Hart of Darkness Read online

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. That was the first time I’d heard Denim apologize. “I do blame myself.”

  “Bro, I need to get out of here. I may look like I’m happy-go-lucky, but this place is killing me inside.” He pounded his chest with his fist. “I want to help you find Grace. More importantly, I want to find the fucker who set me up.”

  It was possible that someone had set up Denim to take the fall. If so, the million-dollar question was who? The other elephant in the room was why? He had to have royally pissed off someone who had the skill and smarts to do that. “The cops found the gun used to kill that gang member in your backpack.”

  “It wasn’t mine,” he said despondently.

  I blew out a breath. “Denim, look. I’ll talk to Kelton. He does work for a law firm that has lawyers who can take a look at your case.”

  He opened his mouth.

  I held up my hand. “I’m not promising anything. Now, how long will it take you to do some detective work?”

  “Bro,” Denim said. “Maybe you should check with Duke. Our brother knows the streets and has connections. He might have more insight about the Black Knights.”

  “I plan to when I know I won’t send him through a wall. Of all people, he should’ve been turning over every stone to find Grace. Lord knows he’s had the men to do it.” Why Duke wouldn’t put his money and resources into searching for his sister still befuddled me.

  The guard cleared his throat. “Time’s up.”

  Denim sneered. “Give me a second, please.”

  The squat, bald man didn’t move from the door.

  “Duke did look for Grace. He even beat the shit out of our old man to see what he did to send Grace over the edge. Which, as you know, was his drunken ass and verbal abuse.”

  That might have been true, but Duke had led me to believe that he didn’t care about Grace anymore, nor had he shown any signs of remorse or sadness.

  Denim pushed back his chair. “Give me until Friday to see what I can find out.”

  Friday was three days away. “Why that long?”

  “My block and E block are in the yard together on Thursday.” Worry flashed in his eyes.

  I got the feeling that what he was about to do was dangerous, but he was a big, tough boy who could handle himself.

  In the meantime, I needed to talk to Nadine, call Kelton, talk to Manny over at the men’s shelter to see how Norton was doing, and see if Maggie had had any luck finding something useful in her files.

  8

  Maggie

  Tap. Ring. Tap. Ring.

  My colleagues pounded away on keyboards. Phones rang. Voices peppered the air. The newsroom sounded like a well-played orchestra without its conductor.

  I sat in my cubicle, enjoying the hum in the room, which calmed me for some reason. I hated quiet. I hated to dive into my own thoughts and think about my past. But sometimes remembering my screwed-up childhood was the only thing that kept me dedicated to my revenge.

  I slipped my hand underneath my chiffon scarf and felt along the raised ridge of my scar. I strived to shield my disfigurement as much as I could.

  At times when I didn’t wear a scarf because I forgot, people stared. I would have liked to think they were admiring my nice breasts. They weren’t. Their horrified looks told me otherwise.

  Sometimes I had to snap my fingers and say, “Up here.” That usually ended with them getting red cheeks and saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry.” The bold ones asked how I’d gotten the scar. My response was always, “Wrong place. Wrong time.”

  That wasn’t a lie. If I hadn’t gotten so pissed off at my foster dad for putting his hands on me, then my life might have been different. Then again, maybe not. I would’ve still been violated by a drunk person, just one who hadn’t had a knife in his hand.

  I traced the length of my scar up then down, counting to twenty-five—the number of stitches it had taken to sew me up.

  That fuckwad Cory had cut me deep that night and shattered my confidence. He’d given me nightmares to last an eternity.

  “I will get you. I will see you in hell,” I whispered to myself.

  Damn Dillon thought I was beautiful. I saw myself as deformed.

  “Rise up,” Lou had told me. “Stand proud of who you are. Fight. Live. Breathe in air. And plan how you’re going to get revenge.”

  Revenge. That word held so much meaning to me. An eye for an eye. Retribution.

