The Wrong Side of Dead sj-2 Read online

  It happened fast, but time hadn’t been her friend. The smoker had reached into his jacket. In the shadows, his moves were a blur. It didn’t matter whether he’d pull a knife or a gun, either way she had no time to think—only react.

  Her life would mean nothing to this man. She had seen it in his eyes.

  Jess reached into her pocket and took out the stun grenade. She pulled the pin and lever, tossing it between them. She’d have only seconds. The disorienting effects of the blast would be over in a heartbeat. But unless she moved, she’d be swept up in the detonation.

  A second later, a deafening blast thundered off walls. It echoed wave after wave down the block. And a blinding light stabbed the dark.

  Her heart slugged the inside of her rib cage, her adrenaline on overload. She barely had enough time to lunge for cover. Jess felt intense heat at her back. It seared her exposed skin. For an instant, the grenade’s brilliant flash stole her night vision. Pinpricks of light assaulted her eyesight. Her ears rang, but she wouldn’t be as bad off as the men who had attacked her. They rolled on the ground with arms over their heads, moaning and dazed.

  Although she wasn’t in great shape, Jess had to move. In no time, these men would recover. A crowd had already started to form. And onlookers gazed cautiously down from windows along the street, silhouettes eclipsed in light. Hunched over, she kept her head down and crept toward the first man. Covering up what she was doing, Jess kept her back to the crowd and searched for his wallet, only having time to take his driver’s license. She did the same with the smoker.

  People had started to congregate, making a tightening circle around the men on the sidewalk. Now she’d have to improvise.

  “What happened? Did anyone see anything?” she yelled. When no one pointed a finger at her, Jess took charge. She kept her head down and barked orders like she had a right. “Someone call 911. These men need help.”

  She kept up the chatter until it stirred others to act and take over. In the confusion, she slipped deeper into the shadows and melded with the crowd. She made sure no one noticed, waiting long enough before she climbed behind the wheel of Seth’s blue monster and drove away.

  She wasn’t worried about the two men implicating her. They’d never talk to the police. As soon as they recovered—only a matter of minutes—they’d be gone, leaving the cops nothing to investigate. And if anyone remembered a mysterious blue van parked down the block, or if they had read the tag, they’d only find the vehicle registered to Seth. Being in jail gave him an airtight alibi. But Jess knew she’d made an enemy of the smoking man. He’d left her no choice. And he had looked like a man with a long memory.

  Her heavy breathing mixed with road noise and muffled in her head, a lingering reaction from the detonation. Streetlamps cast ribbons of sparse light through the windshield and painted the dark interior of the van. The scrolling glow gave her enough light to read the names of the men she’d pissed off.

  The hired muscle, Sal Pinzolo, and the smoker, Nadir Beladi. With Sam’s help, she’d soon have more on these men. And maybe she’d be one step closer to finding Desiree, Harper’s best shot at discovering who had framed him for murder.

  But she had one more stop to make before heading home—and she sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Outside Chicago

  The Twilight Motel had seen better days, Jess thought as she sat in her van parked in the shadows.

  The motel’s cinder-block walls were colored in mottled aqua—the owner must have scored a deal on cheap paint—and it had a boxy construction any child could have designed in crayon. The place was totally forgettable except for one thing. Someone got off on ceramic gnomes. Several stuck out from under overgrown hedges and near the office door. Their faces were chipped, and their leprechaun clothes had faded with the sun, but no amount of damage had deemed them unworthy.

  “God, I hate gnomes,” she muttered. With an elbow propped on a door panel, she ran a finger along a scar over her eyebrow, an old habit.

  Gnomes ranked top of the heap on the shudder scale, even above the imposed giddiness of a yellow smiley face. At one time, the elf-infested motel might have seen interstate traffic, but a new addition to the area changed that. A nuclear plant had taken residence down the street. She saw the lights of the large facility on the horizon. Some local businesses had moved out after the plant got up and running. Now the motel looked as if it barely supported itself.

