Game of Fear (Montgomery Justice #3)(54)

Deb put a hand to her mouth, but her cry of anguish still escaped.

Gabe took the picture from her and peered at the truncated body, twisted, mangled, and partially wrapped in a dirty, blood-stained sheet. Contusions everywhere. Barely recognizable, except . . . He looked closer. “Is that a tattoo on her ankle?”

“Yes,” Neil replied. “The number eighty-eight.”

Deb let out a choked sob and fell to her knees. “Ashley doesn’t have a tattoo. She’s terrified of needles. It’s not her.” She buried her head in her hands. “It’s not Ashley.”

Gabe knelt on the ground and pulled Deb into his arms. He met Neil’s gaze.

The detective patted Deb’s back, then turned away. “Thank you for coming. I’m glad it’s not your sister. We’ll work on identifying the girl. Her family needs to know.”

“Eighty-eight.” Deb suddenly stiffened. “Oh, no.”

Her knees shook, but she rose to her feet. “I just realized who it is,” Deb said, her voice choked. “It’s the girl Mylo and Justin played Point of Entry with. Her name is Britney Saunders. She disappeared, but Mylo sent Gabe a photo.”

Gabe yanked out his cell phone and started pressing buttons.

Deb moved closer to look at the images. “I remember Ashley mentioning the tattoo. She thought it was cool, but she just couldn’t work up the courage.”

A smiling face stared at Gabe from the screen. The picture of Britney with her family. Sure enough, when he zoomed in, those eights peeked out above her shoes. He held up the phone to Neil. “This is how she looked the day she disappeared. Red sweater, blue jeans, black jacket, and running shoes.”

Neil called over one of the forensics team to bring him the evidence bags. With gloved hands, the tech held each item open in turn, accounting for every clothing article that had been dumped several hundred feet away from the body.

“Looks like we’ve got our ID,” Neil said, his expression solemn. “Colorado Springs PD will notify her parents.”

Gabe shook his head. He’d met Britney’s folks. Nice people. They didn’t deserve this. No one did. He glanced over at the body bag that held what was left of Britney Saunders. Whoever had decapitated that young girl was either sadistic or they had no soul.

“Detective Wexler, we found something.” The evidence tech ran down the hill, another bag in his gloved hand.

“What is it?” Neil demanded.

“A cell phone. The glass is cracked, but it still has power.”

Gabe crowded in. Very carefully, the tech removed the phone and, using a tiny probe, pressed the keys to reveal the owner.

“It’s Mylo’s,” Gabe said, swallowing the guilt choking his throat. He looked over at Deb. “He tried to call me. Left me a message he was meeting Britney, and I had the damned phone off.”

“It’s not your fault—”

“Then whose is it?” Gabe said. How was he going to look himself in the mirror? That kid had believed in him.

Gabe played Neil and her Mylo’s message.

“Would he have set this up?” the detective asked. “Would Mylo have killed Britney?”

“No way. You heard him. He was scared. He’s the dorky kid you saw in that video clip I gave you. Can you see him attacking anyone?”

“Then where is he?” Deb scanned the surroundings. “I don’t see any sign of him or his car.”

Neil frowned. “From the scuffle that took place around the grave, I think his name should be added to the list of other kids who are missing.”




“Get inside.”

Sly shoved Ernie into Jeff Gasmerati’s office. Ernie pitched to the ground, his injured leg giving way. His nose hit the hard wood and he doubled over in pain. God, how had Sly found him so fast?

Ernie rolled onto his back and looked up into Jeff’s cold expression.

“Ernie, Ernie, Ernie. I thought you were family.”

Oh God. This was it. They’d found out. He couldn’t stop shaking. “P-please—”

“Shut up.” Sly grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

Ernie choked and Sly slammed him into a wooden chair at the edge of the room. He secured his wrists and feet, and Ernie felt warm liquid flowing down his pants leg.

Sly gave him a grin. “I figured you for a coward.” He turned to Jeff. “He’s ready, boss.”

Jeff strode across the room, his Gucci suit crisp. He bent toward Ernie and wrinkled his nose. “You been hiding in a garbage can, Rattori?”

Ernie nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s where I found him,” Sly said, “after he went out the window of the hotel trying to avoid this discussion.”

“Not very cooperative, Ernie.” Jeff pulled out his revolver. An old Colt .45.

The cold barrel slid up Ernie’s cheek to his temple and pressed against his head.

“I hear you’ve been talking, Ernie. A lot.”

Ernie squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t tell him anything. Don’t tell him anything. He doesn’t know the truth or you’d be dead.

The pressure increased against the side of his head.

The hammer clicked.

The gun didn’t go off.

Jeff chuckled and Ernie opened his eyes. “See, Ernie, I’m an honorable man. I’m willing to give you a chance to make it up to me. You know things. You’ve worked for me a long time.”