Dangerous (21 page)

“Okay, thanks, Eva!”

Tossing the phone to the receptionist, Camille ran for her car. No Eva. Couldn't bring Drago. Justus busy with a client. She would have to do this alone. She couldn't believe the luck. One, that she had wheels. Two, that she'd still been in the office when Eva had called. It was no wonder that she'd forgotten to charge her cell with what had gone down the night before.

As she pulled away from the curb, Camille mentally computed the fastest way to get to the café. She didn't want to miss an opportunity that might help her find Sandy. So she zigzagged down side streets faster than she should, kept one eye on the clock, the other on her rearview mirror, hoping against hope that she wouldn't see flashing blue lights. Without her star to back her up as being a CPD homicide detective on a case, a traffic cop would never let her go.

She had to get to Isabel on time. This had to work if she was ever going to find Sandy.
Had to
because she was out of ideas.

As she drove, she wondered if Drago had convinced Alleen to call her daughter, and if she had done so, whether Noreen had agreed to press charges against Huerta. Stopped at a red light, she plugged in her cell to charge. Nothing. It wasn't working. It made weird vibrating sounds.

“Damn it!”

This had happened to her once before—the last time she'd tried to charge it in the car after it was completely dead. The light changed, so she left it plugged in and floored the accelerator.

Her thoughts went from Drago's involvement in the case to ones more personal. To the things Justus had told her about his brother. It probably was a good thing that he'd taken off without her. Eva's warning not to involve him convinced her of that. No doubt as a girlfriend of one of the Humboldt Lords, Isabel would walk the other way if she spotted him. Drago wasn't exactly a man who blended in with the crowd.

She got onto Milwaukee Avenue more than a block from the café at eleven twenty-six. The lunch crowd was already out, their cars filling the street. She was never going to make it. Seeing a parking spot, she pulled in and ran down the sidewalk and across the street, dodging turning cars. She was gasping for breath by the time she got inside the café. But the big clock on the wall told her she had a minute to spare.

Half the tables were already occupied. She wondered if Isabel was there waiting for her.

“Table?” a young man asked.

“Yes, please.”

Following him to a table in a back corner, she looked around to see if any of the patrons seemed interested in her. And worried that if Isabel wasn't here yet, she might not even spot her in this secluded corner.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee, please.”

He nodded and left the table. It was eleven thirty, the exact time Eva said her friend would be here. So where was she?

No sooner did she have her coffee than she paid the man. She was taking a sip when the kitchen doors swung open and a young woman approached. She was dressed in black, and her dark hair was short, shaved on one side, the revealed ear sporting a dozen small loop earrings, an intricate tattoo on her neck.

Assuming she was the waitress, still looking around for this Isabel, Camille said, “I'm just having coffee.”

The woman slid into the chair across from Camille. “I thought you wanted information.”

“
You're
Eva's friend?” Camille purposely avoided using the woman's name.

“Eva told me about the
bastardo
who has been taking women off the street and killing them. Now a young girl.” Isabel shook her head.

Camille wanted to say they got the bastard off the street last night, but something kept her from being too frank. Huerta was her gang's leader, after all. And various gang members were guilty of murder.

Instead, she merely asked, “You can help me find the girl?”

Isabel slid a hand into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which she slipped across the table. “You didn't get this from me. I was never here.”

Nodding in agreement, Camille took the note and started to unfold it. “Thank you.”

Isabel was already out of her seat. As quickly as she'd appeared through the kitchen doors, she disappeared the same way. No doubt she wasn't an employee, but had some connection who'd let her in the back way.

A quick glance at the paper and the address instantly burned into Camille's memory. Knowing exactly where this building was, she would certainly be there in less than ten minutes.

Wishing Sandy could hear her, she murmured, “I'm coming for you,” and left to rescue the girl at last.

On the ride to the Area North CPD office from Alleen Peyton's place, Drago tried alerting Camille. Noreen had agreed to come in to give her official statement about what Angel had done to her. Camille hadn't answered her cell or responded to his message or to the text he'd sent. As a matter of fact, her phone had gone directly to voice mail, which meant she was either on another call or the cell was out of juice. Probably the latter.

He'd been relieved to learn that Camille had been at Justus Investigations a short while before he'd called, but Lois had no idea of where she'd gone. And Drago didn't know whether or not she was shutting him out after hearing how he felt about her that morning.

He couldn't get over her not responding. He wanted to believe she felt something for him. That it seemed she didn't gnawed at him, made his chest feel too tight. He'd never felt like this about any other woman. So why did it have to be the one who wouldn't return his feelings?

But Camille shouldn't be his focus right now. “So how is this going to work?” he asked Jackson.

“You're sure Noreen Butler isn't going to do another disappearing act.”

“Sorry, no guarantees, but she
said
she would do anything to keep Angel off the street. I reminded her that if he's locked up, he can't come after her again.”

