Drawing Dead (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 3)

by Patrick Logan

  More men entered the room now, several of whom immediately exited again to retch in the hallway. Others eyed Stitts and Chase with confused expressions on their faces.

  “What the fuck happened, Chase? What are you doing here?” Stitts sobbed.

  Chase could barely catch her breath, let alone answer. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured the spray of bullets, Deb’s face, the security guard as he was mowed down by the figure in the window.

  “You’re bleeding,” Stitts said at last. He removed a wad of tissue from his pocket and dotted the top of her head. Chase, managing to collect herself somewhat, took it from him and held it to the wound herself.

  “I’m okay, Stitts,” she said with a swallow. “I think… I think I’m all right.”

  There was an audible gasp from Chase’s right, which drew everyone’s attention.

  The dealer lay on his back, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. He had been shot in the chest several times, but by some miracle still appeared to be breathing.

  “Get an ambulance in here!” Stitts shouted. “They’re still alive! Oh god, they’re still alive in here!”

  Chapter 47

  So much happened in rapid succession — the panes of glass in the box truck, Shane’s confession, the shooting — that Stitts’s mind had a difficult time piecing them together in a chronological order.

  And Chase… Chase was here. Somehow, Chase was here.

  The only thing that kept him sane was the fact that she was okay. There was a cut on her forehead that would likely require stitches, but by some miracle, she’d escaped the carnage that had taken everyone else’s lives.

  They were in the hallway now, trying to stay out of the way of the paramedics and police officers that stormed the scene. Even though several minutes had passed since coming to the fourteenth floor, Stitts’s heart would not stop racing in his chest. It was thudding so fast and so powerfully that it affected his speech.

  “What the hell… what the hell are you doing here, Chase?”

  From somewhere in the room, a paramedic announced that the dealer had since died. Shane, who was handcuffed to a handicap assist on the bar sobbed loudly.

  Gauze still pressed to her head, Chase’s chest hitched before answering.

  “I… I was just trying to…”

  She couldn’t even finish the sentence. Chase’s legs buckled and Stitts only just managed to catch her before she fell to the floor.

  Her body trembled like a plucked violin string in his arms, and Stitts squeezed her tight.

  I’ll hold you like this forever, he thought incomprehensibly. I’ll hold you for as long as you want, Chase.

  But it didn’t last forever.

  “Jesus Christ, Stitts, what the hell happened?”

  Stitts raised his eyes to see Greg coming out of the elevator, leaning heavily on his cane as he approached. His eyes flicked to Shane on the floor, to the woman in his arms.

  “It’s Chase,” Stitts said as if that were a sufficient explanation for the madness he’d witnessed.

  Greg’s face went pale.

  “Jesus, is she okay?”

  In his arms, Chase quaked once more, but then she pushed herself away from Stitts’s chest.

  “I’m okay,” she said softly. “I’ll be okay.”

  But to Stitts, she looked anything but okay. In fact, she looked much like she had when Stitts had approached her back at Grassroots Recovery: bleary-eyed and frightened.

  It was too soon… everything happened too soon.

  It had been a horrible mistake bringing her to Las Vegas, he realized. A terrible, disastrous mistake.

  “Chase, what were you—”

  This time Greg was cut off by the elevator opening.

  Sgt. Theodore strode toward them, his face red.

  “What in the fuck happened here?” he demanded. When he saw the bloody gauze on Chase’s forehead, his upper lip curled in confusion. “What the hell?”

  The man paused midstep and he looked to Stitts for an explanation.

  “Agent Stitts, what is going on?” he demanded.

  But it wasn’t Stitts who answered. It was Chase.

  “The killer struck again — just like we said he would. And now maybe you’ll get off your ass and stop looking for a man who blows up doorways and start hunting for a real killer.”

  Chapter 48

  To Chase’s utter disbelief, even after everything that had happened, including Shane’s confession, Sgt. Theodore was still reluctant to admit that their unsub was Mike Hartman.

  Someone who looked like Mike, sure, but not the Mike Hartman.

  “I felt the corpse’s arm,” Chase said. “It was recently shaved, because Shane just tattooed him. The real Mike got his tattoo years ago.”

  “Maybe he just likes to shave his arms,” Sgt. Theodore shot back. “Did you consider that?”

  “And it’s just a coincidence that the corpse’s fingers were cut up with glass so that we can’t run his prints?”

  Sgt. Theodore sighed.

  “This only seemed suspicious after you convinced yourself that it wasn’t Mike Hartman’s body, not before. Not when you first arrived on the scene.”

  Chase threw her arms in the air.

