Drawing Dead (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 3)

by Patrick Logan

  Chase was within several feet of them now, and she realized that their savior wasn’t Stitts or even Knights security. Greg Ivory; the man with the limp who had helped them ever since they’d arrived in Las Vegas, was draped over Mike Hartman like an organic backpack.

  “Get off me,” Mike Hartman shouted from between clenched teeth. “Get the fuck off me!”

  Chase delivered a kick to the front of Mike’s left knee. He cried out as his leg buckled and he went down. With one of Greg’s arms wrapped around his chest and the other holding his hand, Mike was unable to brace himself. His nose and chin cracked audibly off the concrete floor and blood immediately erupted from both wounds.

  “Hold his hand,” Chase repeated. “Hold it tight!”

  As Mike’s eyes rolled back in his head, Chase got on one knee and lifted the man’s jersey.

  What she saw took her breath away.

  Attached to Mike’s chest was a myriad of wires connecting to what looked like a homemade science kit. The box attached to his sternum was clear, and inside there were two liquids: one white and one tinted yellow, separated by a plastic partition.

  Chase knew little about explosives outside of her FBI general training, but she knew better than to start messing around with something that looked like a prop from Short Circuit. Based on their proximity to the pickup truck, if she made a mistake and those two liquids mixed, it wouldn’t just be the three of them going up, but most of the arena as well.

  “Fuck,” she muttered.

  Mike moaned and his eyelids fluttered.

  “My leg,” Greg said, his own face twisted in anguish. “My leg… I can’t… I can’t get up.”

  Heart racing, Chase took a step back and observed the scene, trying to figure what to do next. Mike was on the ground with Greg on top of him, their left hands wrapped together as if in prayer.

  “Are you sure? You can’t pull him up?” But even as Chase asked the question, she knew the answer.

  “I don’t think so,” Greg replied.

  Chase pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, but had zero reception beneath the arena.

  She swore again.

  “Where’s Stitts? The bomb squad? Please tell me they’re on their way.”

  Greg might’ve gotten the jump on Mike, taken him by surprise, but he was younger and stronger than the aged police officer. When he came to, Chase wasn’t sure how long Greg would be able to stay on top of him.

  “Stitts was outside… talking to the police… I snuck around—” he groaned and Chase saw his leg seize. “—I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to get down here.”

  Chase ground her teeth and her eyes flicked from the two men on the ground to the truck just a few feet from them.

  Her first priority was to make sure that the arena didn’t blow up. When that was taken care of, she would deal with making sure that they all made it out of this alive.

  “Can you roll?” Chase asked.

  Greg nodded.

  “I think so,” he said, but the grunt of pain that followed made Chase question his confidence.

  But she couldn’t think of anything else at that moment.

  “You have to roll away from the truck. Roll away from the truck, and then we’re going to switch places.”

  Greg’s eyes widened.

  “Switch places?” he shook his head. “No way. No way. Go get help, Chase. I can hold him. Trust me.”

  Chase, torn now, looked back the way she’d come. And then she started to yell.

  “Help! Somebody help us! Call the police! Help! Help!”

  Greg continued to shake his head.

  “It’s no use. They can’t hear you over the crowd. Just go, Chase. I’ll roll away from the truck.”

  Chase’s eyes whipped back and forth from Greg, to the truck, to the stairwell door behind them.

  “Fuck!” she screamed.

  Mike moaned loudly then and Chase made up her mind.

  “Just, please, hold him tight, Greg. I’ll be back in just a minute, okay?”

  Chase was about to turn towards the door when Greg’s cool blue eyes leveled at her.

  “Tell my wife and daughter I love them, and that I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That I’m not a coward.”

  Chase shook her head.

  “You can tell them yourself.”

  With that, Chase turned and ran. She sprinted past the team bus, then the line of wheelchair vans. Behind her, she heard several grunts and a sound that she presumed was Greg rolling with Mike.

  She didn’t look back, didn’t glance over her shoulder; she just ran.

  Chase had just thrown the door wide when she heard another sound: an audible pop, followed by a fizz as if someone had just opened a bottle of champagne.

  Only this was no celebration.

  Chase ducked and then the bomb went off.

  Chapter 61

  Stitts was on the second to last step when he felt the pressure in the stairwell change.

  “Chase!” he screamed.

  He leaped to the landing just as his partner’s body was launched into him. She struck his chest, sending them both to the ground and knocking the wind out of him.

  Stitts grunted and wrapped his arms protectively around her, squeezing her tight.

