The Killer’s New Obsession by B.B. Hamel
Irene
Don Valentino’s mansion sat outside of the city in a quiet little suburb right on the edge of Philadelphia County. It was a twenty-minute drive from City Hall, but far enough away that it felt like a totally different world.
The kind of world that I’d never seen before in my life.
The driveway was long and gravel, and stretched back into a long shady forest. The grass was cut and tended, and the flowers and shrubs were well maintained. The house appeared at the top of a slight rise in all its glory, and my jaw dropped like a little girl seeing magic for the first time.
Cam grinned at me. “It’s something, right?”
“Holy crap,” I said. “I’ve only ever seen pictures of houses like that.”
It was massive. Big columns, peaked roof, lots and lots of windows. The siding looked immaculate and the porch stretched along the front and disappeared around the back. Two floors, plus a small third, probably attic space. The front door was massive and wooden, like a medieval church.
Cam parked and killed the engine. “Don Valentino’s pretty informal, but try to be respectful anyway,” he said, then gave me a look. “And don’t steal anything.”
I glared at him. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because you’ve spent the last two years boosting random shit from rich guys like the Don and it’s probably instinct at this point, but don’t be dumb, all right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, no stealing.” Which I hadn’t planned on doing, although he did have a point. If I came across something small and expensive-looking, I might’ve just grabbed it without thinking.
He led the way up the stairs and knocked at the door. It opened a minute later, and an older woman with short gray hair, a green button-down top, a pair of khaki slacks, and a pristine white apron beamed out at us. She looked like a cross between Paula Deen and Martha Stewart, but without all the controversies.
“Well, hello, Cam,” the woman said.
“Hi, Bea,” Cam said. “This is Irene.”
“Good to meet you,” Bea said and shook my hand. “I’m the Don’s housekeeper, in case Cam here didn’t tell you. The boys don’t always think about that.”
Cam laughed and rubbed his neck. “I did forget to mention you,” he admitted.
“Of course you did, sweetie,” Bea said. “I won’t take it personally though. Anyway, come on in, he’s waiting in the office.”
I followed Cam, who followed Bea into the big, spacious entry hallway with a chandelier that was worth more than I’d ever seen in my life. She took us down a side hall, covered with plush carpets with oil paintings on the wall and real wood paneling. It was a rich person’s paradise, and designed to evoke feelings of power and wealth, and it was doing a really, really good job, especially considering I was used to rat-infested abandoned Philly row homes that were mostly made of mold.
Bea showed us into a large office with a huge wooden desk in the center. It was flanked by bookcases packed with leather volumes, most of them really old looking, and probably only there to look fancy. The Don sat behind the desk with a glass of something brown in one hand and a slowly smoking cigar in the other.
“Cam,” he said. “And Irene. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you two again so fast.”
“Don Valentino,” Cam said, inclining his head. I felt like I should curtsy or something, but instead hung back with my hands folded in front of me. Bea gave me a smile, winked, and disappeared, shutting the door softly behind her.
“You said it was urgent,” Don Valentino said, gesturing with the cigar. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Cam walked over and emptied the bag out onto the desk in front of the Don, who stared at the sticks for a second then looked at Cam with a raised eyebrow.
“Maybe you should try telling me instead of tossing a bunch of junk on top of my desk.” He pushed the sticks into a little pile, making a face the whole time.
“Irene stole those from Ronan Healy’s safe house,” Cam said, sitting back into a chair. I joined him, sinking back into the comfortable seat and crossing my legs. All I wanted to do was disappear, but I knew Cam needed me here, and it was safer than being alone in that apartment, at least. Don Valentino was young and handsome, but he put me on edge.
“No kidding,” Don Valentino said, looking impressed. “How’d you manage that?”
“Accident,” I admitted. “I was going for money.”
“Of course you were,” he said with a condescending smile, and I was tempted to punch it off his stupid face. “So what’s on them?”
“Girls,” Cam said. “Profiles of girls they’ve trafficked.”
