“Terrible thing,” Hayley said, walking toward him. She ducked when he took a swing, then stung him with the TASER—once, then again. He fell to the floor with a thunk. She worked quickly after that while the girl from the club sawed logs on the couch. After driving his car into the garage, she dragged him out there and hauled his heavy ass into the trunk. She was breathing hard by the time she climbed in behind the wheel.
The girl on the couch had a strange awakening ahead of her in the next hour or so, coming to bruised, bloodied, and memory-free in a strange, empty house. But she was safe, and that’s all that mattered.
Nora Belle Castor, also known as the Ghost, paced the bathroom floor, back and forth, in front of the mirror. Ever since being chased by that dyke bitch at the mall, she’d been antsy to release some of her frustrations. She spent most of the night on the street, waiting and watching. And then she’d made her move, but she hadn’t seen it coming: one of the homeless assholes got a jab in after she jumped him. Got her right in the eye with his dirty, disgusting finger. Made her look as if she had fucking pinkeye.
She leaned over the sink and tried to open her infected eye as wide as she could, but it was no use. The dirty asshole had done some damage.
She looked down.
The fucker had also soiled her shoes.
The stupid goon she was living with didn’t have shit for a washer and dryer, but his crappy appliances would have to do. She took off her sneakers and headed into the main room. Asshole was asleep on the couch with a can of beer still in his grasp.
She wasn’t sure how long she would be able to live with the douche. His dick was long and thin, like a fucking wand but without the magic fairy dust. Fucking the man meant going through the motions without ever knowing if there was anything inside her. A waste of time. A shitty five-minute workout, at best.
She opened the closet in the hallway, swept all his dirty clothes to the floor, put her sneakers in the wash, added bleach and detergent, and turned on the machine. Before she could take more than a few steps back the way she came, she saw a little girl standing in the hallway watching her, a thumb shoved in her mouth.
“Who the fuck are you?” Nora Belle asked. And then she remembered Michael telling her he had a kid and that he swapped weekends with his ex every once in a while. She hadn’t paid much attention at the time because, hell, she didn’t give a shit about Michael. He was merely another idiot to take advantage of for a few weeks, maybe months, if she could stand him for that long.
“Take that thumb out of your mouth,” she told the kid. “It’s disgusting.”
The kid kept sucking away, looking at her with big round eyes as if she really were looking at a fucking ghost. She hated the nickname she’d been given, but it was better than any of those assholes using her real name. The funny thing was, the police didn’t seem to give a shit about what she did to those people. And they weren’t the only ones. A lot of people didn’t give a shit, which made all those homeless losers easy targets. She liked beating the crap out of those stupid people. Her mother was homeless, and God only knew where she’d ended up. Being raised among an endless string of deadbeats had made Nora Belle angry. Going after these people gave her something to do and helped release some frustrations. Mostly, it was just plain fun.
She walked up to the little girl and yanked her thumb out of her mouth. “What’s your name?”
“Leah.”
“How old are you?”
“Four.” She held up four fingers as if that fucking confirmed it.
“OK, Leah, what do you want? Why are you staring at me like that?”
Thumb went back in her mouth. Tiny shoulder came up in a half shrug.
And then Nora Belle got an idea. “Hey, want to play a game?”
Suck. Suck. Suck.
That’s all the kid knew how to do.
Fucking idiot, like her father.
She clamped a hand around the kid’s shoulder and said, “Come on—we’ll get something to eat and then go in the other room and play some games. It’ll be fun. I have all night.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
It was the next afternoon, and Kitally had just had another door slammed in her face. Not exactly the friendliest neighborhood she’d ever visited. After heading back to the car, she climbed in behind the wheel and drove farther down the road looking for Hayley until she caught sight of her talking to a teenager playing basketball with a friend.
Hayley was still pissed off at Lizzy for doing a half-assed job with Bennett. Kitally, on the other hand, wasn’t angry with Lizzy at all. She was just relieved that she hadn’t stepped over the line. It was true that they would need to keep a vigilant eye on Bennett—make sure he didn’t know who his attackers were and keep him from doing any more harm before justice was served. But as far as Kitally was concerned, that didn’t include killing the man.
Right now, though, here they were, back in West Sac, looking for the Ghost. They had driven back to the neighborhood Salma said the Ghost used to haunt. They were going door-to-door, hoping someone would know something about her whereabouts.
Kitally was losing hope. But not Hayley. After being so close to nabbing the Ghost and then losing her in the mall, Hayley was more determined than ever to find her.
After Hayley finished talking to the teenager, she climbed into the car and said, “Let’s go.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Nope, but I have an idea.”
Kitally didn’t like the look in her eye. “What is it?”
“Me and you,” she said, “are going to be homeless for a while.”
“Seriously?”
“It’ll be fun,” Hayley said. “Like camping out.”
“It could take weeks to catch her. Maybe months.”
“I don’t think so. The Ghost seems to make an appearance at least twice a week. I don’t think she does what she does because she wants whatever these people have. I think she has a problem with homeless people. If we put ourselves in her path, she’ll find us.”
“How will you know where she’ll hit next?”
“I got another call from the shopkeeper who keeps me updated on what’s happening on the streets. Oftentimes, he mentions a homeless woman named Naomi Griffiths. I’ve talked to the woman before. She says the Ghost has it in for her. Our best bet will be to stick close to Naomi.”
Kitally scratched her head where a bullet had grazed her scalp during the shooting the day of Lizzy’s wedding. The wound had healed, but it still itched. “There’s got to be an easier way to catch this person.”
“Well, I’m moving out there tonight. You don’t have to come.”
“No, I’ll come. I’m not going to let you go out there by yourself.”
Hayley was searching through the garage at Kitally’s house for a sleeping bag and anything else she might find useful on the streets when Lizzy approached her.
“I know you’re pissed off at me,” she said, “but I need your help with something.”
“Why don’t you ask Kitally or Jessica?”
“This is something only you can do. I’ve seen how well you can draw. It has to be you.”
“How long will it take?”
“The woman lives in Newcastle. So I’ll need you for a couple of hours at least.”
“When do you plan to do this?”
“Right now.”
Forty-five minutes later, they were sitting at the kitchen table inside Kathryn Church’s house. Hayley had a sketch pad and pencil ready to go. The woman made everyone hot tea and then took a seat at the head of the table. Her hair was pinned high on her head. Dark circles framed her eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week.