A Necessary Evil Page 3

  “Shut up,” he snapped. “Do you really think I care?” Then his scowl turned into another creepy smile. “But since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you. I’m reading War and Peace. It’s by—”

  “Leo Tolstoy,” Mollie finished.

  “Good girl. You’re smarter than I thought you’d be.”

  Mollie tried to reposition the shackles that were clamped tightly around her ankles. Her feet were going numb, and she knew she had to keep her blood circulating. “I love Leo Tolstoy. Anna Karenina has always been one of my favorites.”

  The man regarded Mollie with squinted eyes and a slight tilt of the head, as if he were straining to hear something spoken in the softest whisper. “I know what you’re doing.” He closed his book, set it beside him, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He stood and walked around it, over to Mollie’s little corner. She pulled her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them, shivering. She regretted opening her mouth. Was he going to punish her for her stupidity?

  When he was only a few feet away from her, he squatted low and looked at her with those hollow eyes. “You’re trying to get me to empathize. You think if we bond over our mutual love for classic nineteenth-century literature, I’ll come to see I couldn’t possibly kill you. Am I right? Is that what you’re trying to do?”

  Mollie shivered, both from the coldness of the dungeon and the indifference in his stare. “No. I was just…”

  “It’s okay,” the man said. “I’d do the same thing if I was in your position. It’s a brilliant plan, actually. And perhaps it would work on someone else. Not me.” He grabbed a strand of Mollie’s hair and slowly wrapped it around his finger.

  Her stomach rolled, and she fought back the bile rising in her throat. “You called me by my name earlier. I didn’t tell you my name. How do you know who I am?”

  “I know a lot about you, Mollie Cartwright. I know you live alone with your mother in a nice, cozy cape cod at the end of Sycamore Street. I know you never knew your daddy. I know you’re a student at UK, and that you’re studying to be a writer. I know all your dirty little secrets. Most importantly, I know who your grandfather is.”

  Mollie forced herself to stifle the terrified sobs that were threatening to escape her throat. Of course this has something to do with Pops. She’d known the truth about him since she was thirteen when some of her classmates had filled her in on the big secret. He was essentially the crime boss of Lexington. Like, the Kentucky version of John Gotti.

  Though he had no ties to the Italian mafia or the Irish mob, her grandfather had a hand in almost every crime committed in the city. Nothing happened without his approval. Of course, he still wanted Mollie to believe he was nothing more than a successful businessman who owned several bars and restaurants, so she’d never told him she knew the truth. Because she loved Pops, no matter what he did for a living, she’d always pretended to believe the family’s lies about who and what he was. In fact, Mollie was pretty sure she was his favorite grandchild. But no matter how much she loved him, no matter how many happy childhood memories they had made together, she would never forgive him for this.

  “Ahh.” He dropped her hair and stood from his crouched position. “I see it’s all starting to make sense to you now. You know who your grandfather is…what he does. At least, you think you do. I promise you, Mollie, there’s more to your grandfather than you ever imagined. He’s hurt a lot of people, including people very close to me, and that’s why you’re here with me now. Call it retribution, payback, vengeance…call it whatever you like. But I like to think of you as…incentive.”

  The man turned and walked back over to the bed, picked up War and Peace, and began reading again, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. As if he hadn’t kidnapped Mollie, brought her to The Vault, chained her to a wall, and terrorized her, all for some sort of revenge against Pops for whatever he had done to piss him off.

  Thinking of Pops made Mollie think of home. And thinking of home made her think of her mother. Kitty would be worried sick by now. The two talked every day, and every night when Mollie got home from work, they would sit at the kitchen table, drink hot tea with honey, and talk about their day. It had always been just the two of them from the beginning. Kitty had gotten pregnant at the age of sixteen and never told Mollie anything about her father other than he was an old boyfriend who had skipped out on her when he found out he was going to be a father. It was Kitty’s one and only secret, and Mollie had always respected her privacy, even if it meant never knowing about her father. It pained her to think of her mother pacing the floor of her room and calling her cell phone over and over, praying this would be the time she’d answer. Had she called the police? Were they looking for her already?

