Innocent Prey (A Brown and de Luca Novel) (6 page)

I looked at him fast. “I wasn’t hinting around for an invitation.”

“Shit, Rachel, you don’t hint around for anything.”

“It’s fine, we have the party tomorrow night. Don’t overdo it or I’ll get sick of you.”

“I was going to ask you anyway. Josh has been griping that he never gets to see your potbellied pig anymore.”

“Hey!” I punched him in the shoulder and hoped it hurt. “Fine, my gorgeous, sweet-smelling, damn near svelte bulldog and I will be there. What time?”

4

“B
oys’ varsity baseball is not nearly as much fun as girls’ varsity softball,” I said a few hours later from the bottom row of the bleachers at the Whitney Point High School’s baseball diamond. Mason was sitting beside me, his nephew Josh beside him, and Myrtle was lying on the ground in front of Josh’s feet. Possibly
on
Josh’s feet. She was the president of the eleven-year-old’s fan club. She was smiling with her bottom incisors sticking out over her upper lip, and every time the kid stopped petting her, she batted him with a forepaw.

“And you’ve come to this conclusion based on...?” Mason asked.

“Everything. The pitches are too fast, the hits are few and far between, the scores are too low—”

“Baseball scores are supposed to be low.”

“He’s right, Aunt Rache,” Misty called. She and Christy, my sixteen-going-on-twenty-five-year-old twin nieces were sitting on the top row, as far as possible from us. They only insisted on being part of our conversation if it meant an opportunity to correct their too-long-out-of-high-school-going-on-spinster aunt.

I twisted my head around. “You’re saying this?
You,
when your game last week ended because your team got so many runs ahead that they had to invoke the mercy rule?”

She shrugged, and returned to avidly watching the game, while her twin never looked up from the screen of her phone. Her thumbs were moving at the approximate speed of sound. Misty whisper-shouted, “Jeremy’s up!”

So I turned to pay attention. Misty and Jeremy were an item, though neither had admitted it yet, and nothing was official, as far as I could tell. But it was on. I’d have known that even if I’d still been blind.

Thank God I wasn’t, because it was one gorgeous spring evening. The sky was bluer than blue, not a cloud in sight, and Mason was beside me, a situation I liked way better than I had, up until now, admitted to myself. Admitting it to myself now gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I liked things easy and casual between us. I didn’t want to screw it up by wanting more.

Jeremy was crouching low, elbow up, bat moving in little circles behind him as he awaited the pitch. Then it came. He swung, and
crack!
It was outta there.

I shot to my feet, whooping and clapping and grinning so hard my face hurt as the ball sailed out of sight and Jeremy jogged the bases while we cheered. I glanced at Mason. He was smiling harder than I was. He met my eyes and nodded.

Yeah, I heard him. It had been a rough year for Jere. Last August he’d lost his father. In November his baby sister had been stillborn. At Christmas his mother had gone off the deep end and now she was in a locked psych unit. On top of all that, Jeremy had shot a man dead to save Mason’s life, and mine along with it. That he was still upright and not curled in a corner, drooling, was a triumph, in my opinion.

“Okay, maybe I spoke too soon about boys’ games not being as exciting as girls’,” I said as he rounded third and headed home. We sat down again as the applause died down. “That was freaking awesome.”

“And it means ice cream sundaes,” Josh added. “You promised, Uncle Mace. If he hit a home run, we get sundaes.”

“I guess I have to pay up, then,” Mason said.

“Don’t let him bullshit you, Josh. He’d have paid up either way.”

Josh grinned, probably because I’d said “bullshit.” Hell, I forgot again. I was lousy around impressionable youth. Yet another reason to keep things right where they were with Mason. He had kids now. I was not mommy material. I was eccentric aunt material. I had that gig
down.

The inning ended, and during the approximate lifetime it always took for the teams to change sides, toss balls around and warm up the pitcher, I leaned closer to Mason. “So what did you find out about Jake?”

We’d gone our separate ways after we’d questioned Stephanie Mattheson’s ex-boyfriend. Mason had dropped me at home, where I’d played on Facebook and Twitter instead of writing my daily ten pages, changed clothes and walked Myrtle. He’d gone back to the PD to talk to the chief and run a background check on Jacob Kravitz.

“He did eighteen months in Attica,” he said.

“Shit, you were right.” I clapped a hand over my mouth and glanced down at Josh, but he was oblivious. On the ground now, rubbing Myrt’s belly in just the right spot to make her leg go, and laughing like a freckled hyena. “What did he do?”

