“That a threat?”
“Thanks for your time.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thursday, September 15, noon
When Bowman was in the bureau, there’d been rules to follow. But now that he was out, the old standard operating procedure didn’t apply. His intention wasn’t to break the law, but he knew how to bend anything to its breaking point.
Back from Washington, DC, he glanced at the text from Shield’s contact in the state police. The female victim had been identified and the connection to his tree-hugging pal, Jax Carter, was established. Bowman made his way along the hospital hallway, already knowing Carter’s room number. He wasn’t interested in dealing with attorneys or Miranda rights. He simply wanted to have a chat with the man who had last sold Vicky Gilbert.
The room was dark when Bowman entered and Carter was lying on his back, his eyes closed. Sleeping like a baby. Bowman unplugged the call button and settled in the chair next to Jax. For a long moment he simply stared. He wondered if a guy like Jax had lured Riley into the poker game twelve years ago. Had she been drugged and sold as well? He lightly pressed his finger into Carter’s wound.
“Jax Carter.”
Carter’s eyes popped open, his gaze searching wildly. When he saw Bowman in the chair, Jax recoiled like a cat. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I can find you anytime.”
Paling at the sound of the familiar voice, Carter reached for the buzzer and pressed it. Nothing happened.
“It’s just you and me now,” Bowman said, rising.
Carter sat up in bed, trying to put distance between them. “What do you want?”
“I want to know who you sold Vicky Gilbert to.”
“I don’t know who she is.”
Bowman’s teeth bared into a very unfriendly smile. He gently laid his hand on Carter’s leg. “Sure you do. You’ve been selling her for the last couple of weeks.”
Carter hissed. “I didn’t—”
Bowman barely squeezed. “Who did you sell her to last?”
“I didn’t hurt that girl. She was alive and well the last time I saw her. Back off!”
Bowman’s fingers tightened on Carter’s leg. “You sure you don’t want to talk?”
Carter’s face turned white. “Just let go.”
Bowman released his grip but let his hand rest on the leg.
“Not saying that I sold her, but there was a guy. Lewis. Kevin Lewis. He was looking to party with a girl who had Vicky’s look.”
“What kind of look did he want?”
Carter shifted, trying to move his leg out of Bowman’s reach but only managing to scoot over a couple of inches. “Dark hair. Young. Fresh. Like her.”
“Why did he want her?”
“I don’t ask.”
“What happened when he didn’t bring her back?”
“I went looking for her. The girl had real potential.”
“A moneymaker,” he coaxed.
“That’s right.”
“She’d not worked the streets before?”
“Not really. But she was starting to make serious money.”
“Who introduced you to her?”
“My girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?”
Carter didn’t hesitate. “Darla Johnson.”
Bowman sensed Carter was willing to throw his grandmother to the wolves if it diverted some of the heat off him. “How did Darla meet her?”
“I don’t know. Online, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“She’s always on her phone checking out social media and shit.”
“Reaching out to girls like Vicky. Lonely girls. Lost girls.”
Carter shifted. “I don’t know. Ask Darla.”
“What does Darla say to the girls?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“Where can I find her?”
“She moves around.”
“In a car? A camper? How does she get around?”
“We have a motor home. We like to stay on the move.”
“What’s it look like, Jax?”
“White. Midsized.”
“Tell me all that you know about Darla.”
“She has a rap sheet. Been busted a couple of times for drugs. Five foot four. Round hips. Blond hair.”
Bowman’s gaze dropped to Carter’s thigh. “That knife wound must be hurting now. I hear you took over fifty stitches. That little girl cut you good.”
Carter shifted, his eyes darkening. “That’s between me and her.”
Outside a cart rattled past, reminding him that this was not the time or place. “Not anymore. I’m in the mix now. Leave her alone.”
“Or what?”
Bowman squeezed again. “Do you really want to find out?”
Carter hissed in a breath. “No!”
A short knock on the door had Bowman backing away from the bed as a nurse entered. He lowered his voice. “See you soon.”
Vicky’s short, troubled life weighed heavily on Riley as she walked into the small coffee shop near the police station after she dropped off Sharp. A bell overhead jingled as she glanced toward a television behind the bar and spotted Eddie Potter’s face. The sound wasn’t on, but she could see he was interviewing an older, well-dressed man in the field where Vicky’s body had been found. The caption under the old man’s face read, Cain Duncan, festival and concert promoter with Byline Entertainment.
A young, thin man behind the counter glanced up from the stainless-steel pitcher he was filling with freshly steamed milk. “Riley. Triple espresso?”
“Perfect.”
“So, you and Cooper catch any bad guys today?”
“Too many to count,” she said.
He grinned. “Coffee’s on the house today.”
“Why?”
“Appreciate what you do.”
“Thanks.” She dropped a few bucks in the tip jar. As she settled into a chair, the door opened and she spotted a tall man glancing at the menu above. Though his back was to her, she could see he was fit and radiated an energy that was hard to miss.
Going through the motions, she thought as she tore the sugar packets and dumped both into her coffee. As she savored the combination of bitter and sweet, she glanced a second time at the man ordering a plain black coffee. Short dark hair cut neatly. Nicely dressed. In fact, the jacket was top-of-the-line and fit his broad shoulders well. His eyes remained forward, didn’t cut in her direction—but she sensed he knew exactly what was happening around him.
By her guess, he was a fed. Had the look. And they had their share of feds here, so she didn’t pay too much attention to them. She thought about the pitch she’d made to Sharp about ViCAP. No way the wheels of progress moved that fast.
She tugged her notebook from her pocket and flipped through the paltry notes from her interview with Vicky’s parents. Father was an ass, and she wasn’t sure if that was his constant state or if he was overwhelmed and in shock. Mom was in full-blown grief and juggling a load of guilt on top of it. She wasn’t sure if Vicky’s problems were of her parents’ making or stirred up by her own mental health issues. Either way, the kid had landed on the street.