  “This is fucking ridiculous. I saw him. I saw Mike with a goddamn AR-15 strapped to his chest.”

  The sergeant shook his head.

  “You think you saw Mike Hartman while bullets were flying overhead and you had blood and bodies everywhere.”

  “I know—”

  Sgt. Theodore held up a hand, halting her midsentence.

  “What does it matter anyway? I’ve put an APB out for someone who looks like Mike Hartman — and if he’s been hit in the shoulder like you say, he’s going to turn up at a hospital somewhere — why does it matter if it’s him or someone else?”

  Chase felt her blood start to boil and was about to lash out when Stitts calmed her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “It matters because this isn’t just about poker players, Sergeant. This is about revenge. We think that Mike has something bigger planned.”

  “Yeah? Like what?” Sergeant Theodore barked. It was clear that the man was nearing his wit’s end. The problem was, Chase had already long since passed the point of no return.

  “Like what? Is murdering eighteen people not enough? Who knows, maybe he’ll bomb—”

  She stopped mid-sentence, her heart racing.

  “You said Mike had another job. What was it?”

  “Construction. He was working at the site for the new casino. You know, the one by the airport? The one where they’re just breaking ground?”

  “What?” Stitts asked, once again laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Chase shrugged him off.

  “Mike worked in construction for the new casino,” she said quietly. “The one that they’re breaking ground for by the airport. The one that they’re using TNT to blast the foundation.”

  “That’s it,” Sgt. Theodore said, rising to his feet. “If you’re going to tell me that the bombings and the shootings are related, I’m going—”

  “It makes sense!” Chase exclaimed. “The bombings happened immediately after the shootings—”

  “That’s enough!” the sergeant hollered.

  “—and they are the perfect distraction—”

  “Enough!”

  Stitts grabbed her arm, but she shook free.

  “—and explains why no one was hurt, because Mike—”

  “Enough!”

  “—doesn’t have anything against them. It’s just—”

  “That’s it,” the now purple-faced sergeant yelled. “You two are off the case.”

  “You can’t do that,” Chase shot back.

  “The fuck I can’t,” Sgt. Theodore snapped his fingers and the door to his office suddenly opened.

  Chase looked skyward as Josh Haskell poked his head in.

  “Yup?”

  “The FBI was
just saying that they think the shootings and bombings are related, which—”

  “Seriously?” Josh asked.

  Sgt. Theodore grimaced.

  “—which means that now the DoD is taking the lead. Team up with ATF and get started right away.”

  Josh nodded, the pink waddles beneath his chin quivering.

  “Right away, boss.”

  When he was gone, the sergeant had the gall to smile at Chase.

  “See? You’re off the case.”

  Chase rose to her feet.

  “Fuck you,” she spat. “Fuck you, you fucking—”

  Stitts grabbed her arm and this time his grip was such that she was unable to shake him off.

  “Chase, c’mon.”

  “You can take us off the case, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying in Las Vegas and seeing this thing through.”

  “Chase, please.”

  She was acutely aware that Stitts was guiding her toward the door now.

  “Buh-bye,” Sgt. Theodore said with a sarcastic wave.

  Chase gave him the finger and let Stitts escort her from the room.

  Chapter 49

  “This is complete and utter bullshit,” Stitts said as he and Chase made their way down the hallway toward Greg’s office.

  “That’s my line,” Chase grumbled. Now that she was no longer staring at Sgt. Theodore’s smug face, her blood pressure had normalized somewhat. “But look, it doesn’t matter. We haven’t needed Sgt. Theodore or any of them from the start, and we don’t need them now.”

  Stitts nodded in agreement.

  “You really think that Mike could be behind the bombings as well?”

  Chase chewed her lip and thought about it for a moment. In the sergeant’s office, the idea had struck her like a lightning bolt and she’d been absolutely certain. Now, no longer in the heat of the moment, she was less convinced.

  “Yes… maybe. I mean, it does make sense — it’s the perfect distraction.”

  “But why not do some real damage, then? Injure or hurt some people? That would raise even more flags and attention and clearly Mike is not opposed to murder,” Stitts said, falling into his normal routine as the Devil’s Advocate.

  “True, but he’s got nothing against Planned Parenthood or the church. His vendetta is with the casino.”

  “And Kevin O’Hearn.”

  Chase stopped walking and she turned to face Stitts.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kevin was listed in the complaint that Mike’s father made. He was the one smoking the weed, which ultimately resulted in the insurance company and the casino backing out of any payout.”

  Chase thought briefly of Stu Barnes and how close he was with Kevin.

