[5]

Steven despised money. Correction, he was okay with money. He despised what the love of money could lead some people to do. He pulled on the blue gloves and stared down at the body in the trunk of the silver Jag. The man lay on his side, facing the front of the car. His hands were bound in front of him and his feet had been zip-tied together as well.

Steven guessed the poor guy had been dead for only a few hours at most since the pool of blood beneath his head was still wet. He shone his flashlight into the area and grimaced, doing his best to ignore the stench. He also guessed the bullet hole that had entered the back of the man’s head and taken off the front of his face was the cause of death, but the ME would tell him more after the autopsy.

His partner of three days walked up to him. With gloved hands, Detective Quinn Holcombe handed Steven a square piece of paper. “First officers on the scene said they found this on the ground by the trunk. It’s the registration to the car. So far, we haven’t found a wallet.”

Steven looked at it. “Carter James. Lives on Edens Point Road.” He blinked. “Whoa.”

“What?” Quinn asked.

“I know that street.”

“I do too. It’s on Lake Murray. Lots of money out there.”

“Yeah,” Steven murmured. “Tell me about it.”

Quinn raised a brow. “Something you need to share?”

“No.” Not right now anyway. Steven rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist. He turned to the nearest uniformed officer. “Any witnesses?”

The woman shook her head. “None that have come forward.”

“Of course not.”

She went back to talking to the man he assumed was her partner.

“What do you suppose Mr. James was doing around here?” Quinn asked. “Kind of out of his comfort zone, isn’t he?”

Steven looked around. “Assuming it’s Mr. James. Being on this part of Two Notch Road in Columbia, he was either looking for drugs or a prostitute.”

Quinn’s eyebrow rose. “How do you know Columbia so well? Thought you just moved here last week.”

“I grew up in this city. I left shortly after graduation to head to Chicago so I could be a big-shot detective.” He shot Quinn a wry sideways smile. “I’d heard Chicago was crime laden. I thought I could make a difference.” And he was running away from memories, but no need to get into all that yet.

“There are a lot of crime-laden areas.”

Steven’s eyes touched on the buildings and the surrounding area. “That’s for sure.” He paused as his gaze landed on an unfamiliar landmark. “I don’t remember that.” He nodded to the building down and across the street on the corner. “Thought that was Pinehurst Park. What’s that building back there? It looks new and seriously out of place.” A metal roof jutted above the tree line one street over. A tall chain-link metal fence surrounded an outdoor basketball court.

“That’s the Right Turn Teen Center. The park is still there, but Haley bought several acres next to it to put her center on.”

“Haley?”

“A friend. You’ll meet her.” He moved and shone his flashlight into the trunk, then swept it around to the side of the vehicle. “So did you make a difference?”

Steven opened the door to the Jag. “In some ways, I suppose.” The numbness he’d obtained while in Chicago had disappeared the moment he’d walked into his parents’ house. Just like it always did when he came for a visit. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to get it back, but he was surprised that he was keeping his emotions under control. At least as far as his brother was concerned. Seeing his father weakening brought about a whole new level of grief.

He aimed the flashlight at the driver’s seat, the driver’s window, the steering wheel. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“What made you transfer to small-town Columbia?”

Steven paused, pain grabbing his heart. He cleared his throat. “Not so small. My dad was diagnosed with cancer six months ago. He’s not doing well and Mom said it was time for me to come home.” Steven kept his voice even, refused to give in to the urge to deny it was happening. “When the opening came available in your department and I was offered it, I took it.”

“Aw, man, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” He shoved the personal thoughts aside and focused back on the scene. “Wonder why they didn’t steal his car?” He looked at the dash, the front seat, the floorboards. “Clean as a whistle, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Check for the keys.”

Steven raised a brow and checked the ignition. “Nothing in here.” Quinn pursed his lips and Steven scanned the rest of the car. “Nada. Did anyone find them?”

“Not if this is going the way I think it’s going. But let me ask.” Quinn walked over to the officers and Steven could hear him asking about the keys. His parents lived on the same street as Mr. James.

