Evil Without a Face (2 page)

It took him time to convince the woman that he was on the level, but she eventually agreed to pick him up.
Women! Sometimes, they were real gullible.
He gave her directions, and twenty minutes later he heard a knock. He crept to the door and peeked out the peephole, checking out the woman dabbing her eyes with tissue.

Not bad.
He smiled. If things worked out, he might have a screamer of his own before the night was done. But when Charlie flung open the door, he came face-to-face with the business end of a .357 Magnum Colt Python.

“Hello, Charlie.” The woman grinned, aiming the weapon
between his eyes. “Looks like my man Danny isn’t the only one getting screwed.”

Taller than he was, she was lean and athletic, glaring at him with unflinching dark eyes. The woman wore a windbreaker with the top of her Kevlar vest showing, prepared for business. And she had a scar above an eyebrow, the jagged mark too nasty to ignore. No shrinking violet, the bitch would have been intimidating even if she weren’t carrying a gun.

“You’re under arrest for jumpin’ bail. You skipped a court date.” She flashed her badge. “Now turn around.”

Over her shoulder, she yelled, “I’ve got him.”

She wasn’t alone. Resisting arrest would land him in more trouble with the law, not to mention getting the crap beat out of him. He’d heard stories about bounty hunters and even seen them in action on cable.

He took a deep breath and did as he was told. She shoved him against the wall and cuffed him, frisking him for weapons after she’d subdued him. He heard her speaking to someone he couldn’t see, but when she shoved him toward a blue van outside the motel room door, he realized he’d been tricked again.

“Shit! You were working alone.” He launched into a tirade of curses.

“Not exactly, Charlie. I’ve got my summer intern with me…and if you don’t cooperate, he might give you a paper cut.”

Charlie shut his eyes and kept walking toward the van, conceding his fate.

After securing her prisoner in the back, Fugitive Recovery Agent Jessica Beckett jumped into the front passenger seat next to Seth Harper, a new hire she jokingly called her “summer intern.” She hadn’t lied about everything.

Harper greeted her with a big grin, handing her ten bucks. “I’m not betting with you anymore. All you had was his cell
phone and an old girlfriend’s name and you still tracked him. Un-fuckin’-believable.”

“Just remember the horn dog factor, Harper.” She took his money. “You can always track a guy through his woman. The love muscle is nothing but an Achilles’ heel. Beckett rule number one.”

Charlie Swain was a no account scrub—a fringe dweller on the edge of humanity—hustling drugs and stolen merchandise. He was wanted on two warrants, including skipping a court date on robbery charges. A real charmer, but relatively harmless in her world. She made a note to the file she’d compiled on the guy, a record of the case and her authorization for the arrest—a certified copy of the warrant.

Top-notch Fugitive Recovery Agents got paid better working directly for specific bondsmen. Most were ex-military or former police officers. She didn’t have the qualifications, discipline, or temperament to land her anything more than being a freelancer, catching the odd jobs that usually didn’t pay as much. She had to work twice as hard to make ends meet, earning her negotiated percentage of the bond money.

As a woman, building a reputation in this business had been tough. She realized she could have done better, but kissing ass wasn’t her thing, not even if the ass was Grade A prime. To date, cops had been her biggest critics, mostly because she had to live down the cable TV bounty hunter image. Yet she had to admit that some of her rep had been well-deserved.

It had been a gamble to hire Harper, but she hoped that with the proper training she might gain an eventual partner to help with the tracking aspects of each case. The quicker she gathered intel, the better the cash flow would be. Although she’d never put him at risk by placing him in the line of fire, Harper had been the one asking to come along on her arrests.

“Call it in, will ya? And let’s get this guy to the cops. A
girl has gotta pay the bills.” Jess took a long swig of water, listening to Harper as he made the call to the bondsman for the Swain job. “God, this heat is killer. I’m sweatin’ like a pig with an invite to a luau.”

