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

by John W. Mefford

  Lisa jumped to her feet, tightened her shoulders. “Do not embarrass me in front of our guests. Now go put on something more appropriate and get to the bus stop. Am I clear?”

  Nora opened her lips, then looked in my direction. She didn’t speak. “I guess I’ll wear one of your bras,” she said, walking away.

  “Young lady,” Lisa said.

  Nora kept walking.

  “Make sure you wipe off the top layer of your makeup. You’re not walking the streets.” Lisa sighed as loudly as one could sigh, and then plopped back in her chair. “Okay. Where were we?”

  I paused an extra second.

  “Don’t mind her,” Lisa said, her foot back in kicking mode. “Raging hormones, I suppose. I just can’t wait until she grows up.”

  “Right. You were reminding us about where you were the night of the alleged assault?”

  She smiled, although it seemed a bit forced. “In Dillon’s strong arms. My husband walked out on us a couple of months ago. A woman has her needs, and in this day and age, I shouldn’t have to be ashamed to say that.”

  My thoughts rolled forward. Two consenting adults jump in the sack, apparently estranged from their spouses, yet Dillon still felt like he needed her to sign some type of non-disclosure agreement. There had to be something I was missing in this equation.

  “We were at the Four Seasons, room 1220. The penthouse suite. You can check their records. Now, is there anything else? Do I need to describe what position we did it in?”

  Saul and I froze in a stunned silence.

  “I’m just joking,” she said, still kicking away. “Can’t we adults joke?”

  She held our gaze for an extra tick, her body radiating stress and anxiety as bright as the sun. I didn’t see any humor in her face. I only saw pain—someone who was barely able to keep it all inside. I knew that feeling, that sense of living just at the brink of existence, where you hope and pray that relief will come your way. But it doesn’t.

  An electronic chirping sound came from the foyer. Appearing eager to end the torture of answering my questions, Lisa hopped out of the chair and walked to the foyer. She plucked her phone from her purse. “It’s Dillon. I need to take it.” She turned and put the phone to her ear.

  “Wonder what that’s all about?” I asked Saul in a hushed tone.

  “Could be Spatium business. She’s the VP over HR.”

  I turned to look at Saul. “She’s the what over who?”

  “I was going to tell you that earlier. That’s what makes this extra complicated.” He tried to smile, but it looked like he was smelling rotten eggs.

  “Shouldn’t that have been the first thing to tell me? ‘Hey Ivy, the woman who is Dillon’s alibi is an employee at the company he owns,’” I said with a low voice, attempting to imitate Saul, but I sounded ridiculous. Still, Saul got the picture.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to walk that thin line of not betraying the client’s confidentiality, yet still give you what you want.”

  I couldn’t help but punch his thigh. “It’s not about what I want, Saul. It’s about finding out the truth so another girl doesn’t get raped. Do you know what that is anymore? The truth?”

  I stood up, tried to run my fingers through my hair, but it was pointless. I’d been up all night, my hair was in knots, and I was glad Lisa’s place smelled like a dog. Otherwise, it might smell like Ivy.

  “Another kidney punch. Should I be wearing a cup?” He pushed to a standing position. Green veins bulged from his temples.

  “Only if you keep acting like a Neanderthal.”

  “I need to run,” Lisa said from the foyer with her purse over her shoulder. “I’ve got to get some things done before Dillon joins a call with our employees.”

  “Even working from the hospital. That guy’s mind never stops,” Saul said.

  “He’s actually on his way home right now. He called me from his car.”

  I could feel my shoulders and neck grow stiff.

  Lisa continued. “If you have more questions for me, please reach out to me tonight. Feel free to let yourselves out.” She turned and walked to the back of the house. “Nora, you better be out of here in five minutes. I’m going to check on you.”

  I heard a door slam a couple of seconds later.

  A moment of silence. Saul looked at me, and I said, “Hurricane Lisa just blew out of here.”

  “You’re not going to apologize?”

