Evil Without a Face

“What happened to him?” Sam asked. “Was it nickel beer night if you came dressed in duct tape?”

Before Jess could reply, Seth intervened.

“I picked a fight and got out of control. The duct tape was for my own good.”

“Yeah, right. You look like a real animal.” Sam crossed her arms and cocked her head. “So what happened that got you all riled up, sport?”

“A guy took offense to my Jerry Springer tee.” Seth winced as he walked toward the door. “And nobody slams Jerry.”

Real tough guy! Jess almost smiled. Seth looked like a total flounder out of water in this dump. He would never have come here on his own. And by the look on Sam’s face, she wasn’t buying any of it, but to her credit, she let things play out. She seemed to appreciate their urgency to leave.

“Next time, be more careful, young man.” Baker laid it on thick, but he didn’t show a speck of amusement. “We can get a pretty rough crowd in here. You’re lucky no one pressed charges.”

“Yeah, I feel real lucky.” Seth didn’t bother to hide his cynicism and never looked back.

When Jess got him to the door, she handed Seth over to Sam. She wanted to make sure business with Baker was concluded out of Sam’s earshot. Jess looked back at him and tapped a finger to her watch.

“Time’s a-wasting. We done here?”

“We better be.” The man scowled, rooting her where she stood. “’Cause if I get that deja vu feeling from you, you’re gonna find yourself on the wrong side of the turf.”

Jess wanted to say something clever as she turned to walk out the door, but nothing came to mind. She knew Baker meant every word.

On the drive home, after Seth insisted he’d be okay without a trip to the emergency room, Jess introduced Sam to the kid and told her about how she’d hired him. Given what had just transpired, the thought of Seth punching the clock like an hourly employee sounded ludicrous to her. Sam heard it in her friend’s voice as Jess tried to explain why she’d crossed paths with him in the first place. Any other time she might have found humor in Jess’s version of a “summer intern” job, but not tonight.

The situation only made her sad.

Road noise and the sounds of Chicago traffic had filled the void in conversation over the last ten minutes. Sam had picked the backseat to put distance between her and Jess. She stared out the window, the ebb and flow of street lamps washing over her. Seth Harper rode shotgun in stone cold silence. Apparently, he sensed the rift and kept his mouth shut. Smart boy. And although she had no concrete reason to believe Jess had lied about her confrontation with Lucas Baker, she knew it in her bones.

And that hurt worst of all.

Jess had always been a loner. Sam knew this, but being hit with the harsh reality that her best friend would never completely trust her had hurt all the same. Jess maintained her privacy like a miser hoarded coins, and Sam wanted to respect that. Her friend had come by that philosophy honestly and with good reason. But when Jess kept her at arm’s length under a misguided attempt to protect her, Sam hated not being included in the decision.

Jess did things her way. End of story. Sam had no idea how to break into her world, and after tonight, she realized she might never get a passkey.

“Pull over, Jess. I need to walk.”

Jess slowed the car and looked in the rearview mirror, making eye contact in a flash of light, but she didn’t question her need to be alone. Of all people, Jess should understand that. Sam was close enough to walk the last couple miles. When Jess pulled to the curb of the older residential neighborhood, a street lined with small well-kept bungalows, Sam opened the car door with some parting words to Seth Harper.

“If you need it, I can put you in touch with a twelve-step program for Springer addicts. The first step is recognizing you have a problem.”

“Yeah, very funny.” He nodded with his head down, not looking back. “Good to meet you, Sam. And thanks.”

From the backseat, she tousled his hair and got out of the car. Jess followed after putting the car in park and leaving Seth to wait.

“Are we all right?” Jess faced her in the dark, hands in her pockets.

Sam wasn’t sure how to answer. After an awkward silence, she began to put her feelings in perspective.

“You know, I get the fact that you’ll never let me in, but it still hurts.”

“I didn’t intend—”

“No, you never intend to hurt me, Jess, but that doesn’t mean I’m bulletproof.” Sam took a deep breath and stared into the night sky. “Look, I’m tired and you need to get him patched up. Let’s talk…tomorrow. I gotta get some sleep, but I’ve got things to sort out first.”

Jess stared at her for a long moment, looking as if she wanted to say something real, but then changed her mind. Moonlight painted pale blue streaks through her hair, giving her an ethereal quality. The image disturbed Sam, as if she was staring into the face of a ghost. Jess nodded and turned to walk away without saying another word, then hesitated and looked back over her shoulder.

“You know, I trust you with my life.”

“Yeah, but not with what’s in your heart, Jess. I mean, I know you love me like a sister, but you sure don’t trust me with who you are as a person. That, you keep all to yourself.” She tried to smile but it wouldn’t come. “And this obsession of yours is consuming you, but you just don’t see it. I don’t know what you have going on with Baker, but…you’ve changed. And not for the better.”

After a long moment of silence between them, Sam let it go.

“Good night, Jess.”

She turned to walk away, but as Jess drove by, she watched her go. Something had changed between them tonight. Jess had stepped over a line with their friendship, and she only hoped she could get past it the next time—if there was a next time.

At ten minutes before midnight, when Lucas Baker pulled in, the skating rink parking lot was quiet. It was on the way to where he’d be spending the night. Jess Beckett had been a regular pit bull, latching onto him and making his life a living hell over the last several weeks. Living out of a suitcase was no fun, but he had a feeling he was finally on the downhill side of the ordeal now. Pretty soon it would be business as usual.

Before he got out of his vehicle, he looked around to case the place. With his engine and radio off, he heard the steady thump of muffled music coming from the rink. A few vehicles were still parked in the lot, and a group of kids hung by the entrance, talking it up and smoking cigarettes. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, so he got out of his car and locked it.

As he headed for the entrance, he fumbled in his pocket for the key Jess Beckett had given him, along with the note for the locker number. He clutched them in his hand, ready to make his stop quick. As a precaution, he reached down to touch the butt of his .45-caliber Glock 21 tucked in a belt holster under his suit jacket.

You’re a real piece of work, Beckett. This damned trip, along with everything else, had been a royal pain in the ass. While he was out of commission, he’d found a temporary way to get online, but only on a limited basis. Beyond the strict instructions he’d been given when he first got his laptop, he had never strayed from protocol—until now. He’d restricted his usual routine, being on an unsecured setup, but hell if he’d call attention to his fuck-up. He would handle things his way but needed to get back online pronto.

Still, he had to admit, Jess Beckett picking this place had been a smart move on her part. With the rink closing at midnight, she knew he’d have to hustle to make it. And the locker had been a stroke of genius. If she’d walked into The Cutthroat toting his laptop, he had a whole different scenario planned for her. That would now have to wait for a time when she least expected it.

Baker smirked when he thought about spending quality time with that bitch.

The skate rink looked run-down, a reflection of its surroundings. The older neighborhood had a reputation for being rough, but Baker remembered a day when that hadn’t been the case. As he came closer to the group of black kids near the entrance, they grew quiet and watched him with wary eyes, as if he had a tattoo on his forehead marked with the word “outsider.”

When he got inside, the lights had been flipped on and the last customers were getting ready to leave. Rap music blared on the overhead speakers. There was no one behind the ticket counter, but he spotted the location of the lockers and began his search for the number written on the paper.