The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “You two are going down. This is assault with a deadly weapon. You’ll be in jail longer than I ever will,” he said.

  Cristina lifted her eyes to me. I shrugged and kept lining up the pipe. “Typical douche bag. You’re in no position to threaten us or tell us how things are going to go down. You attacked Cristina. You were going to rape her. All she did was protect herself.”

  Cristina winked at me.

  I added, “I’ll be long gone by the time the cops get here. The question is, will they be able to recognize you or not?” I moved the pipe over and tapped his injured shin. He yelped liked a wounded dog. “Talk, or I’ll beat it out of you.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, now sniffling. He either had a cold or couldn’t control his emotions. Or maybe it was a reaction to his last hit of blow.

  “You know who killed Tommy. You told us right after I cracked your first leg, remember? I want to know who.”

  I was ninety percent sure of the name he would say, but I needed him to admit it.

  “It was Monique.”

  Cristina raised a fist.

  “Hold on,” I said. “I believe him. Tell us why, Russell.”

  He waited for Cristina to drop her fist, then said, “Tommy found out about her and me, and they started arguing. He said he was going to tell the cops, his teachers, everyone, until someone listened.”

  “How did she kill Tommy?” Cristina said.

  “From what she told me, when that low-life Garza was eating pizza, she ran into the kitchen, grabbed his gun, and then ran into the bedroom and shot—” He stopped short of saying his son’s name and closed his eyes.

  “Do you regret abusing Monique now?” Cristina barked into his ear. “You just lost your son because you’re a disgusting, twisted coward.” She kicked him in the ribs, then turned and paced a few steps, fuming. He groaned, but didn’t say a word.

  “You then convinced Monique to come up with this story to blame Miguel?”

  “She actually did that on her own,” he said. “But it was a smart move. That little maggot brought nothing but trouble to our family. Everything was going fine until he entered our home. But no, Gwen had to save the world. Stupid bitch.”

  “You killed her, didn’t you, Russell?”

  He grunted.

  “They found her strangled to death. You killed her. Tell me the truth, or so help me God, I’ll take this pipe and pulverize your nuts.”

  “Yes, I fucking killed her,” he said, sweat now pouring off his forehead. “She was disloyal, and she didn’t even know how to take care of me, her husband. Why do you think I sought love from other women?”

  “Women.” Cristina ran over and rammed her shoe into his ribs. I grabbed her arm before she could get in a second kick. “I’m no woman; I’m a kid. All the girls you raped are probably teenagers. I can’t wait until you get to prison, and then you’ll find out what it’s like for someone to force you to do things that make you want to puke; and you’ll do it, just to get to the next day in one piece.” She leaned over and moved within a foot of his sweaty face. “It won’t take long until you roll up into a ball and beg for someone to take your life. Because you won’t want to live another day. Bitch.”

  He lowered his head and looked toward the wall.

  “One more thing,” I said.

  He didn’t move.

  “You flew back into San Antonio the night before Matt took your family hostage. We know that Matt Garza fought with his wife in the same Walmart parking lot where you killed Gwen. Tell me, Russell, did you kill Berta Garza too?”

  The sound of a diesel truck went by the window above our heads.

  “Russell?” I moved the pipe over his groin. “You know I’ll do it. Even worse, I can just give the pipe to Cristina and leave. Who knows if you’ll live to face the cops.”

  “Okay, dammit. I fucking killed her.” His face was knotted in stress, perspiration coiling down every deep trench.

  “Why?”

  “Because she was cramping my style,” he said with a quick snicker. “So I’m just sitting in my car in the far part of the lot by these overgrown trees, and she pops up out of nowhere, peers inside my window, smeared blood everywhere. She was shouting all sorts of shit, creating attention I didn’t need. I guess I’d had enough, so I jumped out and finished her off.”

  “You didn’t know that Matt had shot her?”

  “I could see she’d been shot, but when I found out he’d pulled the trigger, it made it that much easier on me.”

