Cold Snap (7 page)

“I don’t know where Kami is, but you know Lorenzo?”

Patrick dipped his head.

“He’s looking for her.”

“Is she in danger?”

Jazz shrugged. “I’m only telling you this because Kami’s a good kid, and I don’t want her hurt. I haven’t seen her for days, but Ace”—he gestured toward the building where his friends disappeared—“thought he saw her at TK at closing today.”

“TK?”

“The clothes shop. You know, where they make T-shirts and shit. They hire out of here. Ace is sixteen, so he has good hours and shit. I’m too young.”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

Patrick would have guessed older, just from the way the kid held himself. “Thanks for your help, Jazz.”

“Eyes open, it’s been a weird night already.”

Before Patrick could ask him what he meant, Jazz slipped away.

He walked back to the car and pulled out his laptop. He sent Jaye a note to dig as deep as legally possible into Christopher Lee and TK, a clothing manufacturer in San Francisco, focusing on finances. Any business that regularly imported or exported could easily run drugs. Patrick had seen it quite a bit in San Diego because of the proximity to the Mexican border, but any city with a port was particularly vulnerable.

On the map, TK was only half a mile from the teen center. It was definitely worth checking out the facility. He closed his laptop and put it under the seat.

He considered going there without Elle, except that he didn’t know what Kami looked like, and she had no reason to trust him. He didn’t want to spook her. At least he had a viable lead to share when Elle came out, instead of trying to find the drug dealer who might want her dead.

As Patrick watched the teen center, he saw several male youths approach the entrance, then lurk. Jazz knew about the situation with Elle and Kami; there could have been others who did as well. Someone could have tipped Lorenzo off that Elle was inside the building, alone, asking questions. Jazz and his friends knew Patrick was here; no one else did.

He turned off the overhead light in the car and slipped out, quietly closing his door. The center itself was well lit, and the thugs didn’t seem to care if they were spotted. They were definitely waiting for someone. Patrick could see six, but because visibility was low, there could be more out of his sight. Jazz and his friends hadn’t come back out. It was eleven-thirty, and the center would close soon.

Patrick decided he needed to be bold. He didn’t know if one of these kids was Lorenzo, but he doubted it. No one seemed to be a leader, they were all just … waiting. Patrick strode toward the doors without saying a word as he passed. They remained silent as well, but watchful. Patrick opened the door and went in with purpose.

A twentysomething black girl with a nose ring and tight braids manned the front desk. She had a stack of textbooks next to her, two of which were open and marked up. “We’re getting ready to close, sir. Are you here to pick someone up?”

She said it in a tone that implied she’d be shocked if he had a kid here.

“Elle Santana.”

“Oh.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She came in about forty-five minutes ago.”

“Can I look around?”

“The facility is for young adults under twenty-five.”

“Elle’s thirty-two.”

Elle stepped around the corner and said, “It’s not polite to talk about a girl’s age.” She smiled at the nose-ring chick and said, “Thanks, Mikayla, I got what I needed. And don’t forget, if you see Kami, text me.”

“No problem,” Mikayla said, still looking suspiciously at Patrick.

Elle brushed past Patrick and was about to walk outside when Patrick grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side.

She glared at him and shook off his grip. “Dammit, Patrick, I don’t like to be manhandled.”

“There’s six guys loitering outside.”

“This is a teen center. There are
always
kids loitering. It’s not a crime here.”

“In this weather?”

“Are you always so suspicious?”

“They arrived thirty minutes after you did. And they’re waiting. For you.”

“Paranoid, too.”

“You’ve got to trust my instincts because it’s pretty damn clear you have none of your own,” Patrick snapped. “I have a lead on Kami.”

“You? From your trusty rusty computer?”

“From the basketball players outside. She was seen earlier this evening at TK.”

“No, she wouldn’t dare go there, especially since Lee suspects she’s turning evidence against him. She wouldn’t risk it.”

“Unless she’s trying to find the evidence she told you she already had.”

“Two girls told me they saw her at an apartment building not far from here.”

“You’re being set up.”

