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  Slater nodded. “I thought it was unusual that she was killed facedown, but that could also indicate remorse or depersonalization. He may not have been able to go through with it if he saw her eyes.”

  “Have you ever seen a murder like this?” Noah asked both of them.

  Both Slater and Lucy shook their heads. “The message indicates he knew who she was,” Slater said. “But whether from the recent press attention, or personally, I don’t know.”

  “A stalker? Or maybe a boyfriend—past or present?” Noah asked. “Angry that she had an affair.”

  Lucy didn’t think this was the work of a boyfriend. The evidence indicated control, not rage.

  Before she could speak, Slater said what she was thinking. “If it was a jilted lover, there’d be more anger evidenced on her body. Possible neighbor or acquaintance? Someone who knew her routine. Followed her.”

  “We’re lucky someone found her body,” Lucy said. “Chandra Levy died not far from here and it was a year before anyone discovered her remains.” Though Lucy had been a teenager at the time, she’d never forgotten the tragic case of the young intern who, like Wendy James, had an affair with a congressman and ended up dead. But unlike Levy’s murder, which was not connected to her personal life and the affair not discovered until after her death, Wendy James’s affair had been front and center for the last three weeks, making the sex scandal a possible motive.

  “Shit,” Slater exclaimed, reading a message on his phone. “Damn press. Someone just tweeted the identity of our victim.” His phone rang. Slater ignored it. “Noah, head over to her apartment, I already have a warrant in process. By the time you get there, you’ll have it. Take whomever you need to canvass the building, talk to neighbors, find out the last person to see her, if there’s anything of interest in her place. Do it fast. Josh Stein is already on his way.”

  Stein was with White Collar Crimes and had been lead on the Wendy James influence-peddling investigation. “Homicide trumps White Collar,” Noah said.

  “Doesn’t matter, he was working with Wendy James and he’s taking lead. He knows shit about violent crimes, spends most of his time crunching numbers and searching records. Damn good at it, too. But he’s also a ladder-climber, and if he thinks a juicy case like this will get him up a rung or three, he’s not going to want turn it over to us.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Noah said.

  “Good luck. With the attorneys involved and Congress, it’s going to be a PR nightmare for everyone involved.” Then Slater grinned. “I don’t think Crowley’s PR machine is going to withstand this scandal, a definite silver lining.”

  “Taking sides?” Noah asked.

  Slater shrugged. “Haven’t met a politician I liked. Besides, he lied about the affair before admitting it. Not very trustworthy in my book.”

  “Par for the course.”

  “Hence, I haven’t met a politician I liked.” Slater glanced at his watch. “As soon as the body is at the morgue, while you’re at James’s apartment, I’m going to track down Crowley, find out where he was yesterday. Keep me informed.”

  Lucy looked at the body again and frowned. Her gut instinct told her Crowley hadn’t killed her.

  But he could have hired someone.

  “We should check his financial records as well,” Lucy said. “This wasn’t a personal attack.”

  Slater stared at her so long she had to avert her eyes. Her face heated and she realized she’d just told a cop with twenty years more experience how to do his job.

  He didn’t comment on her observation, which somehow made her slipup worse.

  “Get going,” he said to Noah. “And remember what I said about Stein.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ivy’s feet sank into the thick gold carpet, the luxurious hotel room oddly reminding her of the Shakespeare quote, “what’s past is prologue.” She didn’t want to stay here, in this far-too-familiar opulence. The past was alive, ripe with sick humor, taunting her, reminding her that escape was not possible. That someday she’d be Hannah Edmonds again, standing with her older sister Naomi behind their father, two pairs of eyes glazed from self-medication. The drugs masked the pain and made the lies truth.

  Ivy wasn’t Hannah any more. She wasn’t Naomi, willfully blind to the truth. She wouldn’t send Sara back to the pretty mansion to be brainwashed into believing that teenage daughters were born to serve their father’s sexual needs, that this was normal and godlike. Want proof? Look at the house! Look at the grounds! Would God give such wealth and power to an evil man? Of course not!

  “Ivy?”

