“Ever heard of Death Alley?”
I gulped. It was a two-mile stretch of road in Westmont that had earned the name after boasting more killings than pretty much anywhere else in LA. Most of them shootings.
“Some of the kids who attended my school came from Death Alley. I don’t think anyone will look too closely at yet another apparent gang shooting. It’s a bit unusual for it to happen to a naive tourist, but random shootings happen all the time.”
My palms started to sweat, making the steering wheel slippery beneath them.
“Hard to pin a random shooting on anyone,” Josh continued. “Especially in the dark.”
As much as I hated to admit it, it was a good plan. I just hoped the dark would also work to my advantage when it came to using my new defense toys.
We reached a stretch of Death Alley, a.k.a. South Vermont Avenue, that was six lanes across with a wide median strip in the middle. It was a commercial district, and the few windows facing the street were barred and dim. Everyone had gone home for the day. No bored residents around to peer through the windows and jot down the number from a dirty license plate.
The occasional car passed by, but all I could see of them were the headlights. Josh directed me to pull over in the shadows of a broken street light (there were plenty to choose from) and roll down my window. Presumably to shoot me through.
“Please, don’t do this.” I tried one last time.
He didn’t meet my eyes. His gaze was locked on my torso where the revolver was pointing. “Take off your seat belt, slowly, then get out of the car.”
I followed his instructions, heart banging like a frantic woodpecker. As I got to my feet, I kept the left side of my body angled away from him and slipped that hand into my pocket. Looks like I was going to use pepper spray.
I slid the safety tab around and rested my trembling thumb on the depressor, grateful I could do it by feel after Connor’s lesson.
Josh climbed over the center console into the driver’s seat without dropping his gun or gaze for a second. He put his seat belt on with one hand. Ready to make a fast getaway. “Step away from the car.” His voice was all the more scary for its gentleness.
I took a slow step backward, pepper spray hidden by my hand and the murky darkness, trying to work out what distance Josh wanted me at before he’d pull the trigger. Far enough to avoid blood spatter on his car. Not so far as to risk missing. My pepper spray only had ten feet. And that was a stretch. At least it wasn’t windy.
Another car rolled by on the other side of the median strip. Josh had chosen well. No one could see he had a gun, and I guessed he’d wait for the road to be empty before pulling the trigger. Even if he didn’t, anyone driving in this neighborhood hearing a gunshot would only put their foot down and later tell the police they thought it was a car backfiring. Curiosity would get you killed.
Pity I hadn’t learned that lesson better.
I took another step backward. Only about four more steps before my pepper spray was out of range. I needed a distraction.
In my peripheral vision, I saw a car heading our way. It was in the same lane as I was, and I hadn’t chosen my black sweats and gray T-shirt for night visibility. I shut it out of my mind. If it hit me, I might survive. If the gun trained on my head hit me, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t.
I took another step, watching Josh’s face, hoping for a moment of inattention. The oncoming car swerved to avoid me, and the driver laid on the horn. Josh’s eyes flicked toward it. I leaped sideways and simultaneously blasted the pepper spray at him.
“Shit. Shit. Shit on a shitting turkey!”
Apparently I’d hit my target.
I turned and ran, feet pounding against the asphalt. I heard coughing and then a gunshot. A bullet whizzed past my ear. He shouldn’t be able to open his eyes, so he must be shooting blind. I changed my trajectory. Another bullet flew past my shoulder. How the hell is he aiming? My heart thundered in my ears, drowning out sound. Sound. He must be following my footsteps.
I stopped in my tracks and tried to take the next step silently. Another gunshot. Pain exploded in my thigh. I cried out and doubled over. It saved my life, as another bullet flew through the space my chest had been occupying a second before. I bit down on my cheek to stop myself whimpering. My leg was on fire, but holding my weight. I had to get out of here.
Still doubled over, I limped as quickly and quietly as I could to the promise of cover on the other side of the road. By the time I reached the sidewalk, my skin was cold and clammy and I was having difficulty catching my breath. I wouldn’t be able to drag myself much farther. A car approached, and I tried to flag it down, but it sped up instead.
