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

by John W. Mefford

  “How? Wait…Stan, right?”

  “Doesn’t matter. She identified Dillon in a lineup.”

  He touched my forearm, and I felt a tingle inside.

  “I know it doesn’t look good on the surface, but Ross assures me that he and his legion of partners have a way to prove that Dillon isn’t guilty.”

  “Is that the same thing as innocent?” A wave of heat ran up my neck.

  “Whoa, Ivy. I thought you were on our team.”

  “I thought you hadn’t sold your soul to the devil.”

  I took another gulp of my champagne and flipped on my heels, looking for Emma. A clinking of glasses drew my attention to the pool area. I could see some of Dillon’s lackeys tapping spoons against the sides of their glasses. When a few people didn’t get the signal to be quiet, one of his women friends went so far as to put her glass up to a man’s ear, clanging the glass so hard I thought it might shatter. The man quickly shut his trap.

  “Excuse me, everyone,” Dillon said, as the murmur of talking fell below the music.

  Emma ran up to me, her lips covered in chocolate. “Ready to play, Ivy Nash?”

  I used my napkin to wipe her mouth. “Let’s just hear what your dad says, and then we can go play.” She leaned against my leg and twirled the streamers, paying no attention to her father.

  “I’d like to start by saying how much I appreciate each of you taking your time to come to our little event.” He paused, cleared his throat. A couple standing just five feet in front of him started clapping, and everyone else followed suit.

  “In the last six years of this event, we’ve been able to raise just over seven million dollars to fight drugs in the greater San Antonio area.”

  The applause came from everywhere this time, and someone even whistled. With my clutch nestled under my arm and my other hand holding my champagne, all I could muster was tapping my finger to the palm of my opposite hand. I spotted Zahera between a throng of folks on the far side of the gathering, her silky hair glimmering from the soft tree lights. She was standing so close to the James Bond character, she’d probably been able to figure out the brand of his aftershave.

  “As many of you know, drugs have touched our family.”

  “Where’s that cute little girl of yours?” someone yelled.

  I looked down at Emma, who initially seemed embarrassed. Then she bolted away from me, running through a parting crowd until she barreled into her dad. He patted her head as everyone clapped for the little girl. She didn’t seem fazed by the attention. She just played with her streamer, ignoring everyone looking and laughing at her.

  “Recently, the evil of drugs has touched our family once again.” Dillon put a hand on Emma’s back, as if he was giving her the sign to move on and play with her streamers elsewhere. She hopped closer to the fountain, and then began twirling around while staring up at the stars. She was in her own world. I was about ready to join her. Her father brought the focus of the crowd back to him. “Without getting into the details of what happened, please know that, more than ever, your donations mean the world to me and Emma, and to everyone who suffers from an addiction, and to their family members and friends. As we talk about in our educational forums and online chats, drug addiction isn’t biased. It ravages a person’s life, and it doesn’t matter if they are a sixteen-year-old living on the streets, or a supposedly happy mom of three living in the suburbs, or an entrepreneur dad who works all of the time. It’s blind to race, gender, income, net worth, location, or anything else. We’re all in this together.”

  More clapping. “Enjoy the rest of the evening,” he said over the applause. “And the silent auction still has another hour until we close it up, so break out your checkbooks. Yes, that means you too, Braden.” He pointed at some nerdy hipster chuckling in the crowd.

  Fake laughter broke out. I just couldn’t bring myself to join in. I rolled my eyes and downed the rest of my champagne, then placed the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, who was moving in Dillon’s direction. As I turned to find Zahera, the waiter stumbled…

  Or did he actually throw his tray in the air and dive toward the ground?

  Someone screamed, and an internal alarm zapped my body into high alert. Gunshots swept across the patio. A new nightmare had just begun.

  15

  A huge weight smashed into my back, sending me sprawling to the patio pavers. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a man drenched in some type of fruity drink. But he wasn’t injured. I pushed him off of me, then scanned the area for Emma. No luck.