“Maybe the basketball players were playing you.”

“You’re impossible.”

“TK is closed—unless you want us to go our separate ways? I’ll check out my lead and you check out yours.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Though he was growing more irritated by the minute.

“What, you’re my personal bodyguard now?”

He ignored the sarcasm. “Do what I say.”

She was about to argue with him, but his attention shifted to the door. Two of the thugs were coming in. They spotted Elle and sauntered over, their jeans hanging low on their hips. “Miz Elle, we hear you looking for Kami.”

Elle eyed them. She spoke without her usual friendly tone. Maybe her instincts weren’t as bad as Patrick thought.

“Word gets around fast,” she said flatly.

“We’ll help find her.”

“Thanks anyway, but I have help.”

“We’ll look, just the same.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Elle said. “I’m sure you’re just looking out for Kami, but I need to talk to her.”

“So you bring the cops in here?” one of the guys said.

“I’m not a cop,” Patrick said.

The two punks glanced at each other and snorted, smirks on their lips. “Right.”

Patrick eyed them closely. One of them was definitely packing.

“It’s nearly midnight,” Elle said. “Go home.”

“It’s Saturday night,” one said. “Early.”

“The center closes in twenty minutes. Do I need to call Gerald?”

They both scowled.

“Bitch.”

“Go.”

They grumbled, talked to Mikayla for a minute, then left.

Elle walked over to Mikayla. “Don’t let them back in. If they come in, buzz security.”

“Who’s Gerald?” Patrick asked when Elle walked back to where he waited in the corner of the lobby.

“Gerald Duncan, a former football player with the Niners. Or Raiders. Or … some team in California. He was raised on the streets, and he’s here every week, mostly to play basketball or football with the boys. They listen to him, and he takes care of kids who don’t want to play by the rules. Doesn’t always work, but since he helped build this place, he’s invested in making it succeed.”

“Like Christopher Lee?”

“Totally different.”

“And does your friend Gerald think Lee is corrupt?”

“I’m not going to talk about this here. Time’s running out. I need to get to the apartment before she bolts again.”

Patrick didn’t want to follow Elle’s lead, but like she said, he didn’t know that he could trust Jazz. He thought he could … that’s what his instincts told him.

“Those kids were part of Lorenzo’s gang, weren’t they?”

She hesitated a fraction of a second. Was she going to lie to him? Then she said, “Yes. I know who they are.”

“Are you ready to accept my help without fighting me every step of the way?”

“I’m not fighting with you.”

They walked outside. Lorenzo’s boys were still there, but they didn’t approach. Patrick had Elle walk slightly in front of him so he could keep a better eye on their surroundings. The boys kept their distance, though they moved in the same direction they did. Keeping an eye on them. Per orders, it appeared.

“Trust me, Elle.”

“I do.”

Patrick had a feeling he was going to regret letting Elle take the lead.

CHAPTER 5

Elle didn’t want to let on to Patrick that Lorenzo’s guys had gotten to her. Maybe he knew, because he got all caveman protective of her when they were outside, herding her like cattle. Except … she wouldn’t admit it to him, but his presence did make her feel safer. Great, now she was acting all helpless female waiting for the big, brave man to save her.

Please.

Real heroes didn’t exist. She’d learned that the hard way, watching so many kids suffer and die. If they weren’t physically dead, they were emotionally crippled, hopeless and broken by a callous system that didn’t have any real solutions to real problems. It was overwhelming at times, but she pushed on, because the only solution that ever worked was for a person to care, and if she stopped caring, then she might as well just give up everything. What she really did was help kids of parents who were jackasses—basically, the kids whose parents were in prison, or drunks, or drug addicts. And unfortunately, a lot of those kids grew up to be just like their parents, to become criminals, abusers, and addicts. She wanted to stop that. Help them before it was too late and they killed themselves, or someone else.

She drove several blocks to a row of dilapidated apartment buildings that probably should have been condemned years ago. She was about to pull over when Patrick said, “Drive around the block.”

She did, but frowned. “Why?”

“Lorenzo’s boys followed us.”