  She heard Jocelyn speak her name, but couldn’t respond. She hadn’t felt so weak in spirit since the last day with her family. She almost couldn’t leave the mountain. She’d almost begged her daddy to forgive her, to let her serve him as good daughters are supposed to do. The fear of the unknown had once terrified her, of what was beyond the fences of their lavish prison, the certainty that there were worse evils than her father. He had never raised his voice, never beat her, never denied her food or a warm bed.

  She’d once thought he wore a halo. Now, she knew the fires of Hell burned behind him.

  “Hannah?”

  Ivy turned to her sister, all anger and pain directed at the young girl. “Never call me that name again!”

  Tears spilled from Sara’s round eyes and Ivy wanted to cry with her. She didn’t. Instead, she whispered, “Please.”

  Sara nodded, but averted her eyes and turned to Maddie, who put her arm around Sara’s shoulders and led her to the adjoining room. First she’d turned Mina away, now Sara. She was losing everyone she had promised to protect. She was hurting those she loved the most. What was wrong with her?

  She had to get out of this place. “Is there someplace else you can take us?” Ivy asked Jocelyn.

  “What’s wrong?” The social worker looked around, obviously not understanding why Ivy was upset by the beautiful, well-appointed suite. “It’s a little big, but Chris knows the manager and this hotel is discreet. You’ll be safe here.”

  No place was safe.

  “It’s too expensive.”

  Jocelyn relaxed. “Don’t worry about the cost, we have it covered.”

  Ivy walked slowly around the large room, mostly to give herself time to calm down. Jocelyn understood the path that had led Ivy into prostitution. She hadn’t looked down at Ivy or the others, and though Jocelyn didn’t come right out and say it, Ivy suspected she’d once walked a few streets herself. More important, Jocelyn hadn’t turned her over to the cops for kidnapping. She believed that Kirk Edmonds had raped his daughters, and wanted Ivy to report him. “To bring him to justice,” she’d said more than once.

  How could Ivy explain to Jocelyn that no one would believe her? That if their father had five minutes alone with Sara, she’d never say a word against him? When Kirk Edmonds spoke, you wanted to believe every word he said. You wanted to believe that he was right, that he loved you and would protect you. He could make anyone believe he had the keys to the kingdom of heaven, and if you just did what he said, you, too, would be saved.

  He could make you feel all that and more, right before he pulled the cornerstone from the foundation and your world crumbled.

  Jocelyn sat on the love seat and said, “I have a plan.”

  Ivy stared out the window, but focused on nothing. Everything she’d been working toward for the last six years—gone. She had nothing left except a scared fourteen-year-old to protect.

  “Ivy, please sit down.”

  Ivy complied, looking the woman in the eye. She already knew Jocelyn couldn’t solve their problems. But right now, for the next few days, Ivy needed her. Ivy could lie better than most anyone. The key was never breaking eye contact.

  Jocelyn was thirty-five, pretty, with pale, smooth skin making her appear younger. Ivy had no use for do-gooders—they rarely understood the real world—but Jocelyn was different. That she’d helped her when she most needed it heaped another l
ayer of guilt on Ivy’s soul.

  It’s okay, as long as Sara is safe.

  “You need to report the fire,” Jocelyn said.

  “I think they know by now,” Ivy snapped.

  “I heard on the news that two firefighters were injured. You have information that will help them in their investigation!”

  “That I saw a person in the shadows? Couldn’t even tell if he was male or female! How tall or fat. He could have been a figment of my overactive imagination.”

  “You smelled alcohol. You saw an intruder. The fire spread quickly. It was arson. Someone tried to kill you, your sister, the other girls—don’t you care?”

  “Yes!” Ivy didn’t want to get mad at Jocelyn, but the last eight hours had put her on edge. “You promised if I ever came to you for help, you wouldn’t go to the police.”

  “No police. I’ll talk to the fire chief, he’ll—”

  “Same thing!” Ivy stood and paced. “They’d have to tell the police, and I can’t—” She stopped talking. This conversation was going nowhere. “I shouldn’t have come to you.”