  It was complete chaos. Two more gunshots pinged the patio. I slipped out of my heels, dropped my purse, and bolted from my stance. People were racing for cover, diving over tables, some just hugging the ground. Then I spotted Dillon. He’d just taken a couple of steps away from the crowd, when I heard the echo of another fired bullet. Dillon’s head snapped back. He grabbed his shoulder, where I saw red soak through his white silk shirt.

  A shriek. “Emma!” My heart jumped into my throat. Before I made it another five feet, a man barreled into Dillon, sending them both airborne. They landed in the deep end of the pool, sending a whale-sized splash twenty feet in the air.

  “Ivy, where are you going?” Zahera called out, her voice laced with concern.

  I ignored her as I ran toward the pool looking for Emma, dodging people, chairs, tables. It was like a war zone.

  I heard crying. I ran to the other side of the fountain, where Emma was huddled just to the side of the stone structure, all alone. I draped my body over hers. “It’s okay, Emma. I’m here. You’re going to be safe.”

  “What about Daddy? He was shot. Help my daddy!” she cried hysterically.

  “It will be okay.”

  “Everyone down…now!”

  A man shaped like an oil barrel darted in our direction, pushing people to the ground. He’d drawn his gun. Looked like a Sig Saur of some kind, maybe a P226. I felt a second of regret for leaving my gun in Black Beauty.

  “Is Emma okay?” He put a hand on her shoulder, then glanced over the top of the fountain, toward the distant line of trees at the dark corner of the property.

  “She’s not injured. Her dad. What about Dillon?”

  He ignored me, then put a finger to his ear. “Emma is safe. I repeat, Emma is safe. Shots have ceased. Get Rogue One out of the pool and call nine-one-one.”

  This guy had to be private security, even though he wore a suit.

  Emma wiggled out from under me and ran toward the pool as Dillon was being pulled out. She cried out for her dad as I chased her down near the edge of the pool.

  “Keep the girl away.” A man in a wet tuxedo laid Dillon on the grass. It was the James Bond guy who’d been flirting with Zahera.

  I got to Emma just before she reached her dad and scooped her up. “Let the men do their job, Emma.” I looked down and saw crimson polluting the aqua pool water just as another man raced by me, heading toward the corner of the property, his gun at his side.

  James Bond took off his jacket and applied pressure to Dillon’s shoulder wound. Dillon flinched, yelling expletives at the top of his lungs. I considered that a good sign.

  “Daddy’s hurt,” Emma said, scooting down my body.

  Zahera ran up to the scene. “I’m a doctor. We need dry towels.”

  No one moved. Then Saul ran up. “Find some towels,” I shouted to him. He took off as Zahera checked Dillon’s pulse. “I need those towels, dammit.”

  I was about to run after Saul, when he skidded to a stop in front of us, carrying at least six beach towels.

  “Is he going to make it?” I asked.

  Zahera used the towels to wrap his shoulder, then she lifted her head, glancing at Emma then at me.

  “I just hope the bullet didn’t sever an artery,” she said.

  Five minutes later, the first responders arrived. And that was when Dillon’s attorney made an appearance.

  16

  Zahera used a spare towel to wipe Dill
on’s blood from her hands. With Emma clinging to my leg, we watched six paramedics start an IV, seal the wound, and stabilize their patient, all while Herbert Ross circled the scene, occasionally dipping his head between the group to speak a few words to his client. I wondered if he was more concerned about losing his meal ticket than actually caring about Dillon losing his life. Zahera said the billionaire entrepreneur had been lucky. It didn’t appear to her that an artery was severed, although they wouldn’t know for certain until he was examined at the hospital.

  “Clear the way,” a paramedic shouted as his colleagues locked the gurney to a standing position. I watched four police officers usher partygoers away from the path that led toward the house.

  Ross broke from the pack and snapped his fingers toward me. “Ivy,” he said, walking my way. “Dillon would like to speak to you.”

