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

by John W. Mefford

  He stopped chewing long enough to interrupt. “We’re still trying to locate the person who made that social media post about Joanna having a boyfriend. He’s our best hope. Maybe our only hope. No trace evidence has been identified yet. It could take a while before we know more, or we might not find anything.”

  I put two hands on the back of the kitchen chair. “I’m afraid it’s not over. There’s going to be more killing.”

  He looked away, his face grim.

  “He’s sending someone a message. Me, the people of San Antonio, women in general…I can’t say. ‘I am.’ I am what?”

  “Or who?” He stuffed more cereal in his mouth.

  “There’s got to be more. Another word or two.”

  “You’re right, Ivy. Those sound like the first words of a sentence.”

  Silence engulfed the room. Stan stood still, hand in the cereal box, and I began to think about my research on the PALs. I knew Leroy Swanson was permanently out of the picture. Jason Steele was off making pornos in Vegas. I’d yet to get a disposition for Kim Wheeler, and then I still had Alfredo Carson to find. A brick of guilt began to form in my gut. The night of frolicking with Jake had pulled me from my work. There was a killer on the loose, toying with the public, toying with me. Joanna’s body hadn’t been left outside my place out of coincidence. This was personal. People were dying because of me.

  The bedroom door opened. “Did a funeral just break out?” Cristina asked, finding her spot on the couch.

  “Not yet,” Stan said.

  I puffed out a breath. “I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time.”

  23

  It was impossible to control his breathing. Oxygen flooded his brain, and he began to lose his balance, sticking out a hand to grasp a pillar in the underground garage of the upscale condos. Leaning over, he wished for a paper bag to put over his mouth.

  “You all right, dude?”

  The voice startled him. Opening his eyes, he could see the man’s shoes. They were wingtips, newly shined. “I’m okay, just a little dizzy spell with this weather change.”

  “You need for me to call someone for you?”

  Raising his head a little more, he saw flat-front slacks with a starched shirt and cufflinks.

  “No, man. I’ll be fine in just a minute.”

  “I can get you some water; it’s no big deal.”

  “I said I’m fine.” His voice echoed throughout the garage.

  “Whoa…whatever.” The Good Samaritan walked off, but the man didn’t fully raise his head until he heard the ding of the elevator and then the doors shutting.

  “Asshole,” he muttered with both hands covering his face. In reality, he was too worked up to deal with anyone. Ever since he’d seen that bearded man enter Ivy’s apartment last night, he couldn’t contain his anxiety. His heart had been beating out of his chest, his blood pressure was probably through the roof, and after he’d followed the bearded man from Ivy’s place and into this garage, his breathing had gone haywire.

  He wanted to kill that sonofabitch in the worst way.

  Hands on his knees, he noticed a plastic bag behind the pillar. He grabbed it and quickly placed it over his mouth and began to breathe. Focus on the process, he told himself. The bearded man would eventually leave, and then he’d have his opportunity to finish the score. Only to let Ivy Nash know she wasn’t allowed to feel happiness or elation, or even a moment of serenity. Not until he had executed every facet of his plan. And at that point, she would no longer be amongst the living. She would be sliced and diced into a million pieces, mentally and physically.

  The elevator doors dinged open. Out walked a couple, arm in arm. At first, he felt conspicuous, but then realized they probably couldn’t see him. Wearing his gray work clothes, he kneeled behind a car against the wall. As they walked past the pillar, he recognized that was the bearded man from Ivy’s apartment. It took every ounce of self-discipline to not jump out and pummel him and the woman both, right there in the middle of the garage.

  “Thank you for a lovely time, Jake,” the woman said.

  He was confused. Jake was with Ivy not even an hour ago. Now he was with this redhead who looked to be at least ten years older.

  He watched as Jake took her head in both hands and kissed her on the lips. It lingered an extra moment, as if there were some emotion tied to it.

  “You are such a charmer,” she said.

  “I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he said with a cheesy wink.

  She popped him on his ass. “You got that right.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek and then walked off. “I’ll call you.”

