That left one other person. She groaned inwardly at the idea of calling Frank. But she knew that if the crimes were connected, he would find the link.
“Damn you, Matrone.”
She’d just reached for the phone when it chirped twice. Expecting Frank, she snatched it up on the first ring.
“You got a pen handy?”
Kate’s heart began to pound at the sound of Jack Gamble’s voice. He rarely called. When he did, it was invariably something important. “Do you have something for me?”
“I got an address on your man. Danny Lee Perkins.”
A dozen emotions descended in a rush. Shock. Relief. Dread. And a surprising amount of fear. She hadn’t expected to be afraid.
“Kate? You there?”
“I’m here.” Putting her hand over the mouthpiece, she took a deep breath, mentally shifted gears. “What’s the address?”
“It’s 1421 Pioneer, Apartment 6, in Grand Prairie.”
She turned to her laptop, pulled up a popular mapping website, and typed the address. “He live alone?”
“As far as I can tell.”
Uneasiness swirled in her gut when she realized the cop parked in front of her house was going to be a problem. “I need you to rent a car. Something nondescript. Economy. Tie a ribbon or string to the antenna so I can identify it. Park it in the 3500 block of Beverly Drive.”
“Kate . . .”
“I need you to do this, Jack. It’s important.”
He sighed. “Give me an hour.”
She closed her eyes. “Thank you. I’ll add five hundred dollars to your final payment.”
She considered hanging up on him when he didn’t respond. She hadn’t told him what she had planned, but Jack Gamble was no dummy. He’d read between the lines. He knew. The last thing she wanted tonight was for him to try to talk her out of it.
“Kate, I ain’t never asked you about your personal business.”
“Don’t.”
“It ain’t like you and I are strangers. We been working on this for a year now.”
“You’ve been working on it for a year,” she said. “I’ve been working on it for eleven years.” It was the most she’d ever told him. The most she ever would. She didn’t want to involve him any more than she already had. If things went south, she didn’t want him getting into trouble. “The smartest thing you can do right now, Jack, is stop asking questions and forget I was ever a client.”
He sighed. “Kate, don’t do anything you’re going to be sorry for.”
“I never do,” she said and hit the End button without saying good-bye.
TWENTY-THREE
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 8:06 P.M.
Before becoming a private detective, Jack Gamble had been a police officer for twenty years. He’d spent four of those years working undercover in narcotics. Two as a tactical officer on the S.W.A.T. team. He’d been in plenty of dicey situations during those years. A couple of times he wasn’t sure he was going to live to tell about it.
But none of those situations seemed as precarious as the one he found himself in tonight.
His wheelchair creaked when he leaned back, laced his hands behind his head, and stared at the phone on his desk. He hadn’t bothered turning on the desk lamp, but he didn’t need light to know he was in one hell of a pickle.
He’d had the name and address for days now, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to call Kate. She hadn’t told him what she was going to do, but Jack had been around the block enough times to know it wasn’t good.
Growing up in a tough South Dallas neighborhood, Jack knew all about street justice. There had been times when he condoned it. A few times when he’d doled it out himself. He knew that sometimes it was the only justice served. Other times street justice wasn’t justice at all, just another meaningless act of violence cloaked in self-righteousness and cruelty.
Street justice was a tricky thing. It didn’t come without risks. It sure as hell didn’t come without a price. Street justice forced a person to cross lines. One wrong move, one mistake, and that person could find herself on the wrong side of the law. Jack wanted Kate to have her justice. He just didn’t want her to have to go to jail to get it.
He’d done his homework on Kate Megason. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d finally learned what happened to her and her sister eleven years ago. He knew Kirsten Megason would never recover. He knew the two men who’d raped and brutalized the two girls had never been caught. He knew the statute of limitations had long since run out.
