Innocent Prey (A Brown and de Luca Novel) by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page B

pocket, giving it a pat for good measure. Then she walked us to the front door, opened it for us. “Detective, is it true that the case isn’t official? That you’re looking into this privately, as a favor to the judge?”
    “Who told you that?” he asked.
    “I went over to pick up some things I’d left at the house. The judge and his wife were arguing about it.” She shifted her eyes between the two of us. “Is it true?”
    “I can only tell you we’re doing everything we can to find her,” he said. “Thanks for your cooperation, Ms. Markovich.”
    “Mrs., actually.”
    “Oh?”
    “Widowed,” she said. There was a wistfulness to her tone. “Long time now.”
    We stepped outside, and she closed the door. Then we walked back to the car side by side and got in. Mason started the engine, then pulled out a phone to key in his notes.
    “Gimme that, for Pete’s sake.” I took the phone from him, opened the notepad feature and started tapping letters with my thumbs, jotting down every detail I could think of.
    “What did you think?” he asked when I paused to search my brain for a word that refused to surface from the murky writerly depths.
    “Of her?” He nodded, and I frowned. “I thought she was telling the truth.”
    “About what?”
    “About everything. I didn’t get a lie vibe from her once, and barely any emotions at all.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. When she mentioned her brothers there was warmth, and sadness, too, for the one she lost. When I asked her about Stephanie giving her a hard time, I think she was a lot more irritated than she admitted to. But I’d have done the same thing in her place. You don’t want to call a bitch a bitch if the bitch in question is in danger of turning up dead, right?”
    “Right. Especially when you work for her father.”
    “Right. And then when she said she was widowed. Little bit of an ‘I don’t want to talk about this’ vibe.”
    “Right. Anything else?”
    “She thinks you’re hot,” I told him.
    “Oh, for crying out—”
    “Seriously, babe. She was totally feeling the Brown magic.”
    “That sounds like toilet humor.”
    “Only to an eleven-year-old.”
    “Josh will enjoy it, then.”
    “Are we done yet, boss?” I asked. “I’ve got books to write, followed by a date with a detective.”
    “I’m taking you home as we speak.”
    “Good.” I took a deep breath, watched the trees go by for a while, then turned to him. “Something bad is happening to that girl, Mason. I think we have to convince her father to make it official.”
    “I think we have to make it official whether we convince the judge or not,” he said.
    * * *
    Stevie didn’t know how she knew Venora was cutting, but she did. The cell was heavy with darkness and sleep. She’d been sleeping, and Lexus was snoring a little bit on the bunk above her. But there was that sound, soft as a fingertip dragging across paper. And in her mind she saw the sharp edge of a broken cot spring slicing across Venora’s skin and leaving a trail of ruby beads behind it.
    “Venora, hey,” she whispered.
    The sound stopped. Stevie thought she smelled blood, then decided that was impossible. You couldn’t smell blood. Could you?
    “What?” Venora asked, almost defensive.
    “Just...hey. That’s all. How are you doing? You okay?”
    Venora didn’t reply. The silence drew out until Stevie rolled toward the wall and pulled her blanket over her shoulder, thinking the girl would never answer. And then she said, “I had a dream I was gonna die.”
    Stevie sat up. It wasn’t entirely voluntary. “When?”
    “Before the Asshole grabbed me. Before anything happened. I dreamed I was gonna die.”
    Stevie shook her head, denying it automatically. “You know, some people say if you believe in that shit, you can make it come true.” That crock-of-shit writer de Luca that her mom and Loren kept pushing on her, for one. “So stop believing it. We’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna get out of