Web of Smoke (21 page)

It had always been like this with them. Anger and laughter. Passion and tears. Never calm. Never boring. The only predictable thing about Christie was that she would drive him to the brink, which is exactly where he wanted to be.

With her body arched against his, he felt hot and alive with sensations. He took a deep breath, fighting for control over the rock-hard tension that fused him to her. This wasn’t the best place to be doing this. He’d sworn to himself that he would protect Christie and here he was letting his feelings for her jeopardize his judgment and her safety. She opened her beautiful eyes and blinked at him.

“Come on, Christie. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Twenty

Kathy
hugged the passenger door, silently congratulating herself on her victory. While she was with him, Mike Simens would think of nothing but Jessica. She knew it. Once he realized she meant to keep her word and stay out of the way, he would work twice as hard and he would find her daughter.

For now, though, he’d retreated behind a pair of sunglasses and drove in silence. The radio alternated between news and country music and she relaxed for the first time since DC Porter—if that was the bastard’s name—invaded her life. She was doing something.

Her frightened neighbors had already banded together to distribute flyers with Jessica’s picture on them. With Mike on her side, Jessica would soon be back in her arms. She didn’t doubt it for a minute.

Mike consulted an address scrawled on a scrap of paper and turned onto a still street. Twilight glittered through the trees, dappling the street with golden drops of shimmering shadows. He pulled to the side and got out. She popped her door open and scrambled to follow.

Her stomach clenched as she viewed the house. With each step closer the fast-growing shadows added menace to its crumbling decay. Could her baby be inside this horrible place? Hope battled rage at the thought.

Mike broke the silence with his deep voice. “I wish I had a warrant.”

“Do you think she’s in there?” Kathy whispered.

He glanced away. “No. Not here. But I’d still like to get inside.”

He walked up the driveway. Kathy hurried to keep up, scanning the wasted yard for the clue that made Mike seem so certain. He glanced her way but didn’t order her back to the car.

Finally, she asked softly, “Why don’t you think she’s here?”

“I don’t know. A feeling. Hunch. Whatever. She’s not here.”

Disappointment washed over her. Had she hoped to ring the bell and simply ask for her daughter back?

She sighed, spying a yellow cat scratching his back on the roots of a tree sprouting in the dirt yard. Another fat feline sat on the spiky scrub, cleaning its paws and face with disdain.

Wild cats. What were they eating? Thoughts of rats inched her a step closer to Mike’s side. He looked at her in surprise.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Dark windows framed either side of the front door. The one on the right was cracked, masked with electrical tape that had peeled back, leaving a sticky, black scum outline. Cupping his hands around his eyes, Mike peered through a gap. Kathy waited impatiently for his observations. He shook his head and continued, checking the door leading to the garage as he circled to the back. Kathy stayed close behind him. Once he looked over his shoulder at her and she thought she detected a small smile, but she was probably wrong. It must have been a frown.

Another cat popped from the weeds clustered around the patio and hissed at them. Kathy became Mike’s shadow, bumping into him when he stopped abruptly. They exchanged wary glances and moved on.
This place would give a corpse the creeps,
Kathy thought.

The sliding door was also locked, but the picture window with the cockeyed screen looked promising. Mike yanked off the screen and tossed it behind him. The window slid open with a rusty squeal.

He glanced back and winked as he hooked a leg over the sill and climbed through. Kathy debated for half a second before following. A jagged piece of metal sticking out of the window frame snagged her arm, drawing blood. She bit back a pained yelp, quickly applying pressure to the cut. She tried not to think of tetanus shots and bacteria. Mike would send her home if she started whining about a scratch.

She followed him to the entrance of a dark hallway. Pulling his gun from its holster, he reached his arm behind him, and tucked her close to his back. The protective gesture made her feel safe in an unexpected way, even if he hadn’t intended it to.

They checked the bedrooms, empty but for a stained mattress on the floor of the last. In the kitchen, an upside-down bucket served as a chair to an overturned wooden crate. The counters were scattered with beer cans, an empty bottle of bourbon, and a few pizza boxes. On the counter, a sleek black rat shared the leftovers with a swarm of shiny bugs. A cat watched from the windowsill outside with mean, hungry eyes.

