by M. Z. Kelly
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
HOLLYWOOD RAGE
MZ Kelly
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TABLE OF CONTENTS:
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
SIXTY
SIXTY-ONE
SIXTY-TWO
SIXTY-THREE
SIXTY-FOUR
SIXTY-FIVE
SIXTY-SIX
SIXTY-SEVEN
SIXTY-EIGHT
SIXTY-NINE
SEVENTY
SEVENTY-ONE
SEVENTY-TWO
SEVENTY-THREE
SEVENTY-FOUR
SEVENTY-FIVE
SEVENTY-SIX
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COMING SOON
PROLOGUE
Lizzy and Haley
July 2000
“Maybe we should turn back,” Lizzy said. “I’m getting tired.”
Haley laughed and began treading water next to her twin sister. It was late afternoon, the sunlight slanting low on the horizon. The girls were twelve and nearly identical, with lithe bodies, blonde hair, and brown sugar skin. Their parents said they could sometimes tell them apart only because Haley’s eyes were a shade bluer than Lizzy’s, a color that her mother called Montana Sky because it reminded her of the firmament where she grew up.
“It can’t be more than forty yards,” Haley said, even as an ocean swell moved over them. “Let’s just take it slow.”
Lizzy cupped a hand over her brow to shade the rays of sunlight reflecting off the water. They had been swimming on the shore near Newport Harbor when they saw the small yacht adrift in the water. Haley had suggested it had been abandoned, and they should check it out. Now, Lizzy regretted coming.
Lizzy took a breath. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. Maybe there’s someone on the boat sleeping.”
“If that’s the case, we’ll just make sure they’re okay and leave.” Haley took a couple of strokes toward the boat. “Come on.”
Lizzy followed her sister, using a side stroke to conserve energy. The late afternoon breeze had picked up and it took several minutes for the girls to finally reach the boat. Up close, it was bigger than they expected, but there didn’t seem to be anyone onboard.
“I don’t see or hear anything,” Lizzy whispered, trying to catch her breath. They were holding onto a step at the boat’s stern, treading water.
“Hello!” Haley called out. “Is anybody here?”
There was no response.
“Let’s go back and tell someone,” Lizzy suggested. “They can get help.”
“We need to find out what’s going on first.” Haley hoisted a leg up on the step.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking on things.” It took her a couple of tries, but Haley finally managed to get aboard. She turned back to her sister and held out a hand. “Come on.”
Lizzy shook her head. “I’ll wait here.”
Haley frowned. “Remember what we always say?”
A sigh. “Sisters together, forever.”
Lizzy reluctantly took Haley’s outstretched hand. In a moment, they were both onboard, standing at the stern of the boat. They heard nothing but the sloshing of waves against the hull, the flapping of a flag stirred by the ocean breeze. Haley again called out, asking if anyone was on the boat, but got nothing back.
“Let’s go,” Lizzy said, clutching herself for warmth in the cold air.
“Just give me a second to see if anyone’s below deck, then we’ll go.”
Haley moved down the stairway to the lower deck, hearing her sister calling out as she disappeared from view. Once she was on the lower level, she took a quick look around, but saw no one was there.
“There’s no one down here,” Haley said when she finally came up the steps from the lower deck.
Lizzy exhaled. “Let’s go and get some help.”
Haley nodded, but then turned toward the bow of the boat. “Let me just take a quick look up front, then we’ll leave.”
Before her sister could respond, Haley slipped along the railing toward the front of the yacht. She had just lost sight of Lizzy when she heard a noise. It was a muffled voice coming from somewhere behind her.
After finding the bow of the boat deserted, she began making her way back to the ster
n. The rear of the boat was coming into view when she saw the man. He was holding her sister with a knife to her throat. Lizzy was trying to call out, but he had a hand clamped over her mouth.
The scene was so shocking that Haley was left momentarily speechless. Who was this man and why was he holding Lizzy? She tried to make out his features, but the sun was directly behind him, low on the horizon and making it impossible to see him clearly.
Haley finally found her voice. “Let her go, or...” She stopped in mid-sentence, drawing in a sharp breath as the man raked the knife across her sister’s neck.
