He could have driven, but Hunter wanted to get to L.A. as fast as possible. Catching the first available flight out of Albuquerque, he was in Los Angeles by early evening. He rented a Jeep, one exactly like his own. Grimly, he put the car in gear and headed into a mess of commuter traffic.
He hadn’t been back in a while, although the memories were still raw, crowding his brain. But this time he was on a mission to straighten out the events that had led to his exile from the City of Angels, and he didn’t care how he did it.
He had two buddies, both still detectives on the force, one in vice, one in burglary and theft. He also had a pretty good friend in homicide, but Hunter’s insistence that Michelle’s death was murder hadn’t set well with the boys in that department. They’d thought differently. For his efforts Hunter had earned a penalty and a warning to leave Troy Russell alone. He’d ended up quitting rather than living under that dictum.
Carlos Rodriguez worked vice and lived in South Central. By a realtor’s standards, it wasn’t the best neighborhood in town; it certainly had its share of crime. But Carlos lived within a large Hispanic section where most of his neighbors were trusted close friends. Hunter knew many of them, so he wasn’t worried when he passed several sinister-looking groups of young men who glared at him as he drove by. He pulled in front of Carlos’s modest home, strode up the sidewalk which was lined with bright flower boxes and rang the bell.
“Hunter!” Tina Rodriguez declared in delight. Carlos’s wife had always been fond of him and she threw open the screen door and hugged him close. She was five feet two in socks and built tough. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Carlos. He on the job?”
“You know he is. Busting the hookers and junkies.” She sniffed. “You still in Santa Fe?”
“More or less. Could you give him my number?” He scribbled down a phone number from an airport hotel which he’d never forgotten. “I’m checking in there later. I also want to see Mammoth.”
“Getting the old gang together again.” She smiled. “Don’t you be like those boys on the street out there, eh?” She jerked her head in the direction of the street toughs gathered outside. “No trouble.”
Hunter smiled. “No trouble.”
Her expression clouded. “Is this about that man who killed your sister?”
Hunter regarded her with affection. Carlos and Mammoth and their wives had never questioned whether he was right or not. They believed him. “I’m afraid it is.”
She gave a quick sign of the cross. “That is for you.”
“Thank you.”
He left feeling somehow better, lighter, ready to face the fire. He was going to get Russell this time.
Next, he checked into the hotel—a euphemism since it was barely more than a two-story motor court built in the thirties—and settled in to wait. He’d brought along the information Ortega had sent to him in Puerto Vallarta, even though it had more to do with the Holloways than Russell himself. Still, it gave him a picture of Russell, and even with the passing of years, he knew he’d immediately recognize the man.
Two hours later Carlos phoned. “Hey, man!” he declared. “What you doin’ back in the city, huh? Thought you was run out of town on a rail.”
“Just couldn’t stay away. I’ve got people to see.”
“Uh-huh.” Carlos’s tone grew sober. “I know where some of ’em live.”
“Figured you did.”
“Russell’s friends keep crossin’ my path, again and again. There’s an apartment in El Segundo. Really funky place, y’know? Ratty lives there. Betcha that’s where Russell shows up.”
Ratty was Hunter’s own nickname for one J.P. Graef. The man looked like a rat, with a pointy nose, big ears, and a narrow face. And every place he’d ever lived looked like a rat’s nest: dirt and papers and clutter and a stench that pervaded everything.
Carlos rattled off the address. “You want me to go with you, man?”
“Not while you’re gainfully employed.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Russell has someone with him. His son.” Hunter gave Carlos a quick recap of Rawley’s relationship to Russell. “I’m working with the boy’s mother and grandfather.”
Carlos whistled softly. “You better take either me or Mammoth with you.”
“I’ll let you know if I need backup. For now, I’m on my own.”
“You always were,” Carlos said softly. “Don’t forget about us.”
“Never.”
Friendship. Something he’d let slide. Something he’d nearly forgotten about while he’d been holed up in Santa Fe, trying to heal. Ever since he’d connected with Jenny Holloway he’d discovered himself again. It was amazing to realize how much he’d nearly thrown away forever, and how important it was to keep one’s perspective.
Ratty’s apartment was easy to pick out amongst the fifty or more units in the dilapidated complex. A stack of old newspapers, boxes, and bottles lined the area outside his front door. His fellow slum dwellers apparently felt he should keep his filth to himself for as Hunter pulled into the parking lot and examined the area from his Jeep, Ratty’s neighbor to the right came out of his door and kicked the pile viciously with his foot before stalking to his car.
