Martin stood back. “Let Agent Sharp do it, and I’ll photograph him.”
Sharp stepped forward and reached into Carter’s back jeans pocket. He found a wallet stuffed full of money. “Not a robbery.” He dropped the wallet into a plastic evidence bag and checked the other back pocket. Sharp pulled out a playing card. It was a joker.
“Another card?” Martin asked.
Sharp held up the card and studied the morbid smile of the joker in the center. The very ordinary card wasn’t like the ones found on the dead girls. “I suppose this is some kind of message.”
“They both were bit players in all this,” Bowman said. “And whatever they did, the Shark didn’t like it.”
The Shark stared at the videotape of the girl sitting in the chair. Drugged and nearly unconscious, she possessed the physical beauty he always craved. Long dark hair. A slim face. Tapered hands. Like Angie. All were angels damaged and ruined by the streets, all of whom he set free from this world’s pain and suffering.
Angie had been dead for twelve years, but he still couldn’t forget her. He’d thought killing her would cleanse her from his senses, but she had burrowed deep under his skin and pierced his soul. Even now, she invaded his dreams, laughing at him, calling him common. “You’re pathetic,” she said.
Killing her was never the plan. He’d wanted her to love him and to understand the depth of his feelings. But instead of acceptance, she’d laughed and turned away from him. She’d shown him her back. Disrespected him—something she’d never have done if not for the streets.
On that long-ago night, he’d snapped, grabbed her, and spun her around. Still, his frustration had amused her. She’d pouted as if looking at a small harmless child. He never remembered wrapping his hands around her neck. He was so lost in his own grief, he didn’t hear her choke and gasp as he squeezed until the smile vanished and panic bloomed in her gaze. Her fingers, long and delicate, rose to his, trying to pry them free as pain distorted her features.
Her killing should have satisfied him. But even after all these years, he still heard her laughter. He still saw her in his dreams, mocking him.
The girl on the tape was not Angie. She was Riley. But she was so very similar to Angie that they could have been sisters. He traced the computer screen with his index finger; the sight of her could make him weep. She didn’t look damaged, but he knew the streets had ruined her as they had destroyed Angie.
“I’ve won,” the other player said.
Twelve years hadn’t dulled the sting of disbelief. For the first time, he’d lost.
“Pay your debt,” the winner said. “Give me my money and the girl.”
Watching the recording, the Shark reached for a glass of bourbon and drank it in one gulp, wincing as the liquid burned his throat. She had been so drugged, she barely noticed his touch.
Refilling the glass, he raised it to his lips and stared at Riley’s image, picturing the cord wrapping around her neck. He imagined her rapid pulse beating against the cord. The need to kill her—to kill Angie again—burning so strong.
Shoving aside the countless regrets he still attached to the day he lost Riley, he curled his fingers into fists, remembering what the video recording didn’t capture.
“You aren’t doing her any favors,” the Shark said. “She’s been on the streets. She’s damaged. She’ll never be right.”
“That’s my problem. Not yours.”
“You’re making a mistake. Kill her.”
“Not today.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Conscience? Hedging my bets. Who knows?”
The Shark cursed. “Take your money. Take the girl. And be grateful Lady Luck favored you today.”
Now twelve years later, he wanted a rematch. He was all in.
Riley stayed at the crime scene for hours. She hoped that there’d be some bit of evidence that would tell her anything about this killer who had landed in her backyard and was circling around her like a stalking panther.
It was after eight when she walked through the back door of her house after disarming the newly installed alarm. Standing in the utility room, she didn’t turn on the light as she stripped off her clothes, shoved them in a garbage bag, and tossed them outside. They smelled of death, and she did not want the stench coming into her house.
She locked the door behind her, checking it twice, and moved to the shower. Andrews had told her to keep the bandage dry for a couple of days, so she wrapped plastic wrap around her arm and turned on the water. When it was hot, she stepped under the spray, washing off the scent of the crime scene.
She dried off her hair and body and slipped into an oversized shirt before she unwrapped the plastic from her arm. She inspected the small insertion site, and the gravity of the Shark’s reach struck home.
Threading her fingers through her wet hair, she moved into the kitchen and pulled out yesterday’s leftover chili from Duke’s. She popped it in the microwave and hit two minutes. Her doorbell rang and, without a thought, she reached for her gun. She moved to the side of the door. “Yes?”
“It’s Duke.”
She opened the door. “What brings you here?”
“I came to check on you.”
“Alive and well. Come on inside.” He moved into the house. She glanced around, seeing Hanna’s extra junk shoved in a corner and her own coat draped over a chair by a stack of magazines and papers. She didn’t care that Duke was seeing the mess but remembered Bowman had seen the chaos that came with a teenager in her home. She’d scared him off once before, and if she didn’t now with her more complicated life, she’d be shocked. “I was heating up some chili. Can I offer you some?”
He slid his hand into his pocket. “Naw, had my fill of it today. I heard about Jax and Darla.”
“Isn’t that something? Guy tangles with the devil and gets nabbed.”
A frown deepened the lines in his forehead. “What does that mean?”
She smoothed her hand over her head, knowing anything she said to Duke wouldn’t be leaked. “Without going into a lot of detail, the man that Bowman is chasing might have killed them.”
“The man who killed Vicky? I thought he was dead.”
“There’s another man who’s setting up these poker games. The stake in the game is a girl with a very specific look.”
“Shit.”
“You used to gamble a lot. Did you hear of games like that?”
“Life-or-death games. Sure, I heard rumors. But I always figured it was a lot of hype.”
“Yeah. I don’t understand it myself. But if Jax and his girlfriend knew anything, they took it to their graves.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry they’re dead. Scum. I told Jo-Jo. She didn’t say much, but I know she’ll sleep better tonight knowing they’re no longer a threat.”
“How’s she doing?”
“It’s going to be a long haul. And girls like her sometimes never completely leave the street behind. They’re scared. At least she has a decent chance now.”