Читать книгу Luck And a Prayer - Cynthia Cooke - Страница 8

Detective Willa Barrett stifled a groan as jolts of pain gnawed at her calves and moved up her spine. Grimacing, she shifted slightly, but stayed crouched behind the kitchen counter, not daring to move or make a sound.

Why Jack would bring someone in here at 9:00 a.m. was beyond her, especially after one of his late-night parties. Luckily, her brother Johnny had just left; otherwise, she’d have a hard time explaining why a “paying customer” was sleeping in the spare room.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Jack Paulson boomed from the other side of the counter. “One of our best. You’ll be rooming with Blondie,” he told the woman. “She’ll take good care of you. Teach you everything you need to know.”

No doubt. Willa barely resisted snorting aloud. A roommate would make her farce of “working” all that more difficult. Now she’d actually have to take the other undercover cops into her room with her. A thought she didn’t relish, since there wasn’t one of them she could tolerate. Straining her ears, she tried to determine exactly where Jack and the woman were positioned.

She gnawed her bottom lip and rubbed her injured arm. She couldn’t afford to get caught spying on Jack again. The captain had ordered her to go home and take care of her arm, but had she? No. Instead she’d hurried back to the strip dressed in purple sequins and tassels, swinging her hips in her exaggerated “Blondie” mode. Left and right she’d swung, calling to motorists, winking, hawking her feminine wares, clattering down Sunset Boulevard in five-inch spiked heels.

The same heels that were torturing her calf muscles now as she adjusted her weight from one hip to the other in her cramped position behind the counter. She had one last shot to get the goods on Jack Paulson and she wasn’t about to lose it because the captain had gotten squeamish over a sprained arm and pulled her off the case. She couldn’t worry about that now; right now the only thing that mattered was nailing Jack Paulson.

Willa turned on the special Pen Cam Johnny had acquired and inched it onto the counter behind a pot of African violets. The amazing little thing looked just like a standard ink pen, but in actuality was a self-contained video and audio outfit. It must have cost Johnny a pretty penny, but he was as anxious to put Mr. Slimebag Paulson behind bars as she was. They both had good reason.

Adjusting the Pen Cam’s position, she hunkered back down. Perhaps now she should make her way back to the bedroom where she’d have less of a chance of getting caught.

“You sure are a pretty thing. Wear your hair loose for me. That’s it, falling over your shoulders.” Jack’s raspy voice, low and seductive, filled the room. “What do you think of our new girl, Carlos?”

“She’s a beauty, boss. She’ll class up the place all right.”

Silently, Willa shoved her back into the cabinets. Carlos sounded close. Too close. Jack was known far and wide for being cruel to his girls, but it wasn’t Jack who did the most damage. It was Carlos. Jack just liked to watch.

“Here, you’ll have your own place, your own money, you’ll make your own rules,” Jack continued his pitch to seduce his hapless victim into the “good” life. “I won’t be here to check what time you come in or to tell you who you can see. If you want that kind of treatment, stay home with Daddy.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, sir.” The woman’s voice, soft and low, trembled as she spoke. “I won’t give you any trouble.”

Willa inched her way along the kitchen counter toward her room, once again trying to get a handle on Jack’s position. She’d feel better if she could make it out of the kitchen. That way she could come out of a door when he called her, instead of popping up from behind the counter like a peeping Willa-in-the-box.

“All I want from you in return is sixty percent, Tracey. That will cover your expenses. This is a nice place—it ain’t cheap. Is it, Carlos?”

“No, sir. Not cheap at all,” Carlos’s voice thundered, resonating right down Willa’s spine.

The creep was directly above her. With knees burning and calves screaming, Willa quickly scampered along the counter to the other side of the kitchen. She wouldn’t make it back to her room now. From Carlos’s position, he’d be able to see her. She’d have to stay and hope Jack didn’t call for her.

“I know you’re not experienced with this kind of life, so I’ll do you a favor. I’ll give you a few days to get used to the place. I’ll send you to a few parties; let you meet the rest of the girls. See, old Jack isn’t such a bad guy,” he said heartily. His chuckle turned Willa’s stomach. “You’ll love it here. All my girls love working for Jack Paulson. Don’t they, Carlos?”

“Yes, sir. They sure do.”