  It didn’t matter. Though she’d been lying in the back seat on the drive from the mall to this underground hideout, she could tell when he pulled off the main road and drove down a bumpy country road. Then he’d turned, and the ride became even slower and rougher. When he’d pulled her out of the back seat and she’d seen they were in the middle of the woods, she knew no one would ever find her here.

  Now the tiny sliver of hope she’d held on to that she could possibly talk her way out of her situation had been shattered, and she knew she had to accept the fact that whatever her pops had done to this man, she was going to be the one to pay the ultimate price for his sins.

  Chapter 5

  Frankie

  When his driver slowed the Town Car to a stop in front of the outside entrance to Macy’s, Frankie stepped out into the cold. His thoughts turned instantly to Mollie, and he wondered if she was cold wherever she was…if she was even still alive. Frankie shrugged off the horrific thoughts, wrapped his Burberry scarf around his neck, and told his driver to wait at the curb.

  People stared as they always did when Franklin Cartwright entered a room. He projected an air of confidence and authority that permeated the space around him, and crowds parted like the Red Sea wherever he went. Some were brave enough to stop and shake his hand, thanking him for this donation or a scholarship that had benefited the community or their loved one. Frankie always smiled back, nodded politely, and shook hands with his constituents. After all, he knew that in order to maintain his image as the town’s most magnanimous entrepreneur, he had to keep the little people happy.

  His two most loyal bodyguards, Rupert and Stanley, flanked him, a few paces behind, as he marched confidently down the aisles and between the Christmas displays that littered the store as the normally joyous holidays rapidly approached. Bing Crosby sang “Mele Kalikimaka” over the loudspeakers while shoppers crowded the counters, weighed down by shopping bags as they waited in line to pay for gifts the probably couldn’t afford.

  Frankie approached the first makeup counter he came across, since he couldn’t recall exactly which one Mollie worked at. An older lady, who’d obviously undergone one too many facelifts, tried to smile at Frankie when he stepped up to the counter.

  “Hello, sir,” she sang. “Shopping for your wife? Girlfriend?” Before he could answer, she grabbed a box from behind the counter and produced it with dramatic flair. “I have the perfect gift. It’s our holiday collection, complete with a smoky eye kit, contour tools, and three shades of lipstick to compliment her—”

  Frankie held up his hand. “No, thank you. Not today. I’m actually looking for someone who might know my granddaughter. Her name is Mollie Cartwright. She works at one of these counters, but I’m not sure which one. Can you help me?” He gave her his most sincere, gracious smile, and the old lady swooned. An effect he had on many ladies of her generation.

  “Sure,” she said after she recovered. “I know Mollie.” She pointed a crooked but bedazzled finger to the right. “She works over there at the Urban Decay counter. But I haven’t seen her today. Ask Fabulous Greg. He’s her supervisor. He’ll know if she’s coming in tonight.”

  “Fabulous Greg?” Frankie raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous moniker.

&nb
sp; “You’ll see,” she said. “Just look for the tall, light-skinned man in magnificent shoes. You can’t miss him.”

  “Thank you.” Frankie bowed toward the saleslady and bid her goodbye.

  He walked in an arc around a crowd of teenage boys who were gawking at some lingerie and up to the display counter with a large sign that read ‘URBAN DECAY.’ Within seconds, his eyes fell on a very tall, young black man with light-colored skin, who was standing at a table, rearranging makeup boxes into the shape of a Christmas tree. Frankie scanned the length of the lithe fellow and saw instantly why he was so tall—he was wearing rhinestone stiletto heels. His jeans were way too tight, and he wore a hideous red sweater with a reindeer on the front, complete with a flashing red nose. This had to be Fabulous Greg.

  Frankie shook his head and proceeded toward the display. He cleared his throat when he approached the effeminate young man. “Excuse me,” he said. “My name is Franklin Cartwright. You must be…Greg.”