  Lou had wanted to know who had carved me up like a piece of meat. He’d wanted to hunt Cory down not long after I’d healed. Doing so would have only put Lou behind bars for murder, because as outraged as Lou had been, he wouldn’t have thought twice about putting a bullet into Cory, and I couldn’t let him throw away his life for me. I’d also been too scared to even whisper Cory’s name at the time.

  He’d stolen my confidence. He’d made me weak and shy. Thank God for Lou. He had pulled me from the ashes.

  And like a phoenix rising, I had emerged a new person. Renewed in my mission. Stronger than before.

  Once I’d learned how to really fight, I was ready to face the world, because I wouldn’t be handled by any man like that again.

  Oh, I’d planned Cory’s death a million times over as I lay awake at night when sleep escaped me. My nightmares were vivid scenes of how I would make him suffer. At first, I’d thought death would be simple, quick, and the best punishment for him.

  But death was too easy. He needed to suffer like I had all these years, and losing his freedom was far more effective. As much as I wanted to see him dead, I wasn’t excited to be surrounded by three walls and bars for my door. I’d seen the inside of a jail cell one too many times, and that was when I realized I had to devise another plan to exact my revenge.

  I leaned back in my chair and caught myself before I tipped over.

  Someone laughed behind me before Bruce showed me his ugly mug. Well, my editor wasn’t ugly. He was rather handsome, in shape, and a great husband and father to his wife and two girls. I longed for a family like his. I didn’t see marriage and children happening for me, though. Maybe because I’d been on my own since I was born, and the foster homes I’d lived in didn’t have the loving families who doted on their little tikes or spouses. If I were lucky enough to marry and have babies, I would do my best to make sure they came first.

  Bruce crossed his arms over his pink golf shirt as he leaned against my desk. “Are you working on that standoff you were at last night at Bleven and Third?”

  I rubbed a hand down my face. “There isn’t a story. Ted cut me off. I’m sure you don’t want me to write about how a cop arrested one of the perps.”

  “Do you know who they arrested? Is he with the Black Knights?”

  I pointed a broken nail at my computer screen. “All I have are those pics.” It wasn’t as if I could type “face piercing, balding head suspect” into a police database to see if he’d been arrested before. I also couldn’t question Ted or Rick. Neither of them would give me info, not because I was cut off from intel, but because I was the media and had no business interfering in a police investigation.

  But I kind of did interfere, and I kind of felt guilty that I hadn’t told Ted about Nadine. I was hoping I could convince Nadine to talk to the cops later when I went to visit her. If she wouldn’t budge, I might consider telling Ted the truth, if for no other reason than to help Nadine so she wouldn’t go back to Miguel. Maybe Ted could get her to a safe house protected by cops. Sure, the shelter was considered a safe haven, especially with Dillon and Rafe guarding the home, but cops had secret hiding spots.

  Bruce waved his hand. “Mags, are you in there?”

  The images of the Latino suspect on my screen sharpened before I met Bruce’s gaze.

  He angled his head, a strand of his black hair falling out of place. “It’s not like you to give up. What’s going on? You’re sitting here, staring off into space.” He scanned my desk and picked up the picture of Grace. “Who’s this? A new victim? She’s y
oung, like my daughter.”

  “Her name is Grace, and she’s the sister of a friend of mine. That photo was taken when she was fourteen. She’s twenty now.”

  “You think she’s part of the sex-trafficking ring?” Bruce continued to stare at Grace’s picture. “Boy, I would flip out if my girls were taken from me.”

  Dillon was kind of doing the same. “She went missing at sixteen.”

  “So why do you have her picture? Surely, she’s long gone by now.”

  I couldn’t argue with him on that. Statistics had shown that the crucial window for finding a missing person was forty-eight hours. However, there had been cases in which victims were found after years of being in captivity.

  I yawned, making a whiny sound. “Sorry. I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

  “We need a story for Sunday’s crime section,” Bruce said.