“You see, Tracey, my job is to make sure we both earn a lot of money while having a great time doing it. Life’s too short not to have fun, don’t you agree?” He paused. “But most of all, I enjoy taking care of you girls. Nothing bad ever happens to one of Jack’s girls. That’s a God-given promise.”

Willa rolled her eyes at the manure spewing from his lips, and wondered how Jack defined the word bad. No one with a brain could be buying this garbage. She peeked around the corner and almost choked. The girl sitting across from him couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. Good Lord! Where had he found a baby like her? This was sinking to an all-time low, even for Jack.

The girl’s eyes widened as they met Willa’s. Biting back a groan, Willa swung back behind the counter.

“Here’s five hundred to get you started,” Jack stated. “Go buy yourself some new clothes and a few knickknacks for your room, something to make this place feel like home. It’s all yours now.”

“Yes, sir,” the girl said. “Thank you.”

“You’ll pay me back by being a good girl and working hard. Jack’s girls know how to get ahead. Blondie will show you the ropes. Where is she anyway, Carlos? She should be here to meet the newest member of our team.” The dinette chair scraped across the wooden floor. “Hey, Blondie,” Jack yelled.

Willa bit her lip, and wished she could sink into the floor.

“Um, sir?” the girl spoke up, nabbing Jack’s attention. “Will I—that is, will I ever be able to visit my friends?”

The girl’s lilting voice broke Willa’s heart. Don’t worry, sweetie, she thought. I’ll get you out of this. Just as soon as I get myself out from behind this counter.

“You’re a runaway, Tracey. I’m giving you a place to live, a new identity, a way to support yourself, and start-up money. Now why would you want to blow all that by contacting your friends or family? You’re going to make a whole bunch of new friends right here. We’re your family now.” The front door opened. “Come on, doll,” Jack said. “Let me show you around.”

Willa fell back against the cupboards and stretched out her aching legs as she heard the door click shut. She’d done it! She’d gotten the whole conversation on videotape. This time, nothing could stop Jack Paulson from paying for a very long time.

“I thought you learned your lesson the last time I caught you spying on the boss.” Carlos’s raw hate-filled voice slithered around her.

Willa cringed. She stood, rocking unsteadily in her five-inch heels and faced him eye to eye, ignoring the glacial chill quivering down to her toes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carlos.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders, his bony fingers biting into her flesh. “You were eavesdropping on the boss.”

His breath, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, nearly gagged her. “I wasn’t, Carlos. Really. I was just waiting for Jack to leave so we could be alone. That’s all.” She lifted a painted nail to his chin and flicked the stubble he thought made him look sexy instead of just slimy.

He loosened his grasp, then pushed her against the counter. “I knew you liked me,” he rasped.

“Of course I do, sugar,” she lied with a honey-thickened tongue. “If you give me a little time, I’ll prove it to you.”

“I’ve got time.”

The way he looked at her sent a fresh round of shudders coursing down her back. He turned toward her room. Not able to wait another second, she snatched up the pen. He turned back, staring at the Pen Cam in her hand, suspicion crossing his face.

“Did you really think I’d fall for that act?”

Fear hammered in her chest, but she was careful to make sure it didn’t show on her face. “Which act is that, sugar?”

With two easy strides, he was on her and reaching for the pen. She pulled away, palming it behind her back. With spring-loaded speed, he grabbed her arm and jerked the Pen Cam from her grasp. “What’s this?”

She didn’t answer, just held her breath and prayed the man was as dumb as he looked. He started to unscrew the pen’s barrel.

“Don’t—” she said softly.

“Don’t what?” He dropped the Pen Cam to the floor and raised a steel-toed boot.

The closest she’d ever come to nailing Jack Paulson was recorded on that pen and she wasn’t about to let some moronic flunkie pulverize it. She swung back, brought up one leg and—“Whaaa chai!”—kicked with all her might. Five inches of pointy heel dug deep into soft flesh.

Grunting, he doubled over. She reached down, grabbed the pen, then clattered as fast as she could out the door and down the hall toward the stairs. She had to get the pen to the captain. It was the only way to stop Jack, to save that young girl and to save herself another night of knowing that animal was still out there spreading his poison and infecting everything he touched.

