Emma wouldn’t return to the house. Not to live. Not even to stay overnight.

She had done everything she could to keep him out—set the alarm, rekeyed the locks—but there was no lock he couldn’t pick. He’d learned that skill long ago, when it was the only way to buy his freedom. And the alarm was a joke. Most home alarm systems were. Even commercial systems were lacking, which was good. After all, a man had to make a living, and working a regular job wouldn’t allow enough time for his hobbies.

He smiled. Every man needed a hobby.

He wondered about the woman who’d met Emma at the house. Mama would say she was just another whore, but he couldn’t manage his life with such a simplistic viewpoint. Even a whore could put a kink in his fun, and that just wouldn’t do. The fabric sample books implied interior decorator, but her casual jeans and tennis shoes didn’t convey that at all. Even stranger, the “decorator” had kept the card he’d left on the steps. Why would she do that?

He supposed she could have seen Emma’s panic and offered to get rid of it for her, but he’d fully expected Emma to run to the police with what she thought was hard evidence. It wouldn’t be, of course. A card owned by Emma and found on her property was hardly a smoking gun. The cops still wouldn’t have anything to go on, and the last time he checked, they didn’t offer bodyguard services, anyway.

He frowned, thinking about the decorator again.

Something told him she needed a closer look. He had big plans for Emma, and no one was going to get in his way.

Chapter Seven

Shaye pulled up to the curb just down the street from Andy’s Auto Repair and parked. The street was the usual mix of old buildings, some residential, some retail, some commercial. Shaye had never been interested in travel—too much change too fast. Too many unknowns, but she wondered how many cities offered the same sort of eclectic blend within a one-block radius, especially in areas with no high-rise buildings.

She walked down the sidewalk toward the café that Emma had been walking to when the skater had accosted her. A couple of teens were standing on the corner, so she headed toward them. They stopped talking as she approached and gave her a once-over.

“Hi, guys,” she said. “I’m looking for a skater who lives in the area. Dirty blond hair in a ponytail. Maybe fifteen.”

One of the teens narrowed his eyes at her. “You a cop?”

“Do I look like a cop?”

“No, but that don’t mean nothing. Why you looking for this skater dude?”

Shaye pulled out her license and showed it to the boys. “I think he saw the man who’s stalking the lady who hired me.”

“No shit!” The second teen shook his head. “That’s fucked up. If some dude was stalking my moms, I’d cut him.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” the first teen asked. “You gonna cut him?”

“Unless he presents a threat, that would be illegal,” Shaye said.

“But he’s stalking some lady, right?” the second teen said. “So if you find the dude, then he might try to attack you. Could you cut him then?”

“I’d probably just shoot him,” Shaye said, assuming the blunt truth would work best with these two.

The two boys looked at each other and nodded.

“Badass,” the first one said.

“I think I’ve seen the dude you’re looking for,” the second one said. “He hasn’t been around too long. I seen him before at the docks. That’s where the skaters do their thing.”

“Thanks,” Shaye said. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” the first one said.

“I hope you get him,” the second teen said. “The stalker, I mean.”

“So do I,” Shaye said, then headed back to her car. The docks were only a couple of blocks away. With any luck, the skater would be doing “his thing.”

It took only a couple of minutes to drive to the dock, and Shaye’s spirits lifted a bit when she saw several skaters using the concrete forms as their own personal obstacle course. She parked and headed for the docks, easily spotting the long blond ponytail as she walked. When she got close to the docks, she stood and watched until the boy looked her way, then she motioned to him.

He stopped skating and stared at her for several seconds, but didn’t move. Probably deciding whether to approach her or flee. She must not have looked threatening, because he finally picked up his board and shuffled over to her.

“Who are you?” he asked, stopping about ten feet away.

“Shaye Archer.” She pulled out her license and showed him. “I’m a private investigator. I’m hoping you can help me.”

The boy held up his hand. “Look, I ain’t know nothing.”

She smiled. “You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want no trouble is all. I don’t like the cops.”

“At the moment, I’m not crazy about them myself. Look, there’s a lady I’m trying to help because the police won’t. You brought her a scarf this morning.”

He gave her a wary look. “Yeah, I remember. She acted like I held out a snake or something. She’s not saying I stole it, is she?”

“Nothing like that. The man who gave you the scarf has been following her.”

His eyes widened. “He’s a creeper? Oh man. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known that. No wonder she was scared. Shit, I feel bad now.” He looked genuinely upset.

“It’s not your fault. You were just being nice.”

He shrugged.

Shaye pulled out her cell phone and opened an image she’d loaded of David Grange. “I wanted to know if this is the man you saw.”

She turned the phone around to show the boy. He squinted at first, then finally moved closer. Shaye knew David wasn’t the man the boy saw, but wanted to give him a starting point for a description. When he frowned and continued to look at the photo, she started to wonder.

Finally, he shook his head. “It wasn’t him, but the dude looked a lot like him.” He pointed to the phone. “This guy has a square jaw. The other guy didn’t.”

“But he looked like this—a lot or a little?”

“Enough to be related. I mean, dude had on sunglasses, but yeah, I can see where people might think they were the same guy. Unless they was looking really close.”

Related. 

David had told Emma that he had no living relatives, but then he probably hadn’t told her he’d abuse her either. What if everything he’d told her was a lie? A brother would be a good choice to seek revenge for Emma’s killing David. In fact, it was the most logical speculation she’d come across so far.

“What’s your name?” Shaye asked.

The boy hesitated for a moment. “Everyone calls me Hustle.”

“You live around here?”

“You’re standing on my front porch.”

Shaye glanced around, but all that stretched for a hundred yards was dock and parking lot. “You live on the streets? How old are you?”

“Old enough.” His jaw set in a hard line.

Shaye held in a smile. She’d used the same line on Jackson Lamotte, and had probably been as irritated by the question as Hustle was now.

“Look, I’m asking because I know a social worker. If you’re underage, she can help.”

He took a step back and pulled up his shirt to expose three long scars running across his belly. “Last time someone ‘helped’ me, they stuck me in a house with the guy who did this.”

Shaye’s stomach rolled. “Your foster parent did that?”

He dropped his shirt and looked away.

Shaye knew this kid—not personally, of course, but knew him from so many of the stories that Corrine had told her about the cases she worked. It wouldn’t do any good to detain him. If they put him in a group home or new foster home, he’d only be there as long as it took to get away. If Corrine hadn’t taken her in, and Shaye had experienced more trauma in a group or foster home, Shaye had no doubt she would have done the same thing. There were plenty of great foster parents and lots of good people working in group homes, but in every crowd, there were the ones that weren’t so great. Weren’t so nice.