“This isn’t the girl you put in the hospital. But another one.”
He shifted, pushing his tray away. His smug smile faded. “What’s she saying about me?”
“What do you think she’s saying about you?” Riley asked.
“How the fuck would I know?” His agitation suggested he really was worried about what the girl would say. He believed at least one of his girls was still alive.
“Turns out, she’s not said much,” Sharp said, watching him closely. “She’s dead.”
Carter sat forward quickly, and a grimace proved the movement irritated his leg. “Who’s dead?”
“The young girl I saw get into your motor home about a month ago,” Riley said.
“We’re running her prints,” Sharp said. “Shouldn’t be more than a few hours before we have her name. You can save us some time and give us a name.”
Carter folded his arms over his chest, revealing a large snake tattoo that coiled around his forearm. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“You don’t know?” Sharp asked.
“Lots of girls on the streets like what they see when they see Jax Carter. Got all kinds of dates coming and going.”
Riley showed him the picture on her phone. “Look familiar?”
Barely glancing at the photo, he shook his head. “Nope.”
“If you don’t remember, the girl you beat up will,” Riley said. “Is this girl the reason you beat Jo-Jo so badly? Was Jo-Jo asking too many questions about her?”
Carter was silent, but frowned at the mention of Jo-Jo’s name.
“Jo-Jo’s healing nicely by the way,” Riley said, playing along as if she had more information than she really did.
“She’s next on our list of people to talk to,” Sharp added. “She’ll tell us the girl’s name.”
Carter tapped a finger on the small bed table. “There’s always girls hanging around at the truck stop near Fredericksburg. They was always asking for money or a cigarette, but I don’t know no names.”
She’d bet money he not only knew the girl well but also kept very close tabs on her whereabouts. Many of the working girls on the streets received a text every thirty minutes from their pimp, who expected an immediate response. Tardiness led to consequences. When cops had found Carter’s car at the rest stop, there were several phones on the floor. Those records might help.
“You don’t remember?” Riley asked. “I could swear I saw her getting into your motor home a month ago.”
A half smile pulled at the edge of his lips. “Nope.”
“All right. Maybe Jo-Jo will remember when you saw this girl last.”
He shifted, again tugging at the wound in his leg. He cursed and settled back, muttering, “Jo-Jo don’t remember shit because she don’t know nothing. I can promise you that.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” Sharp said.
“I’m sure.”
Images of the girl lying dead in the field and the video of Jo-Jo’s beating stoked anger, but she kept it in check. “Jo-Jo’s not under your control right now, Jax. She’s getting rest and good meals and healing. Drugs are leaving her system. No telling what a girl will say given a little encouragement from someone who actually cares about her.”
“You’re bluffing, bitch.”
“Am I?” She moved forward a step, leaning against his leg. He hissed in a breath. “You think she won’t talk? She’s already started.”
He shifted in the bed, turning a shade paler when he pulled his leg away from her. “Fuck you.”
“I like it when you cuss,” Riley said. “Confirms I’ve gotten under your skin.”
Carter opened his mouth to speak but stopped.
“Rest up, Jax,” Sharp said. “I don’t think you’ll get as much sleep in prison.”
Carter shook his head. “I ain’t going to prison.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Riley said.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wednesday, September 14, 9:45 a.m.
After Hanna left for school, Riley spent an hour visiting the youth shelter, talking to street girls who might know Darla. Several of the girls had been off the streets for months and had severed all their connections. And the two newest girls, who’d moved in midsummer, had never crossed paths with Darla.
Riley handed out business cards to all the girls and told them to call day or night if they needed anything. The girls had been leery of her, many disappointed by family and friends before, so she wasn’t holding out a lot of hope as she left the shelter and crossed the parking lot to her car. While driving to the state medical examiner’s office in Richmond, a call to the hospital told her Jo-Jo was barely awake and still in no shape to answer questions.
Now, dressed in black slacks, white blouse, dark jacket, and low-heeled boots, Riley arrived at the medical examiner’s office just before ten. She parked on a side street and then hurried to the Marshall Street entrance, pushing through the front doors and stopping at the front desk to show her badge.
The receptionist, an African American woman in her fifties, glanced up. “Who you here for?”
“A Jane Doe brought in yesterday. Brown hair, young. Teenager. Caucasian.”
“Right. I heard about that one.” She reached for a stack of papers and clipped them together. “She was brought in from up north. Who’s the lead?”
“Agent Dakota Sharp.”
“He’s a hard-ass.” Grinning, the woman shook her head. “A skinny little girl like you, well, he’ll eat you right up if you aren’t careful.”
Riley smiled. “I’m all gristle. Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, good for you, baby doll.” She handed Riley a visitor’s pass.
“Thanks.”
Riley stepped into the elevator and rode it to the lower level. The doors opened to a tiled hallway, fluorescent lights, and the smell of strong chemicals. Squaring her shoulders, she kept her pace steady and clipped. She had this under control. She did. Granted, she’d never witnessed a body being cracked open and taken apart by a doctor, but like any challenge, she’d figure it out. She hoped her stomach played along.
She pushed through the double metal doors and found herself facing a long stainless-steel counter outfitted with a sink and a hose attachment in the center. Angled next to the counter was a gurney carrying a body covered by a white sheet. Above the table were several adjustable lamps and a microphone ready for the doctor to dictate notes.
The room’s air was heavy with an unnatural smell that coiled inside Riley’s stomach. She pulled back her shoulders to ward off a gag reflex.
“Trooper Tatum, correct?”
So focused on the draped body, she didn’t notice the woman enter from a side door. Automatically, she extended her hand. “Dr. Kincaid?”