She had not even used the card for stuff they needed. Instead, she had gone on a shopping spree that included designer shoes, handbags, and dresses. She’d left such an obvious trail that even the dumbest cop could have found her. She had been taken away in handcuffs five days after she’d purchased $8,000 worth of useless shit.
Only sixteen, he had been so damn scared. Sonny knew she was going to do serious jail time when he arrived at the San Diego Central Jail. As he waded through the people, he tried to crush down the waves of panic crashing over him. When he saw her in the booth waiting to talk to him, he nearly cried.
“How did this happen?” His voice was a ragged whisper.
“Sorry, baby,” she said.
“Sorry!” he said.
She frowned, doing her best imitation of contrition. “I didn’t think about you. I know that. Did you talk to the bail bondsman?”
“The judge found out about your priors. There are also outstanding arrest warrants out for you.”
“I’ll beat this.”
“You didn’t get bail,” he said. “The cops mean business this time. No slap on the wrist.”
“That’s okay. I’ll get out. All you have to do is keep that key safe. And when I’m free, we’ll get the cash I put aside and go on a real vacation. You can even pick where we go.”
“Did you do this on purpose?” he demanded.
“Why would I want to be here?”
“You said yourself you were tired of bartending and going legit.”
“I was doing that for you, so you could go to school.”
He sat back, staring at her, wishing he could hug her even as he wanted to curse her out. “This is your way to check out of my life, isn’t it?”
“That’s not true.”
The buzz of conversation in the visiting room was drowned out by his pulse thrumming in his temple. His vision narrowed and his palms sweat. Fuck. She was doing her version of leaving him on the side of the road.
It had been a long time since he had felt that raw kind of fear. And shame on him, it was not the last time Bonnie would sweep into his life and make a fool out of him.
Fuck her.
She would not use him again. He would use her and all the others like her. He deserved to be fucking loved.
He inched back from the fence, feeling as if the noose were tightening around his neck. It was not the cops he was worried about, but Melina. She was smart, cunning like him, and no one could possibly understand him better than she. They were cut from the same cloth.
He jogged to the back fence, slipped through the gate, and carefully relocked it before getting into his car.
How many times had he sworn he would never ask Bonnie for help? How many vows had he made to never, ever trust any of her “deals”? And yet here he was, wanting what she was offering.
But this time, it would be different. He was different.
Maybe he could have his clean slate with Bonnie. He was sorry that fresh start would not include Melina. That dream had sustained him for years. But dreams had to change. Life went on.
Getting back with Bonnie and Elena was all that mattered now.
They were his future.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Friday, August 28, 1:00 a.m.
Melina’s eyes stung from fatigue when she opened the front door of her town house.
The surveillance footage from Sandra’s bar had arrived at her office shortly after nine, so she and Ramsey had ordered Chinese food and spent the evening eating stir-fried beef with mixed vegetables, shrimp fried rice, and egg rolls as they watched the footage.
After an hour, she began to recognize the regulars at Red’s. Mr. Handlebar Mustache, Mr. Urban Cowboy, and Mr. Baseball Cap, as she now called them. They always entered the establishment around ten or eleven, and all had paid extra close attention to Sandra. Melina was able to grab a clean screenshot of the first two, but Mr. Baseball Cap kept his face turned from the camera.
Both Ramsey and she studied this man. The night Jennifer Brown had last been seen in the bar, Mr. Baseball Cap had appeared briefly, and again he had been careful not to show his face.
Melina dispatched several local detectives to canvass the surrounding retail outlets to see if they had cameras. Mr. Baseball Cap might have been careful in Red’s, but sooner or later he would have to let his guard down.
For now, she was glad to be home and have a few hours of much-needed sleep. She locked the door behind her and then placed her keys and backpack on the kitchen counter.
As she laid her weapon on the counter, a tremor slithered along her spine. Instead of releasing the grip, she held on tight and turned on all the lights.
