found the money, why stick around?”
Rowe shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t find it. Maybe Strickland put it somewhere before his car crash.”
Stevenski looked skeptical.
“I wish we knew where Strickland spent his last hour.” Rowe leaned back in his chair and scanned the e-mail again. “We need IDs on these two guys, find out who they were working for.”
“You hear anything more from that gas station clerk?”
Rowe sighed. “Not yet. But there’s somebody else who might be able to help.”
Stevenski smiled. “That reporter? You planning to interview her again? I heard she’s hot.”
Rowe frowned. “Where’d you get that?”
“Hey, I’m an investigator. I check out anyone and everyone connected to our case. The girl’s one of our only witnesses.”
“Yeah, too bad she works for the media,” Rowe said. “Anything useful she knows’ll probably end up in the goddamn paper before we hear about it.”
“And are you sure you won’t be needing our supplemental collision policy?”
Celie forced herself to smile at the woman behind the Hertz counter. She wore a taxicab yellow golf shirt and had little pink and lavender Easter eggs painted on her fingernails. She was entirely too perky for Monday evening rush hour.
“No, thank you.”
The woman handed her a key with a Hertz tag attached. “Looks like you’re all set then!” She nodded toward the glass door. “That’s your car right there. Full tank of gas.”
Celie gathered up her purse and backpack and exited the office. “Car” was stretching it. The tiny orange Aveo sedan looked more like a Sunkist can on wheels. No wonder this one had ended up in the rental fleet. Celie stowed her things on the passenger seat, already homesick for her SUV. Oh well. This was only temporary.
Celie pulled to the edge of car lot and sighed. The five o’clock traffic was heavy, but a black pickup was nice enough to let her in. She waved a thank-you and glanced in her rearview mirror.
“Oh my God!” She slammed on the brakes. A man was watching her from the backseat.
CHAPTER
8
“D rive, bitch.”
Shrieking, she grasped for the door handle.
“ Drive! ” Something jabbed the back of her neck.
Celie froze. He had a gun. It felt hard against her skin. And warm, like he’d been keeping it close to his body. She could barely breathe, but she forced herself to replace her hands on the steering wheel. She looked in the mirror.
He nudged her with the shiny silver pistol. It looked fancy, like maybe it was plated with nickel or something. “Go straight for a while. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
“You can have the car,” she croaked. “I’ve got some money, too. You can have whatever you want.”
“Shut up and move.”
She obeyed.
She glanced at the mirror. The man was young, probably early twenties. Was he Robert’s killer? He had close-cropped dark hair, olive skin, and brown eyes. He was scowling, which made it look like he had one thick eyebrow stretched all the way across his forehead.
Her palms felt slimy on the steering wheel. Had anyone noticed she’d been carjacked? She looked around, but everyone around her was creeping through traffic, immersed in their own little worlds.
Where was he taking her? The black pickup was still behind her, and it was following too closely. It stayed right on her bumper through three traffic lights, until they’d almost reached the edge of downtown. Celie thought about ramming into a utility pole, but she wasn’t wearing a seat belt. And what if the gun went off?
“Turn here.” The tip of the gun caressed her neck. “Left.”
Celie’s heart hammered. She turned left down a narrow alleyway—barely wide enough for two cars to pass. There wasn’t a person in sight, just potholes and Dumpsters. Thank God it was daylight. But where were the people ? The alley was empty. No pedestrians, no vagrants, not even a stray dog.
The black pickup turned in behind her, effectively trapping her in. Now
Rowe shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t find it. Maybe Strickland put it somewhere before his car crash.”
Stevenski looked skeptical.
“I wish we knew where Strickland spent his last hour.” Rowe leaned back in his chair and scanned the e-mail again. “We need IDs on these two guys, find out who they were working for.”
“You hear anything more from that gas station clerk?”
Rowe sighed. “Not yet. But there’s somebody else who might be able to help.”
Stevenski smiled. “That reporter? You planning to interview her again? I heard she’s hot.”
Rowe frowned. “Where’d you get that?”
“Hey, I’m an investigator. I check out anyone and everyone connected to our case. The girl’s one of our only witnesses.”
“Yeah, too bad she works for the media,” Rowe said. “Anything useful she knows’ll probably end up in the goddamn paper before we hear about it.”
“And are you sure you won’t be needing our supplemental collision policy?”
Celie forced herself to smile at the woman behind the Hertz counter. She wore a taxicab yellow golf shirt and had little pink and lavender Easter eggs painted on her fingernails. She was entirely too perky for Monday evening rush hour.
“No, thank you.”
The woman handed her a key with a Hertz tag attached. “Looks like you’re all set then!” She nodded toward the glass door. “That’s your car right there. Full tank of gas.”
Celie gathered up her purse and backpack and exited the office. “Car” was stretching it. The tiny orange Aveo sedan looked more like a Sunkist can on wheels. No wonder this one had ended up in the rental fleet. Celie stowed her things on the passenger seat, already homesick for her SUV. Oh well. This was only temporary.
Celie pulled to the edge of car lot and sighed. The five o’clock traffic was heavy, but a black pickup was nice enough to let her in. She waved a thank-you and glanced in her rearview mirror.
“Oh my God!” She slammed on the brakes. A man was watching her from the backseat.
CHAPTER
8
“D rive, bitch.”
Shrieking, she grasped for the door handle.
“ Drive! ” Something jabbed the back of her neck.
Celie froze. He had a gun. It felt hard against her skin. And warm, like he’d been keeping it close to his body. She could barely breathe, but she forced herself to replace her hands on the steering wheel. She looked in the mirror.
He nudged her with the shiny silver pistol. It looked fancy, like maybe it was plated with nickel or something. “Go straight for a while. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
“You can have the car,” she croaked. “I’ve got some money, too. You can have whatever you want.”
“Shut up and move.”
She obeyed.
She glanced at the mirror. The man was young, probably early twenties. Was he Robert’s killer? He had close-cropped dark hair, olive skin, and brown eyes. He was scowling, which made it look like he had one thick eyebrow stretched all the way across his forehead.
Her palms felt slimy on the steering wheel. Had anyone noticed she’d been carjacked? She looked around, but everyone around her was creeping through traffic, immersed in their own little worlds.
Where was he taking her? The black pickup was still behind her, and it was following too closely. It stayed right on her bumper through three traffic lights, until they’d almost reached the edge of downtown. Celie thought about ramming into a utility pole, but she wasn’t wearing a seat belt. And what if the gun went off?
“Turn here.” The tip of the gun caressed her neck. “Left.”
Celie’s heart hammered. She turned left down a narrow alleyway—barely wide enough for two cars to pass. There wasn’t a person in sight, just potholes and Dumpsters. Thank God it was daylight. But where were the people ? The alley was empty. No pedestrians, no vagrants, not even a stray dog.
The black pickup turned in behind her, effectively trapping her in. Now
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