  “I’m glad you care about what I think, Saul, but seriously, you’re drinking the Dillon-Ross Kool-Aid. I just don’t want to see you change.”

  “I’m not. I still think on my own, even if I have to do some things I don’t agree with.” He was so upset his face was red.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, squeezing his arm. “I’m tired and pissed off.”

  “Pissed off about what?”

  “About what we just heard. About Dillon getting away with rape.”

  “What?” he said, his agitation meter obviously pinging the red side. “You got what you wanted. You know Lisa isn’t some make-believe person that Dillon or Ross dreamed up to serve as his alibi. I think it’s important that you acknowledge that and maybe start looking at the possibility, or probability, that he’s a decent guy, and he’s no girl rapist.”

  I took in a slow breath, trying to keep my temperament even-keeled. “Apparently, you didn’t see the signs that Lisa was showing.”

  “What signs?”

  “Subtle, nonverbal signals that told me she was lying.”

  “You got that?”

  I nodded. “We need to get to the Burchfield mansion before he does. I need to talk to Cristina and her mom, make sure Emma’s okay. Let’s talk more about this on the way.”

  Saul shrugged his shoulders and led the way out of the house. As I pulled the front door closed, I saw Nora sitting on the bottom stair. She moved her eyes from the floor to me. It looked like she wanted to say something, so I paused for a second. She dipped her head, then stood and went upstairs.

  I thought about the look she gave me the entire trip over to the mansion.

  43

  A warm sun drenched the property, but all I could see were red and blue flashing lights. Officers with SWAT written on their vests darted across my path as Saul and I slowly made our way up the front drive to the Burchfield mansion. I watched a pair of officers jog to the far side with assault rifles in hand and take up positions behind a retaining wall.

  Ever since Saul and I had arrived a few minutes earlier, no one had stopped long enough to tell us why so many law enforcement personnel and media had once again descended upon the Burchfield estate.

  “Ross isn’t answering my text messages,” Saul said.

  Just at that moment, I saw Moreno exiting the front door.

  “Detective,” I called out.

  He held up a finger, walked over to an officer, and spoke to her. Then he intercepted our path. “What’s up, Ivy?” he said, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead.

  “Why does it seem like you guys are preparing for a visit from the Pope?”

  “You haven’t heard?” he asked.

  I wondered how I could have missed something so grandiose in the few hours I’d been gone. “Heard what?”

  “Dillon was shot at on the way home from the hospital.”

  A breath caught in the back of my throat.

  “He’s okay. Just some minor scratches from flying glass.”

  “Holy shit,” Saul said, moving around like he had to use the restroom.

  “Who… How…?” I had so many questions, but my mind had scrambled all of them.

  “Hold on, hold on. All of this,” he said, raising his arms toward the various law enforcement personnel, “is only precautionary at this point.”

  “Precautionary?” Saul’s voice almost cracked. “I’d say another sniper shooting is imminent, considering what you just told us. Anyone who’s related to him or who knows him is in danger. This shit i
s over the top.”

  Moreno, with his thumbs hooked into his belt loop, just stood there, staring at Saul. “Are you done yet?”

  “I’m just tired of pretending that Dillon is some type of felon when he’s the fucking victim.” Saul was as animated as I’d ever seen him. I couldn’t help but join Moreno in the stare-off.

  “What?” Saul said.

  I turned to Moreno, who shook his head, likely in disbelief. He said, “The shooting suspect is in custody.”

  “Holy shit,” Saul said again, his eyes wide and unblinking. “How?”

  “If you’d shut the fuck up, I can tell you everything.”

  “Sorry,” Saul said. “Go ahead.”

  Moreno stroked his goatee and took in a breath. “As I was saying, the suspect is in custody, so everyone you see here is only ensuring that no one is at risk and the property is clear of any unknown persons or objects. Franky, I think it’s a bit too much. But that’s just my opinion.”

  “You weren’t shot at for the second time in the last three days,” Saul said, pointing a finger at the detective.

