The Kept Woman (Will Trent 8)

Tactically, higher ground was always better. The office building was right across the street from Rippy’s club. Angie could’ve been watching the whole time. She would’ve seen the patrol car roll up, the fire department, the crime scene vans, the detectives, all of them spinning their wheels trying to figure out what the hell was happening while Angie was up on the tenth floor the entire time laughing her ass off.

Or bleeding to death.

Will passed the fifth floor, the sixth. He was winded by the time he saw a large 8 painted at the top of the next landing. He stopped, hands on his knees so he could lean over to catch his breath. The heat was getting to him. Sweat dripped onto the floor. His lungs were screaming. His hamstrings were aching. Blood dribbled down the side of his shoe. The cuts on his knuckles had opened up again.

Was this a mistake?

Angie wouldn’t climb these stairs on a good day, let alone with a life-threatening injury. She hated exercise.

Will sat down on the stairs. He rubbed his face and shook the excess sweat off his hands. Was he sure that Angie was even in the building? Where was her car? Shouldn’t Will be trying to find out where she was living instead of risking his life searching a condemned building?

And what about Sara?

‘Holy Mother of Christ.’ Collier had stopped a few flights down. He was panting like a locomotive. ‘I think I need stitches in my ear.’

Will leaned his head back against the wall. Had he lost Sara? Had Angie, with this final, violent act, managed to do what she couldn’t do for the last year?

Betty was his only saving grace. Early on in their relationship, Sara had kept volunteering to watch Betty while Will was working late. At first he thought it was because she wanted to know about his cases, but then he had slowly realized that she was using his dog to lure him over to her apartment. It had taken Will a long time to accept that a woman like Sara would want to be with him.

She wouldn’t have agreed to pick up Betty if she wanted to end things now.

Would she?

‘Trent.’ Collier was like a broken record. His feet scuffed the stairs as he made it to the landing below Will. ‘What’s the point of this, dude? You think she’s hiding under a typewriter?’

Will looked down at him. ‘Why are you here?’

‘It seemed like a good idea when I was outside. What’s your excuse?’ Collier seemed genuinely interested. ‘Dude, you know she’s not in here.’

Will looked up at the ceiling. Graffiti stared back.

Why was he here?

Maybe the better question was: where else would he be? There were no clues to follow. No leads to run down. He had no idea where Angie was living. Where she was working. Why she was in Rippy’s building. How she had gotten herself tangled up in a rape case Will couldn’t make against a man he despised.

Well, maybe he knew the answer to the last one. Angie always inserted herself into Will’s business. She was stealth, like a cat tracking its prey then leaving the poor dead creature as a trophy on Will’s doorstep so that he had to figure out what to do with the body.

There were so many unmarked graves in Will’s past that he had lost count.

Collier said, ‘I called around about your wife.’ He leaned his shoulder against the wall. He crossed his arms again. The good news was the blood around his ear was drying. The bad news was that it had glued Will’s handkerchief to his skin.

‘And?’ Will said, though he could guess what Collier had found out. Angie slept around. Frequently and indiscriminately. She was the worst kind of cop. You couldn’t trust her to have your back. She was a loner. She had a death wish.

Collier was uncharacteristically diplomatic. ‘She sounds like she’s a real piece of work.’

Will couldn’t disagree with him.

‘I’ve known gals like that. They’re a lot of fun.’ Collier was still keeping his distance. He didn’t want to get hit again. ‘The thing is, they’ve always got people they can fall back on.’

Will had said the same thing to Sara, but it sounded shitty coming out of Collier’s mouth.

‘You really think she’d run across the street to this dump?’ Collier slid down the wall so he could sit. He was still out of breath. ‘Lookit, I never met the broad, but I’ve known plenty of broads like her.’ He glanced up at Will, probably to make sure he wasn’t coming down the stairs. ‘No offense, bro, but they’ve always gotta backup plan. You know what I mean?’

Will knew what he meant. Angie always had a guy she could run to. That guy hadn’t always been Will. She had different men she used at different times in her life. When it wasn’t Will’s turn, he went to work, he retiled his bathroom, he restored his car, and he convinced himself the whole time that he wasn’t waiting for her to come back into his life. Dreading. Anticipating. Aching.

Collier said, ‘My take is, the shit went down last night, she’s injured, so she pulled out her phone—which we can’t find—and she called up a guy and he came rushing over to help.’

‘What if Harding was the guy?’

‘You think she only had one guy?’

Will took a deep breath. He held on to it for as long as he could.

Collier asked, ‘We leaving now?’

Will pushed himself up. Heat exhaustion put stars in his eyes. He steadied himself for a moment. He blinked away sweat. He turned around and resumed his climb up the stairs.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Collier muttered. The soles of his shoes hit the treads like sandpaper. ‘You ask me, you oughta be running back down these stairs and telling ol’ Red you’re fucking sorry.’

Collier was right. Will owed Sara an apology. He owed her more than that. But he had to keep moving forward, because taking a step back, letting himself think about what he was doing and why, was a thread he couldn’t let unravel.

Collier said, ‘That’s a good-lookin’ woman you got there.’

‘Shut up.’

‘I’m just sayin’, dude. Simple observation.’

Up ahead, Will saw a painted 9 marking the next landing. He kept climbing. The heat intensified with every step. He braced his hand against the wall. He went through the list again: he didn’t know where Angie lived. He didn’t know where she worked. He didn’t know who her friends were. If she had friends. If she wanted friends. She had been the center of his existence for well over half of his life and he didn’t know a damn thing about her.

‘You got prime rib at home,’ Collier said. ‘You don’t run out to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal.’ He laughed. ‘I mean, not so prime rib ever finds out. ’Cause, shit, man, we all like a greasy cheeseburger every now and then, am I right?’

Will turned the corner at the 9. He looked up to the next landing.

His heart stopped.

A woman’s foot.

Bare. Dirty.

Bloody cuts criss-crossed the soles.

‘Angie?’ He whispered the word, afraid to say it louder because she might disappear.

Collier asked, ‘What’d you say?’

Will stumbled up the stairs. He could barely carry his own weight. He was on his knees by the time he reached the landing.

Angie was lying face down on the floor. Long brown hair wild. Legs splayed. One arm underneath her, the other over her head. She was wearing a white dress he’d seen before. Cotton, see-through, which is why she wore the black bra underneath. The dress rode up her legs, showing matching black bikini underwear.