Hit and Run (Moreno & Hart Mysteries)

by Allison Brennan

“Off. Limits.”

  Krista was silently fuming, so Scarlet dropped the subject.

  For now.

  Scarlet circled the neighborhood. It was typical Long Beach—small houses interspersed with duplexes and two-story apartment buildings. As the neighborhood neared the beach, the houses and apartments became nicer—many renovated and much more expensive. A half mile in the other direction was a borderline-slum with chain-link fences and sagging buildings, but this neighborhood was moving up.

  “People with money fixing up the place,” Krista said. “It’s nice.”

  “Yep. You should have seen Leah’s house before she dumped money into it. What’s with people spending so much money on their digs?”

  “Not everyone likes to live above a dive bar.”

  “Hey. Diego’s isn’t a dive. There it is,” Scarlet said, gesturing to the small Spanish-style house with tile roof. A low stucco fence surrounded the postage-stamp sized front yard. Six steps led to a tiny porch overwhelmed by two chairs. If the house was a thousand square feet, she’d be surprised. But it was bigger than her apartment. She’d helped Leah move in years ago. It was cute and suited her.

  It was also quiet. No lights on. No car in the driveway. It looked empty.

  “You sure you have the right house?”

  “Yep.”

  Scarlet drove two blocks down, pulled over, and jumped out. She saluted Krista, who slid over to the driver’s seat.

  Scarlet jogged back to Leah’s house. She didn’t see anyone watching the place. She knocked on the front door. No answer. No movement. She tried the door. Locked.

  Did she pick the lock? Go in? What if Jason wasn’t here? Breaking and entering?

  Instead of going through the front, she went down the long, narrow single-car driveway to the back. The garage was detached and situated almost completely behind house. A brick patio and another postage-sized area of lawn separated the house from the garage. She tried the back door. It was unlocked.

  Gun in hand, she opened the door. “Jason!” she called in a stage whisper.

  She heard a footfall behind her. She swung around and saw her old friend step around the garage into the backyard. He, too, had a gun.

  “Put it down, Jason.”

  “You first.”

  What? Jason was her friend. And he had a gun on her. Her anger level rose. “You called me.”

  Jason glanced around. “You alone?”

  “Put the damn gun down.”

  He lowered his weapon, so she lowered hers.

  “My partner is keeping an eye out,” she said.

  “Partner?”

  “Krista Hart.”

  “I remember her.”

  “Where I go, she goes. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  “Someone tried to kill me today.”

  “That’s what you said. Let’s go inside.”

  He hesitated, then nodded and opened the back door, motioning her to go in first. She did, looking around to make sure no one was lurking. They were in a small eating area off the kitchen. She walked through the kitchen into the dining room, then finally holstered her gun.

  “I can’t stay here long,” Jason said. “They’ll find me.”

  “I have a safe place, but first—talk to me, Jason.”

  Jason didn’t turn on any lights. The street lighting cast a faint glow through the partly-closed mini-blinds in the adjoining living room. He paced the width of the dining room.

  “Sit,” she told him.

  He almost didn’t, then pulled out a chair and sat. His whole body was tense, which made her hyper-alert as well. Every car that passed burned her ears as she listened for the tell-tale sign of slowing, observation.

  She remained standing. “What’s going on, Jason? Who tried to kill you? Why didn’t you call your captain?”

  “I wanted to—but I can’t. I don’t trust anyone.”

  “John will help.”

  Jason shook his head. “He’s part of the system. I can’t go to him, risk his career—risk his life. I didn’t even want to call you, but I don’t know where else to turn.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t even know!”

  “Jason. From the beginning.”

  He took a deep breath, let it out, looked her in the eye. “The beginning? I don’t even know when it started, but I think it was when my sergeant split up my partner and me. Put us each with a rookie.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. That’s what happened to her right before the ambush three years ago. She and her partner, Detective Gabe Stone, were separated and reassigned as training officers. That’s how she met Krista. It wasn’t uncommon, most cops had to train at one point . It was that it came as a surprise, and only two weeks before the ambush. Scarlet hadn’t thought it was suspicious until later.