  “I know you will,” he said with a chuckle.

  The woman didn’t walk far. He heard two chirps, and then he saw her slip into a white Jaguar. She backed up and screeched away while Jake was still standing there. Jake waved, though it was doubtful she had seen it. Jake put his hands in his pockets and walked in the opposite direction, his boots clapping against the concrete. Then he started whistling.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” the man whispered. He could feel his pulse escalating. “Focus on the task, and then celebrate later. And don’t fuck this up.”

  He knew Jake was parked one level up, in the back corner. An old soft-top Jeep with mud on the plastic windows. As Jake disappeared up the ramp, the man scooted over to the elevators and took the next one up to the third floor. The doors opened and he saw nothing, but he could hear Jake’s whistle.

  What is that song?

  Walking heel to toe, the man shuffled across the garage. His senses were on high alert, wondering if someone might pop up unexpectedly. The garage was not an ideal place to do what he wanted to do. Too many connecting levels, people coming and going in the middle of the day. As it was, the other man in the fancy shoes and cufflinks had seen him earlier. He’d have to worry about that later. For now, it was all about time on task. Time on task.

  Jake’s boots moved up the ramp as the man’s mind scrambled with where to hide, how to handle this in the most efficient way. Was there a way? Or had he acted too impulsively? Maybe he should back off, get to his own car, think everything through. Then he could develop a less risky plan and kill Jake another time, under his own terms.

  Like he had with Eileen and Joanna.

  Fuck that!

  Jake had given Ivy the ultimate high, allowed her to feel wanted and needed. To feel like a desired woman.

  An electrical current buzzed through his body. He could feel his teeth chattering until he clamped his jaw shut.

  Moving around a larger van, he spotted his car on the same row as Jake’s, but at the far end. An idea suddenly shot to his frontal lobe. He’d seen the path to enlightenment, and his whole body was infused with euphoria. Walking with purpose, he waved his arms at Jake.

  “Sir, sir, can you help me?”

  Jake looked around, then pointed at himself.

  “Yes, you, sir. It’s this man…” He stopped a couple of feet in front of Jake, pointing back the other direction, towards his own car, a rusted Subaru.

  “What’s going on?” Jake craned his neck but didn’t move. The man wiped a hand across his face, feigning concern. “This older man…I found him in between two cars, grunting, moaning. I don’t know. Maybe he had a heart attack. I can’t be sure, but he was grabbing his chest and just rolling on the ground.”

  “Dammit, man, why didn’t you call nine-one-one?” Jake pulled out his cell phone.

  The man’s breath caught in the back of his throat. “No time,” he said, grabbing Jake’s arm. They took a few steps as Jake looked ahead. More importantly, he wasn’t dialing for help. “Why didn’t you call?” Jake’s stride was reluctant, probably because he didn’t see anything.

  “I broke my phone last week, and as you can see,” he said, touching his gray work pants and shirt, “I don’t make much. Have to wait until next paycheck. Let’s hurry. I don’t want anything to happen to this guy.”

  Jake stopped.
“Just hold on and let me call for help.”

  “You can do that, but I don’t want to call in a false report.”

  Jake narrowed his eyes. “Why would that happen? Is this some kind of ruse to pull me into a dark corner so you and some buddy can steal my wallet?” He pointed a large finger at his face. “Go ahead and try me, asshole, and you’ll quickly become acquainted with Mr. Smith and Wesson.” He patted his leg.

  “Dude, it’s not like that. At least I’m not like that. I’m a regular working dude, living paycheck to paycheck like everyone else. But in my line of work, I’ve seen everything. I hope this old guy isn’t some scammer, but I’m not sure. And, frankly, I’m not in the best of shape. I don’t like to admit it, but I’ve got a few health issues.”

  Jake scratched his beard. “Okay, where is this guy?” He pocketed the phone and started walking, picking up the pace with each step.

  “Up here, just beyond that white van,” the man said, huffing out audible breaths.

  At about ten cars away, there was an odd sound. The man had no clue what it was. “Crap, I think that’s him,” he said, then he crouched down, hands on his knees.