He’d never let on to Kate that he knew. He never would because he knew it would change the dynamics of their relationship. A relationship he’d grown fond of in the last year. He liked her grit. He admired her courage. He knew she was a decent person. But he knew that even decent people had their limits. Kate had endured the kind of physical and psychological anguish that would mark her forever. She might have survived, but she had not survived unscathed.
Jack had had the name and address for two days. Trying to decide whether or not to give it to her had kept him up nights. Now that he’d done the deed, the only question that remained was if he was going to let her ruin her life.
Cursing beneath his breath, he reached for the phone. He punched in four numbers before hanging up without placing the call. It was the third time he’d reached for the phone. The third time he’d hung up without completing the call.
Damn, he wished he knew what to do.
He wished he hadn’t given her the name. He wished he’d tried to talk her out of whatever she was about to do. But Jack knew Kate well enough to know she couldn’t be talked down. Not after she’d made up her mind.
The way he saw it he had two choices. He could sit here in the dark and kick himself for not stopping her. Or he could call the one man he could trust to do the right thing.
Jack had noticed the way Frank Matrone looked at her. The way a man looks at a woman when he cares. And he knew if he called Frank Matrone, the other man would keep her from getting hurt, either by someone else’s hand—or her own.
Muttering a curse, Jack reached for the phone.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 8:12 P.M.
Kate felt nothing but a low-grade anxiety as she changed into black jeans, a black turtleneck, and low-heeled boots. Tucking the latex gloves into her pocket, she entered the study, knelt at the credenza behind her desk, and unlocked the bottom drawer. Shoving the neatly labeled hanging folders aside, she withdrew the lockbox and set it on her desk.
She unlocked the box and found herself staring down at the blue steel of the Jennings .25 caliber pistol. It was a semiautomatic six-shooter with a two-and-a-half-inch barrel, black Teflon finish, and a wood grip. She wasn’t proud of the way she’d obtained the weapon. It was the one and only time Kate had ever used her position with the DA’s office to further her goal. But one snowy Saturday a year ago she’d been in the police evidence room preparing for a case. She’d overheard the officer on duty talking to another cop about four hundred and fifty confiscated guns. Guns that had been designated for destruction. These particular guns had been confiscated during busts. The striations had never been entered into the computer system. The opportunity had been too good to pass up.
It was as if someone else had been inside her body as she’d crossed to the wooden pallet. Someone else’s hand that had reached inside and pulled out the deadly piece of steel that was now lying on her desk. By the time she’d walked out, her entire body had been shaking. But Kate had gotten what she’d wanted.
A gun that could never be traced back to her.
A few months later she’d asked Jack Gamble to help her buy a silencer. She’d told him it was her father’s gun. That she would be taking lessons and didn’t like the noise. She was pretty sure he hadn’t believed her. But, as always, he’d come through.
Shoving the box back into the credenza, Kate rose and slid the Jennings into the waistband of her jeans. She turned off her cell phone and clipped it to her belt. She stuffed an
old thrift store coat into her shoulder bag, and then slipped into her regular coat. Leaving on the front porch light, she locked the door and took the sidewalk to the street where the police cruiser was parked. The window rolled down as she approached.
“Hi,” she said, offering a smile and her hand.
“Evening, Ms. Megason.” He shook her hand gently. “Brian Kozloskow. Everything okay this evening?”
“Of course.” She smiled. “Mike put you up to this?”
He nodded sheepishly. “Just getting in a little O.T.”
She rolled her eyes. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going to drive over to the Turtle Creek Convalescent Home to visit a relative.”
“Sure thing. I know where it’s at. I’ll just follow you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
Ten minutes later Kate pulled into the Turtle Creek Convalescent Home lot and parked near the door. She turned and saw Officer Kozloskow park a few spaces away and walked over to the car.
“I should only be an hour or so,” she said.
“Take your time. I’ll be with you until seven A.M. tomorrow morning, so you just follow your normal routine.”
If her heart hadn’t been pounding so hard, Kate would have laughed outright at the idea of any of this being routine.