Steven hadn’t grown up in the house his parents now lived in, and when he’d visited since moving to Chicago, he hadn’t paid much attention to the neighbors other than to make sure there wasn’t anyone suspicious loitering in the neighborhood. His mother had kept him updated when neighbors moved out and who moved in, but truly he had only half listened to that part of their conversations sometimes. He grimaced and felt ashamed of that fact for a brief moment.

He glanced at the poor man lying in the trunk and figured his mother probably knew him and, if he was married, his wife. Steven opened the glove compartment and pulled out the contents. Automobile guide, gas receipts, insurance card, valet key.

When Quinn returned, he shook his head. “No keys. This is just like the others. Kill the guy, dump him in the trunk, take the keys, and rob the house. And they don’t care who’s home. They’ve killed anyone who might stand in their way. Only homeowners not home at the time of the break-in, animals, and small children who can’t identify them have escaped their wrath.”

“How many deaths does this make?”

“Five in the last four months,” Quinn said and rubbed his head. “The cases are on your desk to review. I was having them copied for you, so they didn’t land there until this morning.” He held up his phone. “I’ve got to get someone out to that address.” Quinn dialed the number and ordered officers to the man’s house, explaining that anyone at home could possibly be in danger. He hung up. “I pray we were fast enough this time.”

“Yeah, me too.” Steven thought about his parents. “I’ve got a phone call of my own to make. Excuse me a minute.” He didn’t wait for Quinn to respond, just stepped away, pulled his phone from the clip on his belt, and dialed his mother’s cell number.

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

“Oh Steven, I’m glad you called. I was wondering when you’d be home.”

“Might not be for a couple more hours. I’m working a case.”

“Of course.” Her voice held compassion. “Anyone I need to pray for?”

Steven drew in a deep breath. He should have known that would be the first thing she’d do. “Yes, you can pray, but I also need you to lock your doors and turn the alarm system on, okay?”

“What?” He started to repeat himself, but she interrupted him. “Never mind, I heard you.” He heard the chirping of the alarm and then the dead bolt click into place. “Now what’s going on?”

Bless her. Nothing much ruffled her, thanks to her law enforcement background. “Just stay inside.”

“Does this have anything to do with the two police cruisers I just saw go past our house?”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you know Carter James?”

“Of course. He and his wife, Elaine, live a few houses down. She’s part of my Thursday morning Bible study. Why are you asking?”

“I . . .”

“Steven, spill it, son. Is he hurt?”

“He’s . . . well, it’s possible he’s dead, Mom.”

Her quiet gasp reached him through the line and he closed his eyes for a brief moment.

“I’m assuming not from natural causes, since I can see the police cars at his house and I’m on the phone with you telling me to lock up. What happened?”

“We’re not sure it’s him yet, but a body was found in his car. He was shot through the back of the head and the bullet did serious damage to the man’s face. The keys are missing, so sending the police to the house is just a precaution.”

She went silent for a brief moment and he knew she was thinking. “Is this like the other deaths that have happened over the last several months?” she finally said.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Just like them. Don’t say anything to Dad unless he asks, okay?” His first instinct was to protect his mother, but when he called and warned her to keep the house locked and alarmed, he knew he’d have to be straight with her. She would find out eventually anyway, and she’d obviously seen the news detailing the rash of robberies and murders. She was a strong woman, she could handle the truth.

“I’ll be praying.”

“I know you will.” He paused. “Love you, Mom.”

“You too, son.” She paused. “I’m glad you’re home, hon.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m glad I’m here too.”

He hung up, guilt eating at him. He needed to be a better son. Steven walked back to Quinn, who’d backed away from the body to let the medical examiner through.

“Robberies and murder,” Steven said. “Could be a serial killer. Could just be someone who doesn’t give a rat’s behind about human life.”

“That’s the speculation. We’re treating it as a serial killer. He has a signature.”

“What’s that?”