“LIZZY!”
Haley’s mind reeled and split apart as she realized what was happening. Blood—her sister’s blood! It was everywhere!
Then the man was suddenly moving toward her, swinging the knife and screaming something that made no sense. What was he saying? How could this be happening?
The man was just a few feet from her as he swung his arm out again, the knife raking against her chest. Haley saw that her own blood began oozing from the wound. She jumped back, lost her balance, and fell into the water. She began swimming frantically, calling out to Lizzy again.
Haley was just a few yards from the boat when the image of the man appeared again. She still couldn’t make out his features as he again shouted at her. Whatever he was saying was lost to her. Then she saw him drop the knife, reach down, and hold something up.
“LIZZY!” she screamed again.
Even as she said her sister’s name, Haley knew it was too late. She felt as though the superficial wound to her chest had struck at the center of her being as she realized what the insane man was holding.
It was Lizzy’s head!
ONE
“It looks like she took a couple rounds to the chest,” Leo said, removing his latex gloves and coming over to us. “She would have bled out quickly and lost consciousness.”
I took a breath, trying to control my trembling hands, the shock of seeing my friend, Mel Peters, dead.
“What about the weapon?” Lieutenant Olivia Quest asked.
Leo glanced back at the body, the gun that was a few feet away. “It looks like an antique, or maybe a replica. Something from World War II, maybe.”
“Who found the body?”
“A neighbor. She had a key because Mel was gone a lot. She came over to check on her cat and found the body.” Leo’s dark gaze moved over to a doorway where the feline was intently watching us and her owner’s dead body lying in the family room. “I’ll see if the neighbor can take care of her, at least temporarily.”
Bernie, my canine companion, studied Leo as he went over and gathered up the cat. My partner was a big man with a heart of gold. He took a moment, talking gently to the animal before she allowed him to scoop her up in his muscular arms.
When the lieutenant and I were alone, I made a point of not focusing on my former co-worker’s dead body, instead looking around the family room. The French doors were open where the intruder had likely entered the residence.
“You okay?” Olivia asked me.
I nodded, pushing my hands into my coat. It was approaching midnight and, even though we were in Hollywood, the evening was brisk.
“It’s just that...” My gaze found Detective Melvina “Mel” Peters’ body again. “...I can’t believe she’s gone. I saw her at the station yesterday.” I looked back at Olivia. Our new lieutenant was African-American, in her thirties. She had long dark hair and almond-colored eyes. We’d become friends in the short time we’d worked together. “Do you think Dunbar might have...?”
When I didn’t finish my thought, Olivia said, “We know that our ex-police chief was facing sexual assault charges involving Mel and several other women, but...” She drew in a breath, looked over at the body. “...to do this would mean he completely lost control.”
I glanced over at the open patio doors, seeing that one of the department’s crime scene staff was setting up to dust for prints. “This doesn’t look like a random act. Even if the intruder was intent on burglarizing the place and came in from the back yard, finding Mel at home, it doesn’t account for the level of violence.”
“You think it was personal?”
“Probably.”
Olivia nodded as her phone rang. “We have our work cut out.”
Let me take a moment and explain how my canine partner and I ended up at the murder scene of my friend. My name is Kate Sexton. I’m a detective assigned to Section One, LAPD’s elite homicide division that works out of Hollywood Station. Bernie and I had recently been reassigned to the unit that was now under the direction of Lieutenant Olivia Quest. The squad also consisted of Leo Kingsley, my former partner who had recently been reunited with me, Darby Hall, and his new partner, Woody Horton.
I live in Hollywood, not too far from the police station, next door to my best friends Natalie Bump and Mo Simpson. Natalie’s in her early twenties. She’s British, beautiful, and offers a unique blend of colorful expletives and expressions that she learned from her truck-driving father. Mo is about ten years older, African-American, and heavyset. She’s a former pimp, with lots of attitude, who specialized in getting girls off the streets.
My friends have various odd jobs, including working as private investigators, known as the Sweet Sistahs. Their boss is a lowlife named Jimmy Sweets, who I’m certain shares some DNA with a cockroach. Natalie and Mo insist on being a part of my life, as in every part, including my disastrous love life, and offering their opinions and occasional help with my cases.