  Jake stopped and turned back around, his arms in the air. “Geez, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine…” he said, his chest heaving. “I just need my asthma meds.” He put his hand in his pocket, fumbling around for an inhaler that didn’t exist. “Go ahead, I’m right behind you.” He stood and slowly shuffled in Jake’s direction.

  “Yeah, okay.” Jake flipped on his heels and started jogging toward the van. “You said he’s just past the van?” he asked without turning around.

  “Yeah, the far side.” Just as Jake reached the van, the man stuck his key in the trunk of his Subaru three cars down, his heart fluttering like a rabbit’s foot. He pulled out the tire iron and raced over to the white van. He rounded the corner and saw four Texas-sized knuckles launching toward his face. Somehow, he managed to turn his head, and the punch glanced off his face, but the sheer power buckled his knees and sent him sprawling to the ground.

  “You’re a fucking liar, aren’t you?” Jake said, standing over him, both fists clenched.

  Blinking his eyes, the man picked up the scent of blood. Normally that would be a turn-on, but right now his scrambled mind tried to understand how, or even if, he could get out of this predicament without being beaten to hell or arrested.

  “Answer me, asshat.”

  “I…” The man rolled onto his side.

  “There isn’t an old man over here having a heart attack, is there?”

  “Just give me a second and I can explain.” He rolled back the other way, and his hand touched the tire iron. He gripped it. “Explain what, you lying piece of shit?” Jake slammed his boot into the man’s ribs.

  He moaned as all air was sucked from his lungs. Oddly enough, at the same time, he instantly became more lucid. With Jake huffing and puffing above him, he knew he only had one swing. If he didn’t connect, then Jake would likely beat the crap out of him and then call the police.

  The killing would end. His revenge plan against Ivy Nash would not be carried out. His life would cease to have meaning.

  Exploding out of his position, the man swung the tire iron upward with the force of a freight train. Before Jake could blink, the tool smacked him squarely in the testicles. A gasp as Jake’s eyes bugged out. He grabbed his crotch and teetered over like an oak tree.

  When Jake hit the ground, his mouth hung open, but no words were spoken, only a weak squeal. His eyes locked in on the man.

  “You make me sick, you fucking cowboy hick.” The man kicked Jake in the face. Jake groaned again as blood gushed out of his nose.

  “I don’t have time for your shit, Jake the Cowboy.” The man climbed to his feet, grabbed Jake’s hair, and pulled him behind the van near the wall. “Don’t move.” Operating quickly, the man shuffled around the van, stepping around a pool of Jake’s blood and a trace of his own, then over to his trunk. He paused, thinking he heard someone walking. He quickly scanned the garage and didn’t see anyone. Throwing open the trunk, he grabbed the burlap sack and put the scalpel in his back pocket. He then unlatched the cage and grabbed Bobby by the tail. The rat didn’t like that one bit, and it lunged for the man’s forearm.

  “I know you’re hungry, Bobby, but you need to calm down. You’re getting ready to feel ecstasy and agony in the period of about ten minutes.”

  He made his way back around the van, where Jake had rolled over to face the wall. He was still moaning like a little baby, writhing in pain. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Cowboy Jake. You’re going to wish like hell that you never laid eyes on Ivy Nash.”

  Jake suddenly went still, his groaning silenced.

  “You’re starting to connect the dots, wondering why I chose you as my next recipient of the white-glove treatment.”

  Bobby began to squeak, and the cowboy twitched, his body still facing the wall. “This is going to be fun,” the man said, leaning down.

  Jake flipped around, a gun in his hand. The man tossed Bobby at Jake’s head and ducked. The gun fired, and the man felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder and fell to the ground. “I’ve been shot,” he said in disbelief. When he looked up, he saw Bobby the rat going to town on Jake’s face. Jake was wrenching this way and that, trying to pry the rat away. Bobby was gnawing and burrowing into Jake’s nose. The gun was nowhere to be seen. If he’d been in a more controlled environment, the man would have broken open a bag of Cheetos and watched like it was a sporting event.

