Girl Jacked Page 7

  “Miss Piggy said Michelle took all her stuff,” Replacement growled.

  Replacement turned the page, wrote the title “EVIDENCE” and stopped. She didn’t look up. Her back was still stiff, and Jack knew she was smoldering over the fact that Michelle’s belongings were now missing. He admired the fact that in spite of her feelings she was pressing on.

  “She wouldn’t leave you and Aunt Haddie,” Jack offered as the first piece of evidence. It wasn’t evidence that would hold up in court, but Jack didn’t care. He knew that fact was as real as a smoking gun. Replacement wrote, “She wouldn’t leave Aunt Haddie.”

  “When did she come to visit?” Jack walked over to the window and looked out at the cars below.

  “She came by about twice a month.”

  Jack stared into the black night.

  Why walk away from a full scholarship?

  He walked back to the desk and traded places with Replacement in front of the computer.

  “Let’s back up a couple of steps.” Behind him, Replacement groaned and huffed as he connected to the police’s computer system. “I’ll run the plate.”

  Jack typed with two fingers and had to go back and forth between the photo and the screen three times. Fairfield had entered a BOLO for the car so law enforcement would be on the lookout for it but other than that, nothing.

  “She’s never even gotten a parking ticket.” Jack drummed his fingers on the desk. “Let’s see if anything was going on in the area.”

  “I’ll drive.” Replacement got right in his face. “You type like an old lady.”

  “I know the system. It will be faster if I—”

  “No. No.” Replacement shook her head and started to sit in the chair beside him.

  “Hey.” Jack moved over and almost fell out of the chair, so he stood up.

  “That’s much better. Where do you want to go?”

  “Start with recently reported crimes,” Jack said.

  With a few clicks, lines of information scrolled up the screen.

  “I’ll limit them to the past three months,” Replacement said as she hit a couple of keys and the data scrolled again, but the list was still long.

  “You said Michelle stayed around the college. Can you limit it to an area around the campus?”

  A couple of clicks and a new, much smaller list appeared. Jack scanned it. One reported car theft, two break-ins, drugs, and an assault. “Check that.” He pointed to the assault.

  Replacement began reading parts of the report. “It happened right before Halloween. A girl was jogging. The suspect grabbed her around the neck and pulled her down, but the woman began screaming and the man ran away. It was an eighteen-year-old woman. She was of African American descent. The man in this and the other incidents was described as a white male.” She turned to look at Jack. “Other incidents?”

  “Check the SAR.”

  Replacement paused and crinkled her nose as she scanned the monitor. Jack pointed to a section of the screen. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “Suspicious Activity Reports” appeared at the top of the screen.

  “SAR links different events that may or may not be related. See if there’s anything that it’s been paired with.”

  “Bingo. The reports are connected. Look at this. Serial assaults.” Replacement started to read. “There are two other reports in the group. A man approached one woman while she was getting into her car. She locked the doors and the suspect tried to open them. In the other one, an African American woman was walking home when a white male approached her. The girl ran to a house, and the man fled. She was nineteen. What a scumbag.”

  She clicked a link and a description appeared. In all three incidents, the description of the suspect was the same; a white male in his late twenties, five foot seven and a hundred thirty pounds. Two of the reports stated that he had a tattoo of an eagle on his right forearm. The other just mentioned a tattoo of undetermined type on his right arm.

  “I just saw that database.” Replacement clicked and tapped and the police tattoo database appeared.

  “Eagle-right arm. How can there be no results?” There was more typing and more zero results. She’d type different combinations, but the outcome was always the same, nothing.

  “This database blows.” She pushed the mouse away.

  “Calm down. We’re just trying to look at all the angles now anyway.”

  “Well, so far this is our best angle and we got nothing.”

  Jack walked back over to the window.

  That guy shows an escalating pattern of violence. Three attacks. If Michelle ran into him . . .

  “Did you try entering some other type of bird or another word?”

  “I tried everything. That system stinks. If I type in just eagle it has two matches . . . two. I know more than two people with an eagle tattoo. Do you know another way to try to look it up?”

  Jack stared at his own reflection in the window. “I know . . . I know a police tattoo expert that can help.” It was a lie wrapped in a truth. “They should be there tomorrow.”

  “Who? The people at the lab? On a Saturday?”

  He ignored the question. “I can start there. You can stay here tonight.”

  He looked down at Replacement. She was grinning from ear to ear.

  “But I’m going alone.”

  The smile vanished.

  Chapter 8 ~

  Inking

  Jack shut the door of his car and looked across the street. The huge sign on the front of the brick building read: Vitagliano’s. The little store was nestled between an art gallery and a handmade jewelry store. If it wasn’t for all of the people covered in tattoos, it easily could be mistaken for an upscale coffee shop. Vitagliano’s was an island for the misfits of Darrington. There was a long counter with stools and a couple of tables out front. Tattooed and pierced patrons sat at the tall metal tables with the high back stools. They stared at Jack as he strolled through the door. Their heads moved as one as they watched him walk toward the back. They seemed to sense he was a cop, and the distrust was palpable.

  “Hey, boss,” a tall guy at the counter called out.