The halls of the convalescent home had already been dimmed for the evening when Kate walked in. She’d been hoping to avoid being noticed by the head nurse, but the woman looked up as Kate turned down the hall where her sister’s room was. Smiling, Kate raised her hand and waved, but she didn’t stop to chat.
Once in Kirsten’s room, Kate walked over to her sister’s bed and looked into the face she knew so well. For an instant she saw her as the young girl she’d been, lovely and full of life and looking forward to a future that had wonderful things in store.
“It ends tonight, Kirs.” Blinking back tears, Kate reached down and cupped her sister’s face. “I’m going to get him. I’m going to make him pay for what he did to us. I’m going to make sure he never does it again.”
She removed her coat and slipped into the thrift store coat. Crossing to the door, she turned left instead of right and went out the rear exit. The cars parked along the side street were cloaked in shadows from the live oaks that grew along the median. Kate spotted the string on the rental car’s antenna immediately and jogged to it. Finding the keys in the visor, she started the engine and pulled onto the street.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 8:29 P.M.
Frank’s cell phone was beeping when he stepped out of the shower. Toweling his hair, he left the bathroom and limped to the bedroom where he’d left it charging. His heart did a weird little dip when he saw that the voice message icon was blinking, and for an instant he found he was hoping it was from Kate.
But Frank knew she wouldn’t call. He was going to have to do some creative groveling if he wanted to get back to the place they’d been before he’d made his recommendation to Mike Shelley. Even then, he wasn’t sure she would forgive him. The thought cut a lot deeper than he wanted it to.
He’d been thinking about her since the ugly scene in his office. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the way she’d looked at him when she told him she’d been removed from the Bruton Ellis case. As if he’d thrust a knife into her heart and then gleefully twisted it.
Cursing beneath his breath, he hit the voice message button and entered his password. An instant later a gravelly male voice came on the line. “This is Jack Gamble. Call me. It’s urgent.” He left a number and hung up.
Curious, Frank punched in the number. The PI answered on the first ring. “Gamble.”
“This is Frank Matrone.”
The silence that ensued made Frank crane his neck and hold the phone closer to his ear.
“We got a mutual friend and she’s in trouble,” Jack said.
“Are you talking about Kate?” Frank gripped the phone tighter. “What happened?”
“It’s not what’s happened. It’s what’s going to happen if someone doesn’t stop her.”
“Stop her from doing what?”
Gamble hesitated. “She’s as good as gold, Matrone. As good as they come. I care about her like she was my own daughter. I’d do anything to keep something bad from happening to her.”
“Maybe you ought to tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Can I trust you to keep this under your hat? Because if you can’t, I’ll handle this myself. My way.”
Frank didn’t like the sound of that. “I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep her safe,” he said, not exactly sure what he was promising.
Gamble sighed. “She’s about to ruin her life. I need for you to stop her. I’d do it myself, but you’ve probably realized by now my bullet-dodging days are over.”
“Did you say bullet?”
“She’s got a gun. I’m pretty sure she’s going to take care of the son of a bitch who hurt her eleven years ago.”
“Aw, man. Shit.” Frank yanked jeans and a shirt off hangers. “Where?”
Gamble rattled off the Grand Prairie address. “You hurt her and I’ll come after you.”
“I’m not going to hurt her, goddamn it.”
“I just pray to God we ain’t too late.”
“So do I,” Frank said and sprinted toward the door.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 8:33 P.M.
The apartment where Danny Lee Perkins lived was a single-story stucco dump with six apartments. It was located in a downtrodden neighborhood on a street laden with potholes and trash. A beat-up Dumpster squatted beneath a row of cedar trees on the west side of the gravel lot.
Kate drove past the place twice. She couldn’t see Apartment 6 from the street, so she assumed it was at the rear, which suited her purposes just fine. Lights were on in two of the front apartments. The one on the end looked vacant.
