tent.
Picking up speed, she followed, but then the pain in her tweaked ankle returned, her gate faltering as the suspect rounded a corner and disappeared behind another motor home.
“Stop!” she shouted, but knew it was a wasted effort.
Pushing past the pain, she flew around the motor home, emerged onto a clearing, and spotted Rick about halfway across it, his long, muscular legs propelling him like a gazelle toward a dark cluster of trees at the edge of the property.
There were houses beyond the trees, and Anna knew that if he managed to reach them, he might be impossible to find again-not to mention the potential threat he posed to the occupants.
She had to catch him, but her ankle hurt and her breath was starting to come up short and she wasn’t sure she could.
No sooner had she thought this than someone blew past her. It was-to her surprise-Royer, moving like a blur through the darkness toward Rick, effortlessly closing the gap between them.
If Rick was the gazelle, Royer was definitely the cheetah, and just before Rick reached the trees, Royer took a flying leap and tackled him, dust billowing as the two hit the ground hard and rolled.
Royer came up first, slamming a fist into Rick’s face-twice in rapid succession-then flopped him over and cuffed his hands behind his back.
Then he was on his feet, SIG Sauer in hand, pointing it at the back of Rick’s head. “Where’s the girl, you son of a bitch!”
Rick spit dirt, his mouth bleeding. “Fuck you.”
“Where is she?” Royer punctuated the question with a kick to the ribs.
Rick howled, rolling into the pain, his body involuntarily curling into the fetal position.
Royer pressed his SIG against Rick’s temple, making it clear what his intentions were. “Last chance, asshole.”
“All right, all right,” Rick gasped. “She’s in the tent. Back in the tent.”
Without a word, Anna did a 180, saw Worthington and another deputy coming up fast, and signaled for them to turn around.
“In the tent,” she shouted. “She’s in the tent!”
Still huffing for breath, she picked up her heels and ran, following them back to the encampment.
By the time they got there, one of the deputies was already emerging from Rick’s battered tent, a young girl in bra and panties squirming in his grip, tears in her eyes.
“Please,” she begged. “Please don’t tell my mom…”
“What’s this?” Worthington asked. “Where’s the kid?”
“This is all I got,” the deputy told him.
The girl, a high schooler wearing too much makeup, was sobbing now, mascara running down her cheeks. “Please… You can’t tell her about this; she’ll kill me…”
Ignoring the plea, Worthington pushed in close. “What’s your name?”
The girl hitched a breath, eyes blinking blackened tears at him. “Are you gonna call my mom?”
“Your name,” Worthington snapped.
The girl flinched, taking a moment to find her voice again. “Wendy. Wendy Johanson.”
“How long have you been with this guy, Wendy?”
“Are you gonna-”
“Just answer the goddamn question.”
Fresh tears filled her eyes and she lowered her gaze. “I met him at the arcade last night. He runs the coin toss.”
Worthington grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “That isn’t what I asked you. How long have you been with him? All night?”
She shook her head. “No. He had to work. We hooked up around two.”
“Did he have a little girl with him?”
Her face went blank. “What?”
“A girl. A four-year-old girl.”
“Why? Is he married or something? He said he wasn’t-”
“Answer me.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “He was alone. I don’t know anything about a little girl.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I’m not stupid. I think I would’ve noticed if he was dragging a kid around with him. Why are you asking me this? What did he do?”
Worthington just stared at her for a long moment, and Anna thought he might be weighing the girl’s words, trying to decide if she was telling the truth. But Anna herself had no doubts. This kid was clueless. Just another of a string of restless teenagers Mr. Rock and Roll had talked into sharing his sleeping bag.
“Shit,” Worthington said finally, then looked at the deputy. “Put her in the van and call her mom.”
“No!” the girl cried. “She’ll kill me!”
“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about fucking around with a guy old enough to be your father.” He turned again to the deputy. “And while you’re at it, radio Marcus, tell him to round up some volunteers. We’re gonna tear this place apart.”
The deputy glanced around at the gathering crowd of angry carnies. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“We don’t have a choice,” Worthington said, then turned, looking off in the direction they’d come from. “Where the hell is my suspect?”
As if on cue, Royer emerged from behind a motor home, pushing Rick in front of him.
“Right here,” he said.
They were both covered with dirt and Rick’s face looked as if it had been worked over a bit more. Either that or those two punches had done a helluva lot of damage.
Worthington nodded, his gaze locking on Rick’s.
“Put him in the tent,” he said.
1 3
Pope was dozing in his chair by the window when his cell phone rang for the third time that morning.
Groaning, he snatched it off the table next to him and stared bleary-eyed at the screen.
Sharkey again.
Shit.
Glancing at the bed, he noted that Evan hadn’t stirred. The only sign of life was the gentle rise and fall of the boy’s small chest. Pope marveled at his ability to sleep despite the mountain of crap that had fallen on him in the last handful of hours.
Pope himself had never been much for sleep. Not even when he was Evan’s age. He used to drive his parents nuts, never clocking out for more than four or five hours a night. And lately, despite all of the pot he consumed, he’d managed to pare that down to two or three. It wasn’t enough, he knew, but he continued to function in his own pathetic way.
His phone rang again.
Reluctantly scraping a thumb across the keypad, he clicked it on.
“What’s up, Sharkey?”
“Me, unfortunately. Any guesses why?”
“I’m a hypnotist, not a mind reader.”
“He wants to see you. Again.”
Pope let out another groan. “You’re kidding, right?”
“If I were, I’d still be in bed. Get your ass upstairs. I don’t wanna have to come get you.”
