Angie ran over the phone with her car three times before she took a left out of the parking lot. She headed toward Peachtree. Jo’s mother lived in a fancy condo near Jesus Junction, paid for by Reuben Figaroa. Angie had to be calm when the old woman opened the door. And she had to hurry, because she had no idea whether or not Reuben had regained consciousness.
The first place he would look for Jo was at her mother’s.
Angie checked her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess. Her eyeliner was smudged. She used her finger to straighten the line. She couldn’t look dangerous when Jo’s mother opened the door.
Was she dangerous?
Hell, yes, she was dangerous.
Angie’s cell phone rang. The noise filled the car. She reached around to the back seat. She blindly fished her phone from her purse. Too late. The ringing had stopped. She looked at the screen.
MISSED CALL FROM HARDING, DALE.
‘Shit.’ She’d wasted too much time in the car with Jo. Ten minutes? Fifteen? Reuben was awake. Kip had been notified. Laslo was on the hunt. Dale thought he could talk her in, that she was still a ten-year-old girl he could trick with candy while he rammed his cock up her ass.
Angie’s phone made a whistling sound. Dale had sent a text.
She swiped her thumb. A photograph loaded.
Anthony.
Eyes wide. Back pressed up against a blank wall. The long, sharp blade of a hunting knife pressed to his neck.
The word underneath read: GRANDSON.
Angie gasped. She had to pull over. Her heart had stopped beating. Her blood ran cold. Jo’s child. Her grandchild. What had she done? Why was this happening?
Another whistle. Another text. Another photo.
Angie’s hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold the phone.
Jo.
A hand around her neck. Her back to the window of a car door. Her mouth open, screaming.
Dale’s text read: DAUGHTER.
Acid filled Angie’s throat, shot up into the back of her nose. She pushed open the door. Her mouth opened. A stream of bile splattered against the pavement. Her stomach turned inside out. She tasted blood and venom.
What had she done? What could she do to stop this?
She sat back up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Think, she told herself. Think.
Dale had taken Jo. He had taken Anthony, or had someone else do it for him. He had sent Angie two photos, proof of life. The backgrounds were different. Jo was in a car. Anthony was against a painted wall. This was coordinated, planned, because Dale was always two steps ahead of Angie. He had looked into Jo. He had looked into Angie. He had obviously taken a great deal of time to build the web she now found herself trapped in.
She clicked on her phone.
She could already guess the answer, but she still texted the question.
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
Dale responded immediately: IPAD.
Dale had never trusted Angie. Not even with the little things. He must have taken the pieces of the smashed iPad to Sam Vera for examination. Sam had discovered it was not the clone. Dale had asked himself why Angie would go to the trouble of swapping them out. And then he had realized that a video Marcus Rippy wanted to get rid of was worth a hell of a lot more than a quarter of a million dollars in an escrow account.
Nothing had changed since Angie was a child. She thought she was in control, but all the while, Dale was pulling her strings.
Her phone whistled again.
Dale had written: NIGHTCLUB. NOW.
MONDAY, 1:08 AM
Dale’s Kia was already parked in front of the club. Delilah leaned against the hood smoking a cigarette.
Angie was out of her car before it came to a full stop. The asphalt was hot against her bare feet. She raised her arm. The gun was in her hand. She pointed it at Delilah and pulled the trigger.
There was a bullet in the chamber this time.
‘Fuck!’ Delilah doubled over, clutching her leg. Blood squeezed out between her fingers. ‘You fucking bitch!’
Angie struggled against the need to pull the trigger again. ‘Where is Jo?’
‘Fuck you!’ Delilah screamed. ‘She’s fucking dead if you don’t do what you’re supposed to do!’
‘Where is she?’ Angie repeated.
‘You mean your daughter?’ Dale struggled to get out of the car. In the moonlight, his face looked almost completely white. There were flecks of dried skin around his mouth. His eyes were golden. He leaned heavily on the car. He had a revolver pointed at her across the roof.
‘Kill her!’ Delilah screamed. ‘Blow her fucking brains out.’
‘It’s just a flesh wound,’ Dale said. He was out of breath from getting out of the car. His skin was shiny, but not with sweat. ‘Take her gun.’
Angie pointed the Glock at Delilah’s head. ‘Try it.’
Dale told Angie, ‘You shoot her, I shoot you, I still get what I want because I got your daughter and you know what I can do to your grandson.’
Angie’s determination wavered. Jo. She had to think about Jo. If she thought about what Dale would do to Anthony, she wouldn’t make it through the night.
Dale said, ‘Dee, take the gun away from her.’
Delilah limped over. Her hand reached out, but Angie threw the Glock across the parking lot.
‘Shit,’ Dale said. ‘Go get the gun.’
‘I don’t need no gun.’ Delilah flicked open a switchblade and pointed it at Angie’s cheek. ‘You see how sharp this is, bitch? I can slice open the side of your face like a watermelon.’
‘Do it.’ Angie looked her cousin in the eye. The same color iris. The same almond shape. The same fiery bluster, except Angie had the balls to back it up. ‘If you don’t cut me now, then the next time you see that knife, I’ll be cutting your eyes out of your head.’
‘None of you is doing shit. Put the fucking knife away.’ Dale’s tone of voice should’ve been a warning, but Delilah knew he would never hurt her. He said, ‘Search the car.’ When she didn’t move, he said, ‘Dee, please. Search the car.’
Delilah slapped the handle against the back of her hand and worked the blade closed.
‘Hey.’ Dale banged on the roof, waiting for Angie’s attention.
She looked at him. Her heart stopped. For just a moment, she forgot why they were here. Dale was dying. Not eventually. Not soon. He was dying right now. She could see the effects of his organs shutting down. His lips were blue. He wasn’t blinking. He had stopped sweating. The color of his skin reminded her of the thick, yellowed wax that she had to scrape off the coffee table if she left the candle burning too long. There was no spark in his eyes, just a dull, weary acceptance. Death shadowed every crevice of his heavily lined face.
Angie looked away so that he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.
He said, ‘Deidre Will?’
The alias Angie had written on Jo’s birth certificate under MOTHER.
Dale said, ‘You didn’t think I’d start snooping when you asked for the job at One-Ten?’
Angie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Will’s ring was still on her finger. She turned it around so that Dale couldn’t see it. ‘Where is Jo?’
‘Good as dead.’ Delilah was rummaging around inside Angie’s purse. ‘I’m gonna stick my knife in that bitch’s chest.’