Storm Vengeance Page 12

  “Find anything?”

  “No. It looks good.”

  “Told you. Nobody’s gonna find the body. This is just as good as the oxidizer. Trust me.”

  Storm shrugged. “I sure hope so.” As for trust, with the exception of Tom, there was no one she trusted. That’s why she had just made sure she cleaned up her own mess. No body. No blood. No trophies. No connections. There was a reason she’d come up with the rules, and from now on she’d follow them, though she doubted she’d need to. Another innocent life sacrificed. There was no way she could rationalize that. Lauren didn’t know it yet, but their partnership was done.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED after that was Big Ed’s fault, at least that was what Storm tried to believe.

  It was Friday, the second week of the year, and her first week back from holiday vacation. They’d spent several days at Tom’s parents’ place, a farm in Dundee. It had been a nice break, full of early mornings with time enough for a nice long run. Plus there was the fun of gathering eggs from the chicken house and her first ever goat milking. Storm thought she probably loved visiting the farm almost as much as Lindsey and Joel did.

  Driving to work, Storm had forced her thoughts away from empty roads and green hills to case files and appointments. She’d just sat down at her desk and dragged the first of the files from her in-box when Ed walked in.

  “Got a minute?” he asked, bending low to fit inside the door to her office.

  “Of course. Come in,” Storm said.

  He turned and closed her office door before taking one of the seats used by her clients.

  Storm’s brows rose. It was unusual to close an office door.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Veronica,” he said.

  Storm nodded. Of course. This was about her work partner’s decision to go back to full-time work, effectively ruining Storm’s ability to spend more time with her family while still having access to the law enforcement databases she relied on.

  “She told me she was going back to full-time,” Storm admitted.

  “How do you feel about that?” he asked.

  Storm shrugged. “Not much to think about. She’s made her decision.”

  Ed rested his elbows on the top of her desk. His fingers were entwined, steepled and tapping on his chin, something he did when he was thinking. He nodded and sat up straighter. “I thought you’d say something like that. What would you say if I offered you a supervisory position?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve just found out I’m getting a new position for a supervisor. Your team’s gotten so busy it’s time it had its own management. You’d be reporting to me, but you’d have a pretty fair amount of autonomy in deciding how your staff manages their caseloads. Of course, there’s also a pay increase. You can go to the classification plan to see what that looks like. I haven’t asked human resources to announce the position yet. I’m hoping they’ll let me hire internally.

  “If not we’ll have to do the whole hiring process, and you’d have to go through the whole interview thing. In that case, I couldn’t promise you’d get the job, but I can’t imagine anyone with better qualifications.”

  “Of course. I . . . well, I’m surprised,” she told him. “I wasn’t expecting—”

  “Of course you weren’t,” said Big Ed. “I didn’t know I got the position approved until yesterday. Of course, I don’t expect an answer right away. You should talk to your family, take some time to think about it.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that.”

  “Good. Let’s talk again in a week. Next Friday, the same time?”

  Storm nodded. “That would be great and . . . and thanks. I must sound really ungrateful.” Storm smiled and stood, then put out her hand. “Thank you,” she said, more formally.

  He shook her hand. “You’re welcome, and you deserve this. Should have come sooner.” He let go of her hand, then turned and let himself out.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Storm sank into her chair. She had to think. A supervisory position. It would be a huge step up.

  “How did you pull it off?” Tom wanted to know. They stood in the living room facing each other. Storm with her hands on her hips, Tom with his arms folded.

  “Pull it off? Pull it off? I get offered a huge promotion because I’m good at what I do, and you want to know how I pulled it off? How about developing tracking tools that allowed me to take on more clients than any other P.O. in the history of the damned department? How about showing up for every damned training seminar and studying all the time? How about putting in an effort? Do you even know what that means, putting in an effort?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Tom countered. “Are you saying I don’t work as hard as you do?”

  “It’s not just about work. It’s about how many hours you give your family. How many hours do you spend with your kids these days? Kids take work too, you know, or maybe you don’t know. Or is it that you just don’t care?”

  “Who are you to talk about balancing family and work?” Tom retorted.

  The argument, triggered by the offer of a promotion, had ramped up beyond logic or reason. Storm knew that they were both lashing out at each other with anything they could find, but she was surprised that they seemed able to find a lot.

  “You said you’d never bring that up. You liar,” Storm raged. She’d never been so angry with Tom. She’d always been subject to her fast-changing moods, and he’d always been the calm presence that brought her peace. “I can’t stay here. I can’t be here another second.” She stomped out of the living room to the kitchen, grabbing her purse from the hook by the back door. She dug out her keys.

  Clenching the keys in her fist, she marched out the back door, slamming it behind her. She wanted him to hear it slam. At least the kids hadn’t seen or heard the fight. She and Tom had to come back to town for work, but the kids had stayed with Tom’s parents for the week.

