Page 43 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

FORTY-TWO

Silhouettes of birds tapered across the sky.

The blue color was melting into a dark gray.

Zoe listened to music to drown out the perpetual hum of the city.

She swung the grocery bag back and forth, walking past identical-looking blocks of concrete with peeling posters and amateur graffiti.

It was a sketchy patch outside downtown. But it was Chicago—she knew this city.

Plus it wasn’t like Zoe hadn’t taken this path before.

Singing along, her steps matched the beat of the music. She was too preoccupied to notice a figure emerge from the shadows. She almost jumped back.

It was a middle-aged man wearing a coat on a hot summer day. His skin was blotchy, his eyes weary. He extended his hand. “You got change?”

She removed her earphones and looked around. No sign of anyone. She hesitated but figured it was better to help him. “Yeah, sure.”

Zoe took out her wallet from her pocket and discreetly opened it, away from his prying eyes. Her hands trembled. She had a lot of cash, expecting to buy more groceries, but the shop was out of stock in a lot of things.

The man’s eyes flashed. He gripped her hand and pulled her closer.

An involuntary scream escaping Zoe’s throat was abruptly cut off. Her heart pounded hard. The bag slipped from her hands and all the groceries rolled out.

She tried wrestling her way out of his unyielding hold. But one arm was around her waist almost crushing her ribs. His other hand was on her mouth. It was difficult to breathe. The scent of something metallic and rotten assaulted her nose.

He was pulling her into the alley with him. Away from the street. Further into darkness and isolation.

I’m going to die. He’s going to touch me and then kill me.

Because the fear of just losing her life wasn’t cruel enough.

We have to tell our daughters to be careful, because no one tells their sons to behave.

Be careful, Zoe. Her mother had given her strict instructions when she had moved to the city.

Zoe cried and grappled; a sense of doom overcoming her.

Suddenly, she froze. She realized why the man was wearing a coat. His shirt was covered in blood.

She bit into his hand and as he released his grip in pain, she shouted, “Help!”

“Bitch!” He smacked her in the jaw and threw her to the ground. Climbing on top of her, he immobilized her legs. He was so heavy. Tears fell down her face. He grabbed her wrists with one hand and pinned them above her head.

No. No. Please. No.

“Get off her!” she heard someone growl. Before Zoe could register anything, someone flew at them, slamming into the man and rolled away with him.

Finally she could breathe. Everything happened so quickly.

She heard a siren. A cop car had pulled up.

An officer was rushing toward her and calling for help.

The fading adrenaline left her with shivers.

She could hear grunting and crunches. She looked over her shoulder and saw a woman raining punches on the man.

After a few minutes, she stopped and stood up, panting. “Cuff this asshole! Now!”

The officer obeyed. The woman wasn’t in uniform. She was wearing an impressive pantsuit. Her dark face contorted in fury. Her long and straight hair was pulled in a high ponytail. She was tall and imposing and downright terrifying.

Zoe almost recoiled when the woman laid eyes on her.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, taking out her badge. “I’m Detective Taylor from the Chicago PD. You’re safe now.”

And Zoe did feel safe. She glanced at the revolting man who had tried to hurt her.

He had already hurt someone else. That much blood on his shirt couldn’t have been his own if he was still able to walk around and attack her.

But this woman had saved her. She had done something incredible, monumental, and she had probably done it so many times that she didn’t even realize the enormity of it.

Zoe stared at her in awe. And right then and there, she found her way to the truth. She knew what to do.

Zoe had driven like a maniac. It had taken her five hours.

She wasn’t distracted by the scenic views of the Olympic National Park when driving on the 101 South or flustered by the traffic on WA-305.

She had zipped through the unfamiliar roads in a frenzy, her blood pressure hovering at an all-time high.

She parked haphazardly and marched into the FBI’s Seattle office, past some familiar faces who tried greeting her and were surprised at her attitude. Zoe was rarely in a bad mood. She made it a point to smile, to joke like she had stepped straight out of a romantic comedy.

But today she wore her rage like a badge.

She climbed the stairs and found Simon in a conference room with one of the assistant directors. Two suited men engaged in a somber discussion with thick stacks of paper in front of them. Her hands fisted around the printouts she was carrying, and she burst into the room.

“Zoe!” Simon’s eyes widened in shock and he stammered for an introduction. “You know Campbell from counterintelligence. This is Special Agent Zoe Storm.”

“Of course I know her!” The stocky man shook Zoe’s sweaty hand but didn’t seem to mind. “She sends my family chocolates every Christmas.”

“Sorry, but do you mind if I have a moment with Simon?” Zoe asked Campbell nicely. “It’s an emergency.”

“Sure, no problem.” He stood up with his hands in the air. “I gotta take a leak and then a smoke.”

Once he left the room, Simon watched her like she had grown two heads. “What’s going on? How’s Wesley?”

“I need tech support.”

He rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Z. You know my hands are tied?—”

She shoved the papers in his chest. “I need tech support, Simon. Read this and tell me you can’t help.”

Simon sighed in exasperation but once he began reading the printouts of all the posts made by John Doe that Zoe that consolidated, the color drained from his face. His nostrils flared and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “I see.”

“Campbell is here. He likes me. He’s counterintelligence. Convince him to loan you more resources or?—”

“The guys will work overtime on this tonight,” Simon said, his tone flipping suddenly from annoyed to purposeful. “You’re looking for an IP address, I’m assuming?”

