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If she could just make it out that door…
She felt his hand brush her shoulder and wrap itself in her hair. Her bleached-blond wig shifted, but held, the pins digging mercilessly into her scalp.
Five feet. Three.
His growl, bubbling like toxic laughter in his throat was close, too close. Panic swallowed her. She hit the door with all her strength, swinging it open. Sunshine burned her eyes. She’d made it! Her heart soared. Carlos’s hand closed on her shoulder, pulling her off balance.
She tripped, falling, reeling into the white-hot sun, into safety. Strong arms roughly caught her before she hit the pavement. She looked up at her savior and stared into the reptilian eyes of Jack Paulson.
Jeff MacPhearson’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel of the church van as he turned right onto Sunset Boulevard. The knot sitting in the bottom of his stomach grew as he took in the familiar sights of the street. Six blocks down, hang a right, then a left, and he’d be back at the old parish—his first parish, the parish of his greatest accomplishments and his biggest failure.
He pushed down the anger burgeoning within him. Tracey wasn’t Dawn. This situation was completely different. He would find Tracey and bring her back home. He would not lose another child to these wicked streets, and yet, here he was, back in the place he’d fought so hard to get out of. Back on the dirty streets he’d struggled night after night to push from his mind by moving to a cleaner parish, a safer city. Back on Sunset Boulevard staring his personal demon in the face.
The swish of long brown hair caught his eye. He hit the brakes, ignoring the horn blaring behind him and stared at a familiar-looking brunette in a ridiculously tight miniskirt. She turned at the commotion and gave him a beckoning smile. He blew out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t Tracey, though she wasn’t much older than Tracey and he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, for all the girls that ended up on the strip.
He drove another block, then two, scanning the sidewalks on either side, searching every face, every lithe form for the missing thirteen-year-old. “Please, Lord, please help me find her,” he prayed, and then he spotted her, standing at the mouth of an alley, talking to a man who looked slimier than a used-car salesman at a clearance sale. Jeff did a double take. Jack Paulson! The old goat wrapped a meaty arm around her slim waist and led her toward the entrance of a two-story apartment building. Jeff stiffened his grip on the wheel, gathering the strength to stop himself from steering the van toward them and running the cretin down. The man deserved that and so much more.
“Keep your filthy hands off her,” he hollered at the windshield, while desperately searching for a parking place. Careful not to lose sight of her, he pulled into a parking lot a quarter-mile down the street, jumped out of the van and ran toward them.
He could see the man’s hand cupping Tracey’s little elbow, could see his white teeth gleaming as he smiled down at her. Jeff pushed harder, fighting back the urge to call her name, to stop her from entering that building.
He couldn’t imagine what had happened to make her choose the ungodly boulevard over her family home, but whatever it had been he could fix it. And whatever it was, he’d make it right this time. He had to, or what was the point? God hadn’t chosen him to work with kids just to play volleyball. He was here to make a difference, to reach these kids, to show them the way to God’s love and a healthy life.
One more block to go.
The building’s door swung open and a platinum blonde in form-fitting purple spandex flew out the door and fell directly into the man with Tracey. Tracey jumped back.
“Blondie!” Jack yelled as the woman slipped through his grasp and headed toward Jeff. Jack followed, leaving Tracey alone and giving Jeff the chance he’d been praying for. He lifted a hand and waved. Tracey’s eyes widened as she saw him, her gaze locking on his. Come on, Tracey. Let me help you, he pleaded silently.
Something slammed into him, knocking him flat to the ground. The concrete packed a wallop to the back of his head. Bright stars of pain danced before his eyes and he couldn’t find his breath.
The stars receded yet still he couldn’t see. Something dry and sticky filled his mouth; something soft and curvy filled his hand. He jerked his hand off the silky spandex and spat out a mouthful of fake hair. “Get off me, please,” he groaned and at the same moment inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla and cream. He was breathing again and the woman smelled wonderful, not exactly what he’d expect from someone with her questionable taste in clothing.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, and quickly righted her skewed wig. Curly wisps of red hair hung down from her temples mixing with the acrylic platinum waves. As she shifted, he felt a tug in his back pocket before her hipbone ground into his stomach. He groaned again.
“Thank the Lord above,” he muttered, as she finally rose off him.
“Come on, Blondie,” a deep voice said. “We have some business upstairs.”
Jack yanked her to his side. “Sorry, Jack,” she said with a saucy smile. “But I can’t. I’ve already got an appointment and it ain’t with you.”
“It is now.” He pulled her arm up behind her back. She winced and leaned forward, but didn’t make a sound.
“Hey,” Jeff protested, and started to rise, then fell back, shaking the momentary dizziness from his head.