  Jake screamed as he fought the rat, and the man could see Jake was slowly winning the battle. Turning around, he spotted the tire iron. He moved over to the eating fracas and, using his good arm, pounded Jake’s midsection…one, two, three times. Finally, his arms dropped for a second, allowing Bobby to get back to work. He then lined up the tire iron with Jake’s head. Jake’s eyes turned to him as he raised his weapon.

  “Say goodnight, Jake.”

  A conk on the head, and Jake was out. The man hurriedly tied the burlap sack around Jake’s face with Bobby the rat on the inside. He could hear the munching of skin and cartilage, which gave the man an extra tingle, momentarily helping him forget about the stinging pain in his shoulder. He pulled out his scalpel and waited for Bobby to finish the job, both for Jake and himself.

  Shoes clapped against concrete.

  Crap!

  His whole body tightened like he had a pole up his ass—a quick image of prison flashed before his eyes. Sweat dripped off his nose, and the entire area smelled of copper. He couldn’t risk it.

  He pocketed his scalpel, tiptoed to the edge of the van, his eyes wide with anticipation. Would he have to kill again just to make it out of the garage?

  The shoes grew closer, but he saw no one. He scampered down the row of cars and into the front seat. The engine started on the first try. Some higher power was looking out for him.

  He backed out, then punched the gas and tore around the curve, passing the same man he’d seen earlier—the one with the flashy shoes and cufflinks. He pulled his cap down as Fancy Man eyed the quick-moving Subaru.

  The car bounced out of the garage, and the man headed west onto Hildebrand. His arm hurt like hell, and his face felt like it had grown an orange. Three blocks later, his heart rate finally slowed. Shit had happened, but he still felt a sense of calm. He began to whistle the same tune he’d heard from Jake earlier. He gazed up into the dreary sky and sang the words to “All My Ex’s Live in Texas.”

  24

  With my laptop in the backseat and Cristina in the front seat continuing her nonstop quest to locate the Hamricks, I gripped the steering wheel as if I were hanging from a rope ladder a thousand feet above jagged cliffs.

  Sheets of rain rapped against the car windows. That, combined with what seemed like gale-force winds, jerked Black Beauty side to side on the flooded road. We were already late meeting up with Anika at Smoothies and Stuff. She’d called Cristina, asking f
or an update on our progress. She sounded urgent, bordering on desperate. Given our realization of the enormous task we’d taken on, Cristina thought it would be best to sit down with Anika and explain how we were going about things. I was also hoping we could quiz her further about who specifically might want to harm her parents, or who they might be running from.

  Cristina looked up at me and yawned.

  “You’re about as useful as Zorro,” I said, leaning up and wiping fog off the windshield.

  She mumbled something.

  “What?”

  The punishing storm forced us to yell when speaking.

  She cupped her hand to her mouth. “I said, your knuckles aren’t even white. They’re starting to turn blue.”

  I took note of the pressure all the way up my arms, through my shoulders. “I’ll take a hot shower later.”

  “I could always roll down the window?”

  I could feel Cristina’s wide smile without taking my eyes off the road.

  “Funny.”

  “I did that once to a friend of mine as we went through a car wash.”

  I couldn’t help but flip my head over to look at her for a quick second. “You’re evil, Cristina. Pure evil.”

  I punched the defrost button, and the fog began to clear from the inside of the windshield, although it added another element to the noise pollution. “How much headway have you made on the DC search for Mona and Dexter?” I asked, noticing the wind and rain had backed off a notch. I exhaled and relaxed my grip on the steering wheel.

  “I’ve knocked out all hospitals, clinics, and police departments within a ten-mile radius. And I’ve done my best to verify that the Hamricks aren’t staying at seventy-three hotels or motels in that same vicinity. That’s the good news.”

  “And the bad news?”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw her raise her finger, then her thumbs tapping the tiny screen like two drum sticks. “I’m only fifty-four percent through the list of hotels, and I’ve yet to even start looking into condominiums and apartments.”