To cool off, she took off the Kevlar vest that she wore under a windbreaker as Harper finished up. After he started the van and pulled from the motel parking lot, she got another call on her cell. She recognized the phone number, even though
NO NAME
appeared on the display. Fingering the scar above her eyebrow, she prayed the call meant what she thought it would. She took a deep breath and answered.

“Yeah.”

“I got a lead on Lucas Baker, but it’s gonna cost ya. And you have to move tonight. No guarantees he’ll be there tomorrow.”

After a quick glance at her watch, Jess clenched her jaw and pictured the face of Baker. The image triggered a flood of dark memories that she thought she had under control…until now.

“Gimme what ya got.” Jess grabbed paper and pen. “I’m ready…more than ready.”

Chicago, Illinois
Mid-June

On the other side of midnight, the nasty oppressive heat lingered and made the air dense and sluggish. It clung to the body of Jessica Beckett like a film of wet gauze, stifling her breath. The customary cooling effect off Lake Michigan cowered from it, avoiding the thick and stagnant mass of unseasonable heat. Dressed in dark jeans, a black tee under her Kevlar vest, and a ball cap, she jogged down the street, keeping to the shadows, then made her way across the road. Her gaze shifted to the second floor as she did, counting the windows so she’d know which room. A dimly lit one had its shades partially drawn.

A man inside.

She’d paid good money for the tip that the bastard had a room here, living off the grid, trying to escape his pathetic excuse for a life. And she had done her best to contribute to his problems, targeting Lucas Baker with her obsession. He had been one slippery weasel to corner, but she recognized his ugly mug, even from the street below.

Once Jess got across the street, she headed for the side entrance, down and to the right. Nearing an alley, she reached for her .357 Magnum Colt Python with its four-inch
barrel and a trigger as smooth as butter. With gun in hand, she thought of a thousand other places she could’ve been tonight, but being a woman on a mission left her little choice. And she wasn’t one to squander an opportunity.

“You see our target?” She spoke into a two-way com set with a radio on her belt, a mic clipped to a sleeve of her tee, and an ear bud. With a shoulder to a brick wall, she peered down an alley to make sure everything was clear, and maintained her position.

“Affirmative.” Her backup, Seth Harper, cleared his throat and nearly blew her eardrum with the sharp abrasive noise. She winced.

“Uh, 10-4,” he added.

Jess fought a smile when she heard Seth dishing out the cryptic lingo, resisting the urge to add “good buddy” after everything he said. She could picture him now. The kid was situated in his old beat-up Econoline van across the street and down an alley, probably using binoculars.

“Talk to me. What’s he doing?” she prompted, keeping her voice low. “He got any company?”

Out of habit, she traced a scar along her right eyebrow with a finger, an old injury from a lifetime ago.

“Negatory. Target at a table, working on a computer. Laptop, I think.”

Baker would have his life on that computer. She could score big if things went as planned.

She wanted to avoid the clerk at the front desk. The tip she got on Baker’s whereabouts had warned her the sleaze was tight with the so-called management of the joint. She had to find another way in. With plan B in mind, she ducked into the dark alley and crept along a brick wall, dodging Dumpsters and broken bottles, keeping a firm grip on the Python. The faint stench of puke invaded her nostrils, the rank odor made more caustic with the heat.

She held her breath and moved on, hoping she hadn’t stepped in it. With her luck, she’d be wearing it home.

As Jess neared the back of the dilapidated hotel that rented rooms by the hour, she flipped her black White Sox ball cap backward, rally style. Sweat-drenched strands of her dark hair stuck to her neck, aggravating her mounting discomfort. She wiped her palms down a pant leg. Carrying a weapon, now was no time for a slick grip.

Once she got to her destination, she tested the alley door into the old hotel. Locked. After slipping the Python into the custom holster she carried at the small of her back, she pulled out a lock pick kit from her pocket. She didn’t need a light to work by. She’d done this a thousand times. When the door creaked open, she stashed the kit and reached for her weapon again.

