“Handwriting is unique to each individual. And handwriting evidence is more than I’ve got now, which is just a pile of missing money, along with a missing gun, badge and police uniform.”
She put the torn-off cover on the dash. “The gun concerns me.”
“It should. He definitely knows how to use it.”
“What would you have done if Malcolm had been there?” she asked.
He wanted to believe he would’ve called the police. But Malcolm knew how to work the system, was a product of it. If he had sufficient ID to “prove” he was Wesley Boss, they’d start by questioning him about the kidnappings, and he’d know how to play that. If they couldn’t get anything on him, they’d release him pending further investigation-and he’d be gone long before they ever got around to identifying who he really was. It wasn’t as if they’d send him back to New Jersey on Sebastian’s word, or get a court order compelling him to provide a DNA sample. They had certain procedures they had to work through. Police involvement equaled bureaucracy, and bureaucracy was never efficient.
But what did that mean? Did it mean Sebastian would’ve shot him?
Maybe. He might not have been able to stop himself.
“Do you plan to answer me?” she asked.
He turned the radio back up. “He wasn’t there.”
Jane hesitated as she stepped out of Sebastian’s Lexus. Unless the landlord of that house could provide a new address, he was suddenly in a much better position to find Wesley Boss than she was. He was in contact with him, wasn’t he?
That meant she needed to continue working with him, enlist his help, regardless of how she felt about the way he’d handled the situation in Ione. “So you’ll call me? You’ll let me know if you arrange a meeting with Boss?” she asked.
Sebastian leaned forward until she could see his face. “I’ll think about it.”
She didn’t like his attitude. “I shared my information with you.”
“Your information turned out to be a bust.”
“Not a complete bust,” she argued. “You got directions to that Indian casino.”
“Which might mean nothing more than an enjoyable night of craps.”
She adjusted her purse. The gun inside made it unusually heavy. “What about my kidnap victims? Surely you’re not so consumed with revenge that you don’t care what happens to them.”
He scowled. “That isn’t it at all.”
“Then what is?”
“I don’t see how bringing you along will help save them.”
His arrogance irritated her. “Oh, really? Who backed you up in Ione, even though you had no business doing what you did?”
The barest hint of a smile curved his lips. “I wish I could’ve caught that on tape.”
Jane stiffened. “What?”
“You, trying not to get your shoes muddy while hurrying toward me with that gun.”
She hadn’t realized he’d paid enough attention to notice. “Little good it did me,” she grumbled. “My shoes are ruined.”
He sobered. “Could’ve been worse.”
“I think that was my argument.” Besides, it was easy for him to say. He was obviously used to having money. No one she knew rented a Lexus. At least, no one she knew these days. “Point is, I could’ve stayed warm and dry in the car,” she said. “So will you cooperate with me or not?”
Wearing a scowl, he stared off into the distance.
“Sebastian?”
His gaze moved her way, and he studied her as if seeing her for the first time. She might’ve been flattered, except there was a calculating air to the appraisal that told her he wasn’t necessarily admiring her figure. “Maybe there’d be some benefit to having you involved.”
“Meaning…”
“Maybe you could provide a woman’s perspective.”
“Considering I am a woman, that shouldn’t be too difficult,” she said dryly.
Another flash of his pearly whites told her he understood why she was a little piqued. “Good. Mary works until four. Then she does homework with her kids and takes them to various sports practices. Most nights she doesn’t get on the computer until eight. I need to stick with the same pattern as much as possible, so I’ll sign on with her screen name about that time. If you want to be part of this, come to my motel room at seven-thirty.”
Kate would be home then, but Jane knew she could take her daughter to her in-laws’ for the night. Kate would be excited about staying with Grandma and Grandpa. When Oliver was in jail, she stayed there often, but now Jane rarely allowed it on a school night. “Where’s your motel?”
“The Raleigh Pete, off Cal Expo. Room 213.”
That wasn’t far from her Howe Avenue condo. “I’ll be there.” She started to shut the door, but he spoke again.
“If I gave you fifty dollars, is there any chance you’d bring dinner?”
Jane wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “What?”
“I hardly ever get a home-cooked meal,” he admitted, as if that was reason enough to make her agree.
Austin, an intern from Del Campo High School who was working at TLS in order to get credit for a sociology class, had just parked in the lot. Jane said hello and waited for him to go inside before responding. Then she said, “You want me to make you dinner?”
“I’ll pay for it, like I said. Is some pot roast or meat loaf too much to ask?”
“How do you know I can cook?”
“You’ve got a kitchen, don’t you?” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a fifty-dollar bill. “I’ve been on the road since forever. Anything’s got to be better than what I’ve been eating.”
As Jane accepted the money, she couldn’t help feeling some measure of sympathy. Maybe Sebastian wasn’t the humblest person she’d ever met. But he’d been traveling a long time and no one knew the impact of violence like she did. “I’ve got to cook for Kate, anyway,” she said.
“Kate?”
“My daughter.”
“I didn’t realize you had a child. How old is she?”
“Twelve.”
“What will you do with her?”
“She’ll go to her grandparents’ for the night.”
His gaze fell to the tattoo on her hand. “What happened to you, Jane?”
Survivor. That word had reminded her of who she was during the difficult months when she’d fought to recover from being attacked by her own husband. Skye had been with her when she’d visited Express Yourself Ink. They’d both gotten the same tattoo. Skye’s was on her shoulder blade, which she usually kept covered, but Jane had needed hers in plain sight.