  It was highly unlikely I would have a break in finding more dirt on the Black Knights before then. Investigative reporting took time. “I have an idea.” One that was stupid. “What if I go undercover to get info on the gang or gangs. I could walk the streets as a call girl and see what I can drum up. Then I could get hardcore evidence on anything gang related, including sex trafficking if that’s what they’re doing.” I’d pinpointed the Black Knights because of Cory. But a story was a story, no matter what gang it was about or what illegal activity they were into.

  Bruce’s angular jaw dropped. “Are you mad? No way. It’s too dangerous. Leave that shit for the cops. They have people trained to go undercover.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he pointed an ink-stained finger at me. “No. I get how you want to crack the story. But absolutely not. If you bring it up again, my next call is to Ted.”

  Well, shit.

  Ted would lock me up until he and his team brought down not only the Black Knights but every gang in the city, which meant I would be a prisoner for the rest of my life.

  I dropped my head back, grunted, and squinted at the LED lights above before focusing on Bruce.

  “Promise me, Maggie, that you are not going to do something stupid.” His kind voice had a razor-sharp edge to it.

  I raised my hands as if Ted had a gun to my back. “I promise.” Maybe.

  “A story is one thing. Your revenge that you’re dead set on is quite different, and that will get you killed.”

  “Yes, Dad,” I teased.

  Bruce mashed his lips together. “Sassing me will get you handcuffed to this desk.”

  Yes, Dad was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t be strapped to my desk. I had leads to follow through on. I had to find facts, and I had to find them fast.

  First, I had to somehow get out of my funk. “I’m going down to the precinct.”

  “That’s my girl,” Bruce said.

  He assumed I was going to grill Ted for info, and I would ask Ted again about the standoff, but I also wanted to ask him about Grace.

  I scooped up the picture of Grace, collected my notebook, shoved it all into my bag, and started for the elevator.

  “Oh, and Mags?” Bruce called.

  I tossed a quick look over my shoulder.

  He gave me a warm smile. “Be careful out there.”

  I saluted him as straight as a sailor would then hoofed down to the garage located underneath the building and got into my beat-up VW Bug. My little car was the perfect size for city life.

  I sped up and out onto the busy city streets, where horns blared and buses screeched to a halt and the smell of car exhaust filtered in through my open window.

  I zipped around corners and other cars until I was pulling into a space outside of Ted’s precinct. I got out of my car and slung my bag over my body. As I crossed the street, I spotted Officer Miladin parking his cruiser in front of the precinct. Maybe I could get info out of him on the perp he’d arrested.

  Lifting my chin, I dug deep for my flirty side and flipped my braid so it fell down my back as I waited at the curb.

  Miladin eyed me as he climbed out of his cruiser. The man was quite different in the daylight. His dark eyes were a deep blue, like the ocean off the coast of the Bahamas. I’d seen pictures of the island and had immediately put it on my bucket list for a rainy day when I had money to take a vacation.

  Miladin moved a piece of his amber-brown hair out of his eyes as he gave me an award-winning smile that could melt a girl where she stood.

  I batted my eyelashes, mainly to appeal to him so he would give me information. “Do you remember me?”

  He stepped up onto the sidewalk, undressing me with his eyes. He was definitely deciding if I was someone he would want to take to bed.

  Standing out in the open with cops filtering in and out of the building, I began my own assessment of Miladin, who I guessed to be in his twenties. Some women went all gaga over a man in uniform—cops, military, and firefighters—but not me. I didn’t see the draw. Still, Miladin was super easy on the eyes, with his broad chest, flat stomach, and muscular arms.

  “The reporter, right?” He had one of those voices that would be good on the radio—distinct, clear, and sharp.

  “Boston Eagle. The guy you arrested last night. You got a name? Is he associated with the Black Knights?”

  He chuckled. “Nothing I can tell the press. Sorry, sweetheart.”

  My nose twitched. The word sweetheart always rubbed me the wrong way, thanks to Cory, and whenever I heard that word, I wanted to scrub my hands until the first layer of skin peeled off.

  I clamped down on my tongue. Officer Miladin didn’t need my wrath. But his good looks were downgraded to somewhat ugly.

  He sauntered past me and went up the stairs and into the precinct.

