She's Not There - Madison Marla (книги без сокращений .txt) 📗
“No, I don’t think so. Thought I might go with you this year but since you’re going somewhere else, Justin and his wife invited me over—you, too, by the way—so I may do that.“
His parents lived in Chicago, and Thanksgiving was one of the few times Richard went home to visit. TJ hadn’t met them. By an unspoken mutual agreement, meeting relatives was something they didn’t do, although Richard had met Janeen a few times.
Is he fishing again? She wasn’t sure, but his hint to go along with her was something new. “Too bad. Janeen always asks me to bring you, and I always tell her you’re going to Chicago.” She didn’t extend the invite for him to accompany them to the ”friend’s” house, hoping he’d drop the subject.
She said, “Let’s do something special next weekend. Let’s drive up to the Dells and go gambling in Black River Falls like we did last year.”
Aware Richard knew a diversion when he heard one, TJ reminisced about how much she’d enjoyed their weekend in the Dells. Before long, he agreed to make the plans. It had been a long time since they’d gone anywhere together, and she could already picture the two of them in one of those great suites with a hot tub and a king-sized bed. Maybe things would get back to normal for them—she just needed to decide if it was what she wanted.
43
TJ left Richard’s apartment the next morning knowing she had to move fast. If she didn’t report in to Lisa and Jeff about Richard’s advice concerning the child, her phone would be ringing.
She hadn’t said a word about it to Richard. She’d bought the kid some time by convincing the others she’d have him handle it. The more she’d thought about group homes and foster parents, she knew she had to act. Richard would have had no choice; he’d have to turn the kid over to DHHS and they would find her somewhere to stay. Not that there weren’t places which actually improved a child’s circumstances, but the kind able to fit a kid in the week of Thanksgiving wasn’t likely to be one of them.
Playing within the lines wasn’t TJ’s style, and she’d been living by the group’s rules for too long.
Red lights were the only traffic signs she honored—and some of them just barely—as she pushed the Mini to the south side of Milwaukee. Luckily, she had a good memory for directions and easily found the old duplex they’d rescued the child from Saturday night. The place looked even crappier in daylight, the siding splitting off in places and the windows badly in need of repair.
She drove past and parked in a lot behind a run-down apartment building at the end of the street. At the duplex, she crept up the steps to the upper flat, finding the door still unlocked. Didn’t these idiots ever learn?
She entered the apartment, where she heard faint snoring from the direction of the bedroom. Peering into the room, she saw a form in the bed, a dark-haired man, sleeping with his back to her. Had to be Raoul. She cased the room for a weapon. The snoring remained steady.
TJ walked to the foot of the bed and gave the bed frame a sharp kick. A second passed before he rolled over, face scrunched from sleep, eyes narrow slits. He did a violent double take when he saw TJ standing at the foot of the bed. He reached over, his hand fumbling on the nightstand.
“It ain’t there, asshole.” Baring her teeth in a wicked grin, TJ held up his gun—in her other hand she held her own, pointed toward the bed.
He growled, “You gotta’ death wish, bitch?”
“I just might.” She held her gun higher, directed at his face. “What were you doing with that kid Friday night?”
“The kid?” His face darkened with anger. “You took her? You almost got me killed, you cunt!”
“Listen, asswipe, you really don’t want to piss me off. Answer my questions and I’m outta here.” She felt him plotting his options, certain that grinding her into dust was one of them.
He started to get up from the bed. She did not want to see his naked butt. “Whoa! Keep your bony ass right where it is.”
He flopped back onto the bed. “She ain’t my kid. She belongs to a friend of mine, okay?”
“Not okay. Who’s this friend and why were you keeping the kid here?”
The guy looked pale and hung over. Probably coming off a big weekend high. “He asked me to.”
TJ sneered. “You know what, you piece of shit? I haven’t shot anyone in a while, and I’m gettin’ the urge. And you know what else? I think the cops might be interested in this piece you’re using.” She waved his gun in the air.
His pallor turned an ugly mottled puce. “No cops! I’ll tell you—she’s Julio Mandela’s kid. His bitchin’ wife left him, and he took the kid to get her to take him back.”
“What’s the wife’s name and where can I find her? If you lie about it, I’ll be back and I won’t be smilin’. Get my drift?”
“Yeah, yeah. Her name is Teresa. I don’t know where she’s living, but she works at the Red Roof on twenty-seventh.”
With a last threat of returning if his information wasn’t accurate, TJ backed out of the room, checking to be sure no one else had arrived.
Raoul sat up, reaching for his pants. “Hey, bitch! Leave my gun!”
She moved toward the door. “I’ll mail it to you, asshole!”
At the Red Roof Inn, TJ parked in the back just in case the lowlife called Mandela decided to show up. Rather than waste time with a nosy manager, she walked the halls looking for the woman named Teresa. After questioning three maids in various stages of cleaning the stale-smelling rooms, she found her.
Teresa was shorter than TJ, Hispanic, with dainty, feminine features. Her long hair, held back by a red plastic headband, fell nearly to her plump waist. She practically hid behind her cart when TJ asked if she was Teresa. She whispered, “Yes, I’m Teresa.”
“Listen,” TJ said, keeping her voice low. “You have to come with me. My friends have your little girl and I want to bring you to her.”
“Tina! You have Tina! Mother-of-God, is she all right?” She dropped the feather duster she’d been holding, her cleaning forgotten.
“Keep your voice down. She’s fine now, but the creep who had her knows I’m here. Let’s go.” TJ towed her out to the car, shoved Teresa in, and jumped behind the wheel. She’d just turned onto the street when she ordered Teresa, “Quick, duck down.” A rusty old Camaro moved slowly across the parking lot. Had the asshole called the girl’s father? TJ wasn’t taking any chances. The Mini took off like a rabbit.
When TJ’s little car turned into Eric’s driveway, she heard Teresa muttering in Spanish, her eyes wide with wonder at the magnificence of the grounds and the huge log home.
“Who lives here, a movie star?” she asked, in heavily accented English.
“Nah, a real nice guy.”
When they walked through the door, opened by a very curious Lisa, Teresa gaped at the house’s spacious, well-appointed interior.
In the living room, Jeff and the girl sat on the floor playing cards. She looked up from the game when TJ and Teresa walked in and jumped off the floor, crying, “Mama!” She ran to Teresa, practically climbing the stunned woman.
Jeff looked on in amazement while mother and child embraced. He shook his head in wonder at the sight and got up off the floor. TJ, wanting to give Teresa some privacy, grabbed his arm and led him into the laundry room.
As soon as the door shut behind them, he asked, “How did you find her?”
TJ hadn’t planned to reveal what had actually gone down. “While all of you stewed about DHHS, I was thinkin’ you were going about it wrong. Had to go back to the source—the dump where we found her and go from there.”
When she’d finished telling him what happened, he put his hands on her shoulders and said, “You took a big risk for her. But I’m so glad we have her mother here. You’re amazing.”