  She drove without thinking about where she was going, until she found herself heading toward the property where Lauren had killed Celine. Collateral damage, they called it. Someone in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  She drove past the entry to the property. It had been stupid to come out here. Only arrogant and extremely stupid criminals revisited the scene of their crime. Of course, since no one knew a crime had been committed, there was no real risk. The body was gone.

  No one had been summoned by the lights that night. Weeks had gone by, and other than a police incident report, there’d been nothing much said about the disappearance of the woman who worked for the county as an administrative assistant.

  Still, there was no reason to be here, except to remind herself how bad things had gone. It was a sort of punishment. She’d never meant for the woman to die. It was Lauren who’d made that decision. It had been Lauren who wanted the nurse killed too.

  So much was spinning out of control. Storm decided that if she needed to drive to calm down, then she should drive to Bald Mountain. She and Tom liked to take the kids to a park out there in the summer. Every August they went to watch the Perseid meteor shower.

  They’d park and unload the car in the dark. Tom would lay a blue tarp on the ground and then add layers of blankets. They’d lay out the food they’d packed, granola bars and bananas, along with a couple of thermoses. One would hold coffee, which Tom would drink, and one would hold hot cocoa, which the kids and Storm would demolish.

  In the early hours the kids would play hide and seek, never getting far from the blankets. When it got late, they’d fall asleep, sleeping through the moans and boos that would greet anyone with the nerve to open a car door or switch on a flashlight, destroying everyone’s night vision.

  Storm saw the sense of that. But it always made her smile that on the sloping lawn, the people clustered in groups around them would whisper softly, as if too much noise would frighten the falling stars away.

  People were strange, horrible, wonderful. Storm sat in the parked car and
stared out at the tops of the swaying trees, dark jagged shapes against a star-filled sky.

  She hated the cruelty of people. The memory of the first abused child she’d avenged was still there. If she thought about him, she could see his face right there in the reflection of her windshield. She could see them all, and she felt right about what she’d done.

  Their names were the only trophies she’d kept. She could recite them each, every single abuser who had found justice with her help: Jeffrey Franklin Malino, who used dogs to discipline his children; Gavin Lester Everett, who used cigarettes on his son; Helena Smith, who raised her child on a sodden mattress beneath a car; Angela Ruiz, who hurt her children by dating bad men; and the last, Aislynn Clevidence, the nurse who had tortured her patients.

  There were others too, innocent people who had died, to her deep regret. Howard had once killed a young prostitute who had done nothing, and there was Celine. All she’d done was try to save her friend from Howard and been suspicious about Storm’s involvement. She had done the right things and died a terrible, purposeless death because of it.

  Storm let the faces fade and thought again about New Mexico. She remembered snow dusting everything. Tom joking about a place where snow fell on cactus. She could ask for a leave of absence. Not working would leave time for hiking, maybe for painting. She’d always wanted to paint and the location had seemed exotic to her, something she might find inspirational. Weren’t there a lot of artists in New Mexico? She knew she’d heard that somewhere.

  When Storm started the car, she realized that she’d changed her mind. She wanted to go to New Mexico. It would be a new beginning. When she got home, she’d tell Tom and the fight would be over. It wasn’t a defeat. She had to remember that. It was a victory for both of them. But by the time she got home Tom was asleep and, in the morning, with the usual mad routine, it just wasn’t the right time to tell him.

  Soon after she arrived at work Big Ed stepped into her office. She looked up and said, “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you yet.”

  He shook his head. “That’s okay. Didn’t expect one in twenty-four hours. What kind of a monster do you think I am? I’m here about something else.” He

  dropped a burgundy file folder, worn along the edges, on her desk.

  “I don’t know if you recognize the name, but this is one of yours. She’s on probation for assaulting a neighbor.”

  Storm picked up the file, read the name at the top. “Marilynn Easton Prentice. Marilynn. Yeah, I remember her. Two n’s in Marilynn. I remember the unusual spelling. As I recall, she’s pretty low risk. I don’t think I’ve seen her for a long time. What’s this?” Storm looked down at the file she was holding, then back up at Ed.

  “CARES report,” he said. “Her and her husband took one of the kids to urgent care. The kid was bad, may not make it, ruptured spleen, malnourished, dehydration. All the signs of neglect and abuse. Doctor’s report should be coming soon. Haven’t seen it, but I hear there were broken ribs and fingers partly healed but never set.”

  “How old?” Storm asked. The words came out in a harsh whisper.

  “Three,” he said.

  “Then who talked to CARES?” She set the file carefully on her desk, unconsciously pushing it away from herself. CARES was an organization that provided risk assessments, screened and investigated child abuse and neglect cases.

  “Sibling talked to them. She has a seven-year-old sister. Story she told is the parents tied the three-year-old up to discipline her for something. Put her on the floor and tied her with shoelaces. Hands to the bedframe, ankles to the legs of a dresser. Left her there all night. Wasn’t the first time. They had rules, lots of them. Girl was supposed to be potty trained, so if she peed while she was tied up, dad came in with a fly swatter and spanked her around the . . .” Big Ed took a deep breath, his lips compressed into a narrow line. “On the area that was wet.”