  “Didn't you think you’d be caught on the parking lot’s camera?”

  “Pff. I had those disabled a long time ago.”

  “You’re a fucking piece of work.” Fury released its grip on my emotions. Tears welled in my eyes as utter sadness settled. I had been as close to the situation as almost anyone, yet I hadn’t been able to stop one demented asshole from devouring a family.

  Cristina just stood there, shaking her head.

  I asked for her phone, then dialed nine-one-one. “I was just attacked by this maniac. He told me he killed two people and raped dozens more. Please hurry.”

  I handed Cristina the pipe and the phone, then started to walk away.

  “How did you know I was here?” Cristina asked me.

  “I was worried when you didn’t show up at Ernesto’s. You actually have people who care about you on the street. One of them thought you might be here. I found an open side door and invited myself in. I overheard what he said to you, and then it hit me. I felt certain that he was at the center of all the shit that went down.”

  Cristina gestured with her head. “Next Krav Maga class, you get to be the guinea pig. You can show them how it’s done on the street.”

  I could hear sirens outside. “I was never here.” I took a quick glance over at Russell, who was rolled up into a fetal position.

  “I’m with you,” she said.

  I pulled something metal out of my pocket, walked back, and put it in Cristina’s hand.

  “My locket. Thank you.” She grabbed my neck and hugged me, then let go just as quickly.

  I turned around and left the building, saying over my shoulder, “Don’t be a stranger.”

  35

  I drove back to my place, but had no desire to be bottled up in my apartment, even at two o’clock in the morning. Swinging my purse over my shoulder, I crossed the empty street to one of the few parks inside the city limits. I craned my neck skyward where the entire dark backdrop was lit up with stars. I sauntered along the path and stared at the amazing display of nature and science. I inhaled a full dose of cool air, then slowly emptied my lungs. With the snow and ice a distant memory, temperatures had returned to their normal range. I could barely see my breath. It was comfortable. I could finally feel the knots in my shoulders dissipate.

  Aside from a few headlights of cars in the distance and an occasional barking dog, the only visible living thing near me were a couple of squirrels scurrying up a tree. It gave me time to reflect on the last several days, the tragedy of lives lost and two lives that were saved—Miguel’s and Cristina’s. Some might call her a loose cannon, but after sharing our experiences, I knew her intentions were true and right. She was a survivor. A little too independent, but there was no changing her. She had to figure out life one challenge at a time.

  I looked to the east and still saw glimmering stars covering the domed sky like a blanket. The sun would rise in a few hours, and it wouldn’t take long for friends to start asking questions. Would I beg for my job back at CPS? Or would I put in an application at one of the many coffee houses?

  I couldn’t imagine myself doing either. I had too much pride to beg for anything, and while I adored the baristas at the coffee houses, every time I saw the colony of ants operate, it made me tense. They worked in such a small space, it made me feel claustrophobic.

  Ducking under a low-hanging branch, the area around me grew darker, the live oak’s canopy blocking most of the sparkling starlight. I stopped for a sec
ond as an idea popped in my mind. It seemed both ridiculous and all too practical at the same time. I took out my phone and sent off a group text to Zahera, Stan, and Cristina.

  Meet me for lunch at Torchy’s Tacos at 12:30. Would like ur thoughts on my 2nd career :) I’m paying.

  I tapped send, already feeling a bit more in control of my life. I’d figure out what was next in my life, how I could make the most impact. Maybe I just needed their validation as that final nudge to make the leap into entrepreneurship.

  I couldn’t help but smile as my brain ignited, firing off one thought after another—how I’d build the business, provide a service that was desperately needed in the world, and still make enough money to keep the lights on.