A riot light atop the building next door lit up the place like a prison yard. It seemed like someone wanted to keep a sharp eye on the tenants of the—Hunter strained to read the faded, unlit sign—the Roseland Court. Still, the overhang of the deteriorating roof offered deep shadows near the doorways and any number of nefarious doings could be managed by an enterprising criminal.
Ratty had been an acquaintance of Troy’s, not because they were alike in any way, but because Ratty worshiped the ground the urbane Troy Russell walked on. He was happy to grovel, happy to be used. Troy didn’t even pay him. Apparently allowing him to remain just outside his inner circle was enough for Ratty.
It was Ratty whom Hunter had shaken down to find out where Troy was on the night of Michelle’s death; Ratty who had squealed about Troy’s involvement with another woman, several other women; Ratty who clung to Hunter’s leg and begged him not to tell Troy who had led the police to him. Hunter had kept the promise.
And in the end it hadn’t mattered. Hunter had found Troy in the arms of some bimbo and had jerked the naked man out of bed, strangling him to within an inch of his life while the woman clutched the covers to her breasts and screamed at him to stop. All Troy knew was that Hunter had crossed the line, and the fact that he’d been caught in bed with another woman attested to the fact that he hadn’t been with Michelle.
Hunter tried to get the rap to stick. He pointed out that there were gloves in Troy’s car and that he could have worn them while he was with Michelle, effectively leaving no prints while he pushed her off the roof. But could have wasn’t good enough. He told them how Michelle had confided in him, had said she felt Troy would rather see her dead than be the father of her child. Insubstantial.
All anyone cared about was that Hunter had physically attacked Troy Russell, and that Hunter continually harassed and threatened Russell at every opportunity.
End of story.
Until now.
No lights shone in Ratty’s windows. Nothing. If they were driving, Russell hadn’t had time to get here yet. Throwing the Jeep into gear, Hunter decided to cruise by a couple of more addresses that he’d gathered and saved over the years, some of Troy’s innumerable bedmates.
Hunter had a feeling he’d be back.
Rawley’s hands were sweating on the steering wheel. He could hardly concentrate. Twice he’d run the rightside wheels off the pavement into the dirt. Twice he’d jerked the car back, overcorrected, and slipped into the other lane. Worst of all, he knew he was disappointing his dad. He didn’t know the first thing about driving, and for the second time that day he felt near tears. Now it was night and he wasn’t sure how to say he wanted to quit and just go home.
“Why are you slowing down?” Troy demanded.
“I’m kinda tired.”
“We’re still fifty miles outside of Phoenix. Go ahead.”
Rawley swallowed. “I really don’t want to.”
His dad gave a disparaging groan, but Rawley pulled over to the side of the road anyway. His arms felt like weights. His dad hadn’t seemed to mind his erratic driving, which was totally weird. He just kind of chuckled deep in his throat. Like it was a thrill a minute even though Rawley had felt close to passing out.
Troy took over the wheel and they drove in silence to the outskirts of Phoenix. Rawley thought they would stop there, but they drove straight on through. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“Stop asking.” Troy was curt. “We’re going to go as far as we can go.”
Rawley stared through the windshield, watching headlights passing them in the opposite lane. That lane headed east, toward Santa Fe, toward his mom. Reaching deep in his pocket he fingered the pink beaded necklace he’d taken from her jewelry box. He hadn’t known why he’d done it. It was his birthday gift to her. But in the heat of the moment he’d just grabbed it and taken off.
Now he was glad.
“I should call my mom,” he pointed out.
“Not yet.”
“She’ll have the cops on us.”
Troy threw him a harsh look. Rawley shrank back at the venom in that dark gaze. “Well, let her. They’ll have a hell of a time finding us, won’t they?”
Intimidation normally didn’t work on Rawley. He resented authority like every normal fifteen-year-old. He was just quieter about it than his friend Brandon. But he was stuck in a car with a virtual stranger, he realized now, and he wasn’t sure what to do.
“Wouldn’t it be better to just call her?”
Troy swore pungently. “She’ll send her boyfriend after us. Is that what you want? The guy who screws his own sister? You want him, huh? You want the guy that slips it to her when she’s sleeping, then covers her mouth with his hand so mom and dad won’t hear?”