I had to hide. I scanned the area for cover, dismayed by the featureless, barricaded shop facades stretching in both directions, broken only by stretches of tall steel fencing where the buildings were set back from the sidewalk. The owners of these establishments didn’t welcome visitors outside of business hours. There was nowhere to take shelter.
A street lamp illuminated a side road about a hundred yards farther up, but it seemed impossibly far away. I searched the area again. My best bet was an A-frame sign that had been left out on the sidewalk, advertising Bo’s Barber Shop—the best straight razor shaves in South LA. A small part of me registered amusement at narrowly escaping death then hiding behind a sign about close shaves, but the larger part of me was focused on survival. I dragged myself over to the sign, braced myself on my good leg, and swung it ninety degrees to face the other side of the street. My hands stuck as I lifted it. They were covered in blood. My blood. I slumped down behind my meager shelter and listened for Josh.
He was still coughing, and it sounded like he hadn’t come any closer. Yet.
Would he hear me if I phoned for help?
I wasn’t sure how many minutes were left until the pepper spray wore off, but I knew it would. Then it was just a matter of time before Josh followed the trail of blood I’d left and finished me off. I had to risk a phone call.
“Nine one one. What’s your emergency?”
“I’ve been shot,” I whispered. “And the shooter is still here.”
“What’s your location?”
I racked my brain for Death Alley’s real name. “South Vermont Avenue, in Westmont.” The sign pressed against my back. “Outside Bo’s Barber Shop.”
“Please stay on the line… An emergency team is on its way. Where have you been shot?”
“How long?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“How far away are they?”
“Eleven minutes, ma’am.”
The coughing had quieted, and I was afraid to keep talking. I disconnected and made sure my phone was switched to silent. It vibrated almost immediately. The 911 operator calling me back. I cut it off and strained my ears for sounds from the other side of the road. Another cough, no closer than before. I allowed myself to breathe and shuffled my rear end to get more comfortable, except the movement was like pouring gasoline on the fire in my thigh.
I was glad it was too dark to see the bullet wound clearly. I had a vague idea I should do something to slow the bleeding, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. The world spun.
I tried not to imagine Josh getting out of his car and crossing the road. Maybe he won’t see my blood in the dark. Maybe he’ll think I’m long gone. My phone vibrated in my hand again, and I saw I had three text messages from Connor. The first had been sent twenty-five minutes before, right after Josh had forced me to ignore the call.
Why aren’t you answering your phone? Between Mr. Alstrom and Mr. Black, you have me worried.
The next one had been sent ten minutes later.
Seriously, Isobel, let me know you’re okay or I’m coming to check on you.
The last one, that had just arrived, read:
What the hell are you doing on Death Alley at this hour? Are you insane? I’m five minutes away.
I was confused about that one until I remembered the tracking app h
e’d installed on my phone. Five minutes was better than eleven. And texting didn’t make any noise.
I hope you brought your gun. I’m hiding behind the sign for Bo’s Barber Shop. Josh is in his Porsche across the road with a revolver and a face full of pepper spray.
I pressed send. My phone rang, Connor this time. I cut it off and sent another text.
Can’t talk in case he hears me.
What the hell is going on?
I’d have to give Connor a lecture about texting while driving. Later. For now, I answered his question.
I found out he poisoned Dana and he’s trying to kill me.
Be right there.
I counted down the seconds until he arrived. The coughing from across the road had stopped, but so far I hadn’t heard the car door either. The unsettling image of Josh climbing out the open window dropped into my mind.
Maybe he was out of bullets. I didn’t know a lot about guns, but I thought most revolvers only held five bullets at a time. I relived those nightmarish seconds in my head and counted four shots. So he probably had one left. Maybe that’s why he stopped shooting, saving the last bullet for when he could make it count. Or maybe he was reloading.
A car door slammed. My heart rate accelerated. I bit the side of my cheek again. Connor would get here in time. Don’t whimper.