Jackson checked his watch. “She's late.”

Drago knew that, but he was hoping against hope that Noreen would follow through this time.

“Huerta and his men tried to kill you and Camille, but we don't have proof that he's Angel. Assuming Noreen shows, I'll take her statement, then put Huerta in a lineup. Her identifying him will keep him from getting bail. And it will add another strike against him when it comes to trial. Plus we can hope a DNA match will give us everything we need, though that will take some time to get. Juries expect DNA after watching all those crime scene investigation shows.”

“What if you can't get a DNA match?”

“Then we can hope to find Sandy Kawecki alive and have two victims who will testify. One way or the other, Huerta is going to jail. It just depends on how many counts we can prove.”

Drago certainly hoped Huerta would get his just due this time. Even if Noreen refused to testify and they didn't find Sandy—Lord, he hoped that didn't happen—he and Camille could testify that Huerta had intended to kill them. There had better not be a way around that truth.

“Is Camille on her way back in?” Jackson asked.

“I haven't been able to scare her up.”

Jackson nodded. He didn't seem to think anything of it, but Drago was getting worried that she hadn't called him back. He was wondering if he should try again when one of the uniformed officers stuck his head through the doorway.

“Hey, Jackson, you got a visitor. Says you're expecting her.”

“So Noreen showed.” Drago was relieved.

“I'll let you sit in when I take her statement if you keep your mouth shut.”

“I can do that.” He might not like it, but he would rather be there than not.

Five minutes later, he was hearing her tell her story with far more details than she'd previously given him and Camille. Drago couldn't help but feel sick at the things she'd endured before escaping.

When Jackson was done questioning Noreen, he said, “I'd like you to pick him out of a lineup.”

Noreen appeared freaked. Her eyes went wide and her skin paled. “I have to see him?”

“You'll see him but he won't see you,” Jackson assured her.

“I don't know—”

“You'll be perfectly safe,” the detective promised. “You'll be on the other side of a one-way mirror. He won't even know who is identifying him.”

Noreen looked to Drago. “You'll be there, too?”

“If Detective Jackson consents.”

“He can be there.”

“A-all right.”

Drago felt as if her acquiescence was a personal victory. At last, something was going to be done about Huerta. It seemed as if the scum would finally get what he deserved. He only wished Camille were here to share the moment. Thinking maybe he'd missed a text from her, he checked his cell. That there still had been no word from her was unsettling. He couldn't help but worry.

“Wait here,” Jackson said. “I'll come get you in a few.”

When the detective left the room, Drago turned to Noreen. “Thank you for agreeing to come in. I know how difficult that must have been for you.”

“I'm tired of being scared. And I want Angel off the streets so I can feel like a person instead of a ghost.”

Drago let her talk. She was hesitant, yet he heard a new strength in her voice, as if she really was coming alive after being some kind of specter haunting the city streets since her escape.

A few minutes later, Jackson returned. “Follow me.”

Sensing Noreen's emotions wavering, noting the fine tremor of the hands she clasped together, he gripped her shoulder to give her strength, and when she looked at him, he gave her an encouraging smile. Her hands steadied by the time they got to the room where they would view the lineup.

Jackson pressed the intercom. “Bring them in.”

Huerta was marched in with four foils—men of similar height, build, and complexion. They stood side-by-side, facing the mirror, Huerta second from the left.

“Turn to your right,” Jackson told them, so the men could be seen in profile.

“I-I don't understand.”

Looking at Noreen's confused expression, Drago's gut tightened.

“What don't you understand?” Jackson asked.

“The man you arrested—is he one of them?”

“He is. Face forward again,” Jackson told the men via intercom. Then, to Noreen, he said, “Take your time.”

A sick feeling washed over Drago when he noted Noreen's horrified expression.

“Angel's not there!” she choked out. “You arrested the wrong man!”

Camille scanned the street for potential problems as she closed in on Angel's lair. The block seemed deserted. Several buildings had been torn down, leaving only the shell of the basement in their place, and a few others had boarded-up windows. She figured it was one of these, but there were no numbers on their exterior.

So which was Angel's hideout?

Drago should be here with her. Though, perhaps it was better that he wasn't. He'd been shot less than twenty-four hours ago, and she didn't want him to be hurt worse than he already was. She knew that no matter how injured he was, he would never hold back. He was the bravest man she'd ever met, and she'd worked with some pretty brave cops. She couldn't think about him now. That would only distract her.

Finding Sandy had to be her focus.

From the address Isabel had given her, she knew Angel's hideaway was on the north side of the street. She kept driving until she reached a building with numbers intact. Too far. She went around the block and started over, spotting an address on the opposite side of the street that told her one of two abandoned-looking buildings across from it was her mark. She parked and watched for a few minutes. No activity. Checked her cell phone to see if she could call Jackson for backup. Though the person she really wanted to talk to was Drago, it was better that he stay away. Stay safe. He needed to heal. As did her cell phone. It was still vibrating as if trying to charge, but it refused to turn on.

