“Christ,” he breathed as he straightened. “He’s back.”
Jax reached out to grasp his shoulder. “We can’t jump to conclusions, Ash.”
Ash understood his brother’s warning. There was nothing more dangerous for an investigator than leaping to a conclusion, then becoming blind to other possibilities.
But he was no longer a detective, and his gut instinct was screaming that this was the work of the killer who’d destroyed the lives of so many. Including his own.
“There’s more.” Feldman cleared his throat, lowering the pad. “She’s had plastic surgery.”
“Not that unusual,” Jax said, echoing Ash’s own thoughts. “Lots of women, and men for that matter, think they need some nip and tuck.”
Feldman grimaced. “This nip and tuck was for a particular purpose.”
A chill crawled over Ash’s skin. Not the frigid air of the morgue, but something else. Perhaps a premonition. “What purpose?” he forced himself to ask.
“If I had to make a guess, I would say it was to make Angel Conway look like Remi Walsh.”
Chapter Two
Remi Walsh was seated at a small table at the back of the youth center. She was a tall, slender woman with long, black hair she kept pulled into a braid and green eyes she’d inherited from her mother. Her skin was winter pale and smooth even though she was closer to thirty than twenty. Today she was wearing a pair of jeans and a heavy cable-knit sweater to combat the icy December day.
Across the table sat a fifteen-year-old girl. Julie Stewart had reddish-blond curls and a round face sprinkled with freckles. She looked like any typical teenager. Young and innocent. But Julie had endured more than most people in her short life. Remi had only gotten an abbreviated version, but she knew that Julie had been bounced from one foster home to another after being taken away from her abusive mother.
Now she was in a stable home that was ensuring she attended school every day. They also insisted that Julie stop by the youth center after classes twice a week for tutoring.
Remi sat back and tapped her red pen on the table. “Okay. We’ve identified the mistakes. You need to correct them and retype the paper before Monday.”
Julie grimaced as she glanced at the term paper crisscrossed with red marks. It was late on Friday afternoon and the teen was no doubt envisioning a weekend filled with lazy mornings spent in bed and her nights at the mall with her friends. “I’ll try.”
“No,” Remi said in firm tones. “You’ll do it or you won’t pass your English Comp class and you’ll be taking it again next year. Got it?”
Julie heaved a sigh that indicated she considered herself the most mistreated teen in the world. Still, she gave a nod as she grabbed for her backpack and coat. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, rising to her feet and shoving the paper into the backpack. “I got it.”
“Good girl.” Remi watched in silence as Julie pulled on her jacket and headed toward the door. Before she could leave the room, however, Remi called out, “Julie.”
The teen reluctantly halted, clearly eager to be on her way. “What now?”
Remi hesitated. She hated to discuss one of her students with another, but she was genuinely worried.
“Have you seen Drew?”
Drew Tyson was a sixteen-year-old boy who’d started coming to the center with Julie a few months before. Remi suspected the only reason he’d agreed to be tutored was for an opportunity to spend time with the pretty girl.
Remi didn’t care why he came. She just wanted the opportunity to help him finish his education. He was too smart to be lost to the usual traps that came along with grinding poverty. Drugs. Crime. Violence. And, more often than not, an early death.
Julie paused, obviously trying to think back to the last time she’d seen Drew.
“Not since last Wednesday,” she finally said.
Remi’s heart sank. She’d hoped that Drew had simply decided he was tired of coming to the youth center, but that he was still going to school. “I tried to call his father, but I didn’t get an answer,” she said.
Julie shrugged. “It’s possible his old man is back in jail. Drew told me that he found an empty baggie in his car. He’s probably using again.”
The words were said in the jaded tones of a teen who’d seen too much in her short years. Her own mother was currently serving time for drugs.
“Where does Drew go when his dad’s in jail?” she asked.
“I think he has an aunt in Minnesota, but he usually stays on the streets.” Julie glanced toward the one window in the room that offered a view of the bus stop in front of the building, making sure she wasn’t about to miss her ride home. “Do you want me to go look for him?”
“No.” Remi gave a sharp shake of her head. The last thing she wanted was Julie putting herself in danger. “I’ll do that.”
Julie ran a disbelieving glance over Remi. “You?”
Remi rolled her eyes. Although she dressed in casual clothes and never wore makeup or jewelry, the kids easily sensed that she wasn’t from their neighborhood. It was like a second sense they possessed.
“I’ll see you Monday,” she told the younger girl.
Julie gave a wave and hurried out of the room. She no doubt had big plans for the night. Remi on the other hand . . .
She sighed as she cleaned off her desk. She didn’t want to think about the empty weekend that stretched ahead of her. It was her own fault, of course. She had friends who’d invited her out to dinner or to the movies. And her mother had mentioned she was hosting yet another gala to raise money for . . . hell, she couldn’t even remember. Or, more likely, she hadn’t been listening.
If she didn’t want to be alone, she shouldn’t have said no to everyone.
With her desk clean, Remi was reaching for her purse when a large man appeared in the doorway.
“Knock, knock,” he said with a smile.
Lamar Hill was a retired NFL player who’d returned to Chicago after he’d been injured. He could easily have retired on his earnings, but instead, he’d devoted his time and money to starting this youth center that provided hot meals, clothing, medical care, computer access, and tutoring for any kid who walked through the door. In the very back were a few beds that he made available to the homeless adults in the neighborhood. It was a safe place, a beacon of light for people who had very little. Plus, it had the bonus of being a cool spot for the older teens to come and spend some time.
Who didn’t want to hang with an NFL player?
Remi tilted back her head. Lamar was over six five, with a broad body that moved with surprising grace.
“Hi, Lamar, what’s up?” she asked. The man was usually too busy to stop by to chat.
“You have a couple of visitors,” he said.
“Now?” Remi wrinkled her nose. On rare occasions she had parents stop by to ask about their child’s progress, or even teachers who brought by missing homework assignments they hoped she could help students complete. Usually she welcomed their arrival, but it was five o’clock on a Friday and she still had an hour of traffic to battle through. “I was just about to leave.”
“Sorry, but it’s the cops,” he said, his tone more curious than alarmed.