Armed and Amorous

Kerry Satterfield stared at the jumble of notes, printouts, pages copied out of her old textbooks and grainy telephoto shots that littered her desk. Out of this hodge-podge, a clear portrait of the suspect in her latest top priority case was supposed to emerge. Building it was part of her job as a profiler for the FBI. Right now she was frustrated as hell because nothing was coming to her, nothing at all. The data was like a jigsaw puzzle with a dozen key pieces missing. We’ve got to stop this creep. So far it doesn’t look like he’s killed any victims, but it’s just a matter of time. Bad enough he’s terrorizing young kids, worrying parents half to death, and apparently sexually abusing at least some of the boys he kidnaps. For a kid who’d grown up on the wrong side of town, she’d done pretty well. Third in her class at the academy, six years in the field, and now putting her degree in psychology to work, trying to read criminal minds. Too bad her mother wasn’t around to see the success her daughter has achieved—in spite of her influence. True, after she fell ill with cancer, Kerry’s mother had done a one-eighty, got religion and quit the drugs and the johns. Still, in Kerry’s mind, the change came far too late. To atone for her mother’s misbehavior, Kerry had had to work twice as hard and become twice as good as everyone else. Even now, she wasn’t sure she’d ever pay the debt in full. She might have to die trying. She rubbed her throbbing left temple, trying to tame the incipient migraine before it erupted into a debilitating attack. This was not a time she could afford to be down for twenty-four hours. Rummaging in her desk, she found her prescription. Dumping two pills into her hand, she gulped them with a swallow of cold coffee. Yuck, that was nasty. She grimaced at the bitter taste and the lingering grit of grounds on her tongue. One more time she arranged the bits and pieces of information. It still wasn’t enough. She needed to get out and look at the ground, see where the kidnappings had occurred, and maybe talk to a few more people who might have seen something that would break the case. Not tonight, though. If she didn’t get home and into bed soon, she was going to crash and burn. She shoved the papers into the least jammed drawer of her desk before she stood, stretched and left the building, one of the last to leave for the day. Her battered Toyota sat in the parking garage across the street from the FBI’s southwestern sector headquarters. As she approached, she could see there was a piece of paper on the windshield, jammed under the wiper blade on the driver’s side. I thought this place was supposed to be halfway secure. How did anyone get in here to leave junk on my car? Kerry clicked the unlock button with one hand and grabbed the folded paper with the other, losing no time in getting into the car. She locked the doors again at once. Her years on the street had taught her caution was the better part of valor. If someone could leave this non-cyber spam, someone else could be lingering in the shadows, waiting to grab her or carjack the Toyota. They’d be crazy to take this car, though, and lucky to get out of town before it self-destructed. Her lips twisted in a wry smile at the thought of some thug chugging along in her old car. Yeah, a wild TV-type car chase—at thirty-five MPH. Ha-ha. Shaking her head, she jiggled the key in the ignition and kicked the accelerator twice, then repeated the process. Finally, the motor coughed to life. She didn’t think any more about the paper until she cleaned the day’s junk out her purse at home a half-hour later. Although she started to toss the rumpled sheet, something made her unfold it. She needed to see what it said. The block letters rambled across the page in uneven lines. It looked like a young child’s scribble, but intuition insisted no child had scrawled the words. The Shadow Son Snatcher is going to strike again soon. Come to 3265 Bellflower, and buzz apartment number two-fourteen on Friday evening to learn more. Come alone and unarmed if you want to break this case. Disobey and you will learn nothing. A chill of premonition waltzed down her spine. Is this bullshit or the break I’ve been looking for? There was no way to know. Right then, she made up her mind to go. She wouldn’t carry openly, but she wouldn’t be unarmed. That would be totally stupid, and stupid she wasn’t. She wouldn’t tell anyone until just before she left, though. Even then she’d merely leave a message on one key voicemail so if things went bad, someone would know where to start looking. Sure, I’ll be taking a risk, but what the hell. It won’t be the first time, and if it happens to be the last, who will really care? The last several years she’d been too career focused to spend much time on relationships. Given that her mother had been her primary role model on how one dealt with men, she had scant reason to want to anyway. Kate Hogan had gotten little from the men in her life besides a f**k, a fix and sometimes a few dollars. If Kate had produced any other children, they’d fallen by the wayside. As far as Kerry ever knew, it was just she and Mom all those years. Now Mom was gone, which left Kerry standing alone. * * * * Frank Ogden hunched, twisting his shoulders, trying to relax away the tension tightening his whole body. Damn Gary anyway. Frank no more wanted to be here right now than he wanted to look into his mother’s grave. But he had no other alternative. Gary’d made that very clear. Either Frank cooperated by getting the nosy FBI b***h off Gary’s back or Stacia Ogden Steadman would die. Frank hated the step-brother who had bullied him for twenty years. Gary was a big, hulking brute with a streak of viciousness a hundred yards wide. He liked to make people squirm, liked to smell their fear and watch them wither. Frank was no ninety-pound weakling now, but years ago he’d been a slight and