”