No Good Deed, page 14
part #2 of Lancaster & Daniels Series
“My name’s Chanty,” she said. “Buy me a drink?”
He sized Chanty up. Everything about her was fake: fake tits, fake hair, fake smile. Her pupils were dilated, and she was flying high—probably on Ecstasy, or maybe cocaine. In his experience, people who were high did nothing but lie.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Let me guess. You’re the bashful type. I can fix that.”
He ignored her and drank his beer. Another dancer on stage caught his eye. She was young, and had a hint of innocence. Inked across her tummy was an Outlaws skull and crossbones tattoo. The tattoo was fresh, the dead skin still flaking.
“You know her?” he asked, pointing.
“Maybe,” Chanty said.
He took a hundred off the bar, tore it in half, and gave her one of the pieces.
“I want to meet her. Make it happen, and I’ll give you the other half.”
Chanty made a face. “Why’d you do that? Bill’s no good torn in half.”
“Sure it is. Just scotch-tape it back together, and take it to the bank.”
“Bullshit. They won’t take it.”
He asked one of the bartenders to settle the argument.
“I get bills taped together every day,” the bartender said. “They’re good.”
Clutching the torn half in her hand, Chanty returned to the stage, and whispered in the young dancer’s ear. The dancer smiled mischievously, and together they came down off the stage and made a beeline to where he sat. He handed Chanty the other half.
“Thanks,” he said.
The young dancer smiled at him. Up close, the years fell off her face, and he didn’t think she was more than seventeen. That meant she was dancing illegally, and could get in a world of trouble if caught.
“I’m Echo,” she said. “I hear you want to meet me.”
“I do,” he said.
“It’s so noisy in here. Let’s go someplace quiet.”
As he followed Echo to the VIP rooms, Daniels texted him, asking if he’d made any progress. He texted her back a thumbs-up emoji.
“Your wife checking up on you?” Echo asked.
“Just someone from work,” he said.
He sat down on a red leather couch, and she crawled into his lap. Her hands were lightning fast as she frisked him.
“Whatever happened to foreplay?” he asked with a grin.
“Got to check for guns. House rules. You’re not a cop, are you?”
“Do I look like a cop to you?”
“No, you look like Santa Claus.”
Echo unbuttoned his shirt and started to rub his big, round belly. She was surprised at how hard his stomach was, and gently poked at it like a kid testing the air inside a balloon. Knowing she was underage made him uncomfortable, and he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, revealing his detective’s badge pinned to the inside. Her smile vanished.
“Shit. I guess you’re not Santa Claus,” she said. “You going to bust me?”
“Let me ask the questions. How old are you? And don’t lie to me.”
“Seventeen.”
“Where are you from?”
“Atlanta.”
He pointed at the scabbing tattoo on her stomach. “What’s the story here?”
“My boyfriend made me get it.”
“You didn’t want a tattoo?”
“I thought it was ugly. Made me look like a whore.”
Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. It was not uncommon for bikers to make their girls get a tattoo so that they could take possession of them. Echo had gotten the tattoo, but she hadn’t liked it, and that said a lot.
“Is your boyfriend a biker?” he asked.
She nodded, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“What’s his name?”
“Dexter. He threatened to hurt me and my baby if I disobeyed him.”
“Does Dexter have a droopy mustache and sideburns?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
“I do. Would you like to get away from Dexter? I can help you do that.”
Her face turned to stone. Seventeen, raising a child, forced to strip to make ends meet, her life filled with broken promises. She had no good reason to believe anything he said.
“Can I show you something?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I guess.”
He opened the gallery app on his cell phone, and clicked on an album of photographs taken at Amber Glen Ranch, a rehabilitative facility outside of Nashville. It was here that Team Adam sent victims of kidnapping and sexual assault so they could heal their damaged psyches and reconnect with the world. The therapy included working in gardens, doing chores on the farm, and caring for horses.
He scrolled through the collection. “See the girl riding the horse? Her name is Stacy Lynn. She was kidnapped when she was fourteen, and kept in a cellar. Her captor raped her every day. I rescued her a year ago, and arranged for her to go live on a ranch. A team of therapists are helping her get better.”
One photo showed Stacy Lynn picking tomatoes. She wore jeans and a T-shirt and looked like a normal teenager. When he came to the last photo, he stopped. It was of the two of them, holding a basket of tomatoes that Stacy Lynn had picked. He’d gone to see her while chasing down a lead in Nashville, and been thrilled at how well she was doing.
Echo stared longingly at the photo, then gazed at him. The suspicion in her face had evaporated. “Can my baby and I live in this place?”
“I can arrange that. But you’ve got to help me find Dexter.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes, it’s a promise. All I have to do is make a phone call.”
It was a big decision, and Echo thought about it long and hard.
“Dexter’s down in Saint Petersburg, getting ready to kidnap a woman,” she said. “He told me the other night before he left, said he’d kill me if I talked.”
