Evil Without a Face (3 page)

Seconds.

Precious seconds.

The SUV barreled down on her, the engine revved. No more time.

Jess held her ground, the Colt Python clutched in her hands. The muscles in her arms taut, her grip solid. Adrenaline surged through her system like coiled lightning.

“Jess? Are you okay?” Seth’s fear-stricken voice shot over her earpiece.

Without hitting her com switch, she held her concentration and muttered under her breath, “Not now, Seth.”

Glare from the headlights nearly blinded her, but once the SUV got close, she could finally see. The bastard’s face came into focus through the murky haze of the windshield. That’s where she aimed—between his eyes. When she saw his sudden panic, she squeezed the trigger.

The Python bucked in her grip. Once. Twice. A fierce plume of fire streaked from the muzzle. Deafening blasts echoed down the alley, magnifying the intense explosions.

Her ears rang then muffled everything that followed as holes punched through the windshield with a weighty pop.
The glass splintered, sending fissures across the once smooth surface. With one last measure of desperation, she aimed at his crankcase and let the Python do its worst. Baker collapsed behind the wheel and the vehicle swerved. It hit the wall to her right, spraying shards of brick. The shriek of metal stabbed her eardrums, rippling goose bumps across her skin. In a fiery display, sparks showered the air, a giant sparkler on the Fourth of July.

Jess leapt to her left, narrowly escaping the metal behemoth. The SUV came to a grinding halt down the alley from where she lay sprawled on her stomach, facedown in the filth near the Dumpster. The engine revved, sounding like Baker still had his foot on the gas. But in the shadow of the SUV through the back window, she couldn’t see him. No silhouette. The headlights pierced the night. Smoke drifted from the engine and across the beams with bugs lured to the light. Still no Baker.

She got to her feet, holding her weapon in both hands. On unsteady legs she crept toward the vehicle from the rear, prepared for the worst. Even though her skin felt raw from scrapes, and sweat trailed down her back like unwanted fingers, she kept her eyes fixed on the driver’s front seat. No movement inside.

But as she got closer, all that changed.

Baker loomed in the shadows. He rose from where he’d slumped and hit the gas again, trying to break free of the wall. Metal whined as it grated against brick and mortar.

“Oh no you don’t, you sick twisted jerk!”

Jess secured the Python into its holster and took off running. A full-out sprint. Baker had a lead. If he got out of the alley and into traffic, she’d lose him. In the suffocating heat, her lungs strained for air. Her legs burned with lactic acid at the sudden burst of speed.
Shit!
Baker punched the gas and made it to the mouth of the alley. But as he turned hard left, he nearly collided with a van.

Seth’s blue monster.

Baker slammed on his horn and yelled obscenities as if he had the right of way. Surprisingly cool under fire, Seth lurched the van forward when Baker tried to drive around him. It gave Jess time to catch up. She lunged for the handle and flung the passenger door open just as Baker hit the gas. She grabbed for anything to keep her upright but lost her battle. Her hand found an armrest, and with the other, she wrapped a wrist tight into a seat belt. She ran as fast as she could until her feet gave out.

When Baker picked up speed, she struggled against being pulled under the SUV. Her ankles and legs battered against the ground. The friction made them feel on fire. As her fingers strained with the weight of her body, Baker swerved. The door flew wide, pulling from her grip.

“Let go, bitch!” he screamed, his eyes maniacal and cruel.

In the background, Jess heard police sirens growing louder. Baker heard it too. A mean vicious evil swept across his face. He had to ditch her, fast.

He swung the SUV left at the next turn. Her body swept wide, whipping her back against the door. Her spine nearly snapped in two. Although she knew she couldn’t hang on much longer, letting go wasn’t an option until she got what she wanted. If she couldn’t get Baker, she’d take the next best thing. Her eyes fixed on the laptop lying on the floorboard.

“Ummphh.”

With a grunt, Jess shoved from the door handle and swung toward Baker. He reached for her and pressed a hand to her face, blocking her air. Blind, she grappled for the laptop, her body suspended only by the seat belt.

When she grasped the computer bag, she pulled at the strap and let gravity do the rest.

Baker screamed,
“Nooo!”

He lunged for her, and the SUV veered right. She tried to break free of the seat belt, but Baker held her wrist, almost wrenching her shoulder out of its socket. Jess yanked the laptop to her chest, clinging to the hardware like a lifeline.