  I shook off my annoyance and took the steps two at a time. I went to open one of the double glass doors, when Ted strode toward me with a cigarette ready to light. The man was going to die from nicotine before he got shot on the streets.

  I backed away to let him through. It was better to talk outside and not around his team. That way, I had his full attention.

  As soon as he was outside, he lit up, took a drag, sighed, and blew out the disgusting smoke.

  I choked.

  He marched down the steps and over to a police cruiser. He used the hot metal car as his anchor. “You look tired.”

  “You look like shit too,” I responded as I mimicked his move, resting my butt on the cruiser.

  He puffed on his cigarette and blew out fancy circles.

  Again, I wanted to gag. The smell reminded me of my foster days, drunken men, and bad memories. “Those things will kill you.”

  “So will chasing bad guys,” he said. “What brings you down here?”

  “Am I still cut off?”

  He flicked ashes to the ground. “Next question.”

  The need to stomp my foot like a two-year-old was strong. “Come on. I want a story.” I strapped on my sweet voice.

  He dragged his index finger and thumb down over his graying mustache as he considered my statement, or maybe he was trying to find another way to tell me no. “What I can tell you is the guy we arrested isn’t talking. So don’t ask me if he’s part of the Black Knights. What I can say is his name is Dan Silva.”

  His name didn’t ring a bell. “What was he arrested for?”

  Ted narrowed his eyes. “Not open for discussion.”

  No surprise there. Maybe Misty, my source, could shed some light on that name.

  Onto my next task… I dug into the front pocket of my messenger bag and held up Grace’s picture. “Have you seen this girl?”

  He flashed his dark eyes at Grace. “I’ve seen a lot of girls, Mags. Faces are all running together these days. You know old age is setting in. Anyway, who is she?” His voice went up slightly. Ted was in his forties and had a hard look about him.

  “Grace Hart. She went missing four years ago. I’m helping out her brother. He’s been on the hunt for her since then.”

  He made a clucking sound as he chewed on his lip. “As in Denim Hart?
”

  I gave him a sidelong glance. “You know Denim?”

  He dipped his chin. “I arrested his ass for murder.”

  I strained my brain, flipping through conversations I’d had with Ted. “How come I didn’t know that?” Then again, he didn’t talk about his work much with me.

  “Who I arrest isn’t your business. You should know by now I don’t talk about work when I’m off duty. Anyway, this girl is probably dead.”

  “I’m helping Denim’s brother, Dillon. He doesn’t believe so. He says someone he talked to not that long ago saw Grace at a soup kitchen on Asher.”

  “Mmm,” he mumbled.

  “Does that mean you’ve seen her?” Please say yes.

  “About a year ago, Rick and I were working on a case of a man we suspected had been involved in a bank heist. Our trail led to a tattoo shop not far from Asher called Skins and Needles. When we walked in, there was a girl getting a tattoo on her neck. Anyway, I thought one wrong move, and the artist could sever her carotid artery.”

  I stabbed my finger at the photo. “That’s the girl?”

  He lifted a plaid-covered shoulder. Ted liked to wear plaid shirts for some reason. “Don’t know. But the mark on her neck made me think of that.” His phone chimed. He unclipped it from his belt. “Yeah. Where? Are you sure it’s the redhead? I’ll be right there.”

  My heart stopped. My tongue wouldn’t work either. Oh my. How did he find Nadine? Now she’s going to think I ran to the cops.

  “I got to run.” He stubbed out his cigarette then darted into the precinct like the Flash.

  A horn somewhere around me blew and kick-started my brain.

  I fumbled for my phone. I had to warn Dillon for the sole purpose of making sure he was prepared, and I wanted him to warn Nadine. I didn’t want Nadine to think I sent the cops to pick her up. She didn’t want anything to do with them, so I didn’t believe Nadine had called them. Dillon or Rafe might have. But they hadn’t been all that happy about bringing the cops into the shelter, at least from what I could gather.

  I dialed Dillon’s number. The line rang and rang and rang.