She parked a block away beneath the shadows of a massive live oak tree and shut down the engine. Pulling her cell phone from her bag, she dialed Perkins’s number from memory. He answered on the third ring with a hostile, “Yeah.”
“Is Danny there?” she asked.
“This is Danny. Who the fuck wants to know?”
Kate disconnected, turned off her phone, and let out a long, shuddering breath as she clipped it to her belt. It registered somewhere in the back of her mind that she had recognized his voice. Even after eleven years she remembered the tinny belligerence. But she didn’t let herself dwell on that too long. Tonight wasn’t about thinking or feeling. It was about acting. Evening a score. Getting justice for her and her sister.
Danny Lee Perkins was home.
Kate was armed and on her way to see him.
The nightmare was going to end here and now.
She had visualized this moment a thousand times. She’d always thought she would be prepared. That she would be able to disconnect her intellect from the thin ribbon of darkness that ran through her soul. She hadn’t counted on the edgy fear that had begun to slither along the back of her neck.
Her legs were shaking when she got out of the car. She could feel the press of the gun against the small of her back. Her heart pounding out of control in her chest. The night around her was so quiet she could hear her breaths hissing in and out of her throat.
It took a full minute for her to get herself calmed down enough so she could walk to the apartment. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she took the sidewalk to the rear of the building. She walked by Apartment 4. The windows glowed yellow. She could hear a television inside. A dog barking somewhere in the distance. The middle apartment was dark. No curtains hung in the windows and she assumed it was vacant. Just as well, she thought as she continued down the sidewalk to her destination.
Apartment 6 was dimly lit. The porch light was off. She could hear the base pound of music coming from inside. Kate was breathing heavily again. She could feel her entire body shaking, and she was angry with herself. How the hell was she supposed to finish this when her hands were shaking so
violently she could barely hold the gun?
“Calm down, damn it,” she whispered into the darkness.
She blew out several deep breaths. She wiped her hands on her jeans, then put on her gloves. Another deep breath and she rapped her knuckles hard against the door.
Her heart threatened to explode in the seconds she waited. This was the moment when a hundred things could go wrong. This was the moment when she had to stay cool. Keep her head. Concentrate on doing what she’d come here to do and forget about everything else.
The door swung open. Danny Lee Perkins stood before her, glaring at her with red-rimmed eyes and a hostile sneer. Eleven years ago he’d been thin with long hair. The man in front of her had gained fifty pounds. His hairline had receded. But the eyes were the same. Kate would never forget his eyes. The way he’d looked at her. The way he was looking at her now.
He was wearing a flannel shirt that was open down to his belly button. A gold chain glinted between his flat male breasts. Even from two feet away she could smell beer on his breath, the cigarette smoke on his clothes.
“Who the fuck ’r you?”
For several seconds Kate couldn’t answer. All she could do was stare at him, the memories slamming into her like steel fists. She could feel the swell of hatred, like a pustule festering inside her, oozing poison until she thought she would burst.
Then it was as if she left her body and it was someone else standing at Danny Lee Perkins’s door. His eyes widened when she brought up the pistol. Fear flickered in the depths of his gaze when she pulled back the slide and put a bullet in the chamber.
“What the fuck is up with this?” he asked, his voice rising.
Wanting to get out of the sight of potential witnesses, Kate leveled the gun at his chest. “Unless you want a bullet in your heart, you’ll back into the apartment. Now.”
His hands went up. “Whatever you say. Jesus!”
“Get inside. Keep your hands up.”
Relief skittered through her when he complied and backed into the room. She closed the door behind her. Lynyrd Skynyrd belted out a song about That Smell from mismatched speakers. A hockey game was on the color television, but the sound was turned down low. From where she stood she could see into the dining room. On the dinner table was a scale, a pile of plastic bags, a convection oven, and a dinner plate piled high with white powder. The stench of marijuana hung in the air.