  I tried handing off Emma to Zahera, but the little girl began to whimper, so I let her walk with me. A paramedic moved out of the way as I approached the gurney. Emma quickly hopped into my arms. Dillon used his good arm to remove the oxygen mask. He looked like hell, the color of his face completely drained, except for the black and blue shadow under his left eye. He must have suffered that injury when he was tackled into the pool.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He reached up and touched Emma’s leg. She looked at him, then clutched my neck, seeming frightened.

  “Ivy, can you take care of my little girl until I get home?” he said, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed nails.

  I couldn’t say no; Emma needed me. “No problem, Dillon. Just focus on getting better. Emma will be here when you get home.”

  “Thanks. I owe you big time.” He brushed his hand on my elbow. “Emma,” he said.

  She turned and buried her head in the nape of my neck. “Emma, your dad wants to talk to you.”

  She moaned, squeezing me even harder.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  He swallowed. “Make sure she knows that her dad is going to be just fine. She might have lost her mom, but it’s going to take more than a crazy Italian to get rid of me. I’ll be home soon. Love you, Emma.”

  He gave a thumbs-up and tried to smile, but I could see pain in his expression.

  “Let’s roll,” a paramedic barked, and the group headed out.

  Emma looked up as they marched off. “Is my daddy going to die?”

  Rubbing her back, I said, “Sweetie, I think he’s going to be okay. He’s going to the hospital, and they will take care of him, help him feel better. He said he’ll be home soon.”

  “I heard him talking to me, but I couldn’t look at him.” She began to sniffle. “It hurts in here,” she said, looking into my eyes, patting her chest.

  Feeling a lump in my throat, I brought her closer. “You’re such a caring, sweet daughter. Your dad is going to get better even faster because of how much you love him.”

  Her eyes became glassy. “Can I make him a Get Well card?”

  “That’s a great idea. How about we do that tomorrow?”

  “But I want to do it tonight. Can we, please?”

  Her adrenaline had to be sky high, but I also wanted her to feel like she was doing something to help her father get better. “I’ll let you stay up extra late just this once,” I said with a wink.

  “Thanks. I can already feel Daddy getting better.” She slid down my torso, her eyes still taking in the scene of turned-over tables and spilled food, as well as the dire looks on people’s faces.

  Zahera came up to me, her hands now fully clean. “Do you know if anyone else was shot?” I asked into her ear so Emma wouldn’t hear me.

  “I don’t think so. Just a few bumps and bruises from people running over each other to get to safety.”

  “At least some good news.” I turned to see Ross speaking with Saul and the James Bond security guy and asked Zahera to take Emma. I approached the three men in mid-conversation.

  “…I want a report as to how your security broke down by tomorrow morning. Is that understood, Zeke?” Ross removed his glasses, his voice stern and direct.

  “Yes sir.” He lifted his eyes toward the corner of the property from where the shots had apparently been fired. “Can’t explain what happened at this point. We did a thorough scan of the entire property and the surrounding area an hour before the event. I’m hoping the detective in charge will be open to sharing information.”

  I glanced up and saw Detective Moreno strutting across the patio, flanked by two other detectives and a horde of uniforms. I thought about his tendency to be jaded, confrontational even. I decided not to warn Zeke. Maybe he’d have better luck than I’d experienced in my interactions with Moreno.

  For now, I was more concerned with being informed of what was actually going on. “With Dillon asking me to take care of Emma, I’ll be here at the house until he returns home.”

  “If he’s okay,” Saul said.

  “He’ll survive,” Ross said, pressing his lips together, eyeing Saul.

  “Ms. Nash, correct?” Zeke’s white tuxedo shirt was still damp, clinging to his chest.

  I nodded, and we shook hands. “When did Dillon bring in extra security?”

  Zeke shifted his hazel eyes to Ross, then back to me. With his prominent jaw and light scruff, I could see why Zahera had been enamored by his looks. “It’s not relevant, nor is it appropriate for me to get into the private details of my client discussions. All you need to know is that we will ensure this little girl will be safe. That I can guarantee you.”