somewhat sickly kid. That was when the bullying had begun. It hadn’t ever ended. Gary didn’t punch Frank around anymore, but still knew how to get to him. Frank’s mother was one of those weak spots. A widow once again, Stacia Steadman was in her late sixties, a gentle, little woman, almost fragile, slender and fine-boned. Max Steadman had left her enough to live on comfortably. In his gruff way, he’d been kind to her and her son, but his death had left them both vulnerable to Gary’s brutality. Max had left money to Gary, too, but it wasn’t enough. Gary wanted it all. Until Stacia was also dead, he couldn’t have it. Frank wanted to postpone that event as long as he could. If he had to step across the line into a shadowy area close to abetting a felon, he’d do it. Maybe he could somehow get word to the law later. And maybe he could protect the determined FBI agent from any real harm. He’d already told Gary he wouldn’t stand to see her hurt or killed. Could he make good on that vow? And then, if things worked right, he just might be able to take Gary down. He knew enough now: the only question was when, where and how to use it so no one got hurt. Her name was Kerry Satterfield. Such things weren’t hard to find out if you knew your way around cyberspace, which Frank did. The name was vaguely familiar, but how could it be the same person? The Kerry Satterfield he’d known back in the small Arkansas town where they’d both once lived had been a skinny, ragged waif of a girl. Since her mother was labeled the town w***e, the boys all figured Kerry would be easy. She wasn’t, but she’d had to fight to keep her chastity. Knowing how it felt to be bullied and hassled, Frank had stood up for her until they become friends. Then Max Steadman had been transferred. The family left and never went back. He wasn’t sure why he still remembered the girl. About then, he saw the battered blue Toyota pull into the parking lot below the second-story window from which he watched. It was the same car he’d left the note on two days ago. The tall, slender, auburn-haired woman who got out didn’t look anything like the girl he recalled. It had to be someone else. She paused with her hand on the door handle, her gaze sweeping the area. Alert as a startled deer, she was clearly ready to flee or fight. She was also beautiful, not in the classic starlet and model sense, but in a strong, confident yet feminine way, as a lioness or a b***h wolf might be. That’s one hell of a woman. The thought came unbidden, but equally undeniable. Something quickened inside of him. She strode across the lot to disappear into the foyer where the mailboxes and the buzzers for each apartment were. Although this part of town had seen better days, most of the apartments and homes retained a modicum of amenities, a few traces of their former class. Buzzing for admission was one of those residuals. There really wasn’t much security, but it gave the illusion. Gary liked to rent places that had a hint of class, not the real low-rent slum spots. He said the law paid a lot less attention to what went on in the supposedly decent neighborhoods. The raspy jangle of the electric bell cut through his thoughts. Frank strode across the room and then pushed the answer button. “Who is it?” “K—Karen Stephens.” He heard her hesitation over the false name, but he already knew who she was. Pushing the other button to open the grated gate at the foot of the stairs, he spoke into the microphone. “Come on up.” He had the advantage since he’d seen her already and knew what to expect, except up close her sheer sexuality had even more impact. She was tall, about five-ten, he’d guess, close to his own six-foot height. Slim yet athletic, she still had enough curves in all the right places, but it wasn’t just her body. It wasn’t even her square-jawed, angular face lit by vivid hazel eyes and a mouth just a little too wide for perfection. Everything about her screamed woman and hinted she was a woman who could be had. No pushover, though…not cheap or easy. But if a guy knew the right buttons, she was available. Maybe she didn’t even realize the signals she sent. She hesitated on the stoop when he opened the door before she knocked. The gaze she swept over him was keen and assessing. Then she gave a slight nod. “You aren’t the kidnapper. I wondered.” He stepped back to motion her in. “That’s a strange assumption to make, just like that.” “The kidnapper is a larger man, bulkier, unless you wear some kind of padded suit. Anyway, the real perp is not going to invite the FBI in to interview him. You said you had information, though. You’d better not just be playing some stupid game.” He waved her to one of the two sagging chairs. She shook her head, electing to remain standing. He could see suspicion painting her face along with a trace of uncertainty. He didn’t think he looked too threatening, but even tough, trained women could have their fears. They were always a little more vulnerable physically, or felt that way. Sure, men were raped, too, but a lot fewer of them than women. Well, she needn’t worry. That was the last thing he’d try at this point. Instead, he tried to look calm, non-threatening, sensible and earnest. “Yeah, I know some things. I’m willing to share some of it for—well, maybe a favor or two. Can your people provide surveillance or protective custody for a person who may be in serious danger?” If I can get Mom somewhere out of harm’s way for a while, my plan would go a lot easier. She hesitated for a moment. “It depends. Material witnesses, probably. For celebrities and such, no. They have to buy their own protection. Ordinary people on the street, not likely. Who and why?” “I’ll cover that later. Meanwhile, I have an address where the kidnapper is likely to grab his next victim. He’s been watching a junior high out in one of the western suburbs. He’ll probably make the next snatch next week, maybe midweek after