“At the homes he robs, he leaves behind a thank-you note.”

“Sick son of a gun, isn’t he?”

“We haven’t released that bit to the media, so keep it under your hat.”

“Sure. Have you brought in the FBI or SLED yet?”

“No, but I think the captain is ready to request their help.” Quinn sighed. “We’ve been working this case day and night, pulling shifts and chasing leads. We can’t find a good connection between the first four victims other than they’re all rich guys who drive nice cars and live in expensive houses. There was alcohol in two of their systems, but not above the legal limit. One had cocaine in him and a history of drug abuse. If there’s a connection other than being rich, we haven’t come across it yet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The one thing that’s got us stumped is this guy leaves a very expensive vehicle that’s probably worth equal to what he steals from the houses. The only thing we can come up with is that he just doesn’t have a way to hide or move the vehicle.”

“Yeah. Hard to do either unless you’re set up for it.” Steven rubbed his chin, his mind spinning. “And all of the houses were entered?”

“Yep. It’s usually a done deal by the time we find the body, but this guy hasn’t been dead long. The blood is still wet.” His lips thinned. “We may have caught our first break in this.” His eyes roamed the area again. “This isn’t a well-traveled road. He could have been out here a long time with no one finding him.”

Steven pursed his lips. “Well, whatever Mr. James went looking for, he definitely found trouble.”

“Amen to that.”

Haley didn’t think Zeke would ever stop walking. She almost questioned if he was leading her on a wild-goose chase but kept her mouth shut and decided to see how this would play out. She continued to follow him until he finally turned off Two Notch Road onto School House Road. Not exactly the best part of Columbia. Someone was arrested in the area at least once a day. But it was an area she was intimately familiar with.

The teen center was just up the street. “You ever go to the Right Turn Teen Center?” She didn’t remember him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t go. She was there mostly on the weekends, but the center was open after school too.

He shook his head. “No time for that. I go to school, work when I can pick up a job, and take care of Mom and Micah.”

The kid needed some fun in his life. Something to keep him from thinking about mugging people—something to keep his mind off his worry for his little brother. “You should give it a try.”

“What for?”

“Because it’s fun? A way to meet new people? A way to stay out of trouble?” He shot her a dark look and she held up a hand. “I know. I was your first mugging.”

“First attempted mugging,” he muttered.

“Right. Sorry.” Not. “Anyway, there are people there who you could turn to for help when you need it.”

They walked in silence for another few minutes. “Any pretty girls go there?” he asked.

“A few.”

“Might have to stop by then.”

She gave a short huff of laughter. “Yes, you should do that.” If the thought of pretty girls would get him there, then so be it. She could work with that.

He led her to an overgrown yard with a partial concrete driveway that had seen better days. The small blue house with chipping paint sat a few yards back at the top of the drive. To the side of the house, a rusty Ford pickup truck from the ’80s looked old and tired. She wondered if that was the family vehicle. The rusted fence surrounding the property looked like it might fall down at any given moment, taking the well-used basketball goal with it.

Zeke went to the front door and twisted the knob. He gave a low curse, then glanced back at her. “I locked it when I left.”

He stepped inside and Haley placed a hand on her weapon, ready to pull it if necessary.

“Micah? Mom?”

“Back here, Zeke,” a woman’s voice called out.

Zeke strode through the small living area that contained a ratty couch, a recliner with a rip on the left arm, and a small TV straight from the 1960s. Three medical textbooks sat on the coffee table next to an old computer that had seen better days. The computer still worked, though, and a website for a nursing school was open. “Who’s studying nursing? Your mom?”

Zeke stopped. “Yeah. She’s trying to, anyway. It’s hard for her to keep up, with Micah being so sick and all, but she’s determined.”

Haley followed Zeke into the hall and into the nearest bedroom. A young boy who had to be Micah lay in a bed near the window. Her heart clenched as she took in the scene. He had an oxygen tube in his nose and an IV hooked to his left arm. A heart monitor blipped off to the side.

“Mama, why was the door unlocked?” Zeke asked.

