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Then Piper went and talked about her good life—a life without him—and Luke wanted nothing more than to bolt.
Before he’d left the precinct, he’d received some information on Boone Wiley, sending Luke’s mind and heart into a game of tug-of-war, flustering him. His heart said Piper was innocent and would never do anything that might put Mama Jean in danger, while his mind continued to replay the night he’d shown up at Ellen Strosbergen’s house ten years ago.
Luke and his old partner, Kerr Robbins, had been staking out that bogus address Piper had given them. In the end, she’d been loyal to a criminal, and Luke had carried the guilt from the events that escalated that night. He still struggled with how it ended. How Piper flushed what they had down the toilet.
Maybe he should have never got in too deep with her in the first place. But the moment he’d walked—undercover—into that smoke-infested low-life pool hall on Beale Street, she’d captured him. Not with her beauty, though she was beautiful, but with her downcast expression. As if the world had chewed her up and spit her out, leaving her alone and hopeless. As if she needed fixing.
Turned out to be her eighteenth birthday. And where had she been? Alone, sitting at a booth.
Luke pawed his face and rested his head on the seat, forcing the memories down. He tried Harmony’s number and got voice mail again. So what now? His phone rang. Not Harmony.
Eric.
“Hey, bro.”
“I talked to one of my CIs downtown. Says he knows Baxter but he hasn’t been down for a fix in a long time. Hung out at Riff’s. Easy place to score. But he found Jesus at that shelter off Front Street. So it’s looking like our vic is clean. Not saying he didn’t have some money stashed away, but I think we need to turn direction and roll down Piper Kennedy’s street.”
Luke had a contact at Riff’s, too. The very place he’d met Piper.
“I put in a call to Baroni’s brother. Haven’t heard from him.”
The coroner had confirmed the blunt force trauma to the back of his head had probably knocked him for a loop, but it was the swift crack of the neck that had done him in. Not from a fall but a perfectly executed break.
Luke had asked if it were possible for a woman about five foot three to have done that to a man six feet tall. Unfortunately, the coroner let him know if the man had dropped to his knees from the blow, it would have been easy.
Another nail in Piper’s coffin, but the theory wasn’t enough to arrest her. And quite frankly, he couldn’t make himself believe it.
“Luke, you hear me?”
“What? No. Sorry.”
Eric sighed. “You need to get focused, man. I said no prints on the tire iron. I was hoping there would be, not that I want the Kennedy woman to be guilty, but since her prints are on file...”
No, this wasn’t going to be a slam dunk.
“I’ll meet you back at the precinct, and let’s see if we can dig anything else up on Boone Wiley. Maybe we can directly connect him to one of the old crew members. And let’s turn over a few rocks, see if any of Christopher Baxter’s friends are lurking underneath.”
Luke bought two coffees and met Eric at the precinct. Luke handed Eric his caffeine jolt and collapsed into his office chair.
“I need more information about that night back when you worked theft, man.”
Luke tapped a pen on his desk calendar. “At the time, we suspected Chaz Michaels was running a crew who burglarized the elderly in wealthy neighborhoods. In and out. No injuries. No fatalities. I’d just come on board the Crimes Against Property Bureau. A little younger than Chaz and his crew but a prime candidate for the undercover work. Get in, snoop around, see if I could get close to them.”
Eric raised an eyebrow and paused middrink. “Piper Kennedy was your in.”
Luke nodded. It hadn’t started out that way, though. He’d simply taken a seat in the booth with her. Had no idea she even knew Chaz. Never dreamed she’d been in a romantic relationship with him. But the door was open. And he went through it.
“Do we know where this Chaz Michaels is?” Eric set his cup on the desk, pulled a Twizzler from his coat pocket and went to work on his computer.
“I’ve already searched the system. It’s like he vanished after Ellen Strosbergen was brutally beaten. They arrested Sylvester ‘Sly’ Watson and he’s doing time at Riverbend.”
Eric played drums with his fingers on his desk. “Did he beat the woman?”
“Prints on the tire iron says he did. He never ratted out a single other person.”
Eric gave a side nod. “That’s devotion. Gang-like.”
“They were, in a sense.” Luke opened a drawer and found a roll of antacids.
“And Harmony Fells was wrapped up in this group?”
Luke nodded.