  Was he trying to make an enemy? “Saul, chill out a little, will you?” I asked.

  He pressed his lips together, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, okay. I’m a bit worked up by all of this. People could have been killed.”

  “You’re right about that,” Moreno said. “Dillon might be dead if it weren’t for Zeke.”

  “What did he do?” I asked.

  “He was driving Dillon back to the house. When a guy on a motorcycle drove up with a weapon drawn, Zeke saw him, pushed Dillon down, and traded gunshots with the suspect. The motorcyclist crashed. He’s now being questioned at the hospital by Stan and his FBI cousin.”

  “Emma okay?”

  “She’s in the house with her dad.”

  “He’s here?” Saul said.

  “Apparently, he insisted that Zeke drive him home because he missed his daughter so much. Medics have treated his cuts.” Moreno pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the screen. “I need to take this. Excuse me for a moment.”

  As he turned away, I thought more about Zeke’s heroic effort.

  “Have you calmed down yet?” I asked Saul.

  “I just know that man in there loving on his little girl has put up with a lot of crap, getting shot at twice, innuendos about his character,” he said, jabbing a finger at the house. “He’s got his flaws, but this shit isn’t a joke. I’d bet my life that the Italian businessman, Claudio Belsito, is behind this.”

  “We need to figure that out. Come on.”

  We walked inside the house.

  44

  I paused in the upstairs hallway just outside of the game room. I could hear Dillon finish reading Emma a story.

  “I love that book. Read it again, Daddy.”

  “But we’ve already read it three times, Emma.” His tone was kind, gentle.

  “Please,” she said. “I’ll give you two kisses.”

  Cristina pulled up next to me, and I motioned for her to stay quiet. Dillon patiently read Emma the story about the one stork who couldn’t fly to deliver babies. Cristina had to cover her mouth during part of it so she wouldn’t belt out a laugh.

  Dillon finished up the story for the fourth time. Just as I thought she would, Emma quickly begged her father to read it one more time.

  “Sorry, but Daddy needs to go get some work done.”

  “But I have no one to play with,” she said in her pouty voice. I could imagine her puffing out her lower lip, crossing her arms against her chest.

  “I’ll just be downstairs. I’m not leaving the house. You can come by the office and wave. And we’ll play more later, okay?”

  “I’m going to turn on Finding Nemo,” she said.

  A second later, Dillon appeared at the door, his arm in a sling, a few cuts on his face and neck. “Hi, ladies.” He nodded at Cristina, but held his gaze on me.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, trying to convince myself I was truly concerned.

  “Just a mere flesh wound. Isn’t that the phrase from that British movie?” He offered a brief, albeit fake, smile.

  I nodded.

  “I need to jump on the phone with my head of HR, and then I’ve planned a Skype town hall with my employees.”

  I could see him swallow as his eyes refused to look away from me.

  He knew that I’d spoken to Lisa.

  He grunted as he adjusted his arm sling. I got the sense his moan was more of an expression of his anger at me than pain from his gunshot wound. But I knew my radar might be overly sensitive.

  “I know we need to talk about our arrangement with Emma and how we proceed from here. But my conference call is important to Spatium, to our employees, to the space exploration industry. I really can’t miss it. Would one of you mind hanging out with Emma for a while?”

  “No problem. Emma and I are buddies.” Cristina said. “Mom is sleeping in my bedroom right now anyway.”

  Dillon nodded, but his eyes told me he wasn’t paying much attention to Cristina’s business.

  “Thanks.” He walked to top of the staircase as Cristina slipped inside the game room. He turned and looked over his shoulder at me. He stuck out his jaw.

  Did he just shake his head at me with a derisive smirk?

  He scooted down the steps while I stood there wondering if my eyes had played tricks on me. Had that been a subtle hint of intimidation? Or was my paranoia, courtesy of Milton, getting the best of me?

  With a sudden need for food and water to keep my brain from shutting down, I ambled downstairs and made my way across the house to the kitchen. I could hear Moreno talking about his interaction with Saul earlier.