“Oh, my God,” Kathy gasped.

Without a word, Mike unlocked the sliding door and shoved Kathy outside. Gratefully, she inhaled gulps of hot, pungent air that felt fresh after the sealed up rot in the kitchen. Sitting on the edge of the patio, she watched for bugs or rodents while Mike banged around a bit in the kitchen. He came out looking a little green himself. In his hand he clutched a grease-stained file folder that had been gnawed in the middle.

“What’s this?” she asked.

He held it up for her to see the large block letters that spelled Jessica’s full name.

“What is this?” she repeated, touching it with a sense of dread. “What does this mean?”

He squinted at it in the growing gloom. “It means he’s got Jessica. It means he’s got her for a reason. It means maybe she’s got a chance.”

“Chance? Reason? What do you mean?”

He put his hands on his hips, legs spread wide and shook his head. “I don’t know yet,” he said, staring at her with narrowed eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

He grinned and extended a helping hand. His palm was rough with calluses and she wondered what he did that made it that way. He released her as soon as she was steady and they walked away. He swaggered a bit. Like a cowboy hero with guns holstered low. Mike wouldn’t let anything happen to her daughter.

At the car, they spotted a woman across the street watching them. She had an undernourished look about her, emphasized by the baggy T-shirt and leggings she wore. She had short, black hair and pale skin that seemed to glow in the fluorescent streetlight. She held a glass of wine in one hand.

“You looking for DC,” she called. “I hear you’re looking for DC?”

“You seen him around?” Mike answered, crossing the street. Kathy stayed close to his side.

“Yeah, he’s been here. Gave me this,” she said, pointing at her swollen mouth. “He took all my money and left a couple hours ago.”

“Where was he going?”

“Do you think he’d tell me?” she demanded coldly.

Mike gave her a serious look. “I don’t know. Would he?”

“No. The bastard. Why do I always meet the bastards?”

“You’re having a relationship with him?” Kathy asked, barely keeping the surprise from her voice.

“Relationship is too nice a word,” the woman said, her breath heavy with wine and her words slurred. She looked curiously at Mike’s blue jeans and cotton shirt. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Mike Simens, San Diego Police,” he said, flashing his badge and his smile. He didn’t introduce Kathy and the other woman gave her a speculative once-over.

“Police, huh?” she said, taking a gulp of her wine. “What do you want him for this time?”

“He’s wanted for questioning about a kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping? So that’s what he’s been up to.”

“What do you mean?”

“He came pounding on my door yesterday. He’d just found out about Mary Jane and he took it kind of hard. Course that didn’t keep him from coming on to me.”

Mike pulled a tablet from his pocket and flipped a page. “Is that Mary Jane Collins?” She nodded. “What did he find out?”

“That she’s dead. He was gone when it happened. I guess he didn’t know.”

“What makes you think he’s been up to something? Did he tell you—”

“Oh, no. He’d never talk to me
about something like that. I’m just a pit stop for him. He wanted to know about Mary Jane’s house, though,” she said, glancing at the shambles over Mike’s shoulder. “If it’d been sold. I told him I didn’t think so. He didn’t stay very long after that. I did see him back at Mary Jane’s around two in the morning.” She stopped and scratched her nose. “Not that I watch him. I work the weird shifts over at The Pancake House. He was in and out. He’s always like that. There for an hour and gone again.”

“He ever have a kid with him?”

“Not that I saw.”

“How about a large bundle or bag? Something he might be carrying her in?”

“No. I mean I might’ve missed something. Like I said. I wasn’t watching him.”

“Why’d he come back today?”

“He started telling me lies about how he’s always wanted me and now that Mary Jane’s not around he wants to get to know me. Bullshit. He wanted my cash, and when I wouldn’t give it, he smacked me around and took it.”

“How much?”

“I had all my tips from the week. He took over a hundred bucks.”

“What time was that?”

“I told you, a couple hours ago.”

“Who told you we were looking for DC?”

