Chapter Five

Blu drove into Charleston and parked at the offices of the Palmetto Pulse, the place where Harmony and Tess used to work. Their former boss, Patricia Voyels, owned one of three remaining local news organizations in the city. The rest had fallen on hard times thanks to the industrial-powered vacuum social media had created. Now, anyone and everyone could report the news.

Patricia’s great niece, Josie, worked part-time while attending the College of Charleston. The woman who’d previously worked the front desk, Ms. Dell, had taken a buyout from Patricia in anticipation of the sale of the business and moved to Orangeburg to care for an elderly family member. Patricia had said Josie was a crackerjack researcher with a knack for getting around password protected sites.

Destined for a life of crime, Blu thought. He’d keep her in mind for future jobs if she was interested in some extra under-the-table money.

Josie said, “Hey, Mr. Carraway. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

As she picked up the phone, Patricia, beautiful and timeless as always, walked into the reception area. She had on her usual attire of a silk blouse of some kind, a skirt that ended an inch above her knees, and expensive-looking heels. Her dark hair had gray in it, but was thick and complimented her brown eyes.

  

He followed her back to her office and took a seat in a visitor’s chair. She sat at her antique desk facing a pair of computer screens. Word on the street was the bids for her empire had climbed into eight figures. For someone who’d started with nothing and cut her teeth in Southeast Asia covering underground U.S. operatives in Vietnam, she’d come a long way. Hard work and determination had paid off.

She rotated in her seat to face Blu and gave him a smile. “My nephew thinks of you like an older brother. It took a while, but I think he now exercises good judgment most of the time. As long as he stays off my headlines.”

Blu had to smile at that one. It was Brack who’d given her news organization quite a renaissance when Patricia headlined his antics while tracking her ex-husband’s killer.

“He saved my daughter,” Blu said. “That’s good enough for me.”

Patricia’s grin widened. “One of his finer moments.”

The truth was Patricia’s organization did not carry the clout it once had. Her star news correspondent, Darcy Wells, became Darcy Pelton when she married Brack. Harmony’s and Tess’ recent departure left Patricia with a significant void in the headline-reporting arena.

“So what can I do for you?” she asked. “You don’t normally come around just to chat.”

“Someone took Crome’s girlfriend.”

The smile left Patricia’s face. “What?”

“We don’t have much to go on. I think the goal is to mess with him. They sent a picture of her with a gun to her head.”

“My God.”

“Harmony and Tess are on it,” Blu said. “And they’ve already been in contact with Darcy.”

“What can I do to help?”

“I’m not sure, yet,” Blu said. “I have a feeling this isn’t just some vendetta. No one who knows him would arbitrarily pick a fight with Mick Crome. They’d have to want to die a painful death, be crazy, or be something worse.”

Patricia made a few notes on a pad. “I’ll get my staff on it right now.”

Blu stood. “Thanks.”

She looked at him. “How’s Billie?”

Through a tight smile, he said, “She’s good,” and walked out.

  

Mick Crome sipped coffee from a paper cup outside a Starbucks while leaning against his motorcycle. The triple shot elixir wasn’t Benzedrine, but it did the trick. He’d sworn off the red pills and nothing was going to send him back to them, but he still needed the rush. With his heart rate already jacked from the caffeine, he increased the nicotine level in his vape pen to the point of seeing imaginary pink elephants.

His mind raced through photographs of all the jokers from his past. He narrowed the list of enemies down to around thirty by ranking how bad he’d left them. The only problem with this logic was its reliance on a linear scale of pain and suffering.

He finished the coffee, crushed the cup, and tossed it into a receptacle.

A plan formed in his mind. He’d keep Blu busy. Same with the blonde twins. This was his problem to deal with. He didn’t need or want them getting in the way. Or maybe being charged with murder along with him.

  

The old building in front of Crome would fail the current fire code. Exit doors were supposed to swing out. This one didn’t, which made it easy for him to raise his foot and use all the strength in his leg to kick the door in.

The look on Phineous’ face when his door got kicked in was, to Crome, one of horror—exactly what the biker was going for.

Crome said, “My partner dropped off a jump drive with a picture on it for you to look at. I want to know right now what you’ve got. And don’t shuck me or so help me God I’ll break your neck.”

Phineous backed away, his hands up in surrender. The poor guy might have even pissed his pants.

Crome said, “I’m waiting.”

“Wha-wha-what?”

“Don’t give me that.” Crome shoved a chair into the wall as he walked the narrow corridor of the makeshift office. “And don’t even think about angling to get Harmony and Tess over here. For anything.”

Phineous moved his head up and down like a jackhammer. “Okay, okay, okay.”

“Good.” Crome leaned against a table. “Now tell me what you know.”

“Bl-Blu was coming back in a few hours.”

Crome slammed his fist on the table. “Dammit! I’m here now.”

The lanky photo analyst stumbled into a rack, sending various optical instruments crashing to the floor. They’d looked expensive.

“One more time, Phin,” Crome said. “What have you got?”

“I might’ve found something in the pic.”

“No kidding?” Crome gave him a genuine smile. “Knew you could do it, kid.”

Phineous took a deep breath. “It’s over there on the drafting table.”

“Really?” Crome said, all harshness gone. “Right over there? Well, let’s have us a look. Whaddaya say?”

Nodding, Phineous gestured toward the table.

Crome walked over and centered himself over the photograph of Maureen with her scared eyes looking directly at the person who had her.

  

Tuesday

  

The man ran his fingers through Maureen’s long, brown hair, twirling the ends before releasing the strands and starting again. Its softness was intoxicating.

Someone as strong-willed as Maureen would not crack easily. Except maybe under the right circumstances. And really, that was all that interested him—the right circumstances. She was just a pawn in the chess match he’d begun with Crome. He’d selected white and made the first move this time.

The move from the hotel room to their current location was necessary. He had better control of her here. The hotel itself had been a needed challenge. He wasn’t sure he could control her and needed a location that couldn’t be linked to him in case things went south at the beginning. Now that he had her under control—drugged—he was able to make the move. Looking back, he realized he had overplanned. But, it was better to over plan than get caught short.

She worked hard for the meager money she made. Maureen stared at herself in the mirror he’d placed in front of her. Her skin, a tan hue that only the sun could create, was beautiful. She’d aged better than most women. In his opinion, it was because of her hard work. Slouching around brought on death and disease. But work was good for one’s soul. He truly believed that, and Maureen proved it.

The only negative was her choice to blemish her flesh with ink. Tattoos betrayed natural beauty. But even with them, Maureen was a stunning woman. And now she was his. He’d taken her but she wasn’t the prize. Crome’s desperation to get her back was. It was the same with his partner, Blu Carraway. Both men deserved what was about to come their way.

Finding those right circumstances to make Maureen crack would be a bonus.

It didn’t help that Paco had failed. He’d hoped to keep Blu away from Charleston and busy or dead in Belize. Now, he’d have to deal with both men together. Doable, but not preferable.