  Greg looked Frankie up and down with one hand on a cocked hip and the other hand flopped down the way no straight man would ever do. The corners of his mouth turned up, revealing perfectly white teeth, and Frankie noticed at once that Greg was wearing makeup. Complete with bright red lipstick, that stuff women wore on their cheeks, dark eyeshadow, and extremely long false eyelashes. Frankie had to admit—he truly did look fabulous.

  “Hello, there, sugar,” Greg said with a whistle as he eyed Frankie from his well-shined Brooks Brothers shoes to his crystal blue eyes. “Yes, I’m Greg. And who might you be?”

  “My name is Franklin Cartwright,” Frankie said in as masculine a voice as he could muster. “I believe you know my granddaughter, Mollie.”

  “Oh, child,” Greg’s face fell. “Yes, I know Mollie. I guess you’re here looking for her too.”

  “What do you mean?” Frankie was taken aback. “Who else is looking for her?”

  “A fine looking older gentleman like yourself came in here not long ago asking questions about her too. But this one was a cop. Name was…oh, child, I done forgot…”

  Frankie let out a sigh of frustration. “Detective Jamison?”

  Greg shook his finger at Frankie and smiled again. “Yep. That’s the one. Said Mollie’s missing, poor girl. I wondered why she punked out on me without even calling. It’s so not like her.”

  “What else did Detective Jamison say?” Frankie was frustrated. He’d hoped to get to Mollie’s co-workers before Kurt.

  “Just asked about who she hung out with. What kind of worker she was. He asked a lot of questions about some poor schmuck who’s been trying to hook up with Mollie lately too.”

  “Really? What did you tell him?”

  “Told him I have no idea what he’s talking about. If Mollie was having trouble with anyone, it wasn’t anyone here at UD. I think Mollie’s the only straight worker we have on staff.”

  Frankie didn’t know what to say to that. Though he tried to keep an open mind about homosexuals, he had been raised a very strict Catholic, and the lifestyle still confused him and made him uncomfortable.

  “What else can you tell me about Mollie as an employee?”

  “Well, she’s been one of our best sellers since she started. Girl’s got that special something, if you know what I mean. And don’t get me started about…”

  Greg’s words faded into an echo. Nothing he was telling Frankie was helpful. He already knew how amazing his granddaughter was. While Greg was an interesting character, he wasn’t helping the least bit.

  As Greg droned on animatedly, Frankie nodded occasionally as he scanned his surroundings. He caught a glimpse of a young man standing several yards away, partially hiding behind a perfume display. He was obviously trying to listen in on their conversation without being seen. When their eyes met, the boy froze at first, then bolted to the left, knocking the entire display down in the process. Perfume bottles crashed to the ground, and everyone stopped what they were doing and watched with open mouths and wide eyes as he ran toward the mall entrance, shoving people who stood in his way.

  “Rupert! Stanley!” Frankie shouted at his guards. In an instant, the three of them were running into the mall at a sprint, leaving Greg standing there with his hands on his hips and his mouth gaping.

  Frankie ran as fast as he could, keeping an eye on the kid as he darted in and out of the crowd of oblivious shoppers. The boy turned down the corridor to the right, and Rupert and Stanley, who were still in their thirties, bolted ahead of Frankie in hot pursuit. His knees weren’t what they were when he’d played high school football, and they ached in protest as he tried his best to keep up with his bodyguards. Frankie accidentally knocked a woman to the ground, but even as the other shoppers shouted after him, he kept running.

  Frankie turned right and kept jogging toward the boy, whom he only caught a glimpse of every few seconds. His heart was beating rapidly, and he felt his blood pressure rising. This was the last damn thing he needed in his life, to be chasing some young punk through a crowded mall. He swore when he caught up to him, he’d teach him some manners.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his shirt stuck to his chest as he continued running, then took a left when he saw Rupert and Stanley do the same. When he rounded the corner, he caught sight of the pair just as they were tackling the kid to the ground near the women’s bathroom at the end of an empty hallway. Frankie slowed to a stop and bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He drew in long, deep breaths until he finally felt his heartrate start to stabilize. Ahead of him, Rupert and Stanley were struggling with the young man, who was futilely kicking and demanding they let him go.