“I’m going inside. Let me know if he moves,” she muttered into her mouthpiece. “No matter what happens, you stay put until you hear from me. You understand? No heroics, Seth.” She repeated the instructions she’d given the kid an hour ago. “Call 911 if things get dicey. Going to radio silence now.”

“Dicey. Got it.”

Seth did his best to maintain radio silence, in his unique way, but his heavy breathing into the mouthpiece reminded her of a late night call from a pervert. The kid held the mic too close to his lips and didn’t always release his transmit switch when he was done, another practice she had to correct.

Eventually, Seth broke the silence.

“Define dicey.”

With no time to set him straight, she slipped through the back door and shut it behind her, grimacing at the creak of its rusty hinges. Time to get to work.

Jess squinted as she got inside, looking toward the front for a way to the second floor. The hallway looked as dismal as the alley she’d left behind. Gang signs were spray-painted on the walls in an array of colors. And trash was strewn along the baseboards and over a stained ratty carpet that had definitely seen better days. Shoddy wall sconces were positioned
down the hall, but with every other bulb burned out, the old hotel looked more like a cheap horror flick. Maybe the dim lights were a blessing in disguise.

Jess walked past each door with caution, not ruling out an ambush, but the place had one purpose for most of its patrons. The sleazy hotel rented by the hour. At the next door that thought was reinforced with the unbroken rhythm of a bed squeak and the steady bang of a headboard against a wall inside the room. A woman’s breath caught as she panted her encouragement.

“Yeah, baby, do it.” She tossed in a theatrical moan and a gasp. “Harder, that’s it. Oh, you’re so good.”

It didn’t take long for the woman’s companion to cry out, a loud pitiable groan. Prone to a cynical nature, Jess wondered what Mr. Stopwatch would do with his remaining fifty-five minutes. She rolled her eyes and kept moving toward the stairs in front. Her weapon held in a two-fisted grip, she drifted down the hall with eyes alert.

Until—

“Jess? Target’s on the move. You read me?” Seth cried out through her earpiece. “He’s spooked.”

Her eyes grew wide. Baker must have heard the noisy door hinges or been warned by the front desk. She broke into a sprint toward the stairs and collided with an old wooden banister as she rounded it, bruising a hip.
Damn it!

From the front desk of the hotel a sleazy guy in a wrinkled T-shirt and a scraggly beard yelled after her. “Hey, where’re you goin’? I’m callin’ the cops, lady.”

Jess looked over her shoulder, her sarcasm on full throttle. “Then you better flush the hookers. I’d hate to see you lose your Triple A rating.”

She barely had time to respond to the clerk’s warning when she heard Seth screaming in her ear, “He’s out the door. I can’t see him, Jess. What do you want me to do?”

She heard the panic in his voice, but a door slammed on
the second floor and drew her attention. She had to move. Fast.

She bounded up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, gripping the banister with her left hand to propel her body up. When she got to the top, she raised her weapon, ready for anything. The stainless steel of the Python glinted under the pale light as she moved the barrel right, then hard left.

That’s when she heard the footsteps down the hall, running away from her. She rounded a corner in time to see Baker slip through a door marked
EXIT
, but not before he turned to grin. A shaved meaty head set atop no neck on a square muscular body, the physique of a wrestler.
Scumbag!
Baker had a lead and the laptop under his arm.

“Not gonna happen, asshole!”

Jess chased after him. She knew he might stage an ambush at the exit door, but it didn’t matter. She’d risk anything to get this jerk.
Anything!

“He’s going out the back. The fire escape.” She took time to let Seth know what was going on. Otherwise, the kid might do something she’d regret later. “Hold your position. Don’t do anything.”

She ended the communication, but muttered under her breath, “This bastard’s mine.”