  “I’m glad you did. Okay, no cops, I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  Jocelyn nodded, her expression sincere. Ivy wanted to believe her, but right now she was wound so tight she thought she’d explode. “It’s only a matter of time before they find you,” Jocelyn said. “You can’t hide with Sara forever.”

  “I can hide as long as it takes to put together two new identities.” Except, she had no money. She sank back into the chair and put her head in her hands. “Everything’s gone, Jocelyn. My passport. Sara’s passport. Money. Everything.”

  “We’ll figure it out. For now, you’re safe here.”

  Ivy couldn’t even fake a smile. She walked to the bathroom, closed the door behind her. Locked it. She needed five minutes alone. Five minutes to think.

  Jocelyn’s problem was that she trusted the system, and Ivy knew the system was screwed up.

  Still, Ivy had no money and she needed a place to regroup. Hiding in plain sight—not a bad idea. If they didn’t leave the hotel room, there was no chance anyone could find them. They’d have this safe house, at least for a couple days. She’d call the rest of the girls and have them meet here as soon as possible.

  But Ivy knew she couldn’t count on Jocelyn indefinitely. The hotel cost nearly two hundred bucks a night, and while Jocelyn wanted to help, Ivy wasn’t so sure her husband would be on board when he learned the whole truth, and Jocelyn had made it clear that she was going to tell him everything. She swore Chris Taylor could be trusted. It was one thing when his wife was doing her job getting prostitutes off the street; it was quite another being a party to kidnapping.

  She dialed Kerry’s number first. No answer and no messaging on the disposable phone. She disconnected and called Nicole next.

  “Yeah?” Nicole answered.

  “It’s me. You okay? Mina?”

  “In a crappy dive.”

  “I have a place for us, at least for a few nights.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Enough time to figure out what to do.”

  “Shit, Ivy, we lost everything! The only thing to do is hit the streets.”

  “Give me a few days to figure this out, okay?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Hotel Potomac.”

  “Holy shit, Ivy! You’re liable to run into half the guys you screw.”

  “When you get here, let me know and I’ll bring you in through the side door.” She didn’t give Nicole a chance to argue, but moved on. “Let me talk to Mina.”

  “She took one look at this dive and burst into tears. Besides, she sticks out in this neighborhood. So I took her to Marti’s. You said we could trust her.”

  Why hadn’t Ivy thought of Marti? She would have taken them all in, no questions. Except they couldn’t all stay with her. Too small, too many people coming in and out. But Mina would be safe for now.

  “Thanks. You’re safe where you are?”

  “Back in my old stomping grounds. I know this place better than anyone, all the ways in and out.”

  “Be careful.”

  Ivy tried Kerry again; still no answer.

  Jocelyn knocked on the door. “Are you okay in there?”

  Ivy opened the door. “I’m calling the girls. I’d feel better if we were together.”

  Jocelyn nodded. “I’ll let you get settled. Call room service if you’re hungry. I’ll go shopping. Do you need anything specific?”

  “Clothes, nothing fancy. Toiletries, maybe a deck of cards so I can keep Sara from freaking out. Give her something to do.” And a passport into Canada, she wanted to add.

  “Not a problem.” Jocelyn squeezed her arm. “It’s going to be okay, Ivy. We’ll figure this out together.”

  Ivy wasn’t holding her breath.

  She slid the security bolt into place as soon as Jocelyn left, then laid down on the king-sized bed and closed her eyes.

  Five minutes to just do nothing.

  Ivy had met Jocelyn over a year ago. Maddie, who’d been fighting her drug addiction for years, had a relapse when one of her clients spiked her drink. Just the little dose had her falling off the wagon, and because her tolerance had dropped, she’d OD’d. Ivy, fearing she’d die, rushed her to the hospital. She hated the paperwork, the nurses, everyone prying into their business, and the expense, but Maddie’s life was at stake.

  * * *

  “Remember me?” Jocelyn Taylor sat next to Ivy in the waiting room. Ivy was a mess—her hair and clothes still reeked of Maddie’s vomit even though she’d washed out her shirt in the bathroom sink.

