we’re in bad trouble.
Rubber screamed against the cracked concrete outside their room. The screeching echoed right through the paper-thin walls.
Nina’s head jerked up, her eyes wide with fear.
DeShawn’s heart rammed against his rib cage. “Get under the bed,” he told her. “I’ll run. While they’re chasing me you can get away.” His voice shook with his own fear. He had to be strong. Had to be brave.
She held on tight to his hands and shook her head. “No. If we die, we’ll die together.”
6
Howard Johnson Inn, 11:50 p.m.
The hot water relaxed her muscles and seeped deep into her bones. Jess exhaled a chestful of tension and eased lower into the water. It might not be a jetted tub or even one with bubbles, but filled with hot, steamy water this old motel tub did the trick. And as long as she kept her eyes closed she could imagine that she was surrounded by sleek travertine and glistening fixtures. The fragrance of vanilla bean drifted from the candle she’d picked up at Walmart and parked on the toilet tank.
Cracking one eye open she reached for the plastic cup of wine perched on the toilet lid. The sweet white pleasure was room temperature, but after three generous cups she was well on her way to not caring. The flickering flame of the candle gave the dark, cramped room a hint of ambiance.
She cleared her mind of work—especially those damned shoes Darcy Chandler should have been wearing as she took that fatal plunge. Not her case. Finding DeShawn Simmons and analyzing the Druid Hills gang problem was the only case on her agenda. Captain Ted Allen from the Gang Task Force had provided an on-the-spot and comprehensive briefing into his investigation of the gang activities in Birmingham. Based on what Harper had told her, Allen had done an outstanding job, but the problem was out of control. He needed help. He needed SPU.
And DeShawn Simmons needed to be found. Allen couldn’t connect Simmons with any gang members or activities on his radar. Ordinarily that might prove fortunate, but since Jess was better than ninety percent certain his disappearance was gang related, the lack of available information was rather unfortunate. Jess told Allen as much. If he monitored this territory as thoroughly as he claimed, why wasn’t he aware of Simmons and some gang leader’s ex-girlfriend named Nina? Allen had no answer for her.
After the drive-by situation was wrapped up at the Simmons home, Jess had dropped by the ER to ensure that Harper was patched up and had a way home since she was driving his SUV—which, incredibly, had survived with less damage than if he’d driven through an unexpected hailstorm. She’d requested a security detail for the Simmons home for the next couple of days. Though she suspected the intent of the shooters had been to send a message to the cops, if the intent had been to show the cops who was boss by taking one or more out, then tonight’s shooters were scandalously bad shots. With her and Harper out in the open like that, even a half-assed shot should have been able to do better than grazing a thigh.
For Jess, the message was loud and clear. DeShawn Simmons crossed the wrong person and had paid the price. If his grandparents insisted on pursuing the matter, there would be trouble. But what those thugs needed to bear in mind was that their problem was Jess, not the grandparents.
If, as she suspected, Simmons’s disappearance was related to MS-13, that reality added a whole new layer of ugliness to the situation. MS-13, Mara Salvatrucha, represented a growing and mobile threat in most communities. They were fearless and used the most violent tactics. As recruiters they were relentless, as enemies ruthless. Their range of criminal activities was broad and varied. Drugs, murder, prostitution, robbery, you name it. There was little they wouldn’t do and violence was always the overwhelming theme. Their members were either immensely loyal or stone-cold dead.
She and Harper
Rubber screamed against the cracked concrete outside their room. The screeching echoed right through the paper-thin walls.
Nina’s head jerked up, her eyes wide with fear.
DeShawn’s heart rammed against his rib cage. “Get under the bed,” he told her. “I’ll run. While they’re chasing me you can get away.” His voice shook with his own fear. He had to be strong. Had to be brave.
She held on tight to his hands and shook her head. “No. If we die, we’ll die together.”
6
Howard Johnson Inn, 11:50 p.m.
The hot water relaxed her muscles and seeped deep into her bones. Jess exhaled a chestful of tension and eased lower into the water. It might not be a jetted tub or even one with bubbles, but filled with hot, steamy water this old motel tub did the trick. And as long as she kept her eyes closed she could imagine that she was surrounded by sleek travertine and glistening fixtures. The fragrance of vanilla bean drifted from the candle she’d picked up at Walmart and parked on the toilet tank.
Cracking one eye open she reached for the plastic cup of wine perched on the toilet lid. The sweet white pleasure was room temperature, but after three generous cups she was well on her way to not caring. The flickering flame of the candle gave the dark, cramped room a hint of ambiance.
She cleared her mind of work—especially those damned shoes Darcy Chandler should have been wearing as she took that fatal plunge. Not her case. Finding DeShawn Simmons and analyzing the Druid Hills gang problem was the only case on her agenda. Captain Ted Allen from the Gang Task Force had provided an on-the-spot and comprehensive briefing into his investigation of the gang activities in Birmingham. Based on what Harper had told her, Allen had done an outstanding job, but the problem was out of control. He needed help. He needed SPU.
And DeShawn Simmons needed to be found. Allen couldn’t connect Simmons with any gang members or activities on his radar. Ordinarily that might prove fortunate, but since Jess was better than ninety percent certain his disappearance was gang related, the lack of available information was rather unfortunate. Jess told Allen as much. If he monitored this territory as thoroughly as he claimed, why wasn’t he aware of Simmons and some gang leader’s ex-girlfriend named Nina? Allen had no answer for her.
After the drive-by situation was wrapped up at the Simmons home, Jess had dropped by the ER to ensure that Harper was patched up and had a way home since she was driving his SUV—which, incredibly, had survived with less damage than if he’d driven through an unexpected hailstorm. She’d requested a security detail for the Simmons home for the next couple of days. Though she suspected the intent of the shooters had been to send a message to the cops, if the intent had been to show the cops who was boss by taking one or more out, then tonight’s shooters were scandalously bad shots. With her and Harper out in the open like that, even a half-assed shot should have been able to do better than grazing a thigh.
For Jess, the message was loud and clear. DeShawn Simmons crossed the wrong person and had paid the price. If his grandparents insisted on pursuing the matter, there would be trouble. But what those thugs needed to bear in mind was that their problem was Jess, not the grandparents.
If, as she suspected, Simmons’s disappearance was related to MS-13, that reality added a whole new layer of ugliness to the situation. MS-13, Mara Salvatrucha, represented a growing and mobile threat in most communities. They were fearless and used the most violent tactics. As recruiters they were relentless, as enemies ruthless. Their range of criminal activities was broad and varied. Drugs, murder, prostitution, robbery, you name it. There was little they wouldn’t do and violence was always the overwhelming theme. Their members were either immensely loyal or stone-cold dead.
She and Harper
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