“Pissed off Judge Mattheson.”

I frowned.

“Turns out that when Stephanie and Jake ran off together, she wasn’t quite eighteen yet. They crossed state lines. The judge made sure Jake got the maximum.”

“That motherf— That
prick.
”

He grimaced at me. “Not much of an improvement there, Rache.”

“It’s a
slight
improvement. So then Jake has good reason to hate the judge.”

“Yeah. And to keep his distance from Stephanie. He’s also got a pretty powerful motive for wanting revenge.”

I nodded. “You think he’s hiding her somewhere? That the two of them planned this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or that he did something to her? For payback?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think he’d hurt her. Maybe he’s gonna hold her for ransom, only maybe she’s in on it, too, and they’re going to run off to Tahiti together once the judge pays up.”

He stared at me like I’d sprouted a unicorn horn.
“What?”

“I’m telling you, Aunt Rache, you’ve got a novel in you.” Misty had moved three levels down and was sitting behind us, leaning her head down between ours. “Now, what’s all this about kidnapping and ransom?”

“Hello? Private conversation here.”

She gave me an exaggerated pout and still managed to be gorgeous. “Then have it somewhere private.”

“She’s right,” I said to Mason. “We shouldn’t be working at a game. Baseball is way more important than work.”

“Is that from one of your books, Rachel?”

“No, but it should be.” I pulled out my phone, tapped the little blue birdie.

“You’re Tweeting?” Mason asked, using the same tone he might use to say “You’re reproducing by mitosis?”

“Amy says it’ll have a positive impact on book sales.” I keyed in
Baseball is more important than work. If ur boss disagrees, he’s a jackass.
Then I turned the phone to show him. “I’m even learning the lingo.”

“Everyone’s on Snapchat now,” Misty informed me in a superior tone. “Anyway, Jere asked us over tomorrow night to help him watch Josh while you two party. That good with you?”

I shot a look at Mason. He said, “Sure.”

For a detective, the guy was way too easily conned. “It depends,” I said. “Who do you mean by ‘us’?”

The big blue innocent eyes got bigger and bluer and innocenter. I knew she was up to something. “Me and Christy.”

“Just you and Christy?”

She nodded very firmly and said, “And Rex. I mean, you know Rex.”

Ronald Alexander, aka Rex (because being named Ronald and surviving high school could not coexist) was Christy’s current boyfriend. I did not like him. He was hornier than a rutting billy goat, and he could not hide that from the insightful-but-don’t-you-dare-call-her-psychic aunt. Aka me. Also, he smoked weed. I’d smelled it on him. It wasn’t something I was judgmental about—unless you were dating my niece.

“I don’t see why not,” Mason said.

“And who else?” I asked.

“No one.” Christy’s voice had gone an octave higher. “I mean, unless Rex brings a few friends or something, but it’s not like we’re planning it.”

“So, Mason, what my niece is asking you is, ‘Do you care if a bunch of teenagers throw a party in your house when you’re not home?’”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t know I had to stay in detective mode when talking to teenagers,” he said. Then he looked up at Misty. “I’ll have to meet this Rex person first, and it’ll be just you three. You, Christy and him. No one else. And no booze. No partying.”

Her smile was huge, her eyes sparkling. “Thanks, Mason. You’re awesome.”

Then she skittered back up to the top bleacher to lean in and whisper to her twin, who grinned and started texting even faster.

Shit, she was probably sending out a mass invitation to the rave at Mason’s house tomorrow night.

* * *

The cell door slammed, sending Stevie’s heart into her throat. She’d been sound asleep. Now she sat up, clutching the jagged bottom half of her handle-broken-to-a-sharp-point hairbrush in one hand and listening to the familiar footsteps walking away with a slightly uneven gait. “Lexi?”

“Right here,” she said from the top bunk.

But Stevie sensed someone else near them. “Who is it? Who’s there?” she asked, still whispering, if loudly.

“Ain’t nobody here but you an—”

“Shh! Listen.”

Lexus shut up.

The sound was muffled, but it was easy enough for Stevie to figure out why. She’d sounded a lot like that herself, trying to yell for help with duct tape over her mouth. “He’s brought the third,” Stevie whispered.

“Shit, we missed our chance!” Lexus slid down from the bunk and padded across the cell. “Where that damn light at?”

Stevie got off the bed and walked carefully toward the muffled sobs. “It’s all right. Just take it easy,” she told the newcomer. Then she felt the girl, even though she hadn’t bumped into her yet. She felt her nearness and crouched down, reaching out and finding the girl’s head. The girl jerked away.