“Damn it!”

She didn't want to go in alone, but Angel was in custody, and who knew how he'd left Sandy? Rescuing the girl as soon as possible was vital. Hopefully, she was still mobile, and Camille could get her to the car and then to a hospital. Once there, she would alert both Jackson and Drago.

But which building?

Both were multistory, both brick, both with windows and doors shuttered tight.

Camille pulled her gun from the glove compartment and holstered it in her belt at her waist, then dropped her shirt to cover it. She took a minute to steady her nerves. The street was still deserted, though, and Sandy was alone, since her captor had been arrested. Getting out of the car, she crossed the street, head turning, gaze shooting to every nook and crevice where someone could be hiding. No one around. Once next to the buildings, she gave both doors a closer look—the boards sealing them didn't appear to have been disturbed—then cut between them and headed for the back. The rear door to the building on her left looked equally unapproach
able. But the wood on the door to the building on her right wasn't tight up against the brick.

Mouth dry, throat tight, she canvassed the area one last time before moving to check it out. The board was loose, as if it had been torn free of the frame and then sloppily set back in place when Angel left. No one would know the difference if they weren't looking for it. Prying it open, she entered the back vestibule and started up the stairs to the first-floor apartment. The door hung crooked on its hinges, as if someone had broken in.

Camille pulled her gun and waited a moment, listening hard. No sound came from the apartment, so she slipped inside, gun held in both hands before her. Room after room was in shambles.

And empty of life.

Nothing to find.

No Sandy.

Lowering her gun, she retraced her steps and took the stairs to the other apartment. This door was still on its hinges and closed, but when she tried the knob, it turned easily. With her pulse fluttering, she entered the kitchen. This apartment was different. Dingy and messy, perhaps, but not in a shambles like the first floor. Someone lived here, in a supposedly deserted apartment.
Angel
lived here if Isabel had been on the up-and-up. Now hyperaware, her gun set securely before her in both hands, she checked each room. Boxes were stacked in the back bedroom. She didn't take the time to find out with what.

But the front bedroom made her want to hurl.

A large framed photograph of Teresa faced the bed, as if his mother was looking over Angel while he raped the women he then killed.

Around Teresa, there were smaller photographs of Noreen and Susan and Leanne, all made up and dressed to look like her.

And then there was a photo of Sandy.

To Camille's revulsion, the transformation had been completed. Sandy's now dyed red hair was curled, and her clothing and makeup all imitated Teresa's.

Did that mean Sandy was already dead?

Dear Lord, no!

Throwing away caution, she ran into the living room, yelling, “Sandy, are you here? Sandy? It's Camille!”

In response, she heard a thump. But from where?

“Sandy, where are you?”

More thumps and a very weak, “In here.”

Camille moved to the source of the sound and found herself in front of a door. Gun in one hand at the ready, she turned the knob with the other. The door was locked.

“Help me…” and another thump made Camille's pulse rush.

She checked the hinges. On the outside. Which meant she couldn't kick in the door. And she didn't have any tools to pick the lock.

“Stand back away from the door!” When she didn't hear anything, she said, “Sandy, are you out of the way?”

“Yes.”

Standing to one side, Camille blasted the lock with three shots until it gave, and the door opened a crack. Then she tore it wide open. A closet. Her hair
curled
and face painted as they had been in the photograph on the bedroom wall, Sandy was slumped on the floor in the rear of the closet.

“Sandy, thank God!”

Camille stuck the gun into her waistband while rushing inside to help the girl to her feet. Sandy could barely stand. She was unsteady and her eyes held a glazed look that told Camille she'd been drugged. Even so, the girl was aware of what was going on. And crying. Camille hugged her tight.

“It's going to be all right. Everything is going to be all right now.”

“H-he's coming back.”

“No, he's not. We arrested Angel last night.”

“No, he was j-just here awhile ago…”

The drugs Angel had given Sandy had her confused as to timing. But what had he given the girl that had kept her out of it since yesterday? Suddenly anxious to leave this place as quickly as possible, Camille slid an arm around Sandy's waist.

“Come on, let's get you out of here.”

Camille led Sandy into the living room as the girl muttered, “H-he's here somewhere. He's always here when you don't w-want him to be.”

Her anxiety deepening, Camille tried rushing Sandy, but it only made the girl stumble and fall to her knees. Bent over, both hands hooked under the girl's arms to help her get back up to her feet, Camille suddenly felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

She whipped around as the man behind her said, “It took you long enough to find me.”

Before she could go for her gun, he slammed something hard into her head…

Still at the Area North offices, Drago had tried both calling and texting Camille yet again, but again she hadn't responded to either message. He'd simply asked her to call because it was important. He'd wanted to tell her directly that they didn't have Angel after all. Not the kind of bad news to leave in a message.