“Does Dexter live with you?”
“Yeah. I share an apartment with another dancer. Dexter decided to move in, and threw my roommate out. Couple of nights ago he got drunk, and told me how he was part of a gang that was kidnapping women. He even showed me a video of the women. I think they were being kept somewhere.”
He sat up straight on the couch. “How did they look?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The women—were they healthy?”
“They looked okay. None of them looked beat up, or anything.”
“Did you meet any other members of his gang?”
“His buddies came over a few times. Their names were Skyler and Logan.”
It was a small world. Echo had known his brother, and she’d also known Skyler Seeley, the man he’d shot twice in the back outside the Jayhawk Motel who’d later died.
“What did Dexter tell you about the job in Saint Petersburg?” he asked.
“Dexter said he was meeting up with a guy named Jake Williams, who he’d known in prison. They were going to track this woman down, and kidnap her. Dexter said this woman had an unlisted address and unlisted phone numbers, but that didn’t matter, because he could still find her.”
“Did he say how?”
“Dexter said he could find people just by having their email address.”
Lancaster knew a great deal about cyberstalking through his work with Team Adam, and was not aware of any method of finding a person solely through their email address. It simply wasn’t possible, and he guessed Echo had misunderstood what Dexter had said to her. The door opened, and a mean-looking bouncer stuck his head in.
“Time’s up,” the bouncer said. “Get back to work.”
The bouncer glared at them and slammed the door. Echo started to tremble, and she looked like she might start crying again. “That’s Marcus. He’s one of Dexter’s biker friends. Always checking up on me. I’ve got to go.”
She climbed off his lap, and went to the door. The Outlaws did not tolerate disloyalty and liked to say that while God forgives, Outlaws don’t. He knew that he’d placed Echo in danger.
“When do you get off work?” he asked.
“Couple of hours,” she said.
“Give me your address, and I’ll pick you up. You’re not safe around here.”
Echo gave him her address. The look on her face said she didn’t think she would ever see him again. They both returned to the club. She climbed onstage and started dancing with the other girls. He tried to make eye contact, but she wouldn’t look at him.
He made sure he wasn’t being followed before going outside. The temperature had dropped and made his skin tingle.
He felt elated. Echo had shared two important pieces of information. The victims were still alive, and Dexter was preparing to abduct another woman with a new partner. He knew enough about the gang’s motives to believe that he could figure out the new victim’s identity, and stop Dexter and his partner in the act.
He walked down the sidewalk toward the sandwich shop. Beth was going to be happy with his progress. She’d been working the investigation for a month, and the emotional wear and tear was showing. She needed to take a vacation after it was wrapped up, and he knew a perfect spot in the Keys that he planned to recommend.
Dino’s lot had a single car parked in it. His. Beth and her team were gone.
He checked his phone to see if she’d left him a message. There were none.
The owner of the sandwich shop was cleaning up. He banged on the window, and the owner unlocked the front door. “We’re closed.”
“There were three cars parked in your lot. Did you see them leave?”
“Yeah, about ten minutes ago,” the owner said.
Furious, he got in his car and called her. Beth and her team were backing him up, and could have at least given him the courtesy of a text message saying they were pulling out. Her voice mail picked up.
“Where the hell are you?” he asked.
CHAPTER 22
The message had said to come alone.
Daniels saw the exit signs for Tampa International Airport and flipped on her blinker. The expressway was quiet, and she’d spent the drive wondering what she was about to walk into. To be forewarned was to be forearmed. To be in the dark was to be helpless.
There were two dedicated lanes leading into the airport. She stayed in the right-hand lane and reduced her speed. At the exit for cargo, she got off and drove up to the gate. The female security guard was all business, and didn’t seem impressed by her credentials. Handing them back, the guard said, “You been here before?”
“First time,” Daniels replied.
She emerged from her booth and knelt down next to the driver’s window. “This is a big place, and it’s easy to get lost. Here’s what you need to do.”
Daniels memorized the guard’s instructions and thanked her. The gate was raised, and she entered the cargo area, drove around several buildings, and crossed an empty tarmac to an unmarked hangar. A Gulfstream G550 private jet was parked in front and was being serviced by a maintenance crew. A handsome pilot stood a few yards away, talking on his cell phone. The FBI owned a fleet of G550s, which were housed at Dulles International Airport and were at the disposal of the bureau’s directors.
She parked and got out. She expected someone to greet her, and explain what was going on, but there was no one. She didn’t think the pilot or maintenance people knew the score, so she climbed up the portable stairs and stepped into the small aircraft.
The interior was plush, with facing leather chairs and HDTVs on the walls, as well as computers built into several small desks. The G550s were often used as command centers in remote areas, and had every modern convenience.
“Anybody home?” she said.
“Back here,” a familiar voice replied.