“Jeff, are you all right?” Tracey kneeled next to him, her big, brown still-innocent eyes full of concern.
“You know this guy, Tracey?” Jack asked.
She turned to him, biting her lower lip. “Um, yes, sir. He’s the pastor at my church.”
Brushing off the pain, Jeff rose to his feet and dropped a protective hand on Tracey’s shoulder.
“Church, heh?” Jack chuckled, though his eyes gleamed with menace as they took in Jeff’s gesture.
She nodded. “Uh-huh, in Pasadena.”
“You’re a little out of your neighborhood, aren’t you, Padre?”
“Just here to pick up my girl,” Jeff said, and turned away from him and made strong eye contact with Tracey. She had a hard time holding his gaze, but his didn’t waver. “We’re going backpacking, remember? Everyone is waiting for you.”
“You wouldn’t believe what I caught Blondie doin’ this time, boss.” Another man, huge and brooding, grabbed the woman’s arm.
“Take her upstairs and see that she doesn’t get away,” Jack growled.
The woman’s green eyes met Jeff’s, surprising him with their fiery determination. This was a woman who could take care of herself. And yet… “Do you need help, miss? I’d be happy to give you a lift anywhere you want to go. Anywhere,” he emphasized.
The brute holding her burst out laughing.
“She can’t make it and neither can Tracey.” Jack took a step toward them, his face set in stone. Jeff gave Tracey’s shoulder a protective squeeze. “I believe that decision is up to the ladies.”
“Not anymore. I’m taking care of Tracey now and I can do it a whole lot better than the rest of you hypocrites.”
Fury swelled in Jeff’s chest. This animal preyed on lost women and children and he wouldn’t get his filthy paws on one of his kids. He’d die first. He took Tracey’s small shoulders in his hands and faced her, blocking Jack from her view. “Give me a chance, Tracey. Please. I’ll make everything all right at home. I promise.” His gut wrenched as fear and confusion flashed though her eyes. Please, God, let me have the chance to make it right this time. Don’t let me lose another child.
“Come on, Jack. Let the kid go,” the woman interrupted. “I thought you said we’ve got business.”
Jack sneered at her. “Like you’re worth it, Blondie.”
With lightning speed, she pivoted and brought up her knee—hard. The brute holding her doubled over, releasing his grasp. She jerked free, spun one hundred and eighty degrees, and kicked Jack’s granite face in rapid succession. Jeff almost cheered aloud.
Tracey groaned.
Blondie turned and to his astonishment gave them both a shove. “Run!” she urged.
Jeff didn’t waste a second. He grabbed Tracey by the hand and hauled her down the street toward the van. Within minutes they were locked inside and he was pulling onto the boulevard. He expected the woman in spandex would have disappeared, but there she was holding her own with Jack’s man. One lithe leg kicked high, knocking the brute in the chin.
“She’s amazing,” he said, awestruck.
“Unbelievable,” Tracey murmured. Jeff turned to his passenger tucked safe and secure in her seat belt and said a quick prayer of thanks, though he knew his job had only just begun. A squad car screeched to a stop in front of the apartment building as Jeff pulled past them. He glanced at his watch and then at Tracey. “If we hurry, we can still make it to our campsite by nightfall. Are you game?”
She looked at him, then quickly averted her gaze. He heard a soft “Sure,” and, for now, that was enough.
“Good, now call your mother. Tell her you’re sorry for worrying her half to death, then let me talk to her.”
Reluctantly, she took the phone. When she handed it back to him, he asked Mrs. Wilcox if he could still take Tracey camping with the others. “I think it will be good for her,” he added.
Luckily, she agreed.
At least for a few more days she’d be safe, and he’d have time to talk to her without distractions and reminders of what had happened here today. Perhaps then he’d find out what had gone wrong at home and he’d have his chance to put her back on the right path.
Willa scowled as the van with Morning Star Church printed across its door drove away. She succumbed to the officers on patrol as they read her her rights, then let them cuff her and throw her into the back of the squad car. Another car appeared to take Jack Paulson and Carlos downtown.
“Thanks, guys,” she muttered as they pulled into traffic. She stretched her aching shoulders and tried to ignore the pinch of the cuffs on her wrists. “You could have been a little gentler, though.”
“Hey, we wouldn’t want to blow your cover, Blondie,” Rick snickered behind the wheel. “The way you were moving them heels—whooeee, speed lightning.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to face you in a dark alley,” his partner, Cliff added.
“Honey, if you don’t loosen these cuffs, you’re not gonna want to face me anywhere.”
“Whoa, retract those claws.” Rick laughed. “Believe me, those cuffs are the least of your problems.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“Captain’s waiting for you at headquarters and he’s not too hunky dory. Says he wants you in his office looking very contrite within twenty minutes and if I were you, I’d lose the wig.”