Our victim, Detective Mel Peters, had also been assigned to Hollywood Station. In recent weeks she’d been under constant threats, including anonymous phone calls and messages, warning her not to testify against Reginald Dunbar, our former police chief. Mel and several other women had made allegations that Dunbar had forced himself on them after administering a date-rape drug. After a rocky beginning, Mel and I had become good friends. Her death had left me shaken, but also determined to find her killer.
While Olivia excused herself to take her phone call, I moved past the crime scene technician dusting for prints and went out to the patio. I took a moment and looked around the back yard, seeing nothing that looked out of the ordinary.
“You’re looking for someone who came in through the back yard, probably from the side gate,” the technician said.
I looked over at him. “Anything else that’s noteworthy?”
He stood up and walked over. “Jerry Garcia.” A smile. He was Hispanic, probably in his early forties. “I don’t know much about rock and roll, but I do know a thing or two about crime scenes.”
“Did you find prints?” I asked, referencing the patio doors where he’d been working.
“Just beginning to dust.” He pointed to the yard. “The grass is thick and damp, pushed down toward the side yard. I think he came in that direction.” He pointed to one side of the yard, then met my eyes again. “It might be worth looking for footprints.”
“Thanks. We’ll be sure to do that.”
I was about to head back into the house when I had to stop. I took a breath, suddenly feeling dizzy and disoriented, like I might pass out. For a moment, I thought I might still be reeling from the impact of the death of my former partner, Charlie Winkler. He’d recently been shot and killed after saving my life, by stepping between me and a shooter, and the bullet probably intended for me. His death, now followed by the unexpected homicide of another detective I worked closely with, had struck too close to home.
Then a voice I’d heard an hour earlier assaulted my senses, and I knew this wasn’t about Charlie or Mel. “You came here wanting answers,” Harlee Ryland had said. “It’s time someone gave them to you.”
TWO
“Why are you here?” I’d demanded of the woman who was a wanted terrorist and had somehow managed to find her way into my mother’s house, where I’d been visiting earlier that evening.
Harlee Ryland was the granddaughter of Harlan Ryland, a man who was behind the mu
rder of my adoptive father. He was the leader of a religious cult known as the Tauists. That group had recently merged with the Swarm, a terrorist organization that was determined to take over society by force and impose its will. Harlee and her grandfather had been responsible for some recent bombings in downtown Los Angeles.
My assailant waved her gun at me as she found my own gun in my purse and took it. “Let’s go have a seat and chat.” She looked at my mother, who seemed to be in a state of shock over what was happening. “You might want to wait for us in your bedroom. This could take some time.”
Harlee led me into the adjacent family room. She was a striking woman with long dark hair, nearly the same color as mine. At about five seven, she stood a couple inches shorter than me. I knew from the FBI background reports that she was a sociopath and also an expert marksman.
A thin smile slipped over her lips after we took seats and she continued to hold her gun on me. After I again demanded to know why she was there, she said, “As you know, the beginning of the end is underway.”
I regretted the fact that I hadn’t brought Bernie with me as I said, “You mean the bombings and your merger with the Swarm?”
She fixed her dark eyes on me. I had the impression she was studying every contour of my face as she said, “My granddad showed me pictures of you over the years, but I never suspected anything.”
My pulse raced. A former detective named Pearl Kramer had been on the trail of Harlan Ryland and his associates, tracing their whereabouts to Brazil. Pearl had recently left a garbled message with his sister, mentioning Ryland at the same time he referenced my father. While the message was incomplete, it had made me think there was a possibility that Harlan Ryland could be the biological father I’d never met.
My friend, an FBI agent named Joe Dawson, had speculated that Ryland and his recently deceased associate, Collin Russell, had made their fortune by importing drugs into the country and laundering the money through the movie studios. When I was a little girl, my adoptive father had learned of the scheme, and Ryland had hired a man named Ryan Cooper to murder him. Cooper was the same man who had later married my biological mother and had been killed while stalking me.
“You never suspected what?” I said, holding my breath and trying to steady my nerves as I locked eyes with the terrorist.
