Save Her Child CJ Lyons (best novels for students txt) 📖

The girls nodded. “Tell your mom thanks—and you can bring more anytime.”

“No, she can’t,” one of the corner boys shouted from their table. “Hey now, there’s cars waiting, you all need to get back to work.”

The girls muttered, until the two youngest were nudged from the booth, adjusting their tube tops and hair as they strutted past the corner boys and out the door. Harper realized she wouldn’t get anything more out of them, not with the corner boys there, so she stood to leave. She slid a few cards for the shelter her brother Jonah ran onto the table—on the back she’d written her own cell number. “In case you ever need anything.”

The girls studiously ignored the cards, but she hoped one or two might take one. As she walked to the restaurant’s door, Heidi passed her, heading to the restroom. The girl glanced over her shoulder at Harper, who made sure the corner boys weren’t watching and then followed.

Once Harper had closed the door behind her, Heidi said, “Sorry, I couldn’t say anything before. But have you tried Macy? She and Lily were real tight. They used to work for Freddy but took off last year, which is why he’d be super pissed off if he found Lily back here, working his territory.”

Macy Holmes. She was on Harper’s list, had been arrested once with Lily. “Any idea where I can find her?”

“Works for Philly now, over on Second usually.”

“Thanks.” Harper reached for her wallet, but Heidi stopped her with a gesture.

“No cash. Freddy will find it and think I’ve been holding out on him. But maybe another meal sometime? I haven’t had cooking like that in a long…” Her expression turned wistful, eyes blinking back tears, reminding Harper that she was only a kid. Then Heidi cleared her throat, her features hardening once more. “Well, never had cooking that good, I guess. Anyway, hope you find Lily’s folks, let them know about her. She was always real nice to me.”

Harper handed her one of Jonah’s cards. “There’s always a hot meal waiting for you at the Pierhouse Shelter—my brother runs it, just tell him I sent you. I’ll bet he could help you find a job or a safe place to live, if you ever—”

Heidi scowled, then spun on her spiked heels to inspect her features in the mirror. “Got a job. Besides, I could never leave Freddy. He loves me, takes care of me.” And with a wave of her hand, she dismissed Harper.

Thirteen

Luka eyed the newcomer with suspicion. The man had the bearing and arrogance of a federal agent, yet he hadn’t identified himself as one. Had Ahearn called him in? But if so, then why was he asking for Spencer Standish—shouldn’t he already know Standish was dead?

“This is an active crime scene, sir,” he told the man, feeling at a distinct disadvantage sitting below him, one leg still dribbling blood despite the gauze Azarian had packed around the shard of glass. He would have loved to have seen the shard gone altogether, but basic first-aid principles said never to remove an impaled foreign body because of the risk of causing hemorrhage or further damage. “May I see some identification?”

The man considered this, then slid a hand into his rear pocket and withdrew a thin wallet. He opened it and held it down at Luka’s eye level, but he didn’t look at Luka; instead he was watching Sanchez. “Foster Dean. DEA, retired.” He snapped the wallet shut, returned it to his pocket. “Where’s Standish?”

“And why is a retired drug enforcement agent interested in Mr. Standish?” Luka asked.

“I’m here to help, Detective—”

“Detective Sergeant Luka Jericho.” Luka let that hang for a moment. “Help how?”

Dean started to step past Luka but stopped when every cop in the place—even the cyber tech, Sanchez—alerted, all turning to stare at him. Dean wasn’t old enough to have gotten his full twenty years in, so he must have left the DEA for another job—or because he was asked to leave.

“Where is he?” Dean snapped, his focus now solely on Luka. “Do you have him in custody?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Standish is not available,” Luka answered, playing along to see what Dean knew. Although he had the feeling that the abrasive former fed wasn’t going to volunteer any information, despite his offer of assistance.

But then Dean surprised Luka. “You don’t even know who you’re dealing with, do you? For starters, Spencer Standish isn’t his real name. His real name is Scott Spencer.” Dean scoffed. “I could tell you a lot more, but I’d like something in exchange. Do you know where he is?”

“Why are you so anxious to locate him?” Luka asked.

For the first time Dean appeared uncertain, his gaze assessing Luka like a poker player debating whether to fold or bluff. “I work as a private security consultant. My clients were victims of a Ponzi scheme Spencer ran back in Colorado. I’ve been searching for him for almost three years, since he fled Denver.”

The timing fit with Spencer’s arrival in Cambria City. Luka nodded his agreement. “Okay, Mr. Dean. Tell me what you know about him and I’ll tell you where Spencer is.”

Dean glanced at Luka’s leg and the shard of glass. “It’s a fairly long conversation. How ’bout you tell me where to find Spencer and, once you’re patched up, we’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything.” As if to punctuate his words, an ambulance pulled up to the curb out front. Luka tried to hide his grimace—talk about poor timing.

“Wait outside and we’ll discuss this further,” he instructed Dean in a voice loud enough to get Azarian’s attention. The burly officer sidled over to stand beside Dean, his body positioned so that the other man had no choice but to step outside to give the medics room to roll their gurney inside.

The medics worked efficiently, gathering Luka’s details as they took his vitals,