  And now a similar situation had happened to Jason.

  Jason continued. “Last night, I was coming off shift late—after midnight. I was totally beat after a shitty day. I had three domestic violence calls in a row, then thirty minutes before I was supposed to clock out, a gang shooting. Thirteen-year-old shot and killed a twelve-year-old. I was first on scene.” He paused, the anger and grief etched in his face.

  “I was halfway home when my partner, Gina Perez, called me. We hadn’t seen much of each other this last month since we had the training assignments and she was studying for her detective exam. She asked me to come over. Said it was urgent. Gina sounded scared, and she doesn’t get scared. She’s from Boyle Heights and survived gang turf battles like you’ve never seen.”

  Scarlet didn’t know Gina Perez, but since Jason worked out of the Mission and she’d been North Hollywood then moved to Van Nuys when she made detective, she wasn’t surprised.

  “I asked her what was going on, and she said she didn’t want to talk about it over the phone, which sounded so cliché I laughed. I can’t believe I laughed.”

  He stared at his hands and Scarlet was getting frustrated. “What. Happened.”

  “I asked if she wanted me to call our sergeant and she said hell no, that it was about him. She said, and I quote, ‘Jay, I think he’s dirty. I need to show you something.’”

  Scarlet already suspected this was going south quickly. “Who’s your sergeant?”

  “Tony Mercer.”

  She didn’t know him, but made a mental note to look him up.

  “I tried to get her to stay on the phone with me because she was freaked,” Jason said, “but she said she needed to triple check her locks. Gina lives off Sunland Boulevard, and I had been over in Northridge. By the time she hung up, I’d already turned around and got back on the one-eighteen heading east. I got there twelve minutes later.

  “The front door was cracked open. I pulled my weapon, pushed the door in. Gina was lying in the entry way, dead. Shot twice in the chest. I checked her pulse. She was gone. I stared for a couple seconds—I couldn’t believe she was dead. It was stupid, rookie mistake. If I’d acted faster…” He shook his head, as if to clear his mind. “A sound startled me from the back of the house. I should have called for back-up. I shouldn’t have entered the house. But Gina was my partner. My friend. More than a friend. You know how it is, Scarlet.”

  She nodded. Right or wrong, she would have done the same thing if Krista had been killed.

  “I was still in uniform. As I walked down, I saw someone emerge from Gina’s extra bedroom where she has a little office. I identified myself, told them to stop. He fired at me, but what made me hesitate was I saw a flash of a badge on his belt, under his jacket, and then he ran out the back. I pursued. He was jumping the back fence when I stopped and fired at him. I think I hit him, but I’m not positive. He disappeared. I came back, called it in, but a patrol was already on their way.”

  “Okay. I don’t see the problem here. Someone killed Gina, possibly a cop. Why are you on the run? Why can’t you go to your Captain?”

  “Because today, someone tried to kill me.”

  “When?
Where?”

  “They asked me to go to the station to give my statement. I did, and started for home. Four in the morning. A black SUV ran me off the road. I got out to confront them, but then I saw two men emerge, both with guns. They fired. I ran.”

  “How’d you get here?”

  Scarlet’s radio beeped. She answered. “Moreno.”

  Krista said, “Two patrol cars circled the block. Now one is parked at either end of the street.”

  Jason paled.

  “Got it,” Scarlet said. “Jason, the best thing to do is go in and talk.”

  “And you would have? After you knew someone tried to kill you in that ambush?”

  She froze. “What do you know about that?”

  “Nothing, except that when I saw Gina, I remembered what happened to you. She was a lot like you—she didn’t take bullshit and she asked a lot of questions. You’re the only one I can trust, Scarlet. I’m not coming out now. I will be killed, if not here, then in custody. I don’t fucking know why!”