The town house was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the whoosh of the air-conditioning. She walked into the living room and noted the three magazines were as she’d left them on the coffee table. Same for the red pillows and the channel selectors. So why, then, did she feel as if something were off?
She flipped on the entryway light and, moving slowly, glanced toward the sliding glass door that fed onto a small patio. Listening, she paused and then followed the hallway toward the bedrooms.
The spare bedroom housed her two bikes and camping equipment. She opened the closet and searched it. Everything appeared in order.
She continued her methodical search into her bedroom and bathroom.
Nothing was out of place. All as she had left it.
And still she felt the very strong sensation that something was definitely not right.
She was more paranoid than the average guy, but she was not average. She was a cop, and the best cops embraced those unexplained feelings they could not shake. Better cautious than dead.
The goal was always to go home at night. And now she was home and still jumpy.
She doubled-checked the patio door one last time, and the security lights her father had installed kicked on as Wild Kitty strolled out of the bushes.
Smiling, Melina holstered her weapon and opened a can of tuna before she exited the door. She set the can on the patio table. The cat jumped up, meowing.
“I know, I’m late.” She petted the cat, taking extra time to rub between her ears. It was her favorite spot. Finally, satisfied she had been properly acknowledged, she ate.
Melina stood in the warm night air and stared up at the stars in the sky. “My best friend is a cat.”
It was not lost on her that the longest relationship she had ever had, outside her parents, was with a feline that did not even belong to her.
She closed the sliding door behind her, locked it, and wedged the security bar in place. Slowly, she released the grip on her gun, and tossing one more glance around the fully illuminated town house, she returned to the kitchen.
From the freezer she grabbed a double-stuffed-crust pizza and popped it in the oven. She never had the patience to preheat the oven, which meant she was not giving the frozen disc its culinary due.
In her bedroom, she turned on the hot water, stripped, and then stepped into the shower. The liquid heat pushed against her skin, chasing away some of the chill that had settled in her bones. As she dipped her head under the hot spray, her thoughts trailed to Ramsey. Had he collapsed into his bed, exhausted? Or was he reading one of those half dozen case files? Her money was on the files.
She tried to imagine the touch of his hands on her skin and the sensation of his body pressed against hers. Maybe when this case was over, she would ask him up for a drink or, better yet, sex. It had been a long dry spell, and good sex with an interesting man was welcome.
Her phone rang. She shut off the water and grabbed a towel and dried off her hands as she hurried to her bed. She picked up the phone on the fourth ring. She glanced at a number she did not recognize, but that was par for the course when she was running an investigation. “Agent Shepard.”
Silence settled on the line. Irritated, she shoved back a lock of thick wet hair. “Is this Sonny?”
More silence and the line went dead.
She tossed the phone on her bed. “Damn it,” she muttered as she hurried back to the tiled floor and dried off. Minutes later she was wearing sweats and a T-shirt. Wet hair coiled up, she snatched up the phone. No voicemail.
It could have been a wrong number or a robocall. She rarely got either, but it was possible. She tucked the phone in her waistband. The smell of processed pepperoni and cheese lured her into the kitchen, and after grabbing a hot mitt, she removed the pizza. She divided it into quarters and dragged two hot pieces onto a plate.
Sitting at the small dining table, she took a bite and glanced at her phone. She took several more bites until she had polished off the second slice. Good enough to fill her belly but not tasty enough for the other half.
Melina went to her computer and searched the number in a reverse phone directory. It came back as a burner. Not the kind of news she wanted.
She ran her fingers over her damp hair, heart pulsing in her neck. Whatever hope she had of sleeping tonight had evaporated. The idea of watching television or reading a book had no appeal.
“What to do?” she muttered.
In her bedroom, she changed into jeans, a button-down shirt, and boots. Her gun back on her hip, she was out the door two minutes later.
Ramsey was sitting on his hotel bed, a cold convenience store beer in hand, and watching a rerun of a sitcom that was not nearly as funny as he recalled from twenty years ago. Maybe times had changed. He sure as hell had. Either way, the dated costumes and humor were irritating.