He’s finally going to pay, Daddy. Just like I promised.

She ran toward the staircase at the end of the hall, pushing herself harder, faster. One spiked heel caught an uneven board. She slipped, twisting her ankle as she fought for balance. Through the fog of pain, she kept moving. It wasn’t bad enough to stop her. For that, she’d have to be dead.

“I’m going to kill you, woman!”

If only she had time to lose the stilettos. They’d make a mighty fine weapon in her hand, but on her feet they were downright deadly. A door two apartments down opened. If she could reach it and lock herself in, she might have enough time to call for backup.

Betty Jones, one of Jack’s oldest pros, stepped into the hall. “Hey, Blondie! What’s up?”

Without a word, Willa raced past her, slammed shut her door and threw the bolt. She dashed for the phone and dialed 911.

“Blondie, open up!” Betty yelled, her feeble fists hitting the door.

“Nine-one-one emergency,” the voice on the line answered.

“I need help….”

With one earth-shattering kick, the door flew open, slamming against the wall, shredding the plaster. She had to find a weapon! Dropping the phone, Willa slipped around the counter into the kitchen and yanked open the drawer she kept her knives in back in her apartment. She stared blankly at potholders and dish-towels. “Blast!”

“Give it up, Blondie. You’re mine now.” With slow deliberate steps, Carlos walked into the kitchen, cornering her against the sink. “Take a walk, Betty,” he called without checking to see if she listened. He knew she would obey, and so did Willa. His gaze locked on hers. The expression on his face was downright animalistic.

All her years of training on the force scattered right out of her mind. This man was pure demented evil. He wrapped his hands around her waist, picked her up and threw her across the kitchen counter. She landed on the floor, the impact jolting every bone in her body. Within seconds, he was on her.

She groped blindly around her and with splayed fingertips, felt the telephone she’d dropped to the floor. With white-knuckle ferocity, she grasped the phone and swung it against his head. He clutched his temple and fell to the side. It was the second she needed. She was up and running again. Her only hope for safety was to reach the boulevard cluttered with people, traffic and cops.

“Run, little girl! Faster or you’ll never escape me!” His bellow echoed down the hall as he sprinted after her. She didn’t look back. Didn’t have to. His labored breath bounced off the walls in the narrow stairwell, his heavy boots clobbered the stairs behind her, all signs that he was closing in fast.

The door to the street loomed ahead of her. Sunshine filtered through dirty glass—her light at the end of a dark tunnel. Ten feet. Seven.

If she could just make it out that door…

She felt his hand brush her shoulder and wrap itself in her hair. Her bleached-blond wig shifted, but held, the pins digging mercilessly into her scalp.

Five feet. Three.

His growl, bubbling like toxic laughter in his throat was close, too close. Panic swallowed her. She hit the door with all her strength, swinging it open. Sunshine burned her eyes. She’d made it! Her heart soared. Carlos’s hand closed on her shoulder, pulling her off balance.

She tripped, falling, reeling into the white-hot sun, into safety. Strong arms roughly caught her before she hit the pavement. She looked up at her savior and stared into the reptilian eyes of Jack Paulson.

Jeff MacPhearson’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel of the church van as he turned right onto Sunset Boulevard. The knot sitting in the bottom of his stomach grew as he took in the familiar sights of the street. Six blocks down, hang a right, then a left, and he’d be back at the old parish—his first parish, the parish of his greatest accomplishments and his biggest failure.

He pushed down the anger burgeoning within him. Tracey wasn’t Dawn. This situation was completely different. He would find Tracey and bring her back home. He would not lose another child to these wicked streets, and yet, here he was, back in the place he’d fought so hard to get out of. Back on the dirty streets he’d struggled night after night to push from his mind by moving to a cleaner parish, a safer city. Back on Sunset Boulevard staring his personal demon in the face.

The swish of long brown hair caught his eye. He hit the brakes, ignoring the horn blaring behind him and stared at a familiar-looking brunette in a ridiculously tight miniskirt. She turned at the commotion and gave him a beckoning smile. He blew out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t Tracey, though she wasn’t much older than Tracey and he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, for all the girls that ended up on the strip.