  She stuffed the sheet of paper with Diego’s address into his hand. “Safe house. Get there.”

  “How do I know you won’t turn me in?”

  “You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  Scarlet’s radio beeped. “SWAT turned down the block.”

  SWAT?

  A movement in the front, outside the blinds, caught Scarlet’s eye. She didn’t know what it was, but she made a judgment call.

  “Call Leah and tell her I’m house sitting.” She handed Jason her cell phone.

  “Why?”

  “Do not answer the phone unless caller ID reads Krista. Go. Now.”

  Jason didn’t hesitate. He ran out the back, into the dark.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  She hoped her trust in Jason wasn’t misplaced.

  Scarlet ran down the short hall to the guest room—twin bed, dresser, desk, and lots of books and boxes stacked in the corner. She pulled down the spread, hit the pillow a couple times, looked through the dresser. Old clothes? Okay, she could work with that. Lea was taller than her, but otherwise they were the same basic shape and build.

  She stripped naked and pulled on a T-shirt. Emblazoned across the front in script: High Flyers Do It Better with an airline logo underneath. It barely covered her ass, but she had to make this work.

  Krista said into her radio, “Scarlet, SWAT and six Long Beach and LAPD patrol cars are here.”

  “Stay hidden. I have a plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “No time. I’m signing off.” She turned off the radio and put it with her gun on the dresser.

  She would have lain in the bed to solidify her cover, but she was too jumpy. She heard boots outside the window coming from the front into the back. Standard protocol. SWAT was surrounding the house. Had Jason got away okay?

  And why the hell was she helping anyone escape? If he’d told her the truth, why was SWAT here? Had she just been duped?

  Trust your friends.

  Jason had been a friend practically her entire life. He’d stood by her three years ago. Even more than her fiancé.

  Ex-fiancé.

  She didn’t have a lot of friends left on the force, but Jason was one of them. She had to believe him, because if you couldn’t stand by your friends in the face of danger, you didn’t deserve to survive.

  Krista had taught her that.

  A pounding on the front door. She jumped, instinctively reaching for her gun, but this was SWAT. They’d shoot if she were armed. She reached up and messed up her short, choppy brown hair. Truthfully, she always looked like she’d just rolled out of bed.

  More loud knocking. “This is the Long Beach Police Department! Open up or we’re coming in!”

  Scarlet flipped on the light in the bedroom. Her heart was thudded in her chest. She felt along for more lights and found one in the hallway.

  “I’m coming,” she called, trying to sound intimidated, when she was more angry and confused than anything.

  More pounding and she involuntarily jumped. “LBPD!”

  “Coming!” she screamed. She unbolted the front door and opened it.

  SWAT lined the small staircase. The lead cop said, “We have a warrant.” They entered. One officer took her by the arm and pulled her outside to the driveway where he pushed her to her knees.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  “Hey, you don’t need—”

  He patted her down, then cuffed her. It was standard protocol, but that didn’t make her any more comfortable.

  “Name,” he said.

  “Scarlet Moreno. No need to be rough, I’m complying, okay? What’s going on?”

  “Are you alone in the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “No. I’m house sitting.” Oh, God, she had just lied to SWAT. Maybe she should have run out back with Jason.

  “Who owns this house?”

  “Leah. Jones. She’s a friend. A flight attendant. Look, I used to be on the job, tell me what’s happening.”

  “What department?”

  “LAPD. Van Nuys. Detective, until three years ago.”

  “ID?”

  “Does it look like I have ID? I was sleeping!”

  SWAT had finished clearing the house and started coming out. A detective approached her.

  “Kyle Richardson, LAPD. What’s your name?”

  “Uncuff me.”

  “Answer my questions.”

  She tilted her chin up. “Scarlet Moreno. Private investigator. Former detective with LAPD. If you need my creds, contact my brother, Detective John Moreno. Or better yet, my dad—former LAPD Captain Andy Moreno out of the West Bureau.”

  He said, “Do you have ID?”