“She’s squeaky-clean now. A few stains on her juvie record.” Eric finished his coffee and shot the cup into the can a couple of feet away. “Score!”
“Couldn’t place her, Tyson Baroni or Chaz Michaels at the scene that night.” But he could place Piper. She’d been two blocks from the Strosbergen home, running like Carl Lewis in the hundred-meter sprint.
“I know you and she had a thing—”
“It won’t affect my job.” He’d make sure of it. Never. Again.
“I was going to say that even though you had a thing with her, we ought to take a little look-see into her Jackson life. See if she’s as innocent as she says.” He stood and clutched his jacket. “Get some rest tonight.”
“You got a date?”
Eric wiggled his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“It’s why I asked.” Luke chuckled. “And you answered my question. You don’t.”
“When I can find a woman who won’t freak every time I holster a gun to my shoulder, I’ll be set. Call if something pops.”
Hopefully, when something did, Piper’s name wouldn’t be anywhere near it. The churning in his gut said otherwise.
* * *
Beale Street hadn’t changed much in a decade. Neon lights lit up the murky sky. Ashy clouds slithered around the full moon. Not a star in sight. Piper flipped the collar of her black canvas jacket around her ears. The wind was colder and stronger coming off the Mississippi River. Shards of glass and trash littered the sidewalks. Horses clip-clopped down the street eagerly waiting for couples who wanted a romantic ride in lit-up carriages. Quite the contradiction.
Blues music drifted from clubs, restaurants and bars. Saturday night. Throngs of people packed into the buildings. Riff’s turned a blind eye and welcomed anyone who at least looked sixteen, mostly riffraff. Piper had been coming and going since she was fifteen.
The neon pink sign blared over the aged brick building. Two large windows revealed patrons enveloped in cigarette smoke and pale lighting. She stood out front, inhaling the tangy scent of BBQ and char-grilled burgers. Liquor permeated Beale Street on Friday and Saturday nights. Wasn’t even May yet. Memphis in May would draw huge crowds.
She could stand here with a million regrets or go in and try to dig up some information on Christopher Baxter.
A chill swept up her spine. That being-watched feeling coated her skin. No time to second-guess the idea. It was now or never.
FOUR (#ulink_55a5266f-84b0-5825-a906-516d1f61eaa4)
Piper marched through the doors, cigarette smoke burning her nostrils. The smell of pungent sweat, stale beer and peanuts sent a wave of nausea through her. How could she have ever called this her stomping ground? A few leering eyes roamed her, but she maneuvered through the mob. Pool balls clacked together. Laughter and the thump of bass mixed with a tenor voice crooning an old Bonnie Raitt song.
Everyone seemed young. Not that Piper was old, but she’d aged before her time in many ways. Made a lot of shoddy decisions, thinking she was all grown-up. She ached to go back to age ten, when Mama Jean had sent her to church camp and she had walked to the altar to ask Jesus into her life. On the following Friday evening, Mama Jean had come and watched her be baptized. That moment had felt like warmth cocooning her. A safe place. She hadn’t wanted to come up out of the water.
What happened in those next years? How had she fallen so hard so fast? Mama Jean would say, “Dear one, you spend more time with those friends than the friend that sticks closer than a brother.” Piper didn’t understand exactly what she meant, other than she was talking about Jesus. Mama Jean always talked about Jesus.
She slipped her coat off and hitched herself up onto a high-top chair. A greasy menu was laid out for her to skim. Her stomach protested the thought of food. Behind the bar, cooks in white shirts and hats slung hash.
An eruption of laughter and applause exploded near the pool-hall section. Piper checked out the crowd. No one she recognized. Did she expect anyone to still linger here?
“Well, look who else the cat dragged in.”
Piper turned her head and smiled. “Jazz.” The big burly guy, skin the color of espresso beans, now in his fifties, wrapped her in a bear hug. His physical strength overpowered her as much as the scent of grease and onions. “How ya been?”
“Holding my own, Pipes.” Jazz had managed this place for as long as Piper could remember. A fairly decent guy—never tried to take advantage of her. “What brings you back here?”
“You wouldn’t know a guy named Christopher Baxter, would you?” Hope and a prayer—that God probably wouldn’t hear—floated from her mind. Something Jazz had said a minute ago hit her. “Wait, what do you mean ‘who else’? You said ‘look who else the cat dragged in.’” Piper’s hands turned clammy. “Who else is here?”
