She shook her head at the size of the bag. “Jesus Christ, at least ten thousand must be in there.”
“Twice that, at least,” he said calmly.
“High stakes,” she snapped. But she turned and stared at Owen and the local beat cops, still looking at the body. She couldn’t give a shit about the money in his pocket. All she cared about was the life that had left that little body.
“How long were you looking for her?”
She shared a glance at him. “I never got any report that she was missing,” she said sadly. “So that’s giving me a whole new investigation.”
“Well, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Just a magnet for trouble though, huh?”
His tone turned grim. “Only lately.”
She stopped, turned, and looked at him. “What changed?”
He stared right at her, his gaze completely unfathomable.
“For something like that to happen in your world,” she said, “usually something changes.”
He gave her a shrug and a blank smile.
Frustrated, she said, “Well, that’s your problem, but make sure you stay the hell away from my cases.”
“And if I don’t?” he asked, his tone turning silky.
“I’ll make sure that I drag you into each and every one of them,” she said. “You’re either a charlatan or somebody who gets his kicks out of seeing the police running around, chasing after this killer,” she said. “Or you are the killer himself. I’m okay to lay any one of those labels on you, though I’d much prefer that last one.”
“You need proof for that,” he said.
“And what?” she said. “Are you too smart for that?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, “but it’s definitely an issue.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, “but now we have a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Now you are in too many of my cases. I’ve got a missing seven-year-old boy, and we’ve got a dead little girl,” and she frowned, as she recognized the ages. “And we’ve got all those kids from those crazy nightmares of yours.” With that, she turned and headed back to the crime scene. Only to realize she hadn’t asked him about the toddler she’d found alive earlier.
*
Simon watched thedetective leave. Something was elusive and yet addictive about her. They were playing cat and mouse, only he didn’t know what the end game was. He detested the police, detested authority of any kind. Particularly people who took a paycheck and didn’t give a shit about anything beyond that.
Jobs weren’t people; they weren’t hearts and souls. They weren’t dreams and hopes and wishes. When it came to a lot of cops, they didn’t give a shit about any of that. They were just about black-and-white statistics, needing to make an arrest to keep their paychecks flowing. He didn’t think she was the same kind of paycheck-collecting cop because something was different there, something damn weird about her. No. Not weird.Unique. Yeah, he’d go with unique.
Yet she was right about one thing—something had changed. He just didn’t know what had triggered it.
He patted the money bag in one pocket, then pulled out the small yellow ball he still kept in the other. Not sure why, except it was a reminder of Yale, who’d tossed it to him as he was leaving the park that one day. With that, he turned and headed for home. As he walked, he passed several others out, cruising around and enjoying life. But something in the back of his head said that he was up against some other elements.
He kept walking forward, searching the alleyways as he crossed them. Once again, he heard a weird sound that had him flattening against the wall, turning to face the threat. And, sure enough, there was his cheating opponent from the game earlier this evening. Only now his face was puffed up and red, his nose bleeding. Simon stared at the man in surprise. “Whoever did that to you, well, I’m surprised they even let you walk away.”
“They didn’t,” he spat on the ground. “I woke up on a bench a few blocks away. But don’t worry. I know who is really responsible for this.”
“Not me,” Simon said mildly. He looked at him and said, “You’ve still got the gun, I see.”
“No,” he said. “It’s a second gun.”