  “And the sister couldn’t do anything. I know she was only seven, but couldn’t she call 911 or something?”

  “Sister reported to CARES that on previous occasions, when she’d asked her parents to stop, she was punished. She wasn’t allowed to speak unless asked a direct question, so when she asked her parents to untie her sister, mom filled dad’s hand with hot sauce. He put his hand over her face until she had to breathe in. Imagine hot sauce in your eyes, your sinuses. She learned not to ask questions pretty fast. Report says her sister was shaking, her head banging on the floor, blood on her mouth. Probably a seizure. The sister went out, got her mother’s attention and pointed at the bedroom door. Never said a word.”

  “So they took her to urgent care.”

  “Yes. Nurse took one look and called the department of human services even before the doctors came in. Apparently whenever they entered the bedroom where she was tied, they gave her a kick or two. I’m pretty sure the medical report will show new trauma as well as the ruptured spleen.”

  “So the three-year-old’s in the hospital. The other one’s in DHS custody?”

  “Yeah, she’s safe. At least as safe as she can be for the moment. No way they’ll send them back to that.”

  “Unless the parents seek treatment and get cured,” Storm said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

  “Not this time. There’ll be legal charges filed. I’m sure of it.”

  “You mean they haven’t been?”

  “Not yet. You know how it works. DHS took the kids and filed a report. Got ahold of CARES, and they interviewed the older kid. A warrant was issued and the parents were taken in. A hundred thousand bail was set for each of them, but they own a house and have some equity. Wasn’t that hard for them to scare up the $20,000 in bond money. I doubt they’ll hop, but they could. More than likely they’ll go to court and tell some story about not having good parenting models.

  “If they get the right judge he’ll find them guilty of assault and neglect, and they’ll do a couple years. The kids will stay with DHS, go into the foster system, and unless the judge takes away their parental rights, they won’t be available for adoption. Plus, it won’t stop them having more kids if they want.”

  “The system sucks,” said Storm, venting a tiny bit of her anger. “Those parents should be made infertile just for fun and then shot dead. Their house should be sold to set up a trust fund, and those kids should be put up for adoption so they might find a family they can belong to.”

  “Should be is rarely will be, I’m afraid,” agreed Big Ed. “Anyway, whatever judge gets this is probably going to want your narrative, or even call you in to talk about Mrs. Prentice, so you might want to go back and review your notes. Nothing more we can do for those kids except help the district attorney get a conviction. Just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll do anything I can to help,” Storm promised. “Anything.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  STORM’S HANDS WERE trembling as she dialed Lauren. The phone rang five times and went into voice mail. “The user has not yet set up a voice mail box—” Storm hung up and tried again. This time Lauren picked up on the second ring.

  “Hey, didn’t expect you to call so soon after the holidays.”

  “Something’s come up.”

  “What is it?” Lauren’s voice was hushed, secretive. Storm realized Lauren had instantly picked up on her mood and was playing it back to her, the perfect mirror.

  “We need to meet. Can you do lunch today?”

  “Sure. What time and where?”

  Storm wore her usual, a tailored, long-sleeved white blouse tucked into black slacks and black ankle boots with one-inch stacked heels.

  Her dark hair was swept into a bun held with a silver clip. She also wore a thin silver necklace and a narrow silver watch. She’d removed her black car-length rain coat when she entered the restaurant and now carried it hung over right arm. Her black leather purse dangled from her left hand.

  “You look like an FBI agent,” Lauren said, as Storm slid into the b
ooth across the table from her.

  “Thanks, I think,” Storm said, looking down at herself to try and understand why, then back at Lauren with a puzzled look.

  “All the white and black super-tailored clothes, simple jewelry, hair put up,” Lauren said, responding to the nonverbal question. “Plus, you can tell you’re in good shape, like military good shape. If I didn’t know you, I’d think FBI or Marshall Service or . . .”

  “Or professional, like maybe a probation officer?” Storm continued for her.

  “No. I’ve seen the people you work with. Casual every day. Jeans and t-shirts. Can’t tell them from the clients, except they have better haircuts and better teeth.”

  Storm smiled. Lauren hadn’t said anything she would disagree with.

  Lauren looked down at the menu on the table in front of her. “Anything on here you recommend?”

  “I like the Jamaican bowl, black beans and rice, squash, and some kind of mango sauce.”

  “Sounds good,” said Lauren, sliding the menu to the middle of the table.

  Storm took a quick survey of the dimly lit restaurant. A round table holding six raucous people who seemed to be celebrating a birthday were far enough away and too self-involved to pay them any attention. Two pairs of men, all of them wearing work badges around their necks, sat at booths two rows away, again, far enough so she wasn’t worried about being overheard. The remaining diner sat near the bar at a table for four. She was eating and reading a book. It was the same woman she’d seen before, here once, at the restaurant in Beaverton, and in front of the courthouse. Storm understood there was some risk of running into people she knew. The restaurant wasn’t that far from work. But the café in Beaverton and now this. This was more than coincidence. Storm’s internal alarms were going off like mad.