All lies, Rawley had a feeling. The more Troy embellished, the clearer that was. He could feel his stomach tighten with fear. He understood at last. But it was too late.
Escape was all he could think about.
Jenny had gone to the restaurant. She needed something to do. She wandered around the kitchen and thought about Rawley. She could visualize him bussing tables and seating customers.
Troy, don’t hurt him.
Her jaw set. She was experiencing a little of that cold control her ex had once possessed. If he possessed it still, she hadn’t seen any signs of it. Troy wasn’t the same. He was looser, wilder, more dangerous. Capable of anything.
After an hour of watching the clock, she headed home. She’d been keeping a vigil by the phone and that hadn’t worked. She’d hoped Rawley might call if she were gone, yet been afraid to leave. Finally, she’d bolted from the condo just to save her sanity. Now, she drove over the speed limit to get home and check the messages.
None.
One glance at the answering machine and Jenny collapsed. Head in hands, she wept tears of fear and fury. Ten minutes later she was on her feet, pacing. She had to do something. Why had she let Hunter leave? She should have gone with him. Except if Rawley called …
Magda. She would have Magda stay here while she went to find her son. That was the answer. With no plan fully formed, she headed to the phone. Hand on the receiver, she almost cried with relief when the phone miraculously rang.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Rawley said.
“You’re going to have to hold it”
“I can’t,” he answered simply.
Heaving a sigh of disgust, Troy pulled into a service station. To Rawley’s consternation, his father followed him inside. Hell of all hell, Rawley couldn’t pee. His father watched him like a hawk. But his nerves had tightened up and no amount of silent pleading could get his body to work. “I guess I was wrong,” Rawley mumbled, shoving past Troy on the way to the car.
It happened so fast he was still reeling with shock. One moment he was stepping out the bathroom door, the next he was slammed up against the wall. Before he could move, his head was slammed hard again against the tile wall. His ears rang.
“Don’t fuck with me,” his father told him.
Rawley lowered his lashes. Every instinct told him to go for it, just hit him and take him down. But Troy had a good twenty pounds on him and an unpredictable temper.
“You wanna call Mommy? Fine. Get in the car and I’ll give you the cell phone. But after you say hello, turn it over to me.”
“Are you kidnapping me?” Rawley asked him bluntly.
“Hey, kid, you begged to come with me. Begged!”
“Guess I made a mistake.”
They stared each other down. In the end Troy started laughing. He clapped Rawley on the shoulder and guided him back to the Explorer. “All right. I was mad. I didn’t want to stop. Here.” Troy handed him the cell phone as he shut the passenger door. Rawley would have jumped right back out with the phone in hand, but Troy didn’t immediately move away.
What time was it? Three o’clock in the morning. Rawley placed the call and the line rang and rang. Finally, the answering machine picked up. “Hey, Mom?” His voice cracked. Suddenly he couldn’t go on. Troy peeled the phone from his limp fingers and said, “Jenny?” then realized he’d gotten the machine. After a moment of thought, he said, “Where the hell are you in the middle of the night? Have you spoken to your dear old dad? He and I have a deal going. When this thing all gets settled, you can join Rawley and me. One big happy family, just like it should’ve been fifteen years ago. You better not be fucking around with Calgary.”
With an effort Troy cut the connection. He really wanted to swear at her, tell her what a whore she was. But the kid was about to break down and this was the moment to go, go, go.
He couldn’t wait to get to LA. He was so horny he could scarcely think straight. He’d wanted to beat the shit out of the kid, but that wasn’t going to work.
Patricia, he thought. No. Frederica. Maybe she was on an upswing and they could fuck themselves silly.
“Stop blubbering,” he said harshly as Rawley lay like a limp rag in the passenger seat. Troy made one step toward the hood of the car and he heard Rawley’s door open. Surprised, he jumped back and slammed the door against his son’s hand and heard his howl of pain. He slammed the door twice more, but the kid had jerked his wounded fingers free after the first time.
Behind the wheel, he reminded him tightly, “I told you not to fuck with me.”
Next stop, the City of Angels.
Jenny sat in a chair at the side of the hospital room. If she’d been the least bit tired she would have nodded off. As it was, she stared at her father’s sleeping form and the frightening sight of tubes connected to the line of monitors recording his vital signs.