Don Valentino’s mouth opened for one second before he snapped it shut again. He puffed on the cigar, and a fat plume of gray smoke curled from his lips and drifted into the air between us. It smelled like a forest fire or a dirty chimney. My father used to smoke those things, and I hated the way they stank up the whole house, though at least he didn’t hit me when he had a cigar.
“That’s very interesting,” he said at last, which almost made me roll my eyes. Understatement of the year. Cam acted like those profiles were the greatest find ever, and if he thought so, them Don Valentino must’ve known it too.
I hated those sticks. I hated the way Cam looked at them, like they were ammunition in his little war. Those were girls the Healy family hurt, and maybe I knew some of them, or maybe not, but what really freaked me out, what really set my heart fluttering wildly, was just how close I’d come to becoming one of them.
There was no doubt in my mind that Ronan wanted to groom me for sex work. He’d hinted at it a few times, and I mostly ignored him or laughed it off. He always did that with the girls in his orbit, and I knew that if he ever tried to push it on me, I could just run away. I’d done it before and I’d do it again.
But Ronan was no joke, and maybe I overestimated my ability to escape. I could’ve been one of those profiles, locked on a USB stick, used by an opposing mafia in some war.
Those profiles were people. They were women, trafficked women, stolen women. They weren’t pawns in some game.
“There are names,” Cam was saying as I shifted in my chair. “Dates and locations and more. There’s a lot of information on those sticks, and all we need to do is sift through it and figure out how to use it against them.”
Don Valentino laughed. It was sharp and horrible, and it made my skin crawl. I stood up abruptly, and both men glanced at me, but neither seemed to care much as I hurried to the door.
“Wait in the hall,” Don Valentino called after me. “in case we need you.”
I caught a worried look from Cam, and I knew he wanted to tell me to stay, but I couldn’t make myself sit there and listen to them talk about those girls like they were toys.
Especially since I was almost one of them.
I got out of there. I was breathing hard and fast and kept walking, not paying attention to where I was going. The house was a maze of room after room, and I came to a few dead ends until I stepped through a narrow hallway and into a massive kitchen filled with gleaming shelves and knives and hanging pots and pans. It looked professional, like ten cooks could’ve worked shoulder to shoulder in there and fed an entire army.
I walked through it then began pacing down the center, fanning at my face, trying to calm down. I had to get it together, but I felt stuck and stifled. Years of being on the run left me with this instinct to keep moving, to get away whenever something pushed me from my comfort zone, and all of this was pitching me around wildly. I wasn’t remotely okay, not even close.
“Hello, dear.” I whirled around and covered my mouth with my hands to keep from screaming. Bea smiled at me and held up a tea kettle. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought you might like some.”
I lowered my hands and let out a laugh. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here. I was just, I had to, you know, go for a walk.” I was talking fast, nervous and awkward, but I couldn’t help it.
“Come here,” she said, and it wasn’t a command, but an invitation. I hesitated, then walked over. “Take some tea with me while the boys talk. I bet you had to escape all that cigar smoke.” She poured the kettle into a mug and rich brown liquid spilled from the bag floating inside. She poured a second and slid it to me. “I told his father, and I’ll tell him until the day I’m dead, smoking indoors is the worst thing you can do for a house.”
“He doesn’t seem like the type to care about that,” I said with a smile and raised the tea to my lips.
Bea held up a hand. “Wait one moment,” she said. “Let it steep.”
I placed it back down. I couldn’t remember the last time I had tea. Coffee, sure, I was addicted to coffee. Which was a bad thing, considering my living situation wasn’t exactly conducive to making a consistent cup, but still, I managed. Even the homeless found ways to brew the stuff.
“How long have you worked here?” I asked, just to make conversation.
“Oh, years now,” she said. “As long as Dean’s been alive. Don Valentino, I mean. I remember when he was a little boy, so it’s hard for me to call him Don.”
“I bet it is,” I said. “You probably changed his diapers.”
