Chapter 43

43

Chief Cox

Cox put the paper cup to his lips, but when cold coffee slid across his tongue, his nose crinkled. Setting the coffee back into the cup holder beside his seat, he refocused his attention on the entrance to Bojanski’s apartment building. Probably a waste of fucking time, staking out the place from his car, but Cox wasn’t in the mood to get hit with any more death threats from Culling.

Through a staircase window, he had a good view of Alec Vaughn’s apartment. It seemed the asshole was a complete mystery—not a single record of him anywhere—and since Bojanski didn’t exactly have his tenants submit applications, Cox couldn’t even be sure the asshole landlord had given him a legit name.

Ah, fuck it. He’d been sitting on the corner, a block away from the building, for most of the day. Aside from some drunk piece of shit, who must’ve passed out somewhere along the staircase, he hadn’t seen a single person come or go.

Cox fired up his Buick, ready to take off, but paused when a young woman, or teenager perhaps, strolled up the sidewalk toward the stairwell. Tight black curls had been pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a vest over a sweatshirt, with jeans torn at the knees and black combat boots, which made her look more like a student than a street rat. Pretty, too, from what he could see, with her honey brown skin and slender frame. Had Julius still been around, Cox could’ve made some coin off her ass.

She climbed the stairs, and through the window of the stairwell, Cox damn near choked when she stopped in front of apartment one-oh-three.

“Well, well. What the fuck do we have here?” he muttered, grabbing his binoculars beside him.

She withdrew a hand from one of her pockets and knocked on the door. Once. Twice. Placed her ear to the wood and knocked again.

A minute passed, and she skipped back down the stairs, looking over her shoulder like she’d been trained to watch her back, and kept on down the sidewalk.

Cox crept forward, maintaining a good distance, watching while she slipped on a helmet, hopped onto a motor scooter, and took off.

He followed her through the streets, about a dozen car lengths behind, until she arrived at what appeared to be an old church. She hopped off the bike, swinging the helmet from her hand, and when she reached the door, she disappeared inside.

The sign hanging from the building had Sanctum written in large, old English letters and Youth Hostel below it. A smile slid across Cox’s face, and he lifted the cellphone beside him and dialed.

“What d’you want?” The twinge of contempt in Brandon’s voice told Cox he still harbored hard feelings after their last meeting.

“A favor.”

“I know you didn’t just ask me for no mothafuckin’ favor.”

“Then, perhaps you’re not interested in identifying the man who killed your brother.”

A long pause followed, before Brandon finally said, “I’m listening.”

“I need you to retrieve a girl. Looks mixed. Light skin. Student, maybe. She’s somehow connected to him. She’s at Sanctum. I don’t know if she lives here alone, or with someone. Get rid of any others. Bring her to me. Alive.”

“Consider it done,” Brandon answered without the slightest hesitation.

“Oh, and just for shits and giggles, have someone film it. Perhaps we’ll send a message of our own to this cocksucker.”

Cox smiled at Brandon’s sneering laugh.

“Fuck, yeah,” Brandon said.