The Shark (The Forgotten Files 1)

“What did she say?” he asked.

“There’s a motel about twenty miles east of here.”

“You want to check it out?”

“I do. If we don’t find Cassie, I’ll call Sharp.”

“Let’s go.”

The first forty-eight hours in a missing persons case were the most critical. Didn’t seem like a case could go cold so fast, but the best leads vanished with the ticking clock. She didn’t want to rely on Bowman, but she wanted to stack the odds in her favor. She didn’t want to lose this hand. “Okay.”

“I’ll be right behind you. If we get separated, wait for me.”

“Understood.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sunday, September 18, 2:15 p.m.

Two players sat at the mahogany table covered in fine green velvet. They’d been at the table for six hours. The younger of the two, Lenny Vincent, had come to the table with a belly full of bravado, brains, and luck. Like the best players, he believed he could take the Shark. It had been done once before—it could be done again.

The Shark wasn’t looking good. His skin was pasty white; it hung on his bones like melting wax. When he sat at the table, he moved slowly as if every muscle in his body ached. The Shark might have been king of the game, but his time had passed. It was Lenny’s turn now to ascend the throne.

However, the easy win Lenny expected hadn’t materialized. After six hours of play, he realized the old man might lack physical stamina, but his mind remained sharper than ever. Lenny’s stash of poker chips was slowly deserting him.

Now, as the Shark laid out the final card on the table, Lenny leaned back in his chair, resisting a clawing wave of panic. The old man’s tie remained in place, a tight Windsor knot twisted as taut as Lenny’s gut.

“Show me your cards,” the Shark whispered.

Lenny’s hand was decent enough—two of a kind, aces high—and it could win if the Shark’s luck turned. Damn. How many times had he said that to himself in the last few hours? A half dozen? The pile of chips in the center of the table was the largest pot tonight. He was all in. This was the make-or-break moment.

Lenny carefully fanned out his cards on the table.

The old man’s eyes shimmered with satisfaction in a way that promised ruin for the younger man.

Lenny’s fluttering hopes of a win vanished. The tide would not turn for him. Shit.

A sly, contented grin tipped the edges of the Shark’s face. “You’re good. Very good.”

Even as Lenny watched his opponent’s corpse-like hands slide the winnings to his side of the table, he still believed he could pull this off. One more chance.

He imagined Lady Luck standing beside him, smiling. She was a fickle beauty who enjoyed his suffering. She wanted to see him crack and break. Well, she could keep waiting.

Lenny reached for his scotch, now watered by the melted ice, and sipped it. “So this is it.”

The old man studied the paper marker written in a bold handwriting when the game began. “Yes.”

Lenny rose and moved to a side bar where a collection of crystal decanters sat. He removed the top of one and filled his glass. The scotch was top-shelf, some of the best he’d ever had. Why not enjoy it. He’d need it to do what came next.

The old man smiled. “Get her.”

Lenny swallowed the last of the scotch. His heart kick-started into high gear as consequences crowded around him. “Why don’t you play for money?”

The Shark held up his glass, studying the spectrum of light in the crystal carvings. “I stopped caring about money a long time ago. There’s no juice in it. But if I can take a damaged girl and set her free from this life, well, that has value.”

“But why the girls? They’re nobodies from the streets. No one cares.”

“But I care, and that’s all that matters.”

“They aren’t worth the specialty cards on this table.”

The Shark sipped his scotch. “Enough talk. Let’s do this.”

Lenny moved to the large door and opened it. On the other side sat the girl, Cassie, in a red chair, her head slumped forward. He gently tipped her head back so she looked up at him with glassy eyes. He let go and her chin fell back to her chest.

The Shark stood silent, his attention laser sharp as always.

Cassie raised her head slightly, trying to focus. A tentative smile teased her lips. “Is it time to go yet, Lenny?”

The Shark pushed her chin up further and studied her face. He frowned.

“Will she do? She meets all the items on the list.”

The old man with dead eyes frowned. “Her face is too wide and her eyes are too dark.”

“You accepted her at the beginning of the game.”

“I can see now her hair is also wrong.”

“You said you wanted brown,” Lenny said. “Her hair is brown.”

The Shark traced his cold hand over her hair. “It’s too dark,” he said, letting her chin slip from his grasp. Releasing her face, he stepped back and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Carefully, he wiped his hands.

