She reached in a back pocket and pulled out a picture of Vicky, which she’d gotten from the Department of Motor Vehicles. Careful not to refer to murder, she said, “Either of you know this girl?”
The girls barely scanned the picture. Each shook their head no and glanced at the ground. Tony leaned over and looked at the image. “She hangs out with Jax. Don’t know her name. What happened to her?”
“She’s dead. Strangled to death.”
He grimaced and his gaze lost what little charm he projected. “I didn’t kill nobody.”
“I never said you did,” Riley said. She stared at the trio. “What can you tell me about the girl? And don’t tell me you don’t know.”
Tony flicked the ash off the edge of his cigarette. “Some of the guys liked the looks of her. Fresh meat. Everyone wanted a taste. Jax had only worked her a couple of weeks when he received an offer on her that was real sweet. The buyer wanted a girl that still looked fresh.”
Riley shifted her stance, doing her best to chase away an uncomfortable feeling growing inside of her. “You know who this guy was?”
“Jax knows. Darla knows. I never saw him.”
“Tony, you mind if the ladies answer the question?”
Slowly he shook his head. “Fine.”
“There was a car I saw,” Sandy said, after a moment’s hesitation.
“What car?”
“Big black car. Tinted windows. It parked next to their motor home.”
“Did anyone get out?”
“No. No one got out,” Sandy said. “It was a fancy car, so we were all paying attention. That kind of ride doesn’t come here all that often.”
“License plates?”
Sandy laughed. “It’s never smart to look too hard or to remember. It was nice and fancy. That’s all I got.”
“Did any of you talk to the driver?”
“Maybe I did,” Tony said. “I was getting a feel for what he wanted.”
“And?”
“He didn’t roll his window down much. He said he didn’t like what I had to offer. He wanted a different type of girl. Dark hair.”
“Like Vicky?”
“Yeah. Jax saw me talking and came up a few minutes later and talked to the guy,” Tony offered. “If he cut a deal, I didn’t see it, but he knew there was a buyer looking for a specific type.”
“And this would’ve been last week. What night?”
Tony dropped his cigarette and ground the ash into the concrete with his scuffed boot tip. “Friday or Saturday, maybe. I never saw the car again. And that’s all we got to say.”
Riley pulled out her business cards, handing one to each girl. “If you ever need a hot meal, Duke’s is the place to go. It’s safe and he doesn’t allow for any shit under his roof.”
“But he’s always putting people to work,” Tony said. “Who wants to sweep floors for minimum wage?”
“Beats working on your back,” Riley said.
He shook his head and laughed. Cassie laughed. Sandy did not.
Riley tucked her notebook away as if she were wrapping up the interview when she said, almost as an afterthought, “Any of you hear about any high-stakes poker game?”
Tony scratched his neck, and she noticed a spider tattoo clinging to the skin below his collar. “How high are the stakes?”
“Top level.”
Tony shook his head. “Shit. I don’t know about that. If the stake is more than a grand, it’s over my head.”
Looking at him, she believed him. He didn’t roll large. “Okay.”
She left the three standing silent in the parking lot. Sliding behind the wheel of her SUV, she studied Cassie and Sandy. She exhaled a breath she felt like she’d been holding since she first saw Vicky. The sheriff’s words echoed. She looks a little like you.
“I don’t look like her.” As she muttered the words, images reached out from the shadows.
Smoke. The clink of poker chips. Laughter.
“She’s pretty,” a man said.
“She’s your type, right?” a second answered.
Her mind tripped and turned, swirling in a sea of drugs as strong hands gripped her face and twisted it upward. Her eyes fluttered open, but they did not focus.
“Yeah, she’s my type. Perfect.”
A car horn behind Riley blared, startling her. The light was green. She drove, doing her best to shake it off.
Gripping the wheel, she increased her speed. “I don’t look like her.”
Anxious, Kevin pulled off the main road and wound down the long graveled driveway that cut a mile into the woods and up a small hill to the old building. The structure looked as if it had once been a church, but there were no signs of life around. He checked his watch to make sure he wasn’t too early. He was right on time.
This next game would be the turning point in his life. He still had the cash and sensed Lady Luck was with him now.
The building was basic. Well built with white clapboards and yet a broken side window—nothing like the fancy, glittering Vegas casinos. A great thing, if you didn’t want to draw attention to an illegal card game.
As he reached for his door handle, a shadow flashed in his side vision. A bullet crashed through the door and tore into his arm. Another ripped into his shoulder. Adrenaline jacked him up as he reached for his gun from the glove box. But before he could open the small door, a hail of shots sliced into his body.
His last thought as blood oozed and his vision blurred was that Lady Luck was a conniving bitch.
CHAPTER NINE
Thursday, September 15, 5:00 p.m.
Bowman was tracking Riley’s cell phone signal, and when she and the other agent drove to the high school, he had been on their tail. He watched her drop off the other agent, then drive to the first truck stop. He followed her to three more truck stops, and when she stopped at the gas pump and got out to fill her tank, he decided it was time to know the game plan.
“Riley,” he said.
She turned instantly, hand sliding toward her weapon. Her gaze locked on him.
He kept his hands out of his pockets and did his best to keep his face as neutral as possible, except for a small grin. He could scare the devil on a good day and didn’t want to put up more roadblocks between them.
Her chest rose as she pulled in a slow, measured breath. “Not polite to stalk, Bowman.”
“We need to talk.”
“What can I do for you, Bowman?”
“I want to talk to you about the Gilbert case.”
She glanced past him at his car, again calculating. He suspected she’d just shove him deeper into the doghouse. “Why?”
“Did you find playing cards with the body?”
Eyes narrowing, she stilled. “Playing cards?”
“We can stand here all day and second-guess each other or we can find a place to talk. I might be able to help you with this case.”
“I don’t need your help, Mr. Bowman. I’m pretty good at figuring these kinds of things out on my own.”
“I was a help in the woods.”
“I’ll give you that. But this isn’t the woods. Nor is it Quantico. We’re not a team.”
He should have guessed she’d not forgotten a damn thing. “This case is bigger than you think. You’re in danger.”