  “Shit,” she whispered. “That’s why he killed them. He blamed the casino and the poker players for his father’s death.”

  “Sure seems that way,” Stitts replied. He knocked on the window of Greg’s office and when the man looked up, he gestured for him to join them.

  “And let me guess, Shane McDuff was in charge when Harry worked at the casino?”

  “Not only that, but he signed Harry’s complaint. And he tore it up after Harry died, allegedly at the behest of the casino brass. That was the leverage Mike used to get Shane involved.”

  The final pieces were all falling into place now.

  “And he probably knew that Shane would crack under pressure and incriminate himself. That’s how he was getting back at Shane,” Chase said.

  “What about Peter and Tony? The window washer and the waiter?”

  “He needed them to get away clean… probably just convinced them with a big payday. No one has seen the waiter since the first shooting,” Chase said as Greg joined them in the hallway. “And I bet Peter was the man I saw in the broken window on the fourteenth floor.”

  “Probably,” Stitts concurred.

  “Hey, guys?” Greg said, a concerned look on his face.

  “Yeah?” Stitts asked.

  “Sgt. Theodore just gave me a ring, said I’m to put all my energy into helping the ATF and DoD. Something about the cases being connected?”

  Chase glared at the man.

  “And?”

  “And fuck that guy. He’s an asshole. Where’re we headed?”

  Chase chuckled. Despite everything, she somehow managed to find some humor in what Greg had just said.

  Sgt. Theodore was an asshole.

  “There’s someone that I think we should talk to again,” Chase said.

  “Yeah? And who’s that?” Stitts asked as they neared the front of the station.

  Stitts’s tone surprised Chase. Back in the hotel, he’d been relieved that she was okay. Back in Sgt. Theodore’s office, he’d had her back. But now that they were on their own again, with only Greg as support, it was clear that he was pissed at her. And he had every right to be after she’d taken off again and almost gotten herself killed.

  But Stitts’s feelings would have to wait. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

  “Mike’s mother, that’s who,” Chase said as they burst through the doors and into the morning light.

  Chapter 50

  “Are you gonna tell her about her son?” Greg asked from the backseat. When they left the station, they’d opted for Stitts’s rental, which was less conspicuous than Greg’s squad car. Together, the three of them drove to the bar where Chase had met Ms. Hartman the day prior, and where they’d planned to meet again.

  “I don’t… I don’t know,” Chase said. “I’m not entirely sure if she’s involved or not, to be honest. I don’t think so, but it wouldn’t be impossible.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” Stitts offered. This was a predictable response from the man, but Chase bit her tongue. “If she is involved, who’s to say that Mike won’t arrive to finish the job? After all, you’re the only one who saw him. What if Ms. Hartman only agreed to the meeting so that Mike could take out the only living witness to his crimes?”

  Chase shook her head. Mike Hartman had come into the room guns a-blazing, knowing that there were two highly trained security guards present. Sure, he had the element of surprise on his side, and support from Peter Doherty, but it wasn’t organized and calculated like the first attack. This one had been a spur of a moment attack, a final fuck you to the poker community and the players before the main event.

  Whatever that was.

  “You could stand guard — the both of you. If anything goes wrong, I’ll look to you, my protectors, to save me.”

  Stitts grimaced.

  “You’ve got a real fucking suicidal streak in you, don’t you, Chase?”

  The smile slid off Chase’s face. The comment had hit too close to home, and it still stung her deeply.

  All of a sudden, she could taste Luisa’s fat fingers in her throat, the dry methadone pills working their way back up her esophagus.

  “Fuck you, Stitts.”

  With that, she opened her door and stepped out of the car.

  “You guys are like a married couple, you know that?” Chase heard Greg say from inside the car.

  Still fuming, Chase didn’t wait for Stitts’s reply.

  For a one o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday in Vegas, the bar was surprisingly empty. Ms. Hartman, one of the few patrons, sat in a booth near the back.

  To her surprise, Ms. Hartman scowled as Chase slid into the booth across from her.

  “Care to tell me what this is all about?” Ms. Hartman spat. She looked as if she hadn’t slept since the last time they’d met. For what it was worth, Chase hadn’t either.

  “Excuse me?”

  The woman shoved a black bag reminiscent of an old-school medical case across the table at Chase. It jarred her elbow, but Chase didn’t take her eyes off the woman in case this was just meant as a distraction.

  “Open it,” Ms. Hartman instructed.

  Chase didn’t bite. With the bombs now likely linked to Mike Hartman and his crew, she wasn’t too keen o
n opening suspicious packages.

  “You open it,” Chase countered.