  I wanted more information, but I wasn’t going to start an argument in the aftermath of the shooting. “We includes who exactly?”

  “My business cards are in my jacket, wherever that is,” he said, momentarily peering over my shoulder. “My firm is called A1 Security. We had three men assigned to this event, including myself.”

  “Not sure you assessed your security needs very well, Zeke,” Ross said. “You needed more men, more firepower.”

  Zeke pulled in a breath through his nose. “I assure everyone here that we are fully capable of handling any crit sit.”

  I cocked my head to the side, not getting the lingo.

  “I meant to say critical situation. Everyone on my team has a military background. We’re all either former Navy SEALs or Green Berets.”

  I could feel a pit in my stomach. It probably represented the guilt I had for doubting Dillon’s assertion that this Italian businessman, Claudio Belsito, wanted to harm or kill him. But had he thought an attempt on his life was imminent? I had to believe Zeke’s firm was only brought in as a last-minute precaution. There was no way he would have put his friends and little girl in danger, all for what…to raise money for charity? And if he did have knowledge of a specific threat against his life, why wouldn’t he have used Zeke and company to protect Emma, as opposed to having ECHO serve as the buffer between his daughter and a madman who was out to kill him, or maybe a family member?

  I saw Zahera and Emma talking over by the fountain, and then Moreno passed them, heading in our direction. How much of this had been shared with the cops? Ross, Dillon, Zeke…they couldn’t hide this Belsito theory any longer.

  As officers took our statements, one question lingered in my mind: was it possible that Belsito really did somehow frame Dillon on the sexual-assault charge? Dillon and Ross had implied as much, but up until now, it had been hard to fathom.

  I continued to watch Emma from afar. She and Zahera had moved into the grass, and she was blowing bubbles, dancing around like nothing had happened. On the surface, it was comforting to see a bit of joy emerge from the stranglehold of violence and mayhem. But I knew another seed of trauma had been planted inside Emma’s fragile mind. One that might blow up tomorrow, or maybe not until she had kids of her own. Her father’s social status and money hadn’t been able to stop the craziness.

  Why did I think I had any better chance?

  17

  Two hours later, most of the party guests had been released by
the cops. But there were still more than two dozen people on the property who normally didn’t live there, including two guards from A1, Saul, Herbert Ross, Moreno, a bunch of uniforms, a SWAT team, and a throng of crime scene investigators from the SAPD. And Zahera.

  My best friend had been a rock ever since bullets rained down on the party. She had been steady under pressure, quick to use her skills to provide the initial medical attention to Dillon. And she was an absolute jewel with Emma.

  The new besties had disappeared into the house while I continued to try to gently prod information out of two lawyers and an armed security guard. Well, Saul wasn’t a lawyer just yet, but he tended to take on his leader’s qualities when questions were asked: evade, avoid, and deflect. It appeared that no one had shared the Belsito conspiracy theory with the cops. Ross only said one thing while glaring right at me: “I’ve learned many things over the years, but most importantly I’ve learned when to share information with authorities and to whom. There’s a sequence in our communication here that makes sense, and that’s what I will follow. And I expect everyone will follow my lead.”

  I would have been better off playing dolls upstairs in Emma’s playroom.

  As I left the three men on the patio to continue debating who was to blame for the shooting, I received a text from Cristina:

  At front gate. But Joe Friday won’t let me in. Help.

  I had asked Cristina if she could get to my place, put a few of my clothes and personal items into a bag, and bring them over. As usual, she responded like a good soldier. I made my way through the house, nodding at more than one cop along the way, and came out the front door. A kid with red hair and a red valet jacket was sitting on the front steps.

  “Do you have my keys? I drive a black Honda Civic.”

  He tossed me the keys without getting out of his position. “I’ve been waiting on you to show up.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, looking up to see countless spotlights on the other side of the fence, revealing TV reporters, cameramen, and news vans. I could only guess the level of their fervor when they realized they’d stumbled upon a sniper shooting of a rich socialite who had already been charged with sexual assault.