littered with the homeless. No one paid the slightest attention.
What better way to hide than in plain sight?
The five minutes required to reach the downtown area had CJ ready to hyperventilate. By the time she parked and headed along the sidewalk, she felt on the verge of exploding. She wrapped her fingers around the cell phone in her pocket. The second she laid eyes on that son of a bitch Banks, she was dialing 911.
Ricky had always used his elderly aunt when he needed help. Like Shelley and CJ, he’d had no other family.
Now CJ had none.
Her lips compressed as fury pounded inside her.
She methodically checked the most frequented hangouts around the park. Near the bridge, the waterfall, and the picnic tables. Nothing. She walked faster, hurrying from one side of the public green space to the other, weaving and scanning.
Big Spring Park was slap in the middle of downtown Huntsville. The expanse of green space sprawled around and between the office buildings. The manmade lake created for the park covered a large portion of the area. Ducks meandered around the water’s edge, picking at the litter left by the human visitors, hoping for food.
Finally, CJ grew desperate and started to ask anyone she encountered if they knew Banks or had seen him.
Heads shook. Gazes narrowed with suspicion. But no one admitted to knowing him, much less having seen him. The exercise proved a waste of time.
A swell of exhaustion washed over her as she neared the distinguished building that housed the city’s Museum of Art. She should just stop. She was no cop. What the hell was she even doing out here shaking down rebellious teenagers and the homeless?
Shelley was dead. Nothing CJ did was going to change that. The police would pretend to investigate, but if they didn’t nail her killer, what difference did it make?
It wouldn’t raise her from the dead.
It wouldn’t give CJ a second chance to do a better job being a big sister.
To the powers that be, Shelley was insignificant. Just another impoverished young woman who’d been arrested on drug possession charges twice and prostitution charges once that CJ knew of.
Who around here was going to miss her?
The cell phone clasped in her hand vibrated. CJ jumped. Her nerves were beyond rattled. She hoped it wasn’t Edward again. He was worried sick about her. She should have called him as soon as she’d arrived, but he wouldn’t have understood her need to do this. Edward Abbott was a bit overprotective, but he was her dearest friend.
Taking a steadying breath, she peered at the screen. Not Edward. Or Braddock. She didn’t recognize the number, but the prefix indicated a local caller.
Tension slid through her.
Please, please let it be him
. She’d given the aunt the number in hopes she would call and pass it on to her no-good nephew. CJ slid the phone open and pressed it to her ear. “Patterson.”
“What the fuck are you trying to do?”
Ricky Banks.
A moment of triumph was instantly replaced with rage, seizing CJ’s entire being with the urge to act. Her pulse quickened. “Ricky, I have to talk—”
“Are you trying to get me killed?” he demanded.
Images of Shelley’s body lying cold and still on that slab swam before CJ’s eyes. “If you’re innocent,” she said with a far steadier, calmer voice than she had a right to muster, “you should tell the police. They’re not going to look for anyone else as long as they’re focused on you.” Even an idiot should understand that. If he was innocent, his actions were obstructing the investigation.
But he wasn’t innocent. He was a low-life piece of wasted DNA who loved brutalizing women.
“You don’t know shit.” He launched into a tirade about just how stupid CJ was and how she’d been gone for seven years and didn’t get how things were now.
“Ricky!” she tried to interrupt, but he kept screaming in her ear.
“Ricky!”
she screamed right back even as she cautioned herself to stay cool.
What better way to hide than in plain sight?
The five minutes required to reach the downtown area had CJ ready to hyperventilate. By the time she parked and headed along the sidewalk, she felt on the verge of exploding. She wrapped her fingers around the cell phone in her pocket. The second she laid eyes on that son of a bitch Banks, she was dialing 911.
Ricky had always used his elderly aunt when he needed help. Like Shelley and CJ, he’d had no other family.
Now CJ had none.
Her lips compressed as fury pounded inside her.
She methodically checked the most frequented hangouts around the park. Near the bridge, the waterfall, and the picnic tables. Nothing. She walked faster, hurrying from one side of the public green space to the other, weaving and scanning.
Big Spring Park was slap in the middle of downtown Huntsville. The expanse of green space sprawled around and between the office buildings. The manmade lake created for the park covered a large portion of the area. Ducks meandered around the water’s edge, picking at the litter left by the human visitors, hoping for food.
Finally, CJ grew desperate and started to ask anyone she encountered if they knew Banks or had seen him.
Heads shook. Gazes narrowed with suspicion. But no one admitted to knowing him, much less having seen him. The exercise proved a waste of time.
A swell of exhaustion washed over her as she neared the distinguished building that housed the city’s Museum of Art. She should just stop. She was no cop. What the hell was she even doing out here shaking down rebellious teenagers and the homeless?
Shelley was dead. Nothing CJ did was going to change that. The police would pretend to investigate, but if they didn’t nail her killer, what difference did it make?
It wouldn’t raise her from the dead.
It wouldn’t give CJ a second chance to do a better job being a big sister.
To the powers that be, Shelley was insignificant. Just another impoverished young woman who’d been arrested on drug possession charges twice and prostitution charges once that CJ knew of.
Who around here was going to miss her?
The cell phone clasped in her hand vibrated. CJ jumped. Her nerves were beyond rattled. She hoped it wasn’t Edward again. He was worried sick about her. She should have called him as soon as she’d arrived, but he wouldn’t have understood her need to do this. Edward Abbott was a bit overprotective, but he was her dearest friend.
Taking a steadying breath, she peered at the screen. Not Edward. Or Braddock. She didn’t recognize the number, but the prefix indicated a local caller.
Tension slid through her.
Please, please let it be him
. She’d given the aunt the number in hopes she would call and pass it on to her no-good nephew. CJ slid the phone open and pressed it to her ear. “Patterson.”
“What the fuck are you trying to do?”
Ricky Banks.
A moment of triumph was instantly replaced with rage, seizing CJ’s entire being with the urge to act. Her pulse quickened. “Ricky, I have to talk—”
“Are you trying to get me killed?” he demanded.
Images of Shelley’s body lying cold and still on that slab swam before CJ’s eyes. “If you’re innocent,” she said with a far steadier, calmer voice than she had a right to muster, “you should tell the police. They’re not going to look for anyone else as long as they’re focused on you.” Even an idiot should understand that. If he was innocent, his actions were obstructing the investigation.
But he wasn’t innocent. He was a low-life piece of wasted DNA who loved brutalizing women.
“You don’t know shit.” He launched into a tirade about just how stupid CJ was and how she’d been gone for seven years and didn’t get how things were now.
“Ricky!” she tried to interrupt, but he kept screaming in her ear.
“Ricky!”
she screamed right back even as she cautioned herself to stay cool.
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