“Your father came by.”

“He’s not my father.”

“The closest one you got.”

“Better off without one then. Mama, you know Richie’s only using you. A blind person could see it. When you gonna wise up?”

Haley had a feeling it was an old argument. Was the father she mentioned the one who had beaten the teen? The woman sitting next to the boy on the bed set the book she’d been reading aside and drew in a deep breath. “He takes care of me, Zeke. Takes care of us. He loves us and I need him to—” She looked up and finally noticed Haley. She blanched. “Who are you?”

“She paid for Micah’s medicine.” Zeke tossed the bag onto the bed. “Something Richie ain’t never done, so don’t try to tell me how that dude loves us.”

“I’m Haley.” Haley stepped a little closer. She guessed the woman to be in her midthirties with a young face and weary eyes. Haley moved her gaze to Micah. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked softly.

“He needs a heart transplant,” Zeke said. “He’s on the waiting list.”

“Been on it,” Micah rasped. “I’ll get one soon, though, I will.” He breathed deep and closed his eyes.

Zeke blinked and Haley caught the sheen of tears in his eyes. He moved next to the bed and ruffled his younger brother’s dark hair. “’Course you will, buddy.”

“Why’d you pay for it?” the woman asked.

Haley lifted a brow. “Because Zeke didn’t have the money.”

Zeke’s mother looked at her son. “You said you did.”

“I lied.” He didn’t sound very repentant about it.

“But then how were you going to get the medicine?”

Zeke shifted and his hard-nosed attitude dissolved. He shot a desperate look at Haley and she bit her lip on the words she’d been about to say.

At her son’s silence, the woman’s thin shoulders slumped, her defeat like a heavy mantle around her. She looked at Haley. “I don’t have the money to repay you.”

“I know,” Haley said. “Don’t worry about it.” Micah didn’t look like he had a lot of time left before he would die, and Haley’s heart went out to them. She didn’t agree with Zeke’s actions but could understand them. Even more so now that she’d seen the little family. She looked at Zeke’s mother, who resembled her oldest son. “Why isn’t he in a hospital?”

“’Cuz hospitals cost money.” She shrugged. “They said he would be okay for a while here at home. There’s a nurse who comes by every other day to check on him.”

Haley frowned. “What’s your name?”

“Belinda.” Small and thin in stature, she lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “And I don’t accept charity.”

“It’s not charity. Zeke’s going to be doing some work for me.”

Zeke blinked. “I am?”

“He is?” his mother said.

“What am I going to be doing?” Zeke finally sputtered.

“Working off your debt. You play basketball?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have a job for you.”

“I already got a job. Sort of. I cut grass.”

“Then we’ll work around your schedule, which sounds pretty flexible.”

He opened his mouth to respond.

The sound of rapid gunfire and breaking glass interrupted him. Zeke dove to cover his little brother. Belinda threw herself over both of her sons, and Haley palmed her weapon even while she raced for the front door. “Call 911,” she yelled over her shoulder. She hoped one of them had a phone.

The bullets hadn’t come close to the bedroom where they’d all been gathered, but they’d done some serious damage in the living area. The couch was shredded.

She stepped up beside the front door and held her gun ready. Then pushed the door open and peered out into the darkness. A sedan sat on the curb under the streetlight directly across from the front door of Zeke’s home. Haley noted the make and color of the car. A noise behind her sent her to her knees. She pivoted and raised the weapon.

Zeke’s hands flew into the air. “Whoa, it’s just me.”

“Get down! You want to get shot?”

He dropped to the floor. Squealing tires on asphalt jerked her back to the vehicle. As another round of bullets pelted the house, Haley slammed the door shut with her foot and rolled up against the inside wall.

“Zeke? You okay?”

“Yes!”

“Stay down.”

“Don’t worry. I’m staying down.”

“Did you call 911?”

“That’s what I came to tell you. The phone’s in the kitchen.”

Haley pulled her phone from the clip on her belt and dialed 911.