The call had been from a member of the hospital staff. Allen had suffered a heart attack. A small one, by cardiologist’s standards, apparently. She could hear Allen yelling in the background, still seeking to control, and she’d been so disappointed that it wasn’t Rawley that at first she hadn’t understood what had happened.
When she’d finally connected all the dots she called Magda, got her machine, and left a message saying she was going to the hospital to be with her father and could Magda please come over and stay by the phone? She would explain all later.
Magda and Phil had showed up at the hospital instead. Jenny could scarcely convey everything that had happened—including Rawley’s sudden trip with Troy, which had probably been the trigger for Allen’s heart attack. She tried to give Magda her keys, but because Jenny hadn’t adequately explained the situation, neither of the Montgomerys understood her urgency about Rawley.
Finally, Magda grabbed her arm. “Are you saying he was kidnapped?”
“It amounts to that.”
“Where did they go?” Phil wanted to know.
“I have no idea.”
“What’s the status on your father?” This, too, from Phil.
Jenny shrugged helplessly. Tests were being run. As an afterthought, she made her way to a pay telephone and called Natalie. Another answering machine or voice mail. Well, it was the middle of the night. She could scarcely blame her for not wanting to answer the phone.
She left a curt message. “Hello, Natalie. It’s Jenny. My father’s had a heart attack, but is doing okay so far. He’s at St. Vincent Hospital. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Magda and Phil hung outside Allen’s room, looking oddly sick themselves under the unforgiving fluorescent lights. “You didn’t have to come here,” she said again.
“Of course we did!” Magda hugged her hard for about the tenth time.
“But as long as you’re up, I really need someone to go to my place and check the messages. Rawley should have called by now.”
“When did he leave?” Magda asked, finally understanding the gravity of the situation.
“This morning. Late morning.” She felt close to tears again. “While I was at Hunter’s ranch.”
“Oh, honey. Don’t feel guilty. Please. Rawley wanted to go, right?”
She nodded. “He took a bunch of clothes … a lot of them. Maybe he plans to—stay with Troy.”
“Oh, that won’t work.” Magda shook her red curls. “Troy’ll get sick of him.” Jenny blinked at her. “Well, from what you’ve said about him, he doesn’t exactly have the patience of Job and fifteen-year-olds can test the best of us. I mean, Jenny, Rawley’s great But he’s a teenager.”
“You think he’ll want to come back?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course he will. You’re his mother.”
“Jenny!”
It was Allen’s voice. Jenny scurried back into his room. “Don’t yell,” she said in a whisper. “Please. Take care of yourself.” She glanced at the monitors as if she could make sense of the readouts. The narrow green lines peaked and dipped and waved.
“I’m fine,” he declared impatiently. “Have you heard from Rawley?” He started coughing and Jenny touched his shoulder.
“Dad, please,” she implored.
He waved a hand at her, unable to speak for a moment. “You need to pay him the money,” he finally rasped out.
“Five hundred thousand dollars?”
“How much is your son worth?”
“Priceless, and you know it. And you also know it doesn’t work that way. Rawley’s got to want to come back.”
“Pay Troy the money and he’ll drop Rawley like a hot potato.”
“Dad—”
“Just do it, Geneva. Call my lawyer. Joseph Wessver. Tell him to set it up. He’ll know what to do.”
Jenny gazed at her father in concern. He looked terrible. Sick and old. They’d fought about money for so many years. “You bought me out of my marriage. Now, you’re going to buy me my son back.”
Allen managed a faint smile. “Best investments I’ve ever made.”
Leaning forward, Jenny kissed him lightly on the forehead. She saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes as she turned away.
Hunter woke up with a jolt. He’d cruised by some of Troy’s other previous haunts, then had drifted back to Ratty’s and fallen asleep. Now, he watched the rustbucket Chevy nose into a spot. The engine sputtered and quit. The door flew open and Ratty himself climbed out. Stretching, he reached in the back of the car and hauled out what looked like several thousand dollars worth of electronic equipment. Hunter watched him make several trips up to his apartment.
“A little breaking and entering, Ratty, old boy?” Hunter whispered to himself. “A little burglary and theft? That how you’re surviving these days?”
He was going to have to call Mammoth when this was all over and get Ratty’s ass hauled into jail. But not now. Not yet.
He dozed off again, fitfully.
Dawn was breaking as the green Explorer slipped into the parking lot and found a place next to Ratty’s Chevy.