He tugged at her arm, pulling her inside. Without her footing, she had nothing to leverage against, and he gained an advantage in their battle of tug-a-war. Police sirens blared from everywhere now. Speeding onto a street with more traffic, Baker drove with one hand and yanked at her with the other. He craned his neck behind him looking for flashing lights. They were an accident waiting to happen.

In a minute he’d get her inside—and have his computer back. Damned if she’d let that happen!

Baker didn’t care what happened to her, she reasoned. He only wanted his property. And with the cops closing in, he wouldn’t risk slowing down. She’d have one chance. She had to make it count.

When he had her balanced on the edge of the passenger seat, he let go of her arm and wrestled for the computer she now clutched to her chest. It was the break she’d been waiting for.

She bit into Baker’s hand until he let go.

“Aarrgghh!”
he shrieked. “Shit!”

He pulled back his hand in reflex, and she rolled toward the open door and fell out the moving vehicle, still gripping the laptop. Her hip hit the street, jarring her teeth and neck. Out of control, her body careened across the road, tumbling and scraping the pavement. Still, she held onto the computer, sheltering it from damage with her arms and chest. For that, she paid the price. It jabbed her ribs and elbows, sending shock waves of pain through her, but her Kevlar vest insulated her from more damage.

When Jess slammed into a parked car, stars burst behind her eyes and through her skull. She struggled to stay conscious, her eyes seeing only a blur. A police car sped past her—siren blaring and lights flashing—hot after Baker. The first cop led the pursuit, but she knew he’d radio the others to find her. Other cops weren’t far behind. Not much time before they caught up to her and she’d have to answer a lot of questions.

Jess shoved the computer into the shadows under the parked car that had stopped her perilous fall from the SUV. With great effort, she lifted herself off the pavement, every bone and inch of her skin aching. With a pronounced limp and chest heaving, she hobbled to the curb and stumbled down the block, away from the prize she’d stashed from the cops.

When she looked down to assess the damage, she only shook her head and kept walking. Her lungs burned. Everything hurt. Insult to injury, Baker had torn her T-shirt and she smelled like puke, but topping her WTF list, she’d lost her White Sox ball cap.
Damn it!
She wanted to collapse at the curb but had to put distance between her and Baker’s computer. She wanted a crack at it before the cops.

As a distraction from the pain and insult, Jess reached for her com set. The earpiece and microphone dangled from her shirt, out of place, but the unit itself had stayed put. A regular miracle that ranked right up there with how she’d survived another clash with Baker.

“Seth? You…there?”

“Where are you?” he cried, worry heavy in his voice. She heard the sound of his engine in the background. He was on the move.

“No time…to explain,” she gasped, out of breath. “I stashed…Baker’s laptop.”

She quickly told him where to look. “Cops are gonna…take me into custody soon. I’m not gonna make it hard for them…to find me, but don’t worry. Just get that computer. Start working on it. You got that?”

“Yeah, but Jess—”

“No buts, Seth. Just work your magic, genius. I’ll catch you later.”

With every muscle in agony and protesting, Jess took off her com set and ditched it under a withering shrub in front of a house up for sale. The ramshackle dump didn’t look like hot property, so her equipment was probably safe until she
could pick it up later. She was in enough hot water. No need calling attention to Seth, her Boy Wonder and resident Einstein with a computer.

Besides, she had bigger problems.

A siren closed in. They’d be on her soon. Jess heard the crunch of gravel under a tire as the patrol car pulled to the curb. She kept walking, keeping her back to the cops. No sudden moves. Spiraling red and blue lights filled the dark sky with color. Party time. She slowed down, nice and easy, heard the cop’s voice pierce the fog building in her brain.

“Stop right there.” A stern voice. “Put your hands up. Now!”

“Okay, okay. I’m all about cooperation here.”

She did as she’d been told, stopped and raised her hands, still not turning around. She knew the cop had a gun on her. Protocol. She wouldn’t do anything to provoke a fight with the boys in blue.

“Get on your knees, hands behind your head. Do it!” Another voice. A cop and his partner.

Feeling beat up and raw, Jess didn’t have any more fight in her. Sinking to her knees, she yelled over her shoulder, “Officers? I’m a freelance Fugitive Recovery Agent. And I’ve got a permit to carry and a Colt Python under my shirt. I can explain everything.”