  I entered the room, and Moreno immediately went mute.

  “Ivy.” Nick motioned for me to follow him out the back door and onto the patio. Stan was right behind me.

  “Gentlemen.”

  “You look like—” Stan pressed his lips together.

  “No need to butter me up. I know I look like shit. Probably smell like it too.” I sighed. “Have you learned anything about the shooter? Actually, I guess I need to specify which one.”

  “Maybe not,” Nick said. “The person who shot at Dillon on the way home from the hospital has been confirmed to be Gilberto Lucia. Passport shows that he’s from Milan, Italy.”

  “Don’t tell me. That’s where Claudio Belsito lives and plays with his rocket ships.”

  Nick raised both eyebrows. “Are you always this snarky?”

  “Sorry. No sleep, no food, no drink. I’m a mess.”

  Stan put his thick arm around my shoulder, which shook my torso, igniting a sharp pain in my ribs. “Ouch.”

  He quickly lifted his arm. “You sure you don’t need to go to the hospital and get x-rays?”

  I ignored him. “So, Nick, any conclusions about this motorcycle shooter?”

  “We have his cell phone, which survived the crash. We’ll work with our counterparts in Italy and piece together his life, specifically how he’s making money. I’m thinking we’ll find a trail back to Belsito. But we need some time. For now, at least he’s off the street.” He nudged Stan. “You guys going to call off the dogs here at the house?”

  “If you’re asking are we going to scale back this huge presence of officers? Hell yes. It’s a waste of resources.”

  I moved a finger between the cousins. “You think this Lucia hit man was the shooter at the fundraiser too?”

  They traded glances, and Stan spoke up. “It’s not conclusive yet. We have no direct evidence, but we’d be blind and stupid if we didn’t consider it.”

  “Blind and stupid.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “Those aren’t our names, you know,” Stan deadpanned.

  I leaned back and chuckled for a good ten seconds. “I needed something to make me laugh.”

  “If that reduces your stress level, I’m all for it.”

  I finally calmed down, thinking mo
re about what I’d learned from Cheryl, and from my discussion with Lisa Graham.

  “I need to run a quick errand. We’ll catch up later,” I said, turning around.

  “I’ve seen that look before,” Stan said. “Where are you going now?”

  “You’ll find out when I have something to share.”

  I had to follow my instinct.

  45

  I sat in my car, chewed the side of my cheek. Anything to hold back the tears.

  “Ivy, are you still there?” It was Zahera.

  “I’m here.”

  “I don’t mean to upset you. I just thought you’d want to know.”

  “I do. I just…” My eyes looked across the checkerboard of lawns and homes, all a slightly different flavor. The vast expanse of suburbia. Zahera had just finished telling me that she’d finally found a lawyer for Cristina. His first visit with the Bexar County Assistant DA had apparently left him with one dominant feeling: there was little hope that new evidence would be found and Cristina should prepare herself for prison time. I had to assume Moreno had either not found any video evidence of another person walking into the woods after Cristina, or he hadn’t had the time to look into it. I’d have to ping Stan later and ask him what he knew.

  “Who is this lawyer? Is he worth a damn? Maybe this person is in the back pocket of the DA’s office. I’ve heard stories like that before.”

  “Hold on, Ivy. I’ve known this guy since college.”

  “So he’s a former boyfriend or something?”

  “I’m not sure we quite reached that status. It’s a bit of a long story. But he’s McDreamy before there was McDreamy. Crystal-blue eyes—even bluer than yours—a rock-hard body, and he’s pretty witty for being Jewish.”

  “What?”

  “I’m just joking. Well, not about the Jewish part. His name is Oz Novak. His friends call him Ozzie.”

  “So you picked him based upon how good he was in bed?”

  “Not that he wouldn’t have been high on the list, but Novak and Novak is one of the top firms in Austin. He’s running the practice alongside his dad. He’s a good guy, Ivy. I can trust him. You can too.”