  Just before I stepped out of the tree’s shadow, an arm wrapped around my neck, cutting off my air passage. I stumbled backward, my fingers digging into the arm. I could feel lots of hair on the arm—a man’s arm—but with no nails and far less strength than my attacker, my effort was futile. The edges of my vision became cloudy, and the pressure in my head made it feel like it would explode. I heard my phone bang off the concrete path, then I was pulled backward, my heels dragging through grass and dirt. I wanted to vomit, but I couldn’t get air in or out.

  After dodging death countless times as a kid, and helping take down one of the most vile human beings I’d ever witnessed in Russell, I thought about the irony of being killed right across the street from my apartment in some random mugging. Just someone after a few bucks.

  My brain began to shut down, my limbs now motionless.

  The note.

  Did this have anything to do with the note?

  The arm dropped from my neck, but was quickly replaced by a rag jammed over my mouth and nose. It tasted sweet, smelled like paint thinner. Within seconds, everything went black.

  36

  A rush of wind blew across my body. I choked out a breath, my eyes wide with fear.

  But I saw nothing. Heard nothing.

  Harnesses locked my wrists, neck, torso, and ankles against a wall. I was naked.

  Tears quickly bubbled at the corners of my eyes as I fought to keep from falling into a state of absolute panic.

  Breathe. Fill your lungs, then push air out. Again. And again.

  My heart tapped my chest so fast I couldn’t count the beats.

  But I was still alive.

  I didn’t think I’d been assaulted other than my throat, which felt swollen and dry.

  Who the hell did this? And where am I?

  Blinking a few times, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Nothing but black. I tried looking down, but the harness around my neck restricted my movement. I shifted my eyes left and right, but I couldn’t see a sliver of light, or even the faint outline of a window or chair or person. I couldn’t determine if the room was the size of a bedroom or the size of an arena.

  I wiggled my toes and felt concrete. It was cool and smooth.

  My brain became more lucid, and energy flowed through my veins. I began to tug at my restraints, focusing initially on my wrists. I tried to pull down to slide my hand through the grip. But the hold was so tight the effort only made my fingers swell. I turned my energy to my ankles and spastically wrenched my legs. It was useless. I felt no give at all.

  But as I moved my feet, I could feel that the concrete angled downward, away from the wall.

  Was I in some type of shower?

  Suddenly, the door opened, illuminating the room slightly. A man walked in. Something covered his face and head. He walked into the darkness, but away from me, not saying a word. A single clicking noise, and then a bright light flashed in my face. I looked away, and a second later, the door shut.

  “Anyone there?” I asked, wondering if he had left.

  No response. The light flashed again and again. I closed my eyes, turned my head, but the image of the flash sprinkled my vision. A few seconds passed, and I realized I’d stopped breathing. Forcing out a breath, I opened my eyes, hoping the light would show me something about the room.

  It only blinded me. It was a strobe light. Ten more beats, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Please stop the light,” I yelled out.

  A flash with every breath. Eyes closed or open, it hardly mattered. The light bore holes through my eyelids, penetrating my eyeballs. I couldn’t think; I could hardly breathe.

  “Please…” I gasped. “Stop it. Stop.”

  The flash chewed my brain, devouring my will to live. It would never end.

  And then I began to convulse. Vomit spewed, spilling onto my chest, down my leg. I couldn’t stop the shaking, trembling. And the light. The fucking light.

  My brain was fried. I shut down.

  37

  Stan tugged at his hair, then tapped his phone and walked to the table at Torchy’s Tacos where Cristina sat quietly. She chewed on her nails as she watched Zahera from across the table, who was dialing number after number, asking if anyone had seen Ivy. Thus far, she was zero-for-ten.

  “Bad news,” Stan said just as Zahera let her phone drop to the table.

  Blocking out the stench of leftover tacos that had been sitting on the table five hours after the time they were supposed to discuss Ivy’s ideas about a second career, Cristina looked out the window as men, women, and children began to pour into the Mexican food joint for dinner.

  “You listening, Cristina? This is important,” Stan said.