Jess grabbed the door and shoved through it with a shoulder. Once she got on the other side, she slammed it quick, not wanting to make herself a target silhouetted against the light. She aimed the gun down the grated metal steps. As her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, she searched the shadows below for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

Baker could have her in his sights even now and she wouldn’t know until it was too late. With her heart throttling her ribs, Jess steadied her breathing. She crept down the steps, her back to the wall, with the business end of the Python trained down the alley. Adrenaline had her wired, but
she didn’t want to make a mistake. Having a bad day in her line of work could put her in the hospital or the morgue.

When she got to the bottom of the fire escape, she looked up and down the alley, unsure where he’d gone. He had a lead, but not enough for him to lose her. The hair at the nape of her neck stood on end. More than likely he lurked beyond the light, waiting for her to turn her back. The safest course for a sane person would be to walk toward the street in front, sticking with the light. Instead, she followed her gut instincts and headed deeper into the alley—into the dark.

Sanity was highly overrated.

She listened for anything out of the ordinary, but the sounds of the city made that nearly impossible. Her feet crunched over glass and gravel. She couldn’t afford to look where she stepped, not taking her eyes off what little she could see. He’d hear her coming but it couldn’t be helped.

Still, she pressed on, the Python in her grip.

Suddenly, she heard a faint rustle coming from inside a Dumpster up ahead. She held her breath and crept closer, straining to hear a repeat, but nothing. Had she only imagined it? She swallowed hard, knowing Baker might leap out at any second, ready to shoot. She adjusted her grip and kept moving. The metal bin loomed dead ahead, with so many places for him to hide. Doubts surged through her brain, mixed with a strong dose of self-preservation, but she struggled to stay focused.

Jess heard the frailty in her breath and felt the sharp thrash of her heart. In a second she’d know if Baker hid inside the trash where he belonged. To get a drop on him, she had to raise the lid, fast. Any hesitation could get her killed. She eased a palm to the heavy lid, took a deep breath, then shoved with all her strength.

“Unghh,”
she grunted and threw back the lid, pointing her gun into the shadows.

“Yowwgrrrr.”

A loud shriek crawled under her skin and up her spine.
Movement deep in the shadows. A dark cat leapt from the bin and bounded over her shoulder. Its claws found her face and neck. The sting of the attack sent shivers across her skin like tiny needle pricks.

“Shit!” she cried out and leapt back, almost losing her footing on a broken beer bottle. The glass shot across the alley and shattered against the wall.

“Jess? What’s going on? Can you hear me?” She heard Seth’s voice in her ear as if he stood right behind her. A startling sensation. Almost creepy. She was used to working alone.

She looked down into the Dumpster and frantically searched the outside. Baker wasn’t there. She’d lost him. She nearly collapsed against the brick wall behind the trash bin, sweat streaming from every pore. Bending over, she braced a hand to her knee to keep from falling over, loosening her grip on the Python. Shaking her head, she couldn’t believe her lousy luck.

“I’m okay, Seth. But…I think I lost him.” She gulped the hot moist air, her throat raspy. “Gonna keep looking. Stay put.”

Jess replayed the chase with Baker in her head. It had all happened so fast, but she couldn’t believe she missed him again. Shaking it off, she raised her weapon and headed for the rear of the alley. That’s when she heard it.

An engine.

Headlights flashed on, drilling her in their spotlight. She squinted and raised a hand to shield her eyes. The screech of tires jolted her heart. And the smell of burning rubber hit her nose. When a cloud of dust kicked up, it drifted in front of the headlights like an eerie fog. She knew it was Baker behind the wheel of the dark SUV even though she couldn’t see his ugly face.

He’d hit the gas and headed straight for her.

Jess had a choice, but not much of one. She could leap for the Dumpster, hoping he wouldn’t ram into it and crush her
against the wall. But another option had more appeal. And she was pissed enough to do it.

She gritted her teeth and planted her feet, took in a deep breath and let it out. She held up the Python in both hands—rock steady—aiming for the faceless driver behind the wheel. If she were going down, she’d take Lucas Baker with her.

Time to play chicken with six thousand pounds of steel.