  A red flickering neon sign pulsed its message of vacancies available, one of the few indications the motel was even open. At this time of night, the neon cast a sickly red pallor onto the gnomes and reflected off the windshields of the three cars parked in the lot. No sign of activity or Harper’s Mustang. Maybe the murder, and its crime-scene tape fluttering in the breeze, had deterred the usual patrons who rented rooms by the hour.

  Jess checked her Colt Python, slipped out of her van, and locked up. She pulled her black White Sox ball cap down over her eyes and slipped through the shadows along the perimeter of the property, trailing an old cyclone fence toward the rear. If there was a back way in, she preferred to take it, but there wasn’t. She was disappointed not to find a way into the crime scene from the more private rear of the property. She headed for the only way in.

  Nothing like a little B&E before hitting the sack.

  Jess walked around the front of the motel, acting as if she belonged. When she got close to the crime-scene tape across room number six, she retrieved her lock pick and got to work. Seconds later, she had the door wedged open, but an overzealous CSI tech had crisscrossed the entry with an overabundance of yellow barrier tape. Clipped to her jeans pocket, she carried a small knife. She used it to cut the tape, at least enough for her to squeeze through.

  Once she got inside, Jess had to hold her breath. The unmistakable smell of death hung heavy in the room. An odor no one ever forgot.

  Jess let the darkness close in, her vision adjusting to the pitch black. She crossed the room to close the drapes and flicked on her small flashlight. The dim light shed a frightening pallor over the scene. Blood had dried to dark burgundy and brown with castoff stains and crimson shoe prints marring the carpet, but as she headed for the bathroom, the blood splatter gripped her heart in its cruel fist.

  In the dark, a flood of memories came back to haunt her. Her heart rate and breathing escalated out of control. Images of her dead tormentor’s face raced out of the shadows, forcing her to flinch. And she felt his hands on her, still. Jess hadn’t expected such a strong reaction. In her line of work, she never had to deal with dead bodies or this much blood.

  She shut her eyes and clutched her hands together to stop them from shaking. In her head, the horror of the dead woman’s last moments played out like a sick replay—her muffled screams, the terror in her eyes, the meaty sound of a knife striking her body again and again, and the frantic thrum of blood flung onto the walls and ceiling.

  Unable to stand, Jess dropped to a knee and lowered her head, trying to stop the images from invading her mind. She forced herself to breathe, slow and easy, trying to quell a low and rumbling wave of nausea. She hated feeling this vulnerable…again.

  Harper had nothing to do with the murder—but even as much as she wanted to clear him—Jess knew she had to take her investigation a step further. She had to hunt down the real killer. Whoever had done this had crossed her path, brutally taken a life, and framed a friend to get away with it.

  And that was enough to really piss her off.

  Jess left the motel office, knowing she’d hit another dead end. She drove the van from the motel parking lot and pulled onto a dark stretch of road, heading for home. It had been a long day, made worse by the deep exhaustion she felt in her bones and a troubled mind that wouldn’t quit.

  She grappled with the horror of the bloodied room, unable to leave it behind.

  The smell of violent death had embedded in her nostrils and permeated her clothes. And from the shadows inside the van, images from her p
ast continued to assault her memory. Distant and muffled screams in the middle of the night, a crying child she couldn’t comfort, the heavy footsteps on wood that signaled more terror—all of these memories jutted from the gloom in strobe flashes. An unhealed wound exposed by her traumatized psyche.

  With her thoughts scattered, she drove the murky two-lane highway of mostly farm country, barely noticing the yellow center lane whipping by. Switchgrass tossed in the breeze, and countless fence posts were caught in the funnel of pale light cast from her headlights. In the solitude, she let the disturbing surge of emotion settle upon her, an affliction that had grown far too familiar over the years.

  Jess tried to distance herself from the past without much luck. To crush the trembles, her hands gripped the steering wheel too tight, her lifeline to the present.