“Del,” she said, nodding at the house next to the one they’d just left.

Mike consulted his tablet again. “Delmont Ives? Is he around?”

“It’s his bowling night. I saw him leave in his lucky shirt about an hour ago.”

Mike showed her a mug shot of Porter, “Is this the man we’re talking about?”

She studied it for a minute. “Not a very good picture. I’ve got a better one—not that he looks the same anymore. But yeah, that’s him all right.”

“You have a better picture of Porter?” Mike asked.

“Sure. We used to hang out together before Mary Jane died and my husband ran off with a bus driver. Life’s a bitch, huh?”

“Can I see your picture?”

“Sure, but like I said, he’s changed. Told me he’d been in a motorcycle accident. The doctors patched him up damn good. He looks a hell of a lot better than he used to. Maybe I should try, huh?”

As she spoke, she led them to a slightly better version of the house that Kathy and Mike had just been in. Two giant palms shedding leaves like hair coats dominated the tiny yard. A rusted aluminum lawn chair with magazines stacked beside it occupied the front porch. Kathy’s guess was that this woman spent a lot of time in that chair, tending her bottle and her neighbors’ business at the same time.

She babbled on the way, introducing herself as Sissy Norman before launching into a story about her husband’s desertion, telling them in a confidential tone that the bus driver he’d run off with had been fat and had missing teeth. Could they believe it?

Her house smelled like fried eggs and wine. A dog that looked like a mangy horse snoozed on a braided rug in the living room. It opened its eyes when they entered but couldn’t be troubled for a bark.

Sissy stopped off in the kitchen to fill her glass, sloshing some over onto the floor in the process. She didn’t bother to wipe it up, but the horsey dog decided that spilled wine was worth moving for. He lapped up the puddle and then hobbled back to his rug.

“I know I just saw that picture because I was planning on cutting Fred out of it.” She paused, taking a drink. “I know where it was!”

Pouncing on a stack of yellowed newspapers that towered unsteadily in the corner, she began sorting.

“Aha! I knew it was there. I think I decided to burn it.” She shrugged, draining her glass. “Here. Take it.”

Mike studied the photo before handing it to Kathy. The recent shot was a close-up of Porter with another man. His smiling face seemed but a shadow of the man who had attacked her. Except for the eyes. The eyes were the same and they made her tremble with anger.

“What about his car?” Mike asked. “Do you know what kind it is?”

“Sure. I even know his linus…license plate numbers because they’re almost the same as my birthday.”

A smile spread over Mike’s face. “Now that would be helpful.”

Kathy watched Mike write down Sissy’s information, hoping the woman wasn’t too sauced to know what she was talking about.

“Can you think of anything else?” Mike asked, looking up.

She shrugged. “He eats a lot of pizza.”

So do his rats,
Kathy thought.

Mike ripped a page from his tablet and wrote down his phone number, handing it to the woman.

“Would you give me a call if you see him again? Doesn’t matter what time it is—day or night.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Thanking her for her help, they said good-bye and walked back to the car.

“What now?” Kathy asked.

“I’m going to find a phone and call a buddy of mine at the station. I want an APB on his car and this picture in circulation right away.”

“She’s right, though,” Kathy said, nodding at Sissy’s house. “He looks different.”

“Can you describe how?”

“Yeah. Seeing that picture brought everything back.”

“Listen. I’ll drop you off at the station. You talk to Lou Mitchell—he’ll do a computer composite from what you tell him. Between the picture and the composite, we’ll find him.”

“Won’t you get in trouble if they find out what you’re working on?”

Mike shook his head. “He’ll call it an anonymous tip based on a sighting. That ought to shake things up.”

“What if they find out, Mike? You could lose your job.”

He smiled at her. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile without the taint of cynicism or sarcasm distorting his features. The difference that humor made was incredible.

“It’s a little late to be worrying about my job, Kathy,” he said. Then, seriously, “Who knows, maybe it’s time for me to move on anyway.”

“You mean leave the police department?”

He shrugged. “I’m getting too old to deal with bullshit.”

“Like the FBI coming in and taking over?”

“Yeah, that and other things.”