  Jack stopped and waited. He looked toward the far wall where a thick red velvet curtain covered the entrance to the back rooms, with an Italian statue of a female gladiator on each side.

  “Jack?” A woman called his name from behind the curtain and then she yanked it aside. She was a woman in her late-twenties: tall—about five foot ten—with broad shoulders. Leather pants and a black tank top revealed a toned canvas covered in tattoos. Marisa Vitagliano was owner, artist, and bouncer of Vitagliano’s tattoo parlor. Jack exhaled. She was drop dead gorgeous.

  She was dangerous but his being here was more so. Marisa was the type of girl his mother had warned him about. The kind he should steer clear of. Jack couldn’t. He was like a little kid with fire. Even though you told him it was dangerous, the blaze was so pretty he had to touch it.

  They stood staring at each other. It had been almost five months since he last saw her; he had forced himself to stay away. Marisa had no idea how many times he’d driven by her apartment or started to dial the phone and then hung up. He didn’t want to be here, but he had to come. He needed Marisa’s help to look for Michelle.

  “Hey, angel.”

  She didn’t return his smile, but he noticed that her eyes widened.

  “Why are you here?” She didn’t move, and her words were emotionless. He looked again at the statues and realized why she’d picked them; they could have been her sisters.

  “I need a favor.”

  “Another one?” She lowered her chin and raised an eyebrow.

  She kept score.

  He caught her quick sidelong glance to the audience in the room.

  This is her house. I hurt her. Showing up here, unannounced is wrong.

  “I need your help . . . please?” He gave the slightest bow. He learned that in an interrogation class. Humble yourself and don’t puff yourself up. Begging
went against his instincts, but it did work. After a moment, she stepped to the side and gestured for him to follow her behind the curtain.

  The backrooms consisted of a red-carpeted hallway that ran straight down to a door with four rooms along the side. There were no doors on the side rooms, and, as Jack walked back, he saw two people getting tattoos.

  A man in his twenties was getting the only available spot of his skin covered with a large skull with torches for eyes. In the other room, a young teenage girl was getting a tattoo on her back, just above her bum. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but her face was set and she squeezed her boyfriend’s hand as the word TOMMY’S neared completion.

  How long is it going to be before she’s crying at a doctor’s office asking how to have the tattoo removed?

  He looked back at Marisa and she was holding the door open at the end of the hallway. In spite of her tight leather pants, two-inch high heels, and an even tighter black tank top that seemed vacuum sealed to her busty frame, Jack was observing everything but her.

  The look on her face begged the question that seemed to haunt her—why? Their eyes met, and she shook her head with a knowing smile.

  Jack stopped and stared at her. What could I say? Sorry? Marisa was not a vain girl, but she was hyper-observant. Maybe it was the artist in her. That was what brought them together. Jack grinned whenever he thought of meeting her.

  Shortly after he arrived in Darrington, he was at a bar and was on a bit of a bender. She was sitting three seats down with a steady stream of guys hitting on her. She ignored all of them. But Jack never looked at her because he couldn’t take his eyes off what she was drawing. He watched mesmerized as she sketched a detailed picture of a smiling girl running in a field.

  He barely remembered stumbling over to her side. He pointed to the picture as he proclaimed to the entire bar, “This is art!” Then he staggered to the front door.

  She chased after him and caught up to him on the sidewalk. “Why did you say that?” She grabbed him by both shoulders and gave him a quick shake to sober him up. “About my picture, why did you say that?”

  “What?” That is when he looked down and noticed her for the first time. She was beautiful. Her eyes were deep brown and matched her long auburn hair. Her dress accentuated her hourglass figure. Jack swallowed, his mouth open slightly, and then he looked back up at her eyes.

  One of her eyebrows raised, but the cutest smile was on her lips as she stated, “You noticed my art before my body.”

  “Your artwork . . . you’re a true artist! The way you hold that pencil.” He pinched his fingers together mimicking her sketching. “It was . . .” Jack struggled to find the words, but he didn’t have to.

  Marisa grabbed him and kissed him deeply. It was the kind of kiss a guy didn’t forget, ever. Just thinking about it still turned him on.

  He realized later that by noticing her art instead of her body, he’d done something no other man had done before. The reward he received that night still brought a smile to his face.

  The relationship had been a whirlwind, and they had both been sucked in. Jack had never gotten so close, so fast to anyone. It was like there had always been a bond between them.

  He remembered the last time he saw Marisa . . .

  She comforted him with a long weekend locked away in a little bed and breakfast. It was just the two of them, and they never came out of the room. He remembered what she said when they were getting ready to go back to town.

  “You have to decide what you want.” She was staring out the window.

  “Decide? About what?” It was different from what other girls would have said. He was used to the “Am I the only one?” or “What’re your plans for the future?” but this didn’t feel like that and Marisa wasn’t a typical girl.

  “Me. I can’t be an accessory. I know ME. Tu sei il bello mio.”

  He didn’t speak Italian, but he knew the phrase. You’re my beautiful one. She loved him.

  Jack stared at her. He knew he couldn’t give her what she needed. He reached deep down, and he wanted to, but he couldn’t.