“It’s okay,” Stevie said. “I’m gonna take off the tape. Okay? Just take it easy.”

She touched the girl’s head again, and this time she allowed it. Picking at the edge of the tape over the girl’s mouth, Stevie eventually got it loose enough to start unwrapping, and on the final time around she tried to be gentle and not pull out too much hair.

“What’s going on? What is this? Who are you?”

The
rattle-snap
sound told Stevie that Lexi had finally found the pull cord and turned on the light. “Prisoners, just like you,” she said. “I’m Lexus. Number Two. And that’s Stevie. Number One. She blind.”

The new girl was quiet for a long moment, looking around the cell, Stevie imagined. Taking stock.

“He got us, didn’t he, Stevie? Brought Number Three in while we were asleep.”

“We can’t let that happen again,” Stevie said softly.

The newcomer sniffled. “What...what are you talking about? Number Three what?”

“There’s four of everything in this cell,” Stevie told her. “So we figure there will be four of us. Sooner or later. The only time he opens the door is when he brings in a new one. Making that the only time we can try to get out.”

“But we just missed our shot,” Lexi said.

“That’s okay. We’ll have one more.” Stevie moved behind the new girl and used her sharp hairbrush handle to saw through the partially cut zip tie on her wrists. “We’re gonna have to sleep in shifts so this doesn’t happen again. It might be even better, three against one. We’ll need to find her a weapon.”

“We gonna break another brush?” They’d broken two of them, then sharpened the ends against the metal bunk frames to use as weapons against their captor, the man Lexi, too, referred to as the Asshole. “That means only one left for all three of us. I ain’t sharin’ a brush with strangers.”

Stevie shook her head. “Then she and I can use the broken-off heads.” She got the girl’s hands free. “Can’t we?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Number Three rubbed her wrists. Stevie heard it.

“You hurt anywhere, Number Three?” Lexus asked.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Tell us your name and I won’t have to.”

The girl didn’t reply. Stevie heard her get up onto her feet. Then she seemed to be looking around the cell, turning slowly. Stevie could tell by the sound of her breathing. “What’s he going to do to us?” she asked.

“So far, nothing,” Stevie told her. “All he’s done is bring in food. Never speaks to us, never touches us.”

“Yeah, he workin’ for someone, that’s what. You know if he ain’t touched the pretty one here, there a reason. He got orders to keep his hands off.”

Stevie took the compliment without comment. She couldn’t return it, because she couldn’t see. So she continued, following Lexi’s logic. “Why would anyone give him orders like that? You think we’re being held for ransom?”

“Ransom. Right, that why he picked me. Dirt-poor and no family.” She paced back to the bed and climbed up onto her bunk, and it squeaked under her as she wriggled around, getting comfortable again. “You got some rich relative gonna pay to get you back, Stevie?”

It was the first time Lexi had voiced this particular question. Mostly, the girl stayed silent. But Stevie could feel her anger and frustration like electricity, crackling and snapping in the empty spaces.

Stevie didn’t see any point in lying. “Yeah. My father’s a judge. A pretty wealthy one.”

Lexi’s wriggling stopped. “No shit?” she said.

“No shit,” Stevie replied.

“I knew you wasn’t street, but I didn’t think...” She let it go. “How about you, Number Three? You got wealthy relatives gonna come bail your skinny ass outta here?”

The new girl was quiet for a long time. Then Stephanie heard her sit down on the bunk on the opposite wall, the bottom one from the sounds of it. She felt sorry for the girl, over there all alone. She was scared. Stevie could tell. She wasn’t sure how, exactly. Maybe the way her voice wavered a little bit, or how even her breaths were unsteady.

After she sat, the new girl spoke. “No family. No money,” she said. “Foster care, till my last birthday. Then I was on my own.”

“You aged out?” Lexi said. “Huh, me, too.”

“That can’t be coincidence, can it?” Stephanie asked.

“Gotta be,” Lexi said. “You ain’t no foster child. You ain’t no— Jeez, girl, what are you
doin’?
”

“What? What’s wrong?” Stevie asked.

“We got us a cutter.”

“A what?”

“A cutter. She cuttin’ herself.” Lexus slid out of bed again and crossed the cell, and there was a scuffling on the other side. “What you got there, girl? Give me that.”

“Leave me alone!”

“Yeah, right.” One smack, and then the scuffling stopped. The new girl was sobbing in her mattress, and Lexus was walking back to their side of the cell. “Clever bitch, ain’t you?”