Willa cringed. She’d directly disobeyed an order from her captain. She’d be facing desk duty for sure now. “Hey, guys. Do me a favor and say I split. You can drop me on the corner.”
They both burst out laughing. She knew what they thought of her. Obsessed and cracked up were just a few of the terms she’d heard whispered around the department. It didn’t matter. She’d show them.
Jack Paulson should have been put behind bars a long time ago for killing her father. He hadn’t been. Now it was up to her to see that he was. And, this time, she finally had the evidence to put him away. Unfortunately, it was tucked in the back pocket of that cute pastor’s jeans. She took a deep breath. As soon as she got it back, she’d have Jack right where she wanted him.
But first she had to deal with Ben. And Captain Ben Armstrong was not pleasant to be around when he’d been crossed.
Chapter Two
At her locker, Willa quickly changed out of her hooker outfit, dragged on a pair of jeans and a LAPD T-shirt, wiped her face clean with one of those instant makeup removers, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She jogged on canvas shoes that didn’t make a sound to the captain’s office and silently slipped into a chair across from his desk.
He lowered a handful of reports and glowered at her. “Well?”
“It’s Saturday, Captain. Technically, I’m off duty.”
“Then technically, I can have you locked up for assault and disturbing the peace.”
“Yeah, I suppose you could.”
“Yeah.” The word hung suspended between them.
“But you won’t.” She cocked him an elfish grin.
His expression hardened. “I pulled you from the Paulson case. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you to go home and rest that arm. In no uncertain terms, I warned you to stop your renegade antics.”
“Yes, sir, you did.”
Captain Ben Armstrong leaned forward in his chair and scrutinized her. It was a hard look, and one she still hadn’t grown accustomed to no matter how many times he’d directed it her way. She shifted and bit her lower lip, swallowing the defensiveness rising in her chest.
His tone softened. “I want to help you, Willa. Really I do. I know what getting this guy means to you, and I think you know what it would mean to me, but your obsession is impacting my department.”
A spring tightened in Willa’s back. “Obsession?”
“Do you deny it? How many times have you gone back to that apartment alone without even bothering to check in? And word on the street has it your brother’s been there, too.”
“Johnny has as much right to Paulson’s throat as I do.” Even though he’d been older than her twelve years at the time of their father’s death, Johnny took it even harder than she did. No matter what Ben said, no matter how close he’d been to her family over the years, he would never understand what it had been like for them to suddenly lose the strongest force in their lives.
She had to give Ben credit for trying, but a surrogate dad could never replace what they’d lost. Her dad had been everything to them, the one who was home most days when they got home from school, the one who helped them with their homework, bandaged their bruises and dried their tears. How she longed to have him sit across the table from her and smile as she relayed the events of her day. Even just one more time.
“The bottom line, Captain, is that I’m doing what I have to do to get the job done.”
He took a deep breath. “There are a lot of ways to get the job done, you’ve chosen the one you’ve decided works best for you.”
“Your point?”
“You need to start doing what’s best for the department. If you want to continue working here.”
Willa’s eyes narrowed.
“There isn’t an officer in this precinct that will work with you,” he continued, treading deeper into uncharted waters. “They don’t trust you will be there for them when the chips are down.”
Like you were for my dad? Her teeth wrestled a grasp on her tongue to keep the long-unsaid words from escaping.
“You refuse to play by the rules or follow directions. We are a team here and you need to be a part of it. Out of loyalty and an obligation to your dad’s memory, I’ve given you more warnings than you’ve deserved, but now you’ve left me no choice. I’m pulling you off the street.”
“You’re what?” Incredulity rose in her voice. “I’m the best cop you’ve got.”
“You’re a loose cannon, and one of these days you’re going to get someone besides yourself hurt.”
Willa’s self-control skittered out the door. “You can’t take me off the street. I’ve got it this time. I’ve got evidence that Jack is serving up young girls—babies—as the main course at his twisted dinner parties. He’s moved onto prepubescent girls. I can’t let him do it. This has gone way beyond what he’s done to my family.”
“What kind of evidence?” he said, portraying no outward reaction to what she’d just told him. Surely, he couldn’t be that cold, that jaded.
“A videotape. I got it on one of those cameras that look like a pen.”
“One of Johnny’s gadgets, I presume. Hand it over, then go see Donna about a desk duty schedule,” he dismissed her, burying his nose back into his paperwork.
“I can’t.”
Exasperated, he looked up and let out a deep sigh.
“I don’t have it.”
“You’ve just rambled on about evidence you don’t have? Why are you wasting my time, Willa?”
“I had it. And I’ll have it back in an hour, tops!”
“Where is it?”
“I ditched it in a minister’s back pocket.”