“Yeah, I bet you can…” one of them said. “Bounty hunter.”

The cop said the words like he’d just been forced to eat raw monkey brains on a cracker at gunpoint and couldn’t spit it out. She hated the term “bounty hunter.” Cable TV hadn’t done her profession any favors. And today her obsession with Baker hadn’t helped.

Ignoring the cop’s cynicism, she closed her eyes as they manhandled her to the sidewalk, yanking her hands behind her back to fit her into cuffs. And, of course, they took her gun. Back at the local cop shop, word would get around
she’d been at it again. Her crusade against Lucas Baker would be under harsher scrutiny.

Jess appreciated the challenge of talking her way out of this, but knew she’d never fool one set of dark eyes. Detective Samantha Cooper had her number. And they went far enough back to make lying impossible. If Sam got called in at this hour, Jess knew her night had only just begun.

For a cop, the ringing of a phone in the middle of the night meant only one thing—bad news.

Samantha Cooper awoke as if waiting for it. Her eyes popped open on the first ring. No need to wait for cobwebs to clear. In the dark of her bedroom, she reached for the phone on her nightstand, her voice steady and calm.

“Cooper.” Already on the job, she answered like an on-duty cop.

“Hey, Sam. Sorry to wake you. Miller here.”

She recognized the voice of the night desk sergeant, Jackson Miller, a top-notch cop cruising to retirement.

“Yeah, Sarge. What’s up?” Raised on one elbow, she flicked on the light and squinted as she grabbed the pen and paper she kept handy by the phone. “I’m not on tonight.”

“I know, but I got something you might want to hear. Something personal.” He paused only a moment before he continued. “It’s your friend Jessica Beckett.”

Sam’s heart lurched. She tossed the pen on her nightstand and slumped back onto the pillows, pulling the covers to her chest. Her stomach suddenly felt queasy, like the aftereffects of a roller coaster free falling from its pinnacle on full tilt. A part of her had known this day would come, when she’d get the call in the middle of the night telling her Jess had crossed one too many lines in the sand. Maybe her friend had been living on borrowed time from the day they’d met.

Fearing the worst, Sam couldn’t stop the flood of memories from invading her mind, dark childhood images that had changed her life forever. In truth, they were never far
from the surface. They had marked her and stripped away what remained of her innocence. Scars buried deep. But in her mind it had been far worse for Jess, who dealt with the scars she carried on the outside, visible for all to see.

“Is she…?” Sam shut her eyes, catching the emotion in her voice. She cleared her throat. “What about her, Sarge?”

She waited for him to spit it out.

“She had another run-in with that scumbag Baker. And it ain’t going well, if you know what I mean.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, but shook her head. Baker served as the catalyst for a longtime crusade Jess had against sex peddlers in all shapes, sizes, and perversions. And her childhood friend had elevated pissing people off into an art form. Jess never knew when to quit. Most days, she admired her for it. No, the word “envied” described it best. That kind of attitude not only emblazoned the way she lived her life, but how she had survived what happened to her.

But in the solitude of her heart, Sam knew the truth. Jess had become her Achilles’ heel, the focus of a pervasive guilt that made it impossible to turn an apathetic shoulder to her friend. She knew it. And at times she suspected Jess used it against her—all for the greater good, of course.

“I’m coming in. Who’s got the lead on this?”

“You’re not gonna like it, Sam.”

She felt the start of a tension headache tighten at the base of her skull. No way to start the day, but sidestepping it was out of the question. She knew what Sergeant Miller was going to say before the words were out of his mouth.

“The chief has taken a personal interest.”

“This time of night?” With brow furrowed, she glanced toward her alarm clock. “It’s almost three.”

“He got called in on a high-profile murder that happened two hours ago. Some rapper I ain’t even heard of. A gang thing.” The sergeant lowered his voice. “Anyway, once the press left, he caught your friend’s case. Bad luck for her.”

Sam shut her eyes again and took a deep breath. She worked at Harrison Station, the Eleventh District. Last year, Harrison took top prize on the most murders in the Chicago metropolitan area. A dubious distinction her fellow detectives would have preferred to pass on. The chief’s personal concern over this statistic did not surprise her. The media would be all over this one, dredging up the station’s marginal record once again.