I remembered my Taser and dug it out of my pocket. Josh wouldn’t shoot his last bullet until he had a line of sight. Maybe at that point he’d be close enough to zap. I tried to recall Connor’s lessons instead of visualizing Josh heading my way, gun in hand.
A car pulled to a stop across the street and I heard another door slam. Connor? Two gunshots cracked in sync. A man grunted, and the faint sounds of some kind of scuffle drifted toward me. Silence. Then hurried footsteps, growing louder.
I slid the safety back on the Taser and switched off the laser sight, fearing it would give me away. Then I listened hard, trying to work out which side they would appear on. My left. I aimed the Taser accordingly, my finger poised over the button.
A shadowy figure appeared in my line of vision, and my finger jerked before my brain registered it was Connor. I wrenched my arm back trying to throw the damn thing off course. One probe hit him in the shoulder, but the other flew wide, rendering the whole thing harmless. I exhaled hard in relief and let the Taser drop.
“Ouch,” Connor said, deadpan, picking the probe out of his shoulder. “What was that for?”
“I only heard gunshots. I didn’t know if it was you or Josh.” My voice didn’t sound like mine.
He strode over and knelt at my side. “That’s your first mistake. You should know by now I always win.” His tone was gentle, but his eyes were hard, looking over my bloody thigh. “I’m not sure whether I’m more annoyed you tried to taser me, or more annoyed you missed.”
I thumped him. Weakly. “I threw it off course when I recognized you.”
“Sure you did. Did you call nine one one, too?”
I nodded. “They should be here in a few minutes. Is Josh—?”
“Dead? No. But he won’t be cooking again anytime soon. I shot him in the forearm.”
I’d never get to eat something he made now.
Connor took off his shirt, and I forgot about food. Then he pressed it into my wound, and I forgot about his sculpted, naked torso. “Shit. What did I ever do to you?”
“I can write you a list if you want, but right now we need to slow the bleeding.”
I ran through my repertoire of cuss words in my head until the pain subsided a little. Sirens sounded in the distance. Finally.
An ugly thought popped into my mind. “I better not have to share an ambulance with Josh.”
Connor looked at me, his face and chest beautiful in the soft evening light, his hands still pressed into my wound. “I’ll make sure of it.”
25
Dr. Levi Eduardo Reyes stood before me in all his delicious glory. His crisp white coat accentuated the warm toffee tones in his skin that no tan can replicate, and his dimples were on display once more. I suppose there has to be some perks to getting shot.
As soon as it had been established that the bullet that ripped through my thigh had hit nothing more important than a chunk of my flesh and wouldn’t require surgery, I’d been transferred to a private Taste Society facility. The hole in my leg had been thoroughly cleaned (ouch), and I’d been dosed up on painkillers and antibiotics. Now, Dr. Reyes was smirking at me over the clipboard with the forms I’d been told to fill out. “Twenty-nine, huh?” he asked. “For how many years?”
“What? I really am twenty-nine.”
His dimples deepened. “Uh-huh.”
I felt indignation rising up inside me, but it didn’t get far. My brain was already maxed out on drugs, relief, hunger, and now lust. I concentrated on not drooling.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Hungry.”
His grin made another appearance, and he leaned in close, filling my nose with the scent of sweet cinnamon, jalapeños, and antiseptic. “I’m a bit busy right now, but I’d be happy to take you out on that date when my shift ends.”
A little bit of drool may have escaped out one corner of my mouth.
He patted me on the hand and moved to the next bed over. I lay back and listened to him flirt with that patient, too. It might have come across as slimy if she weren’t a seventy-year-old woman with a witch’s nose out of a children’s book and a giggle as carefree as a schoolgirl’s. I had no idea what role she had within the Taste Society.
The giggle was contagious, and I found myself smiling along with her as Dr. Reyes planted a kiss on her liver-spotted hand before leaving the room. Once he was gone, I had nothing to do except wonder where Connor had gotten to. He was supposed to be acting the part of my boyfriend after all. That was the only reason I wanted him at my bedside. That and somehow, in the week since we’d met, he’d become one of the few people I knew I could trust in LA.
