Before She Dies (Alexandria Novels 3)

“Get more brochures, Mrs. Lawless. Plan your dream vacation, and I believe you will find that for which you search.”

The older woman’s face had softened, and she stared at Charlotte, clearly surprised. “What am I searching for?”

“For the marriage you had when you first married. I believe it is there, but you must dig for it.”

“What if he doesn’t want to find it?”

Charlotte glanced up and looked beyond Mrs. Lawless to her husband, who kept stealing glances in their direction. “He wants it.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for your donation.”

After Mrs. Lawless left, Charlotte had a stream of customers. The old tactics of using body language as well as the bits of information she’d collected as she walked to the table added credibility to her readings.

The evening progressed smoothly enough. She read palms, joked with attorneys, judges, and clients, but all the while she kept glancing toward the door hoping to see Sooner rush in, harried and full of good excuses to explain her no-show status.

Sooner never arrived. And when Charlotte could break away to call, she never answered her phone. Though the event was proving to be a real success, Charlotte’s worries grew.

“So you are a popular attraction.” Levi Kane’s comment had her raising her head.

Charlotte smiled out of habit rather than joy. “It seems to be going well.”

He sat at her table. “You’ve had quite the line for the last hour.”

“Most love their fortune read.”

He pulled two twenties from his wallet and stuffed them in her jar, already crammed full of bills. “It’s for a great cause.”

“That it is.” She held out her open palm to him. “Let me read you.”

He grinned. “I don’t go in for that kind of thing. Just a little out there, if you know what I mean. Shame my wife isn’t here. She loves that kind of stuff.”

“Where is she this evening?”

“Home. Our youngest is sick with a cold. We were both looking forward to a night out, but when your kid gets sick, that’s the way it goes.”

Without the distraction of work or a palm reading, there wasn’t much to say. “Sure I can’t offer you a glimpse into the future?”

He laughed. “It’s all hocus-pocus.”

“Harmless hocus-pocus.”

He studied her a moment. “Harmless? You sure? Old Darren on Bewitched was always getting turned into a rock or sporting donkey ears.”

Laughter eased some of her tension. “I promise I won’t turn you into a black cat or give you donkey ears.”

He glanced from side to side, always aware of who was watching. Nearby a photographer from the paper snapped pictures. Levi reminded her of herself. Once you stepped outside your front door, it was game-on. “Thanks, but I’ll take a pass.”

She smiled. “You are always thinking. Always looking to the next horizon.”

“I’m ambitious.”

“I see you running for state office. Perhaps even national office.”

He shrugged. “It’s no secret the sky is the limit for me.”

He wanted office, true. But he possessed a hunger for power. He wanted power over life and death. “I think you’ll be a judge, maybe even a senator in the very near future.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Rokov had been in the medical examiner’s office when Charlotte had called. He’d felt his phone vibrate but had been unable to check messages for several hours. As soon as he played her message, he broke away and drove over to Sooner Tate’s shop. When he finally stood outside Ageless, it was past ten. The building was dark, and there didn’t seem to be any signs of trouble. But calm waters often hid trouble.

He got out of the car, flashlight in hand, and crossed the street to the front door. The doorknob was locked. He shone his light in the picture window, letting it skim over the front counter, glowing lava lamps, books, and all sorts of crap. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“Kid, have you blown Charlotte off?”

He shook his head. Damn kid. He was half tempted to walk away when he thought about the alley that ran behind the store. Five minutes to check and confirm the kid was well and truly gone and then he’d call Charlotte.

He got back in his car and drove around the corner and into the alley. His lights shone on the narrow alley and landed on the truck parked by a dented blue Dumpster. He parked beside the car, unclipped his sidearm, and rested his hand on the gun’s handle. He walked toward the truck, and shone his light into the interior. His feet crunched on something, and he glanced down to see a smashed cell phone. “Shit.”

Inside the truck, Sooner’s satchel purse lay on the seat as did her keys. He tried the door. Unlocked. He removed his gun from its holster as he reached for his radio.

“Dispatch, this is Detective Daniel Rokov. I need units at 101 Washington Street. I’ve got signs of a possible attack.”

“Will Dispatch units, Detective Rokov.”

He called Sinclair. “I need you to get over to Sooner Tate’s place on Washington. I think the killer has been here.”

“How do you know?” She was at the office, but her voice sounded rough with fatigue. They’d all been putting long hours into this investigation.

“Her truck is here and so are her purse and keys, but someone smashed her cell phone.”

“Sooner was his perfect victim.”

“I know.” What would Charlotte say when he told her that her child had been kidnapped?

Sinclair must have picked up on the extra tension in his voice. “He holds his victims for several days.”

“Which is why we might have a chance this time.” Patrol cars arrived in minutes, and soon the scene was filled with uniforms and a forensics team.

The shop owner was summoned and he arrived blurry-eyed and annoyed to unlock the front door. While forensics worked inside the store and around the truck, Rokov and Sinclair walked up and down Washington Street showing copies of Sooner’s mug shot, which Sinclair had brought.

Most of the stores were closed this time of night but a couple of restaurants and a movie-rental store remained open. The clerk in the movie-rental store reported that he’d seen a black SUV parked in front of Sooner’s.

“What made you notice it?” Rokov said.

The kid with red hair and freckles shrugged. “Everyone on the street has noticed Sooner. She’s something to look at. We all knew she was set to open today.”

“And did she?”

“Not until the end of the day. I saw her flip her sign from Closed to Open late in the day.”

“Late as in when?” Sinclair said.

“I’d been watching Braveheart, and it was the final battle scene. What’s that, a couple of hours into the movie? Anyway, I started the flick when I arrived at three. So about five.”

She’d been scheduled to arrive at Charlotte’s party by seven. “How was she dressed?” Rokov said.

“Smoking H.O.T. She had on this long white dress that hugged her curves. Her hair was pinned up, and she wore a lot of makeup. Not too much, but enough to make her look supersexy.”

“You saw all that from here?” Rokov said.

The kid grinned and pulled a pair of binoculars out from behind his desk. “I like to keep an eye on stuff.”

“What can you tell me about the SUV?” He glanced toward the store’s security camera and wondered if it cast its lens toward Sooner’s.

“Black. Tinted windows. I kinda thought she had a date with a big shot. She’s the kind of gal who dates big shots. But the car pulled away and drove off.”

“You see the big shot?”

“He never got out of the car.” Maybe he pulled around back and picked her up in the alley? Maybe the big shot didn’t want to be noticed.

“You see anyone go into the shop?”

“I had a couple of customers so I got a little distracted. I don’t know. Hey, is Sooner okay?”

“We hope so.” He glanced toward the surveillance camera. “That work?”

The kid glanced at the camera. “Not exactly.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It works, but the outlet it’s plugged into is dead. The owner has an electrician coming.”

“Great.”

“But check with the pub on the corner. I hear he keeps his cameras on and running all the time.”

“I’ll do that.”

They moved four stores down and into the pub. The sound of laughter mingled with the steady beat of music. Smoke filled the air. A bouncer, a six-foot-eight black dude with a name tag that read RJ, greeted Rokov and Sinclair.

“What do the cops want?” RJ said.

There’d been a time during Rokov’s undercover days when he’d never have been pegged for a cop. He’d been the master at blending and vanishing. Rokov tucked his ID back in his pocket. “We need to see your tapes.”

With a nod, RJ indicated a reed-thin white guy talking to a waitress. The guy had dark, balding hair slicked back away from an angular face. His side vision caught sight of Rokov and Sinclair, and he quickly excused the waitress and moved toward them.