  Before the door rebounded, Stitts saw a flash of yellow and orange in the garage. All four tires of a Golden Knights bus lifted off the ground, only to come crashing back down with a metallic groan a second later.

  Then the door banged closed and Stitts turned his gaze to the woman in his arms.

  “You’re okay,” he said, his voice hitching. “You did it, Chase. You saved everyone.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “I didn’t,” she croaked. “Greg… Greg did.”

  Chapter 62

  “Today, it is with great sadness that I stand before you as lieutenant and share the terrible news that Las Vegas has lost one of its own. Earlier this evening, Officer Gregory Ivory, a veteran of thirty plus years on the force, lost his life while on duty. While the details of exactly what happened are still unfolding, what we do know is that Greg died a hero, someone who sacrificed himself to keep the residents and 43 million annual visitors to Las Vegas safe.”

  Chase wiped a tear that spilled down her cheek and watched as a solemn-looking Lt. Theodore continued to speak.

  “I’ve known Greg personally for more than a dozen years and I’m honored to call him my friend. It is with this in mind that I am proud to announce the Ivory Legacy Fund, an initiative of Greg’s daughter, Wynonna, his wife Bethany, and all of the LVMPD. The Ivory Legacy Fund will offer support to officers in Las Vegas who perform otherworldly acts of bravery to keep us all safe.”

  Chase’s eyes drifted from Lt. Theodore to the aforementioned Ivory family. Greg’s thirteen-year-old daughter was sobbing into her mother’s sweater, while the latter struggled to keep her own emotions in check.

  As the ceremony wound down and Lt. Theodore said his final words, Chase was amazed that the man managed to completely avoid mentioning anything about the bomb.

  About how Greg managed to roll far enough away from the pickup truck so that the RDX didn’t explode. That he had had the foresight to shelter the blast by rolling beneath the Golden Knights’ team bus.

  No one would ever know what happened under that bus, which suited Chase just fine: she didn’t care if Greg was overpowered or if he had just proactively set off the bomb.

  None of that mattered; what mattered was that he’d sacrificed himself to save them.

  Stitts suddenly appeared at her side, his face red. He thrust a black bag into her arms.

  “Is that it?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth.

  Stitts nodded.

  “It was nearly impossible to get it out of evidence, but the newly minted lieutenant decided that he’d look the other way so long as we ‘forgot’ his indiscretions.”

  “Figures,” Chase said as she took the bag. “Prick forth the airy kni
ghts, and couch their spears.”

  “What’s that?”

  Chase shook her head.

  “Nothing. Can you wait here a moment? There are a couple of loose ends I need to tie up before we head back to Quantico.”

  Stitts didn’t argue; Chase got the impression that he was through arguing with her for a long while.

  “Go on, then. Our flight’s in four hours. Try not to be late.”

  Chase turned her attention back to the podium. She waited until Wynonna and Bethany Ivory made their way off the stage with a police escort before approaching.

  The nearest officer recognized her and gave her a nod as she neared.

  “I’ll only be a minute,” Chase told him as she laid a gentle hand on Bethany’s shoulder. The woman stared at Chase with tears in her eyes.

  “Were you a friend of Greg’s?” she asked quietly.

  Chase nodded.

  “I was. And I just want to say that your husband was a great man,” she said. “And I also wanted to make a donation to your new fund, or feel free to use it for whatever you want.”

  Chase held the bag out as she spoke, but Bethany only looked at it, a confused expression on her sad face.

  “Please,” Chase pleaded. “It’s what Greg would’ve wanted.”

  The woman reluctantly took the bag. When she finally got around to looking inside, her eyes widened.

  “But—but—this is too much.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Chase said, ignoring the woman’s comment. “Greg was a hero, now and before. Don’t let anybody tell you differently.”

  Chapter 63

  Stitts watched Chase hand over the bag to Mrs. Ivory before walking toward the podium.

  He had no idea where Chase was headed next and didn’t bother asking. While he cared for her very much, Stitts had come to realize that she was an enigma and trying to understand what went on in her head was something that would only serve to infuriate him.

  After shaking Lt. Theodore’s hand, he thanked the man for his hospitality in Las Vegas. It was bullshit, of course; applesauce niceties that were necessary for the next time the FBI needed to work with the ATF, DoD, or local PD.

  It was Vegas, after all; there most definitely would be a next time.

  The stern-faced man nodded and shook his hand, but refrained from a reciprocal thank you.

  That was okay by Stitts. He didn’t need thanks. His thanks was knowing that the work that he and Chase — mostly Chase — had put in over the past 48 or so hours had prevented eighteen thousand or so Las Vegas Golden Knights fans from being blown to smithereens.