  Long ago, she had been encouraged to embrace the tragedy of her childhood as an affirmation of her strength, turning a negative into a positive as if it were that simple. After all, being abducted by a sexual predator and tortured hadn’t killed her, exactly. Surely it must have made her stronger, at least that was what others had told her time and time again.

  If she’d survived the ordeal, she could endure and overcome the traumatic memories now. But that meaningless drivel came mostly from the many therapists who had placated her over the years, making her a pet project while she was under foster care with the state of Illinois after her rescue. Eventually, they moved on to other kids and left her to figure it out for herself, leaving her with nothing more than a Band-Aid fix for the equivalent of a hemorrhage to her soul.

  In reality, she hated her weakness, something she hadn’t told anyone—not even Sam.

  But after a quick glimpse in the rearview mirror, Jess caught something that forced her instincts to take over. A car in the distance. It appeared to be tailing her, staying far enough behind that she’d almost missed it. No headlights. Any normal person would have assumed the idiot had forgotten to flip on his lights, but Jess had developed a paranoid sixth sense over the years.

  She hit the accelerator to see if she had company, testing her suspicions. When the car behind her picked up speed to match hers, Jess knew it wasn’t her imagination.

  “Great, just great.”

  She floored the gas pedal and put the blue monster through its paces, knowing it would be a challenge to stay ahead. Harper’s old van wasn’t built for speed. Jess craned her neck, looking for the lights of the nearest interstate over her shoulder. Making a last-minute decision, she hit the next turn a little too fast.

  The tires squealed in protest, and the van lurched.

  “Shit!” she cursed under her breath. The sudden move jostled her off the seat, straining the seat belt. But the car behind her kept pace.

  Her eyes darted between the dark road ahead and her rearview mirror. She couldn’t see the tag or the make and model of the car, only an occasional glint off the dark windshield.

  Safety in numbers, she needed to get to the interstate or a place she could lose her tail. Here in the open, she stood out. And she’d never outrun the guy. If the driver got close enough, he could shoot out a tire, run her off the road, or worse. And defending herself in this remote area would be tough.

  “Damn it!” The heft of her Colt Python under her jacket gave her comfort, but not enough.

  Not nearly enough.

  CHAPTER 7

  Once she hit the gas, the car behind her sped up and closed the gap between them—giving deadly chase. Her van hit its limits, but it wasn’t enough. Bumper to bumper, her pursuer had no intention of playing it safe. If she got to the interstate, potential witnesses would complicate matters, and the driver had figured that out. He ramped up his game.

  BANG! The asshole behind the wheel gave her a love tap on the bumper, grinding metal on metal. It knocked her teeth shut and jolted her neck.

  “What the hell…?” She shot a glance toward her mirrors, but the car swerved, not giving her a clear view.

  Now the driver swung into the oncoming lane and hit the gas, passing on her left. In the dark, she saw nothing of the man inside, only heavily tinted windows on a dark sedan. She yanked the wheel to cut the bastard off. If he got beside her, he might fire a gun. She’d be a sitting duck.

  She spotted the interstate ahead, not more than a few miles.

  “Come on. Come on!” She urged the blue monster on, white-knuckling the wheel and keeping an eye on her mirrors.

  All she had to do was stay ahead of the jerk. If she got to the freeway, she’d have a chance.

  The sedan veered into the other lane again. This time, the driver gained the advantage, pulling alongside her. She clenched her teeth and kept driving, focusing on what lay ahead. A flashing red light marked the intersection of the farm road with the freeway. The entrance ramp was a hard right. She wasn’t sure the blue whale could take it.

  “Damn it.”

  And worse, she caught motion from the corner of her eye. The bastard was rolling down his window. And from the shadowy interior she saw the murky silhouette of a man raising a weapon. He was going to shoot. And with the turn up ahead, she’d have to slow down, making her an easier target.

  “Oh, shit!”

  Precious seconds. She had run out of time. Only one option remained.

  Jess took a risk. She yanked the steering wheel left and collided with the sedan. To hell with being a victim! The crunch of metal sounded like the high-pitched grind of nails on a chalkboard. On impact, she sent the sedan hurtling for a ravine to the left. Traveling at high speed, the car went sailing over a ditch and bellied out on the other side.