“Y-yes.” Zoe crossed her arms, suddenly unsure of what to do. She had been preparing to make a whole speech and threatening to quit if needed. “I’ll send you the information. That’s it? You just agreed?”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Is that how little you think of me? That I won’t help with something like this?”

For a moment, Zoe was catapulted back to her time at the academy.

The first time she felt a little tug for Simon in her chest. He had given a passionate lecture on a case he had recently solved.

She saw that same passion and fury now, not a man whose hands were tied by paperwork and corporate red tape.

“Thank you. I should head back.” The energy simmering inside her was finally settling down. “Can you get back in forty-eight hours?”

“I promise.”

She turned to leave and hesitated. A meandering thought suddenly crystallized. “Can you do me another favor? A personal one?”

“Depends on what it is.” His eyes narrowed.

“There’s no time limit on this. Can you look into the name Keith Gordon? He owns a bar in Harborwood.”

“Sure. Why?”

“A favor for a friend.” She gave a noncommittal shrug and walked away, her stomach in knots.

Scott reread Zoe’s message.

Z: Have a lead on creep who has been posting things about victims online. FBI is helping find the IP address.

His face burned. Her niceness was a machete to the gut. He gripped the steering wheel and punched the button to speed-dial Travis. As he waited for Travis to answer, he bobbed his knee and rubbed his lips.

“How long is this unofficial suspension going to last?” he demanded as soon as Travis picked up.

A sigh. “Scott, I gave you a chance to control yourself. Instead, you got drunk. I can’t risk this investigation.”

He caught a reflection of his face in the side mirror.

The angry scar that ran down his face was still far from healing or turning white and there was mild swelling on his right temple.

He looked like a monster; he felt like one too.

“I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.

But the big picture is this case. You can use me. You’re wasting a resource?—”

“You have become a liability,” he said sternly. “And you have a personal connection to the case with your history with Carly!”

“She’s mine! Lucy’s mine!” he growled.

Silence. A thick, pregnant silence.

“What?” Travis asked.

Scott rested his head back, exhausted by Carly’s lies and drama. “She didn’t tell me until Lucy went missing. But the timing makes sense.”

“Holy crap.”

He felt like a fool. Once again Carly had caught him in his drama, and this time it was by keeping his kid away from him. “Come on, Travis. Are you really that surprised? You were with her too. You know what she’s capable of.”

“I wasn’t until now,” he admitted softly. “But I’m sorry, Scott. This doesn’t change the fact that your behavior has been erratic. In fact, you’re even more involved now. You’re off this case but you can report to duty next week.”

Scott gritted his teeth when the line went dead. A sharp spike in anger and he slapped the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. It throbbed, turning red. He threw the phone on the passenger seat and floored the gas, peeling out of his driveway.

He was on a mission. He didn’t care that he didn’t have Travis’s permission.

This was his case. This was his kid. He was going to solve it.

He had told Terri to get a few patrol officers to keep an eye on Bella—Lily’s defensive, drug-addicted sister who knew the dealer they’d found at that abandoned building.

There was a loose end there. He could feel it in his gut. It didn’t take him long to find Bella at her high school. She was a senior and hanging out in the parking lot with some friends.

Scott observed her from a distance, trying to memorize the faces she was talking to.

None of them looked suspicious. They just looked like kids.

She got into her red truck—a clear hand-me-down—that had peeled paint and an engine that coughed loudly when it roared to life.

She peeled out of the parking lot and got on the main street.

And then Scott followed her. He had tailed people before—mostly Carly when she used to lie about where she was going.

He maintained a distance and he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t go home and instead headed to one of the town squares.

With her backpack slung over her shoulder, she walked to the pharmacy.

He killed the engine and followed her in.

Scott blended into the few people milling about inside the pharmacy just as Bella approached the counter. The conversation was quiet, muffled by the ambient noise of the store.

The pharmacist handed over a small paper bag, and Bella mumbled a quick thanks before turning to leave.

As she did, the bag tipped slightly and fell from her grasp, spilling a bottle with the familiar logo of Tylenol.

Scott frowned. It was over-the-counter stuff, nothing unusual. But something wasn’t right.

Once Bella left, he approached the pharmacist. He knew the old, stout woman with round glasses and graying hair. Luckily, it wasn’t hard to make friends in a small town like Harborwood.

“Hey, Liz, how’s it going?” He placed his hands on the counter, giving her a crooked smile.

Liz looked up from her notepad, her eyes widening both in surprise and then concern. “Scott! Oh my goodness. I saw the news. That crowd did a number on you.”

He touched the scar. He’d forgotten it was there because his mind was too crowded with more important things. But now he realized, a patch of his face was in pain. “Yeah…”

“You want anything for that face, honey? A cream to prevent scarring or extra strength Tylenol?” She jumped into her mamma bear mode, ruffling through the shelves of bottles and tubes.

“Ah, darn it! Bella took the last Tylenol I had. I’m going to have to place an order.

” She shook her head, flustered, and went to the computer. “How do you work these things?”

“Is Bella okay? You know, considering…”

“She is as good as can be expected.” Liz pressed a hand to her chest and clicked her tongue.

“She’s being more responsible. Her mother used to pick up the kidney medication, but Bella tells me that Mary doesn’t want to leave the house anymore.

Worst nightmare for a parent, Scott. Worst one.

” Her gazed fixated on the screen. “Now, how should I place an order?”

Scott helped Liz place the order. But what she just said left him with jangled nerves.