He was definitely the one person I knew who’d be able to keep me company in a Taste Society medical facility.
Knowing him, he’d be working the case. The case always came first. Even if I’d pretty much solved it for him and gotten shot in the process. He’d taken his leave when the doctor announced I wouldn’t need surgery, and I hadn’t seen or heard from him since.
I had almost finished calculating the time in Australia when I dozed off.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
I opened my eyes and waited for them to focus on the blurry blob before me. The blob was Connor. And he was holding a takeout cup.
I sniffed. “Is that an espresso?”
He held it out to me. “Glad to see getting shot hasn’t affected your sense of smell. I thought you’d prefer it over flowers.”
I hauled myself upright, trying not to envisage the state of my hair, and took the cup. “I’ve taught you well.”
“You’re not such a bad student yourself. I brought something else for you.”
“Cookies?” I asked hopefully.
His face told me no, he hadn’t brought cookies.
“I take back what I said about teaching you well.”
Connor looked up at the ceiling for a second. “I brought your release forms. I’ve come to take you home.”
I had cookies at home. “That would also be nice.”
“Would you like to leave with crutches or a wheelchair?”
My bursting bladder made up my mind. “Crutches. I need to use the bathroom.”
Connor retrieved them from where they leaned against a wall and brought them over. “Do you know how to use these things?”
I glared at him. “Of course. This isn’t my first injury, you know.”
Connor raised an eyebrow a fraction. “You know that’s not something to be proud of, right?”
I dragged my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my thigh started burning again, and adjusted the crutches to my height.
Connor watched as I swung my way to th
e bathroom. “Call out if you need any help.”
Not even if I ended up on the floor with my undies around my ears would I call you for help. Especially not then.
Bladder placated, I joined Connor again. “How’s Dana?”
“As good as we could hope. They brought her out of sedation a couple of hours ago, and she’s alert and breathing on her own. She should make a full recovery, but it’ll take a while.”
The hole in my leg didn’t seem so bad anymore. We exited the room and headed down the long corridor for the car.
“So, update me on the case already,” I said, puffing only a little.
“Well, Josh needed surgery on his hand, so I took the liberty of gathering up as much evidence as possible before he got a chance to dispose of it. It’s impossible for him to deny shooting you between the ballistics, his prints on the gun, and the gunshot residue all over his hands, so I focused on the poisoning.”
“Makes sense,” I said between puffs.
“I hadn’t asked you what his motive was to kill Dana in the first place, but finding that hellbane bottle yesterday seemed too convenient to me. I figured he must’ve planted it to save her after discovering she’s his daughter. I also figured he would’ve gotten rid of all the evidence after he poisoned her initially, which meant he would’ve needed to brew up a new batch of hellbane to supposedly find in the bushes. So I had our techs test everything in his kitchen. They found traces of hellbane root in his garbage disposal.”
“Very clever.” Sweat prickled my forehead. Why did they make medical corridors so long anyway? “Did you figure out why he used two poisons?”
“He’s not talking yet, but my guess is he wanted to use widely available poisons to increase the number of plausible suspects. Most easy-to-source substances take longer to work, but he felt guilty about killing her and wanted to make it as painless as possible. Ambience alone might have done the trick except he knew Dana was too skilled to consume a fatal dose by mistake.”
I gave in and leaned against the cool white wall for a short break. “So how did he do it?”
“Well, you already know tox screens found Ambience in the blackberry soufflés, but I had them tested for hellbane yesterday, and the results came back negative. I think he spiked the soufflés and rushed her into tasting them so she’d swallow enough Ambience to make her sleep. Then he got the hellbane into her somehow before the doctor arrived—he could’ve injected it, put it under her tongue, or dribbled it down her throat. In any case, the Ambience allowed her to sleep through the painful phases of the hellbane, and using the hellbane made sure we wouldn’t give her the right antidote and save her.”
Eat, Pray, Die Mystery Box Set Page 22