“More than his father ever did,” she said and laughed. She put me at ease with her calm and gentle mannerisms, and I felt my shoulders relaxing slightly, like I’d been carrying a weight on them and was only just beginning to put it down. “You’ll have to forgive some of his rough edges. His childhood wasn’t happy.”
“I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like,” I said, looking around. “Nice house though.”
“Nice houses can hide bad things,” Bea said with a sigh. “At any rate, he keeps on smoking, and I keep on complaining. It’s a vicious cycle.”
“Who do you think will win that one?”
“He will, dear,” she said, and took her tea bag out. “Go ahead, you’re all set now.”
I took a sip. It was hot, but it was rich and delicious. I’d had tea, but nothing like this before. “Thank you,” I said. “I really needed this.”
“Don’t mention it.” She touched my arm. “If you ever need some time away from the boys, feel free to come out here. Dean’s barely ever around and the house is quiet most of the time. We’ve got a pool and lots of space to walk around.”
“Thank you,” I said, grinning like an idiot trying to imagine myself out in the suburbs lying in the grass or whatever normal people did with lawns. “But I’m more of a city kid, you know?”
“Oh, I know, I can tell.” She laughed almost to herself as she put together another tray with more tea. “You’ve got that edge all those girls do.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, head tilted as I took another long sip. I felt warmer and calmer than I had in a long, long time.
“Girls that’ve had a rough time of it look around like the next problem’s about to come out from behind the closet door,” Bea said, gesturing around her. “It’s a wildness, really. A fear response. Not that I can blame you, and I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I can guess.” She finished setting up her tray and smiled at me. “I mean it, dear. If you ever want to escape, come out here. I’d be happy to have you.” Then she left me alone in the kitchen, completely bewildered.
I knew what she meant about that wildness. I’d seen it in other street people, noticed it especially when I first started living rough. It was this look like something bad was about to happen, like they were prey and the predators were just over the next hill.
I stopped noticing it after a while.
Maybe because I started looking around exactly like that.
The thought wasn’t exactly comforting. When I lived with my parents, I was miserable and felt like if I didn’t get out of there soon, then I’d end up dead.
But maybe living on the streets messed me up more than I even realized. It was like I couldn’t remember how to be a normal person anymore.
At least drinking tea came naturally. I sat alone in that large, empty kitchen, and finished the mug until there was only the bag resting against the bottom.
A noise over near the door drew my attention. Cam stood leaning against the wall looking at me with a strange expression on his face. I tried to smile, but my mind was a jumble of worries and fears, and I felt like the next problem was about to jump out and startle me at any moment.
Just like Bea said. I was in a perpetual state of fight or flight.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Talked a little with Bea.”
“You ran out of there pretty fast.”
I shrugged and looked away. I didn’t know how I could explain to him how I felt, so I didn’t try. “The cigar smoke got to me. Dad used to smoke those things.”
He let out a soft breath and walked over. “I’m sorry I’m dragging you through this,” he said. “I know it’s hard, but I’m trying to do right by you.”
“I know,” I said, and forced myself to smile even if I didn’t feel like smiling at all. “I got myself into this mess, right? You’re just getting me out of it.”
He took my hand and helped me up off the stool. I put my mug down and instead of leading me back through the house, he tugged me up against him and wrapped his arms tight about my body.
For one second, I panicked. I wasn’t used to this, to being held and touched and hugged. Out there, when a man like him got close, I either fought or ran away.
Fight or flight. It was all I knew.
But I forced myself to relax into his arms. That touch sent a strange thrill down the base of my spine, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
There wasn’t a lot of romance in an abandoned house.
“Come on,” he said, gently pulling away. “Let’s get back.”
I nodded and couldn’t meet his gaze. I felt the sobs in my chest, the tears clutching up against my eyes, reading to force their way out. I held them at bay but only just, and if I opened my mouth to say something, I knew they’d come rushing out, and I’d have to explain to him how broken I was.
How shattered and wrong I’d become.
So we didn’t speak on the way out to his truck and I kept my eyes on the road the whole time, willing myself to calm down, trying to find the girl that I used to be before I ran away from my horrible life.