For Rawley, it was a living nightmare. And it was all his own fault. Why hadn’t he listened to his mother? Why? This man wasn’t his father. There was something wrong with this man. He was nervous as hell. Chewing gum and jiggling his leg. It was like he was high on something. Maybe meth. But Rawley was beginning to suspect Troy’s drug of choice was intimidation—and sex. The last part was because of the way he talked.
“You had sex yet?” Troy had asked him as they hurtled through the night toward the west coast.
Rawley had carefully couched his response. In the short time he’d been with Troy he’d learned it was best to offer as little information as possible. “I’ve been with girls,” was his answer. In truth, he’d had a few wild rumblings that had come pretty close to the real thing. But he’d never actually done it. Too many consequences he wasn’t ready to deal with. He wasn’t one of those guys who carried condoms and he was bound and determined to avoid STDs at all costs.
His answer got Troy’s leg jiggling. “Your mom’s a cold bitch. Real icy. She needs a good—”
“Shut up about my mom!” Rawley had yelled without thinking.
“You ever thought about her that way?”
Rawley had seen red. He knew his dad was trying to work him over, but that was low. Low and dirty. His father’s smile gleamed unpleasantly in the dark car.
“Go ahead, kid,” he said, enjoying the malicious game. “See what it gets you. Come on, crybaby.”
Troy’s hand had slipped down into his jacket pocket. Rawley froze. He sensed without being told that Troy was going for a gun.
“My mom was right about you,” Rawley said.
“Your mom needs a lesson in how to be nice to a man. And I’m going to give it to her.”
Not if I cut off your balls first, Rawley thought without a qualm of guilt.
“Get out of the car,” Troy said now, pushing Rawley roughly out into the early dawn chill. Rawley wasn’t asleep but he was slouched in the seat, thinking hard. Escape was everything. He had no money. Not a dime. But if he could get to a pay phone he could call his mother collect.
He stepped from the car. Troy was beside him in a flash, waving him up the stairs. Rawley had to step around the junk collected outside the door. “Hey, there, J.P.,” Troy called as he pounded on the door. “Open up this pigsty!” A lot more pounding ensued before a weasly looking guy finally slung open the door.
“Troy!” he crowed in delight.
Rawley took a step back, but was grabbed by the collar of his letterman’s jacket and thrust inside a dark, smelly room.
Hunter hadn’t brought a gun. He didn’t own one. He’d carried one when he was on the force but had turned it in when he quit. Though he’d pulled his gun often during the course of duty, he’d almost never fired it.
Now he wished to high heaven that he owned one. Walking in on Troy and Ratty unarmed was just plain foolish.
He debated calling Carlos and Mammoth. They would come if he asked. They would come fully prepared.
But they would play by the rules, something, at this juncture, that Hunter wasn’t prepared to do.
He couldn’t figure out Rawley. The kid had seemed kind of reluctant to go in. Or was he just sleep-deprived? He and Troy had been on the road a long time. Uncertain how to play this, Hunter hesitated.
There was a pack of cigarettes in the glove box. He pulled it out and played with one, unwilling to actually light up. He must be getting over that addiction as well as his burnout, he decided. He certainly felt alive and sharp this morning.
The morning wore on. About nine o’clock a couple of young kids flew out of unit sixteen and began playing in the strip of dirt to the side of the asphalt. The sun burned hot in a smoggy gray sky.
There had been no sign of life from Ratty’s apartment since Rawley and Troy entered. No lights. No sound. No stirring, as far as Hunter could tell.
Thinking it over, he decided it was time for a confrontation, gun or no gun.
He climbed out of the Jeep and up the stairs. The kids playing in the dirt paid no attention to him. In the boxes of junk outside Ratty’s door he spotted a length of metal casing about three feet long. Not much. But it could sure inflict some damage if the blow was right.
Hunter weighed the weapon in his hand. He glanced at the door.
He knocked loudly.
Ratty answered, blinking in the light like the rodent he was. Hunter shouldered past him and found Rawley two feet on his left, scrambling out of a sleeping bag on the floor and rushing toward him, his face alight with joy.
Hunter picked it all up in the split second before his gaze found Troy Russell. The man had a gun—and he was pointing it directly at Hunter’s heart.
“Move and I’ll kill you,” he stated flatly.
“Hello, Russell?” Hunter answered calmly.