Page 35 of Devil's Due

Omar started to move forward, then stopped and looked back at Lucia. “Maybe you should—”

“I’ll help her.” She nodded, and moved in to slowly bend down and pull the gun from the woman’s unresisting hand. Omar relaxed. Lucia handed the weapon to him and leaned down to take Susannah’s weight on her shoulder. The woman was heavier than she looked. Solid muscle. She seemed out of it; Lucia took the opportunity to do a quick pat-down, but found no additional weapons.

“He might have tracked her here,” Omar said. “Maybe wasn’t looking to hire you at all, just got caught following her and decided to try to make the best of it.”

“Very possible.”

“Could be trying to get down here to the parking level.”

“That’ll take a while,” Lucia said. “But let’s not get cocky. Open up the truck, help me get her inside.”

He moved. Together, they got Susannah into the SUV and belted her in. Omar fired up the engine and cruised up the ramp toward sunlight.

As they exited into the white-hot glare, Omar said, “Bend over, Mrs. Davis. Head down. If he’s out here, I don’t want him getting a look at you.”

Susannah slowly, painfully hunched over. Lucia scanned the street through the tinted windows and paused on a green Ford Expedition parked a block away. The engine was idling, and she was almost sure the indistinct figure in the driver’s seat was wearing a red baseball cap.

Son of a bitch.

They Cruised by. Omar didn’t even look toward the other truck, but Lucia was sure he’d noted it. Unless Davis changed vehicles, he wouldn’t be able to follow undetected.

“Okay,” Omar said, and reached over to help Susannah back to a sitting position. She rested her head against the upholstery, whimpering slightly. Omar’s gaze met Lucia’s in the rearview mirror. “Hey, boss lady. You know a friendly doctor?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “Turn right—”

“No doctors,” Susannah croaked. “I’m fine. Nothing’s broken.”

“At least we can get you some painkillers—”

“I’m used to it,” she said, and straightened up. Her slurred voice sounded stronger. “Thanks, but no. No doctors. I’ll be okay.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“No doubt about it,” Susannah said, with a grimace that might have been meant as a smile. “I was looking for you. Well, your firm, anyway. This detective, he said—”

“Welton Brown?”

“Yeah. I need protection. He said I should talk to you guys. I didn’t want—I couldn’t say anything about my husband. Not to the police.”

Lucia exchanged another look with Omar, who turned left at the light, heading for the freeway. “Detective Brown also talked to your husband.”

“Yes,” she said, and let her head drop back against the upholstery again. “The story is that I was attacked by a mugger. That’s what he told them. I had no choice. I had to agree.”

“Because?” Lucia asked. Susannah painfully turned toward her.

“Because I already tried going to the police,” she said. “All that happened was that when he got out, which took a grand total of less than thirty days for all three arrests, he took it out on me. I’ve moved. Hell, I moved here from New Mexico. Look what it got me. You don’t know him. You don’t know what he does for a living.”

Tears shone hard silver in her eyes again, and she blinked them back.

“I need help,” she said. “I need time to decide what to do. I have money. I can pay you.”

“If you need to disappear, there are shelters—”

“He knows all about them. Believe me, he’s an expert at this, and he’s got people working for him. They’ll find me. I have to use my ID and social security number to get a new job, a new apartment—he catches up. I need somebody who can get me a new life.” Susannah’s breath hitched unevenly, and she shifted, eyes shutting against some inner pain. “I know things. Things that can put him in prison forever. I just need—I need some time to think about it. Make plans. A few days. I wasn’t lying—I have money. I’ll pay you whatever you ask, just keep me safe and hidden for a while.Please.”

Lucia stared straight ahead, thinking. She had contacts who could provide new ID, forged documents, clean social security numbers. Once Susannah’s face healed, Lucia had people who could even provide her with some subtle plastic surgery to change the contours of her face. Make her plain or pretty, but different.

Those were contacts she hadn’t used in years. A part of her life she’d hoped she’d never have to acknowledge again. But that life had made her what she was now, the way broken bones sometimes mended stronger.

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