  Frankie walked up to the melee as his sidekicks pulled the boy to his feet and shoved him up against the wall. Just then, a pretty young woman and her little girl stepped out of the bathroom. Her eyes went wide as saucers and her mouth dropped open. She looked at the boy and then at Frankie and reached into her purse for her cell phone.

  Frankie hated to do it, but he pulled his gun out and showed it to the woman. “Get out of here. Forget what you saw. You understand?”

  The woman shielded her daughter, but nodded vehemently.

  “Good girl. Now, go!”

  He gestured for her to leave, and she scuttled away quickly. Frankie knew she’d call the police as soon as she got out of earshot, so he had to act quickly. He turned and faced the punk kid who was pinned against the wall and still struggling for freedom. His shaggy dark hair fell across his forehead and nearly covered his brown eyes. Frankie couldn’t understand why boys these days didn’t know the meaning of a proper haircut.

  “Where’s Mollie?” Frankie asked, leaning in so close he could smell the fear emanating from the boy’s pores. “Where’s my granddaughter?”

  “I d-don’t know. I s-swear! Let me go!”

  Rupert and Stanley were holding him tightly against the wall, but he was still trying to wriggle himself free.

  “Calm down, young man,” Frankie said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know where Mollie is. What’s your name, son?”

  “Conner,” he said with a quivering chin.

  “Okay, Conner. Now, did you do something to my Mollie?”

  “No, I swear.” The boy was sweating profusely now. “I l-love her. I w-wouldn’t hurt her!”

  “Oh, you love her, do you?” Frankie knew for sure he had the right kid now. The one who’d been harassing Mollie at work and leaving creepy love letters in her locker. “Is that why you’ve been stalking her?”

  “Y-yes. I mean, no.” The boy’s head hung low in apparent shame. “I-I’ve b-been trying to get her attention…trying to show her how much I love her. But I s-swear. I’d never hurt her. It w-wasn’t me.”

  If it weren’t for Frankie’s instincts, he wouldn’t have gotten so far in life. He’d always prided himself on his ability to read people and situations with amazing accuracy. It was what made him so good at being so bad. So, when this s
hivering boy swore he hadn’t hurt Mollie, Frankie knew he was telling the truth. There was no way this scrawny limp dick had kidnapped his tenacious, strong-willed granddaughter. The knowledge was both comforting and frightening to Frankie. On one hand, he was glad to know this boy hadn’t hurt Mollie. On the other hand, it meant someone stronger, smarter, and stealthier had taken her.

  “Let him go.” Frankie gestured at Rupert and Stanley.

  “Boss?” Rupert said with a queer look on his square face.

  “Just let him go.”

  The bodyguards released their hold on the boy, and he dropped to the ground in a heap.

  “Conner,” Frankie squatted and looked him in the eye, “do you know anything about who might have taken Mollie? Anything at all that could help me find her?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I th-think so.”

  “You think so? What could you possibly know that could help me?”

  “Th-the man…”

  Frankie leaned closer since Conner was speaking so softly. “What did you say?”

  “The man,” Conner repeated.

  “What man?”

  “The one who’s been watching her.”

  Chapter 6

  Kurt

  “Relax, Whiskey,” Lonnie said as the two detectives climbed back into their unmarked Crown Victoria and slammed their doors against the cold night air. “We’ll find her.”

  “Yeah,” Kurt huffed. He reached into his shirt pocket, withdrew a flimsy pack of Winstons, tapped out a single cigarette, lit the end, and drew in a long-overdue drag of nicotine. Kurt tilted his head back against the headrest and exhaled. When a thick, white cloud of smoke filled the air inside the cruiser, Lonnie rolled down his window, waved his hand in front of his face, and coughed dramatically.

  “Come on, man.” He coughed again. “I thought you were giving up those cancer sticks.”