He drove another block, then two, scanning the sidewalks on either side, searching every face, every lithe form for the missing thirteen-year-old. “Please, Lord, please help me find her,” he prayed, and then he spotted her, standing at the mouth of an alley, talking to a man who looked slimier than a used-car salesman at a clearance sale. Jeff did a double take. Jack Paulson! The old goat wrapped a meaty arm around her slim waist and led her toward the entrance of a two-story apartment building. Jeff stiffened his grip on the wheel, gathering the strength to stop himself from steering the van toward them and running the cretin down. The man deserved that and so much more.

“Keep your filthy hands off her,” he hollered at the windshield, while desperately searching for a parking place. Careful not to lose sight of her, he pulled into a parking lot a quarter-mile down the street, jumped out of the van and ran toward them.

He could see the man’s hand cupping Tracey’s little elbow, could see his white teeth gleaming as he smiled down at her. Jeff pushed harder, fighting back the urge to call her name, to stop her from entering that building.

He couldn’t imagine what had happened to make her choose the ungodly boulevard over her family home, but whatever it had been he could fix it. And whatever it was, he’d make it right this time. He had to, or what was the point? God hadn’t chosen him to work with kids just to play volleyball. He was here to make a difference, to reach these kids, to show them the way to God’s love and a healthy life.

One more block to go.

The building’s door swung open and a platinum blonde in form-fitting purple spandex flew out the door and fell directly into the man with Tracey. Tracey jumped back.

“Blondie!” Jack yelled as the woman slipped through his grasp and headed toward Jeff. Jack followed, leaving Tracey alone and giving Jeff the chance he’d been praying for. He lifted a hand and waved. Tracey’s eyes widened as she saw him, her gaze locking on his. Come on, Tracey. Let me help you, he pleaded silently.

Something slammed into him, knocking him flat to the ground. The concrete packed a wallop to the back of his head. Bright stars of pain danced before his eyes and he couldn’t find his breath.

The stars receded yet still he couldn’t see. Something dry and sticky filled his mouth; something soft and curvy filled his hand. He jerked his hand off the silky spandex and spat out a mouthful of fake hair. “Get off me, please,” he groaned and at the same moment inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla and cream. He was breathing again and the woman smelled wonderful, not exactly what he’d expect from someone with her questionable taste in clothing.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, and quickly righted her skewed wig. Curly wisps of red hair hung down from her temples mixing with the acrylic platinum waves. As she shifted, he felt a tug in his back pocket before her hipbone ground into his stomach. He groaned again.

“Thank the Lord above,” he muttered, as she finally rose off him.

“Come on, Blondie,” a deep voice said. “We have some business upstairs.”

Jack yanked her to his side. “Sorry, Jack,” she said with a saucy smile. “But I can’t. I’ve already got an appointment and it ain’t with you.”

“It is now.” He pulled her arm up behind her back. She winced and leaned forward, but didn’t make a sound.

“Hey,” Jeff protested, and started to rise, then fell back, shaking the momentary dizziness from his head.

“Jeff, are you all right?” Tracey kneeled next to him, her big, brown still-innocent eyes full of concern.

“You know this guy, Tracey?” Jack asked.

She turned to him, biting her lower lip. “Um, yes, sir. He’s the pastor at my church.”

Brushing off the pain, Jeff rose to his feet and dropped a protective hand on Tracey’s shoulder.

“Church, heh?” Jack chuckled, though his eyes gleamed with menace as they took in Jeff’s gesture.

She nodded. “Uh-huh, in Pasadena.”

“You’re a little out of your neighborhood, aren’t you, Padre?”

“Just here to pick up my girl,” Jeff said, and turned away from him and made strong eye contact with Tracey. She had a hard time holding his gaze, but his didn’t waver. “We’re going backpacking, remember? Everyone is waiting for you.”

“You wouldn’t believe what I caught Blondie doin’ this time, boss.” Another man, huge and brooding, grabbed the woman’s arm.

“Take her upstairs and see that she doesn’t get away,” Jack growled.

The woman’s green eyes met Jeff’s, surprising him with their fiery determination. This was a woman who could take care of herself. And yet… “Do you need help, miss? I’d be happy to give you a lift anywhere you want to go. Anywhere,” he emphasized.

The brute holding her burst out laughing.