school.” “What’s his name? Or yours? How do you know so much about his plans?” Suspicion darkened her eyes to near chocolate color as tension tightened her lovely face. “How do I know you aren’t shittin’ me?” It was Frank’s turn to hesitate. How much can I get away with telling her? It’s all going to be on the hidden camcorder, so Gary will know everything I give her. If she learns too much, he’ll kill her. But I’ve got to get her hooked enough to go with me. He let out a slow breath. “A friend of mine, roommate actually, tends bar in a little joint out near the south side barrio. Guy came in one night and got pretty well plowed. It was a slow night and he started talking to Roy, my friend. Bragged about how he was getting away with all this. Roy gave me a description and it pretty well matched what the news reports have said. Big guy, dark, gravelly voice.” He had her. He could see it in her face. She nodded just a little. “Okay. Could I talk to your friend? Stuff like this is always better first-hand.” Frank made a show of uncertainty. “He’s working tonight. I guess we could go out there. If he isn’t real busy maybe he could talk for a few minutes.” The sun had slipped down behind the distant mountains while they talked. It wasn’t near dark yet, but dusk, everything softening to shades of gray. Frank saw her glance out the window where he’d stood to wait for her. A slight frown creased her forehead. He could see her thinking, considering, weighing the pros and cons. This woman was nobody’s fool. He’d have to play his hand very carefully. Though she was clearly no dummy, he sensed she wanted to break this case in the worst way. She seemed to be driven, one who hated to admit failure or weakness. She just might be the Kerry Satterfield he had known. That girl had been spunky, determined, and so tough she’d seemed almost brittle. If it was, she’d sure grown up nice from the gawky, ragged kid he’d known, though. Now he was torn. He’d never admitted it to her or even to himself, but that Kerry had been special to him. Defending and befriending her had given him some pride, a sense of purpose. In turn, that let him endure, then deal with, Gary’s bullying. From there he had grown in size, confidence and become the man he was today by dint of a long uphill struggle. He had to go through with this, but somehow he would not let Gary hurt her. Whatever it took, he’d protect her. “Come on. We’ll take my car. I’ll have you back here in forty minutes or so, soon as we see if Roy can talk to you.” She almost backed off then. He could see her start to protest, probably say she’d drive and follow him, but then she shrugged. “Okay, lead on, McDuff.” “Na…” He stopped abruptly with the phrase unspoken. What a sly trick she’d used to almost con him into giving his name. That would never do. He gestured her out the door ahead of him. She looked back over her shoulder for an instant. The light was dim, but he’d have sworn she gave him a sassy grin, as if she knew perfectly well how close she’d come to catching him. Again, that was like the girl Kerry. Before this was over, he’d find out for sure. * * * * There was something naggingly familiar about this guy. Kerry mulled that over as she preceded the man down the stairs, then followed him to a nondescript, dull-hued mini pickup. Gut feelings told her to take her own car, but she suspected he wouldn’t go for it. Not that the Toyota offered much protection or security, but she felt better having the independence of her own wheels. She suppressed a sigh as she climbed into the cab. The inside was cleaner than she’d expected after looking at the mud-daubed indeterminate color of the truck’s body. She wasn’t even sure what make it was. A fairly new Mexican blanket was spread across the seat. As she shifted, she felt unevenness beneath the blanket, an indication the upholstery was in bad shape. She was glad she’d worn slacks instead of something dressier, even with the blanket’s protection. Stiff, torn vinyl could play hell with nylons or bare legs. “If you’re for real, I appreciate what you’re doing,” she said, glancing across at the sharp profile of her surprising informer. “I just don’t understand why.” “What this creep is doing is flat wrong. Kids should never be terrorized, abused. That’s something I can’t stand by and allow to go on.” He spoke with such vehemence Kerry found her doubts fading. Unless he was a hell of an actor, he had to be sincere. She’d almost think he knew about terror and abuse first-hand. Well, a lot of us grew up through hell, didn’t we? Without really thinking about it, she let herself relax slightly. Something about this guy appealed to her at a level too deep for logic. The tension came back with a vengeance when he drove into an alley and stopped between two rows of bleak, dilapidated buildings. Surreptitiously, she loosened her concealed handgun in its holster at the small of her back. He hadn’t patted her down or made any effort to be sure she was unarmed. Maybe he figured she’d followed his orders to a “T.” He got out, heading toward the even darker doorway in one of the buildings. Kerry slipped down from the truck to follow, tuning her senses to catch any unexpected movement in the shadows surrounding them. She really didn’t want to go into that dark doorway. Inside, she couldn’t see a damn thing, except the very faint pale blur of her guide’s face as he turned back to see if she was following him. It happened too fast to do anything. An octopus of hands came out of the dark, grabbed each of her arms, clenching like vises. Another fisted into her hair, while a foul-smelling cloth jammed against her face so hard she bit her lip. She held her breath for as long as she could, but that was a losing battle. Involuntarily, she inhaled after about forty seconds. So fast it was scary, she felt her muscles go lax as an even deeper darkness reach up to engulf her. Then nothing at all.