  She stood at the window with a sheet wrapped around herself. He tried to convince himself to lie. He didn’t want to give her up, but he couldn’t bring himself to betray her honesty. She was special to him. He looked away.

  “I’ll get a ride back to town,” she continued as she held her head up and stared out the window. “We can’t do this anymore.” There was no malice in her voice; it was still rich and kind.

  “Marisa . . .”

  “Jack, if we keep going then you’ll hurt me and . . . I’ll kill you.” Her voice was so smooth that he smiled at first, but he knew how true those words were.

  He blinked, trying to drive those memories from his head as Marisa waited for him at the end of the hallway. He inhaled before he squared his shoulders and marched through the door into her office.

  “What’s the favor now?” Her words were cold, but the question was colder.

  She’ll help, but she wants nothing to do with me. There was no “How have you been?” or “What’ve you been doing?” She is all business, and it’s all my fault.

  “I need help with a tattoo.” He pulled the computer-generated sketch from an envelope.

  She took it without looking at him.

  She’d helped him while they were together a couple of times by identifying tattoos: once for a mugging and once for the John Doe.

  He noticed Marisa wasn’t looking at the picture. Her back had tensed, so he did something that was exceedingly hard for him but came so easily when he was with her. He told the complete truth, laying bare his soul.

  “I’m looking for a girl named Michelle. She’s my foster sister. She’s missing. I have little to go on.”

  He hated this. Marisa was like a siren that pulled sailors to their death. All he could think of right now was how much he wanted to hold her. Jack was opening up, but he was the type of man that couldn’t open just a little. His pride was like a dam, one little crack, and he broke.

  “She got what looks like a great deal, full scholarship to WRE. Everything was going great, but she’s gone.”

  He was close to breaking, close to screaming and storming out. He didn’t want her to see him like that. He didn’t want anyone to see him like that.

  He paused and looked into her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I need you—”

  She moved so fast he wasn’t able to finish his sentence. She grabbed him and pulled his body against hers, the picture fell to the table. One of her hands held the back of his head and the other pulled him closer to her. They crashed together like two dancers, a fierce impact filled with delicate grace.

  She embraced and kissed him. Her hands moved behind his head.

  He hesitated and then gave in. Grabbing her waist, he hoisted her onto the desk.

  A deep, lush moan, better explained as a purr, escaped her lips. Jack’s hands traveled over her taut muscles. He grabbed the back of her head and kissed the base of her neck.

  Jack kept his eyes closed. He could smell Marisa’s hair. He could feel her breath on his neck. He lay on top of her on the desk, one hand behind her head and the other on her waist. He breathed in her scent, and it stoked a growing fire within him. The rhythm of their movements quickly synchronized. Their mutual need was palpable, and their entwined bodies began to undulate as one.

  “Jack,” she whispered his name and softly kissed his ear.

  He opened one eye, and when he looked at her, she was staring at him with her big brown eyes. They were open, inviting, and enflamed with desire. Her eyes softened, and he read something else in her expression, vulnerability. She reached out to pull him close.

  He leaned in to kiss her, but guilt enveloped him.

  I can’t do this. I can’t hurt her again.

  He slowly pulled back and slid off the table.

  Her eyes traveled the length of his body again, and Jack swallowed hard.

  “I don’t . . . I d
on’t want to hurt you.” Jack’s jaw clenched.

  The heat in Marisa’s eyes cooled along with her voice. “You don’t want to hurt me . . . or Gina?”

  Jack’s chin lowered to his chest, and he sighed.

  He shook his head. “No, Gina walked out.” He looked up into her eyes. “She’s not in your league. You’re . . . Tu sei il bello mio.”

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth danced between a smile and frown. “Then why?”

  “Marisa, any guy would kill to be with you, but right now . . . you don’t need me in your life.”

  She slid off the desk and leaned against it. Her look turned cold. She stood up and walked over to a computer in the corner of the room. “He has an eagle on his right forearm? He got it here about a year ago.”

  She pressed a few keys and a page started to print out.

  Jack stared at her, confused.

  “I knew the tat right away.” She straightened her back, putting on her best face. “I just wanted to make you beg.”

  She flipped the page over, scribbled a quick note, then folded the paper and placed it in an envelope. Without looking at him, she pushed the envelope to the edge of the desk and looked back to the computer.

  “Marisa.” He touched her shoulder, and she let her head rest against his hand. She had a new tattoo on her back, a heart with a golden lock wrapped around it.

  “Go.” She didn’t open her eyes, but in the reflection in the computer monitor, he saw the slightest tremble in her lip.

  What was I thinking coming here?

  Jack grabbed the envelope and walked out the door. He didn’t look back. He wanted to, but it was wrong—what he did to her. It was wrong—what she did to him. He knew it was wrong because, for some reason, it could never be right. They both knew it. He stormed down the now deserted hallway.

  As Jack walked out front, all eyes were on him. He knew someone must have said something. The men’s eyes narrowed in envy and the women batted their eyes. He focused on the door and kept walking, his jacket in hand. It was freezing out, but he let the cold wash over him. Guilt. He hated guilt.

  Never again, he vowed as he crossed to his car.