  “In the guest room. Next to my gun, in my wallet.”

  He nodded to one of the SWAT officers, who went back inside. “What are you doing here?”

  She sighed, feigning irritation for having to repeat herself. Okay, she was irritated, but she was also nervous. She definitely did not like being on this side of the blue line.

  “Maybe I should ask you the same question. LAPD? You’re kind of far from home.”

  “Ms. Moreno, the faster you cooperate, the faster I take off those cuffs.”

  She wanted to argue, but instead said, “I’m house sitting for Leah.” She prayed if the cops tracked her down, Jason’s sister would cover for her. That Jason could reach her.

  “Do you know Jason Jones?”

  “Sure, he’s Leah’s brother. We grew up in the same neighborhood. He’s LAPD, went through the Academy with my brother.” She paused. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to him? Why is SWAT here?”

  No answer. An officer came out and handed the detective her gun, wallet and radio. He checked everything, then said, “Uncuff her.”

  “About time,” she mumbled.

  “What’s this radio for?”

  “I’m a private investigator. My partner and I were following a cheating spouse earlier today, and it’s easier to communicate with a radio.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

  She rose, and realized that she was standing in the middle of a dozen cops wearing a T-shirt that barely covered her ass. She was never going to hear the end of this.

  “Detective Richardson, can I put some pants on?”

  Richardson looked embarrassed. “Yes. Sorry. But we still need to talk.”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  Chapter Two

  “Jason Jones is wanted for murder,” Richardson said.

  Scarlet had re-dressed into the clothes she’d taken off only twenty minutes before. They were now standing in the driveway. She was leaning against a patrol car. SWAT had cleared the house and were standing down. Half the patrol cars had left. And Scarlet said, “What happened?”

  She wanted to say I don’t believe it, but cops didn’t say that.

  “Domestic situation.” Richardson paused, as if assessing how much he should tell her
. He was in his late thirties, maybe forty. Clean-cut, conservative dress, looked like every by-the-book cop she’d ever met. She didn’t know if that was good or bad. “He claimed he went to visit his partner—who’s also his ex-girlfriend—at her house and found her dead in her living room,” Richardson continued. “He claims to have chased an intruder out of the house. He has no description of the intruder.”

  “Ex-girlfriend?”

  “Gina Perez. A decorated officer who’d just passed her detective exam two days ago. According to people who know both of them, Jones was upset when she wanted to move to detective. She broke it off, and he didn’t like that.”

  “And he just shot her? You have forensics?”

  “We’re working every angle, but you were a cop. You know how these things are. Ninety percent of the time it’s the jilted lover.”

  “And you thought he was here?”

  Richardson nodded. “I’m sorry to drag you out of bed. We’ll get out of here soon, but I have to tell you to call me immediately if he contacts you.”

  He handed her his card.

  “If you thought he was guilty, why’d you let him leave the scene? Didn’t you question him?”

  “Yes, at the station. He gave his statement, and on the surface it sounded plausible. But he didn’t tell us they’d been lovers, and he didn’t tell us she broke it off. I sent uniforms to pick him up—as a courtesy—and he wasn’t at home. We found his car abandoned by the side of the road on the frontage road near the Mission. Inside was an unregistered gun—a nine millimeter. Preliminary reports state that Officer Perez was killed with a nine millimeter.

  “LAPD is under the gun constantly by the press, by civil rights groups, community activists. I can’t let a cop walk just because he’s a cop. Not all cops are the good guys. I’m sorry if he’s your friend—”

  “Don’t apologize for doing your job.” This wasn’t good at all. She had to talk to Jason. He had to set the record straight. Why hadn’t he told Richardson that he’d seen a badge on the shooter’s belt? Why hadn’t Jason told him that he’d been involved with Perez? Now wasn’t the time to withhold information, and Jason damn well knew it.

  “John Moreno is your brother?” Richardson asked.

  “That’s what I said to the guy who cuffed me.”