She followed the voice to the rear of the plane. Joe Hacker sat by himself in the last row. His eyes were ringed from lack of sleep, and gray stubble dotted his chin. The remains of a meal sat on a plastic tray in the seat beside him. He acknowledged her with a weary nod and pointed at the empty seat across from his.
Daniels sat down. “Hello, J. T.”
“Hello, Beth.” He sounded exhausted. “How’s the investigation going?”
“I think we’re close to apprehending one of the members of the gang. I was at a stakeout when I got your message. Is something wrong?”
“You and I have a problem.”
“We do?”
“Yes, and his name is Jon Lancaster.”
Daniels stiffened. She wanted to think she’d been keeping Lancaster on a short leash, and was conducting her investigation by the book.
“I learned about an incident involving Lancaster that took place outside the Jayhawk Motel in Tampa,” Hacker said. “Do you know what I’m referring to?”
Learned from who? she nearly asked.
“You mean the shooting,” she said instead.
“Correct. According to the report I was given, a man named Dexter Hudson shot and killed Lancaster’s brother outside the Jayhawk last night. Lancaster chased Hudson, and fired his handgun into a moving vehicle. The driver of the vehicle later turned up dead. Does this sound right?”
She nodded stiffly. She had typed up a report of the shooting with the intention of including it in her final report when the investigation was complete. For J. T. to have this information meant that a member of her team had secretly made a copy off her computer and emailed it to him. She had been betrayed.
But by whom? Was it Gary or Otto? Or had another member stuck the knife in her back? It really didn’t matter. J. T. had the report, and she needed to deal with it.
“I also got my hands on the police report,” Hacker said. “The Tampa police don’t have a problem with Lancaster, and aren’t going to charge him with shooting the driver. Well, I do have a problem, and so should you.”
“He was chasing down a suspect,” she said defensively.
Hacker grew in his seat. “He fired his gun in the middle of a busy street, and put innocent lives at risk. He could have missed and hit a bystander.”
“But he didn’t,” she said.
“You think this is correct behavior?”
“The Tampa police didn’t have a problem with Jon’s actions, and neither do I.”
“You’re missing the point,” he said.
“Which is what?”
“He’s a liability. Or are you too blinded by your feelings to see that?”
The words stung like a slap in the face. She counted to three, and collected her thoughts before replying. “Jon is helping move the investigation forward. We were spinning our wheels until he showed up,” she said.
“But what if this happens again?” Hacker said. “What if Lancaster shoots his gun, and an innocent person gets wounded or killed? If the media finds out that he’s assisting the FBI, we could both lose our jobs, not to mention the shit storm it would create.”
“That’s a lot of ifs,” she said.
Hacker was not used to being challenged. His face turned red, and he started coughing. She hurried into the rear of the plane and found a bottled water.
He downed the water in one long gulp. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
There were times when she wished she’d never been promoted to run a division within the FBI. If she’d learned anything, it was that the higher she rose in the bureau, the more the job centered around good PR, while battling crime took a back seat. “How long have we known each other?” he asked.
“Since I graduated from the academy,” she said.
“Do you feel you know me pretty well?”
“Yes, J. T., I do.”
“Then read my mind. What am I thinking?”
“You want me to cut Jon loose.”
“That’s right. Think you’re up to it?”
“I’ll do whatever you feel is best.”
“Good answer. Wrap things up with him tonight. After that, there will be no more communications. If you wish to see him when the case is over, that’s your call. But if I find out that you’re talking to him while the investigation is proceeding, I’ll ask for your resignation. Am I making myself clear?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Please don’t disappoint me, Beth.”
He sounded just like her father, who had been a domineering asshole. It made her want to strangle him, and she rose from her seat.
“I’ll try not to,” she said.
“One last thing. You are not to enact any payback within your team.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”
“You know what I’m talking about. The agent who shared your report with me wasn’t being vindictive. He was simply doing what was best for your team.”
Hacker had just narrowed the list of suspects to the other male agents on her team. She would find out which one was responsible, and have a word with him.
“No payback. Got it, sir,” she said.
“Glad we’re on the same page. Good night, Beth.”
Back in her car, Daniels pulled out her phone. Jon had called, and left a voice message. She had bruised his feelings when they were dating, and she could only imagine what this new development would do to their relationship.
As she called him back, she realized her hand was trembling.
CHAPTER 23
“I’m sorry,” he heard Beth say.
His face was burning up. Beth had just explained why he was being yanked off the investigation. Like so many government law enforcement agencies he’d dealt with, the FBI was placing its own well-being above the people it was sworn to protect.
He decided not to go down without a fight.
“But I’m about to crack this thing wide open,” he protested.
Beth’s sharp intake of breath sounded like a gun going off. He knew her hot buttons. Nothing would have made her happier than breaking this case wide open.
“The victims are still alive,” he added.
“Who told you that?” she asked.
“A dancer named Echo. I spoke with her in a VIP room at the club. She’s Dexter’s girlfriend. Dexter showed her a video of the victims. They’re still alive.”