“I can change her hair. Her makeup.”

“She’s not the right one.”

Lenny brushed the hair from Cassie’s eyes. “Don’t be hasty with this one. I bet you like her as much as any of them.”

As the Shark studied the girl’s droopy lids, his mouth thinned. His gaze dropped to her thin white neck. “Where did you get her?”

“From Darla, the lady you told me to use.” When the old man didn’t appear impressed, he added, “Darla’s boyfriend wasn’t around. He was arrested by that lady cop.”

“I saw the story on the news. She tracked him into the woods.”

“I hear Jax and Darla are both furious with the cop. My money is on them killing the cop in the next day or two.”

“No, no one touches the cop. She’s all mine. Is that clear?”

“Sure. You like the cop?”

“Like? Let’s say she’s got the kind of looks I like.” He motioned to the corded silk rope lying on the poker table. “Finish her. I’m already bored and ready to move on to the next game.”

Without hesitating, Lenny picked up the rope and tightened it around the girl’s neck. She coughed, reached for his hands, but he was strong and knew it was either her or him. He had too much at stake to back down now.

He felt no remorse as he twisted the rope tighter, and her eyes closed. When her breathing stopped, he didn’t let go of the rope, holding on longer for fear she might spontaneously breathe again. When he was sure she was dead, he let her go and watched her body fall limp to the floor.

Lenny pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands. He’d not made the fortune he’d hoped, but there would be other games. He’d find a way out of this hole somehow. “That’s it. She’s dead, and I’m done?”

The Shark turned a poker chip over and over in his hand. “Not quite.”

“What else?”

“You have a wife and two children. Brenda. And your children are Francis and Patricia.”

Lenny glanced at the girl. He felt no emotion for the dead girl, but he loved his family. They meant the world to him. “How do you know about my family?”

“You love them. You want to keep them safe.”

Lenny’s grip tightened around the handkerchief. When Lenny had made a deal with the Shark, he should have expected the old man to keep a card up his sleeve. “I would do anything for them.”

“Good.” He turned to the poker table and picked up the losing hand as well as another single card. He handed the five cards to Lenny along with a pen, watching closely as Lenny wrote Loser on each one.

“After you get rid of her and leave the cards in her pocket, I have one more job for you.”

“What kind of job?”

“The kind of job that will ensure your family doesn’t die.”

Riley found the old motel twenty miles east of the interstate as Sandy had described. There were six cottages cl

ose together. Once painted white, they’d washed out to a dull gray color. Each had a black door with a small window, and all looked battered by time. The grass was long worn away, leaving a clay-packed yard and a handful of weeds.

Parked in front of it all was the twenty-five-foot motor home.

Riley’s seat creaked as she leaned back. She studied the collection of buildings and the courtyard, knowing this was the perfect place for an ambush. It wasn’t lost on her that Sandy could be loyal to Darla and Jax and this was a trap.

Drawing in a breath, she glanced in her side mirror and saw Bowman approaching. He’d drawn his gun, holding it close to his side. She unclipped her holster and reached for Cooper’s tracking line.

Without a word she was out of the car. She quickly leashed the dog and moved toward Bowman.

“Tell me you would not have come here alone.” Bowman wasn’t looking at her. Instead, his gaze swept the building and the motor home at a methodical pace.

“Under normal circumstances, no.”

“Never was the right answer.” He raised his weapon. “Stay.”

“What? Like Cooper?”

He shot her a look that silenced her next comment. He moved to the first building, doing a careful sweep of the structure. Then he moved to the second and the third and so on. When he returned to her side, he nodded toward the motor home. “Any movement?”

“Nothing.”

The motor home curtains were drawn, and out front stood a trio of lawn chairs, which she supposed served as a waiting room when the place was operational.

He carefully pulled off dark glasses and tucked them in his pocket. “You think Darla is here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Has Carter made bail?” he asked.

“He wasn’t scheduled to be in court until tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t get an earlier date.”

“Do you think they would have taken off?”

“Not while Jo-Jo is still alive. They’ll wait for her to be released from the hospital. In their minds, she belongs to them.”

She stared at the dingy motor home. She’d never turned a trick on the streets. Never used. But her time on the streets had amounted to only a few weeks. If it had been months, and she was hungry enough . . . desperation could easily have led her here.