  Ivy didn’t want to deal with the social worker. She’d been too nosy and Ivy didn’t trust her. Her girls couldn’t go back to their homes, and they didn’t want to go to jail. She would find another way to get them off the streets, but the system had failed too many of them for too long. The lost girls. She wouldn’t mind a little pixie dust right now if it would help her disappear into Neverland.

  “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

  “Go away.”

  She’d first met Jocelyn when Ivy was trying to help a runaway. Ivy had been cornered by a pimp with a knife he was willing to use to keep his young girls working for him.

  Jocelyn had been doing her own thing—Ivy knew who she was, a social worker trying to help underage prostitutes—but they’d never spoken. But when Ivy was threatened, Jocelyn came to her aid. She drove her car between Ivy and the pimp and Ivy jumped in, grabbing the girl at the same time.

  They didn’t talk about it afterward, but Ivy kept her eye on the social worker, and sent her a few other troubled girls—the ones with the pimps who Ivy couldn’t afford to anger.

  And then came Amy Carson, a runaway who Ivy had brought into the house on Hawthorne. Amy was angry, bitter, and scared, and when Ivy wasn’t around to remind her where she’d been before Ivy had found her, Amy went back to hanging out with her so-called friends. It was no wonder the tenacious social worker had found her. Amy had given Jocelyn Ivy’s number, and she hadn’t been able to get rid of the woman ever since.

  “I’m not who you think I am,” Jocelyn said.

  “I don’t care who you are.”

  “I don’t work for the government. I don’t work for the county. I work for Missing and At-Risk Children.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  “How’d you get into this, Ivy? A boyfriend? A relative? You’re smart, I can help you get out.”

  She didn’t know how close she was to the truth. But Ivy didn’t want to talk to anyone about how she started selling sex.

  “I have a plan, you’re not part of it. Just go.”

  Jocelyn didn’t say anything for several minutes, but she didn’t leave, either. Her presence was both comforting and annoying. Whenever Ivy pushed her away, she just stayed rooted. She couldn’t make the woman angry, even though she’d tried many times.

  “Amy’s mother wants to talk
to her.”

  Of course, there was always an agenda. “What are you going to do if Amy doesn’t want to talk to her mother? Call the cops on me? So much for trust.”

  Ivy didn’t want to be responsible for Amy. Ivy wanted her to go home, but the girl had been living on the streets for six months. When Ivy found her, she looked five years older and had been turning tricks for twenty bucks a pop. She wasn’t a street kid. She’d been lured away by a fast-talking boyfriend during a shitty time in her life, and when he dumped her she had no money and even less self-esteem.

  Ivy didn’t want to go to jail. She tried to forget that Jocelyn had once bailed her out of that bad situation, no questions asked. She didn’t know why the social worker, whoever she worked for, wanted to help her. In Ivy’s experience, no one helped anyone for nothing. But if the cops found out she was running a prostitution ring, they’d shut her down and put her in jail. No cop would care that she’d forbade the younger girls like Amy and Mina from turning tricks. If she went to jail, she’d never be able to rescue Sara, and she wasn’t going to risk her sister. Sara’s fourteenth birthday was only months away. Ivy could not—would not—let her down.

  “Get out of my face.” She tried to stand, but Jocelyn put her hand on her arm.

  “I’ve been where you are,” Jocelyn said quietly. “I got out when I was ready. I can get Amy out. Trust me.”

  “You don’t know me, and you don’t know Amy.”

  Jocelyn gave Ivy her card. “This is my cell phone. Call me when Amy’s ready, and I’ll take her home. That’s my job—I reunite families.”

  Ivy stared at the card. MARC. She glared at Jocelyn. “And what if their family is worse? Are you going to toss them back into the lion’s den like Daniel, except there’s no one to protect them?”

  God forgot about some of His people. Or He never cared in the first place.

  “If the family situation is unsafe, I have places for girls like Amy. But you know Amy’s mother isn’t a monster. If I didn’t believe that with all my heart, if I didn’t know in my gut that the house was safe, that her mother had forgiven all, I’d never return Amy.” Jocelyn paused. “You can come with me, check it out for yourself.”