“She can’t make it and neither can Tracey.” Jack took a step toward them, his face set in stone. Jeff gave Tracey’s shoulder a protective squeeze. “I believe that decision is up to the ladies.”

“Not anymore. I’m taking care of Tracey now and I can do it a whole lot better than the rest of you hypocrites.”

Fury swelled in Jeff’s chest. This animal preyed on lost women and children and he wouldn’t get his filthy paws on one of his kids. He’d die first. He took Tracey’s small shoulders in his hands and faced her, blocking Jack from her view. “Give me a chance, Tracey. Please. I’ll make everything all right at home. I promise.” His gut wrenched as fear and confusion flashed though her eyes. Please, God, let me have the chance to make it right this time. Don’t let me lose another child.

“Come on, Jack. Let the kid go,” the woman interrupted. “I thought you said we’ve got business.”

Jack sneered at her. “Like you’re worth it, Blondie.”

With lightning speed, she pivoted and brought up her knee—hard. The brute holding her doubled over, releasing his grasp. She jerked free, spun one hundred and eighty degrees, and kicked Jack’s granite face in rapid succession. Jeff almost cheered aloud.

Tracey groaned.

Blondie turned and to his astonishment gave them both a shove. “Run!” she urged.

Jeff didn’t waste a second. He grabbed Tracey by the hand and hauled her down the street toward the van. Within minutes they were locked inside and he was pulling onto the boulevard. He expected the woman in spandex would have disappeared, but there she was holding her own with Jack’s man. One lithe leg kicked high, knocking the brute in the chin.

“She’s amazing,” he said, awestruck.

“Unbelievable,” Tracey murmured. Jeff turned to his passenger tucked safe and secure in her seat belt and said a quick prayer of thanks, though he knew his job had only just begun. A squad car screeched to a stop in front of the apartment building as Jeff pulled past them. He glanced at his watch and then at Tracey. “If we hurry, we can still make it to our campsite by nightfall. Are you game?”

She looked at him, then quickly averted her gaze. He heard a soft “Sure,” and, for now, that was enough.

“Good, now call your mother. Tell her you’re sorry for worrying her half to death, then let me talk to her.”

Reluctantly, she took the phone. When she handed it back to him, he asked Mrs. Wilcox if he could still take Tracey camping with the others. “I think it will be good for her,” he added.

Luckily, she agreed.

At least for a few more days she’d be safe, and he’d have time to talk to her without distractions and reminders of what had happened here today. Perhaps then he’d find out what had gone wrong at home and he’d have his chance to put her back on the right path.

Willa scowled as the van with Morning Star Church printed across its door drove away. She succumbed to the officers on patrol as they read her her rights, then let them cuff her and throw her into the back of the squad car. Another car appeared to take Jack Paulson and Carlos downtown.

“Thanks, guys,” she muttered as they pulled into traffic. She stretched her aching shoulders and tried to ignore the pinch of the cuffs on her wrists. “You could have been a little gentler, though.”

“Hey, we wouldn’t want to blow your cover, Blondie,” Rick snickered behind the wheel. “The way you were moving them heels—whooeee, speed lightning.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to face you in a dark alley,” his partner, Cliff added.

“Honey, if you don’t loosen these cuffs, you’re not gonna want to face me anywhere.”

“Whoa, retract those claws.” Rick laughed. “Believe me, those cuffs are the least of your problems.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Captain’s waiting for you at headquarters and he’s not too hunky dory. Says he wants you in his office looking very contrite within twenty minutes and if I were you, I’d lose the wig.”

Willa cringed. She’d directly disobeyed an order from her captain. She’d be facing desk duty for sure now. “Hey, guys. Do me a favor and say I split. You can drop me on the corner.”

They both burst out laughing. She knew what they thought of her. Obsessed and cracked up were just a few of the terms she’d heard whispered around the department. It didn’t matter. She’d show them.

Jack Paulson should have been put behind bars a long time ago for killing her father. He hadn’t been. Now it was up to her to see that he was. And, this time, she finally had the evidence to put him away. Unfortunately, it was tucked in the back pocket of that cute pastor’s jeans. She took a deep breath. As soon as she got it back, she’d have Jack right where she wanted him.

But first she had to deal with Ben. And Captain Ben Armstrong was not pleasant to be around when he’d been crossed.