She’d thought they might have, but she hadn’t been sure. How did Patrick know with such certainty? Had the police academy handed out psychic skills at graduation? “I have an idea,” she said. She didn’t drive around the block, she kept going straight.

She drove half a mile, then took a major road to the highway. She merged onto 280, going north, and got off at the next exit. No one was behind her. She still spent a good ten minutes driving around in circles before she ended up back at the apartment building.

“Good job,” Patrick said.

“High praise from you.”

Elle needed to stop being so sarcastic. He was trying to help; why was she being so bitchy? “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

He reached over and took her hand. “It’s okay. Elle, we’ve known each other ever since I moved to San Diego when I was still a short, scrawny kid. You don’t have to apologize. I know this is stressful, so we’ll take it one step at a time.”

Why was he being nice when she was so antagonistic? “Thanks. My attitude gets the best of me sometimes.”

Her phone was ringing again. “Dammit, it’s Sandy Chin again. She’s called, like, three times since ten.”

“You need to talk to her.”

Elle shook her head and sent the call to voice mail. “I have to find Kami first. If I can’t find her by tomorrow morning—well, I’ll figure out what to say to Sandy then.”

“If we can’t find her, we need to bring in the police. She’s in trouble.”

“She’s in hiding.” She had to be. No one had found her body—Elle would have heard. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t dead.

You can’t think like that.

She focused on what she could do and gestured toward the buildings. “This is Section 8 housing. One of the girls at the center said she saw Kami walking across the courtyard after dark. When she called out, Kami didn’t turn around, and she thought she hadn’t heard her. Another girl said that one of Kami’s friends has an apartment on the ground floor, with her mother. It’s late, but I don’t see an alternative to knocking on the door.”

“Except?”

How had he sensed her skepticism?

“I learned that Lorenzo’s new place is also in one of these buildings. Which confirms what Clark told me.” It irritated Elle that Patrick didn’t trust Clark. Was that a guy thing? Or a cop thing? Either way, he didn’t know Clark like Elle did, and therefore should trust her judgment. And while she may have known Patrick longer than her college friend, she saw Clark nearly every day.

“How far is TK from here?”

“Down the next street a couple blocks, toward the bay. Light industrial area.”

“I don’t feel comfortable letting you go in there alone,” Patrick said. “But I’ll make myself scarce. No one will know I’m watching you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What, you have an invisibility cloak?”

Patrick laughed before stepping out of the car.

At first, Elle knew exactly where Patrick was, then suddenly, he wasn’t there, and she couldn’t see him. Wow, neat trick.

She went to the apartment that belonged to Mia Jones and her mother. Elle didn’t know Mia, but she had names to drop.

She couldn’t tell if there were lights on in the apartment, but she heard a faint laugh track from a television sitcom. She knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked a little louder.

A young black girl answered the door. She wasn’t older than thirteen. “Mia?” Elle asked.

“Who are you?”

“Mia?” a voice from another room called. “Who’s there? Not a boy!”

“No, Mama,” Mia called. She looked Elle over. “You’re Kami’s laywer friend.”

“I am.”

Mia glanced down the hall, then motioned for Elle to come in. She closed and bolted the door behind her. “Who told you she was here?”

“I need to talk to her. She’s in danger.” Elle glanced around the small apartment. Kami wasn’t in the living room. There were two doors off a short hall.

“She left. A couple hours ago. I told her she could stay, my mom never leaves her room except to go to work. But she said she had something to do, just wanted to hide here until it got dark.”

“What was she doing?”

“I dunno.” But Mia didn’t make eye contact.

“Please, Mia, if you don’t help me, I’m afraid she’ll get hurt. Bad people are looking for her.”

Mia frowned. “I don’t know exactly what she was doing, but she said she was going to TK. She was waiting until everyone was gone.”

This was worse than Elle had expected. Why would Kami risk herself like this?

“Thank you. And don’t tell anyone I was here.”

“And don’t tell anyone I said anything. I don’t need to be on Lorenzo’s bad side. But Kami helped me once. I couldn’t just tell her to go away.”