  “That’s gonna leave a mark,” she muttered as she hit the brake to slow down.

  Jess made the turn onto the entrance ramp, watching over her shoulder as the sedan barreled for a wall, struggling for control. The vehicle scraped the embankment, sending up sparks like a Roman candle on steroids.

  Once she got on an open road with streetlights, she took a ragged breath, her nerves catching up. Looking for Desiree had made her a target. But if she wanted to help Seth, she couldn’t stop at the first sign of trouble.

  “Damn it, Harper! What the hell did you get into?”

  The next morning

  “Yeah, I need to speak to Dispatch please.” Jess gulped more lukewarm coffee and rubbed the back of her sore neck. “Yeah, I’ll hold.”

  Last night’s car chase had left Jess dealing with a stiff neck and aching muscles. And to add insult to injury, she hadn’t slept at all, not with Harper in jail. For her to catch a few Z’s felt like a complete waste of time and a betrayal of her solidarity with his predicament. And after seeing the remnants of the bloody crime scene, she was afraid the powerful images would stir her own demons.

  Sleep had never been much of a friend.

  “Dispatch. Arnie here.”

  “Hey, Arnie. I was wondering if you could help a girl out.” She told him what she wanted and settled down for a wait after he put her on hold.

  When he came back onto the line, he said, “Nope. I got nothing on that. Sorry, lady.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” She hung up, striking out again.

  Jess took a break from her morning phone calls and dumped her stale coffee in favor of fresh brewed. With coffee percolating, she thought about last night, an odd cluster of events, especially more surreal in the light of day.

  Her trip to Dirty Monty’s had started it all—setting her on a course with a major pack of scumbags—a collision course that earned Seth’s blue whale a few more scrapes. But at the crack of dawn—after coming up empty on finding Harper’s ’65 Mustang at the motel parking lot last night—she throttled her mind into overdrive, running various scenarios through her plausibility meter. And her brain hadn’t stopped since.

  According to that sleazoid bartender, Harper had made it to Dirty Monty’s, but Jess wondered how he had gotten there. Sometimes even the small details might be significant in the right context.

  She hadn’t found his Must
ang parked near the bar or at the crime scene. If the real killer had taken it, that would have been a bonehead maneuver. The cops would be looking for it so crime scene techs could search for more damning evidence to lock Harper away for good. With a viable suspect in hand, CPD might not search too hard for the car. But if trace evidence of the murdered woman could be found in the vehicle, anyone caught with it could be hauled in for questioning as an accomplice.

  With Harper remaining tight-lipped about where he lived, the police might not find his car anytime soon. Stalling the cops on the case didn’t bother her. But with Harper having major gaps in his memory about what had happened, he couldn’t even help himself—or her. The whereabouts of his car was a loose thread she couldn’t let go, but maybe she didn’t have to. She had another option to explore.

  What if Harper hadn’t used his car at all?

  Already on her second pot of coffee, she’d hit the yellow pages since dawn, calling cab companies operating in South Chicago, playing a hunch. If her boy genius had used a taxi, it would satisfy her curiosity on Harper’s Mustang. But even better, she’d have a shot at finding out where the boy lived. Cab companies kept record of the location where fares originated.

  “And me outsmarting you, my stubborn brainy friend, would be priceless,” she muttered, pouring a fresh cup of coffee. But the ring of her cell phone intruded upon the solitude of her morning. She recognized the number.

  “Hey, Sammie. How goes the war against crime?”

  “We could use reinforcements. That’s why you’re on the front line.” She heard the smile in her friend’s voice. “I was calling to let you know that the medical examiner got an ID on the dead woman off her fingerprints, and we got lucky. She had an arrest record.” Sam went into the woman’s list of offenses, but when she was done, her friend added, “She doesn’t sound like anyone Seth would hang with, but what do you think?”

  After hearing about the victim, Jess had a bad feeling.