“Your boy from way back. Came in about five minutes ago.”
Chaz? Piper might pass out. “Which boy?”
“Luke.”
He must have a lead. “He say anything?”
Jazz shrugged. “Just came in, shook my hand like old times.”
Luke had been undercover once. Was he trying to stay that way?
“So Christopher Baxter. You know him? Who he ran with?”
Jazz clucked. “That fat cat, Derone, and him were tight till Baxter found the Lord over on Riverside. They call Derone ‘Wheels’ ’cause that tricked-out Caddy he be drivin’.”
“Is Derone here?”
“Was fifteen minutes ago.”
Now for one more question. “Have you seen Chaz around?”
“Not in years. Saw Tyson a few times, but he didn’t go in the back. Not after Sly went to prison.” Jazz removed his toothpick and pecked Piper on the cheek. “Don’t go gettin’ in any mess.”
“Me?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He gave her a knowing look and strutted behind the counter. Piper snagged her coat and pushed through couples dancing, playing pool and darts, past the bathrooms that flanked the narrow hallway to double doors leading to the real action. Anyone jonesing for trouble gravitated back here. Cops showed up, easy exit. The dull metal door opened to an alley that connected with an Italian restaurant.
Piper opened the door to a massive room, sectioned off by wooden half walls with cedar beams towering to the ceiling. Smoky. Crimson shades hung over dim lights above red vinyl booths that lined the walls. Several games of pool and darts were going on. Black-topped tables with matching scuffed chairs splotched the right side area.
No sign of Luke yet.
“You look lost.” An athletic-built man with shaggy black hair and intense blue eyes sidled up to her. “Are you?” His voice was warm-paraffin kind of smooth, and in the old days Piper would have already swooned. And been sorely burned. This guy was wildfire.
“I’m looking for Derone.”
“You his girl? Because I’m not seein’ it.” He flashed a grin. Definitely not a meth head with those Colgate-white chops. Dimples creased his scruffy cheeks.
“I need to find him.” She scanned the crowd around the pool tables.
“If I tell you where he is, will you have a drink with me?” His spicy cologne was enticing.
“I don’t drink.”
“Not even water?” He chuckled. “Tell you what. I produce Derone, and you have a drink of water with me. Just water.”
Never gonna happen. Nobody back here was up to anything honorable. No matter how incredible they smelled or appeared. “I’m not thirsty.”
He gave a quick nod. “I can live with that answer. My name’s Holt. Holt Renard. I’d remember if I saw you before. First time here?”
Piper peered over his shoulder. “Which one’s Derone?”
He sighed and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Last booth on the right. Nice girl like you don’t need to be tangling with Wheels.”
Piper pitched a lukewarm shrug. “I’m not known around here as a nice girl.” And shame painted her skin red.
She charged toward the booth. A beast of a man with a tattooed bald head swung around the corner with a pool stick in hand and a leering eye.
“You looking for a good time?” he rasped.
Would this never end? Piper glared up at him. “If a good time is named Derone.”
“Derone.” He laughed. “Derone can’t show you a good time. But I can.”
Losing her patience wasn’t smart. But the ape loomed over her, and getting in her personal space was a mistake. “You need to seriously consider stepping aside.”
“Feisty, aren’t ya. I like it.”
He had no idea just how feisty Piper could be.
“And if I don’t?”
Piper didn’t encourage fighting, especially picking one, but she had a mission, and the longer this goon messed with her, the chances of finding Derone slipped away. “I don’t have time for this. Move.”
She started to step around him, but he clasped her shoulder, digging his fingers into her flesh.
Mistake.
Piper laid an elbow into the giant’s sternum with a quick jab. He fought for a lungful of air, but she’d knocked the breath out of him, sending him into a panicked state. Taking the small open window of opportunity, she grabbed his hand, twisted around, faced him and landed a double-front kick to his rib cage, toppling him over the pool table.
“You said you liked feisty.” Piper ignored the stares, hoots and applause and targeted on the last booth to the right. Where was Luke? Had he already found who he was searching for? Had it been a bust?
“Was that necessary?” Luke appeared from a crowd near the darts area, a twinkle in his eye. He led them to a quieter corner away from the humiliated man seething over getting beat up by a woman and where they could have a more private conversation.
