“Correct. It’s a bike day.”

As soon as Hanna came to live with her, Riley had insisted she pick a sport. The first attempt was soccer, but Hanna wasn’t great at sharing the ball. Next came tennis, a sport Riley had played as a kid. Hanna didn’t like the other girls on the team. Too snooty. And then, they happened on a youth triathlon team, which required no ball sharing and didn’t attract stuck-up girls. A blessing. Hanna had taken to the sport and would be leaving in a few days for a big race in Georgia.

“Let me take a quick shower and then we can eat.” She wanted to rinse away the sweat as well as the lingering smell of the coroner’s office.

Cooper followed her and jumped up on her bed as she toed off her shoes and stepped into the small bathroom. Pulling off her clothes, she tossed them in the hamper and turned on the shower. When the room was steamed up, she stepped under the hot spray. As the water washed away the grime, memories of the girl lying on the medical examiner’s table elbowed forward. She wanted desperately to believe finding the girl’s body had been random. But it wasn’t.

She grabbed the soap and lathered her hands, then washed her face, body, and hair. By the time she stepped out of the spray, the scents had spiraled down the drain, but the memories lingered. She twisted her hair back in a tight knot and slipped on sweats and a T-shirt.

Picking up her phone, she scrolled through the images until she reached the picture of the cards. “Damn it.”

She moved to her closet and, rising up on tiptoes, pulled down an old box and set it on her bed. She’d been busy with Hanna last night, and honestly she’d just been too afraid to look inside. Her fingers hovered a moment over the top before she opened it and dug below the layers of old college papers to the cloth napkin. She carefully removed her small package and unwrapped the coarse fabric. Staring up at her were five playing cards. They weren’t common, everyday cards, but expensive. Thick. Coated in plastic. A black-and-white baroque pattern on the back. Like the cards found in Jane Doe’s backpack. The only difference between the two hands was that hers was a royal flush and there was no message scrawled on the back. Winning hands didn’t get better than a royal flush.

She traced each card’s face and studied the pattern on the back, which was almost identical to the cards now in an evidence bag in the state police forensic lab.

She looks like you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Hanna shouted.

Riley started. “Be right there!” She carefully rewrapped the cards and tucked them in the back of the box, which she shoved in the closet. Her cards were from New Orleans, over a thousand miles away. There was nothing written on them. They couldn’t be connected.

She found Hanna placing a bowl of chili and slice of bread at a place set for her. Hanna liked eating at the table, like a family, she often said. Their dinners were never silent affairs as Riley’s had been in her stepfather’s house. They laughed and talked about school, college, and any worries Hanna wanted to voice.

Riley sat at the table and draped the folded paper towel over her lap. “How was school?”

“Routine,” Hanna said, sitting. Like Riley, she took time to place her napkin in her lap.

“What about those applications?”

“Applications.” She dragged out the word as if it had twenty syllables. “I’ve downloaded the college applications.”

“Good. Have you started on the essays?”

“I don’t know what to say about myself.” She dropped her gaze to her chili and swirled it around and around.

“You’ve had a pretty interesting life.”

“It’s been amazingly pathetic.”

“I don’t see it that way at all.” Riley set her fork on her plate and pressed the napkin to her lips. “You’re a survivor, Hanna. You’re here and looking ahead, not over your shoulder. And that’s worth a lot.”

“But I’ve not had a regular life. I’ve not done all that real-kid stuff like soccer games, or cheering practice, or tennis.”

“Where did you spend your twelfth birthday?”

“In the shelter. I was trying to do my homework while a couple of kids pulled knives in a fight over a shirt.”

“Write about that. Believe me, the admissions staff will never, ever see another essay like it. You’re unique. Don’t try to shove yourself into a mold.”

“But I want to be in a mold.”

“No, you don’t. Look at me. I don’t exactly look like the mother of a teenager.”

Hanna shrugged. “You’re definitely way cooler.”

“See?”

“But what if the essay sucks?”

Riley laid her hand on Hanna’s. “Once it’s done, I’ll read it. It’ll be great.”

The girl stirred her spoon in her chili. “You sure?”

“It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.”

Tears glistened in Hanna’s eyes, and she wiped one off her cheek with the back of her hand. “If you tell anyone I cried, I’ll scream.”

As much as Riley wanted to crack a joke to lighten the mood, she opted to baby the kid a little. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks.”

They ate in silence and when the bowls were cleaned, Hanna said, “You’re quiet.”

“Thinking about a case.” She didn’t want to burden Hanna with what she’d seen, but she also wanted her to never forget the dangers out there.

“Can you talk about it?”

“It’s a young girl who was strangled.”

Hanna’s face paled. “That’s awful.”

“It is. So please be careful when you’re running around town.”

“I know. I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Situational awareness.”

“I mean it.”

Hanna straightened. “I know.”

“Good.” Riley rose. “Homework?”

“Just a little.”

“Get it done while I do a little computer work.”

“Fine.”

Riley cleaned the dishes and sat on the couch with her laptop. Cooper settled at her feet, chewing his favorite red rubber ring.

She typed in the particulars of this murder case into Google. Strangulation. Young female. Playing cards.

Not surprisingly, nothing came up.

It would be easy to chock up Jane Doe’s murder to an angry pimp or a crazed john. Girls like that died all the time without much notice. But this kid’s death wasn’t typical.

Her index finger lightly tapped the side of the keyboard. She wanted to believe this case was random. But she learned a long time ago the universe didn’t car

e about her wants and needs.

She typed New Orleans and the year she’d left the Big Easy for good.

For a long moment her finger hovered over the “Enter” button. What would Sharp say if he knew about her set of cards? Would he see a connection or tell her she was worried over nothing? Shit. Either way, he’d pull her off the case. And what if social services got wind of this? She couldn’t let either outcome happen. She pressed “Enter” and sat back as the adrenaline rushed through her body.

An icon on the screen swirled. But there were no matches in the search results.

She looks like you.

Riley shook off Sheriff Barrett’s words and shut off the computer.

Kevin sat in the dark, swirling the amber scotch in a crystal glass. The ice clinked again and again, slowly melting and diluting the twenty-year-old liquor.

His losing streak had stalked him for a year and had taken a toll on his reputation. His ribs still ached from the beating he’d received ten days ago from the Vegas thugs who were looking for a couple hundred thousand dollars paid in full.

Then he heard about the life-and-death game, which hadn’t been played in years. He thought he’d found his way back into the big leagues. The Shark spotted any challenger ten-to-one odds if they brought a very specific kind of girl to the game. Kevin had twenty grand left to his name, but he had the potential of turning that into two hundred grand. That would have been enough to pay off his debts with a healthy bonus to the girl.

The girl, his stake in the game, had been easy to find. Vicky cost him two grand and he promised her pimp he would return her within twenty-four hours. He was certain when they left the diner he’d win, and in the end he’d help her get free of the life.

The game began well enough. He won several of the opening hands. The wins emboldened him, and when the final hand was dealt, he was already thinking beyond the game to his new fortune. In his mind, he was on the verge of saving himself and the girl.

When the last card had turned, and he was looking at four queens, he was certain the Shark couldn’t pull out a full house. What were the odds? But then the Shark’s last card turned. A king.

The Shark had won.

Tags: Mary Burton The Forgotten Files Thriller
Source: readsnovelonline.net