  She didn’t shift her vision. She couldn’t. Keeping her eyes averted was the only way she could hear Stan’s news. Her gut did flip-flops, anticipating the worst. She could feel it inside. Something bad had happened to Ivy. A good woman. Her newest friend. Maybe her only true friend.

  “Uniforms found Ivy’s smashed phone in a trash can at the edge of the park across the street from her apartment.”

  “That’s why her GPS signal disappeared,” Zahera said.

  Stan nodded. “We’re now treating this as an active kidnapping.”

  “That only took you guys five hours. At this speed, you might find her in two years,” Cristina said.

  She could feel Stan’s stare, but he didn’t fire back, which was probably for the better. She wasn’t in the mood for a sparring match.

  “What does that mean, Stan? What are you guys doing to find Ivy?” Zahera asked, her voice lined with anxiety.

  “A team of crime-scene investigators are scouring every inch of that park. They’ve already done a cursory check of her apartment of course. No sign of foul play. Nothing seemed out of place.”

  “Her cat, Zorro,” she said. “Was he alive?”

  “Alive and hungry. They fed him. If one of you can go pick him up, that would be a big help, just to get him out of the way for the investigators.”

  “I’ll do it,” Zahera said, stuffing her phone into her purse, pushing back her chair to stand. “Any idea on when they think she was taken?”

  “Initial interviews of neighbors didn’t give us any clue, although a few of them are morning walkers and they saw nothing. So, for now, we’re assuming it occurred overnight.”

  Zahera’s hands flew up in the air. “Why would she be in the park at some crazy-ass hour?

  Cristina finally turned to face Zahera and Stan, her eyes burning after staying up all night to give her statement about the events surrounding Russell and his confession—at least the version she and Ivy were using—to another set of cops and Stan. “She was too wound up. She needed to calm her nerves, so she took a walk in the park.”

  Stan gripped the top of the high-back chair. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “I don’t for certain. But I know Ivy, and I’m guessing that’s why she was in the park.”

  “We have no idea when she was taken, no witnesses. We have no fucking clue about her whereabouts—” Zahera brought her lips together. For once, she had no more words.

  “I’m sorry, but right now we have a wide net. We’ve put out an APB to all police departments within two hundred miles.
They’re thinking about bringing in the FBI.”

  “This wasn’t a random mugging,” Cristina said. “This person knew Ivy.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Stan glance at Zahera then back at her. “Cristina, you’re sounding cryptic, as if you know something that you’re not telling us. Please, if you know anything at all, it can only help us find Ivy before…” His words trailed off.

  “Before what, Stan?” Zahera gasped.

  He held up a hand. “Cristina?”

  She smacked both hands on the table. “I don’t know anything. It’s just my gut. Get a handwriting specialist to look over that threatening note. Whoever left that note has her.”

  Stan turned and made another call.

  Cristina climbed out of her chair, walked outside, and stared into the darkening sky. She could just make out a couple of stars in between spotty clouds. She wondered if Ivy might be able to see the same sky from a different place. Was she only a couple of miles away, or in another county, or even in a state that bordered Texas? Where was she?

  But that question was only secondary to the one gnawing at her mind. Was she alive?

  Her gut said no. And ever since she started living on the street, her gut had been right almost every time. She hoped this would be one of the exceptions.

  38

  I woke up drowning. Flipping my head to the right, I coughed up water, a slight intake of air, and then the water cannon pummeled my face again. I could feel it bruising my skin, pounding my eye sockets, ripping open my nostrils, and forcing water down my throat in huge quantities. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t breathe. Tears poured out of my eyes, but they only blended in with the water. I tried holding my breath, but water had already invaded my lungs. I coughed and spit, trying to take in air.

  The man holding the three-inch hose wore a yellow rubber suit, and with a little light from the corner, I could see his mask. Made of hard plastic, it had an oversized smile and red cheeks, a wide moustache upturned at both ends, and a thin, vertical, pointed goatee. It looked familiar, but with my brain being battered, I couldn’t place it.