  With a few hours to kill before the flight, Stitts knew what he had to do. After seeing the sunken faces of the people Greg had left behind, what really mattered was suddenly brought into crystalline focus.

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed with a trembling finger.

  Even before the call was answered, tears started to stream down Stitts’s cheeks and he started to shake uncontrollably.

  “Mom? I’m coming home. I miss you and I love you.”

  Chapter 64

  “Well, you look like shit,” Stu said with a half-smile. “Again.”

  Chase shrugged and stepped inside the mansion.

  “The man who killed Kevin is dead,” she said softly.

  The smile slid off Stu’s face.

  “This is related to what happened at the Golden Knights game, isn’t it? The cop that they’re heralding as a hero?”

  Chase nodded.

  “He was.”

  “I’m sorry that a good man had to die, but I’m glad that the person who murdered Kevin is gone,” Stu said. “I knew that you could be counted on to pull through.”

  Chase hesitated before speaking next.

  “I’m not a hooker, you know.”

  The words surprised Stu, and on some level, Chase as well, even though she had uttered them.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s just that I’ve had some… issues in the past, Stu. And sometimes I just don’t know how to deal with my feelings. Instead of tackling my problems dead on, sometimes I just lash out, do things with my body that—”

  “Wait a second,” Stu interrupted. “You think… you think that you and I…” He let his sentence trail off and chuckled.

  Now it was Chase’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

  She was almost positive that the two of them had gotten drunk off expensive whiskey and then had sex. She wasn’t proud of it, but she’d convinced herself after the fact that what she’d done was necessary for the poker game buy-in.

  “You mean we didn’t? We didn’t have sex?”

  Stu laughed again.

  “Is that what you thought, Chase? That I gave you the money because we had sex? No, dear, you’re not my type. Believe me.”

  Chase was floored by the revelation.

  “But… but we drank and… and I woke up in bed with you.”

  “Yeah — shit, yeah, you drank alright. But after the whiskey, you just asked me to hold you. Then you started to cry and tell me about Georgina. No monkey business, I swear.”

  Chase gawked. She couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t told the full story about what happened that day to anyone for more than two decades. And now, for some bizarre reason, she’d opened up to a man she barely knew?

  Chase swallowed hard and nodded. The irony was that she didn’t know whether to be relieved or ashamed.

  “Well, thank you. I guess.”

  “No, Chase, thank you. I have a feeling that even though Lt. Theodore will take the credit for what happened yesterday, you were responsible for saving many lives. The FBI should be very grateful that they have you.”

  Chase scoffed.

  “If they’ll have me back,” she said.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Stu said with a grin.

  TRGR, Chase thought absently. Mike was right about one thing: you have money in this world, you make the rules.

  “We’ll see about that,” Chase said as she made her way toward the door.

  “One last thing, Chase.”

  Chase turned.

  “Yes?”

  “How did you do, anyway?”

  Chase thought back to the poker game, to before the insanity had begun inside the fourteenth-floor hotel room.

  The pot had been nearly a half-million dollars, and she knew that she would’ve gotten Mishenko to push his stack in, especially with a Q - 6 - Q flop.

  She closed her eyes and pictured her hole cards: QQ.

  “I did all right,” Chase said, looking at Stu again. “And I guess that means you did, too.”

  “I’m sure you did just fine,” Stu said softly.

  In her mind, she saw Greg walking toward them, leaning on his cane, telling both her and Stitts that they could stay in his office if the douchebags at the ATF and DoD had confiscated theirs. Then she was reminded of the look of shock on Bethany Ivory’s face when she stared into the bag Chase had handed her.

  “Don’t worry, your donation was greatly appreciated,” Chase said as she left the mansion for the final time.

  END

  Author’s note

  I hope you enjoyed this installment of the Chase Adams saga. Next up, AMBER ALERT, which is on pre-order now and slated to drop in July 2018. As you probably guessed by the title, in AMBER ALERT, Chase will come ever closer to finding her sister and dealing with the deep-seated anger and hatred she harbors toward herself.

  But will she actually finally find out what happened to Georgina?

  SPOLER ALERT:

  Just kidding, who knows. I certainly don’t… at least not yet. You’re just going to have to wait until July you greedy bastards.

  As always, please consider leaving a review for DRAWING DEAD on Amazon. And if you have any questions or comments swing by my Facebook page (@authorpatricklogan) or drop me an email (patrick@ptlbooks.com)