by Vella Day
Jenna took a big breath. “Someone killed Deidra. Shot her in the head.” Might as well not cherry coat it.
He tossed the sandwich bag on the counter and took hold of her arms. “Tell me everything.”
She filled him in on the details, including the threat aimed at her. “All I can say is that it was pretty ugly in there.”
Sam leaned in closer. “Are you sure you want to go through with the investigation now that your life has been threatened?” His eyes pleaded with her.
“You mean, again? I have to.” She probably should show him the knives and guns, and every other precaution, but he might realize the cops would never give a civilian so many weapons without proper training. If only she was ready to assure him nothing would go wrong, that she was a cop and was trained to handle this pond scum, he might support her decision.
Sam ran a hand down her face. “Let’s eat then.”
“I ate already.” She wouldn’t tell him her stomach was doing acrobatics inside, and eating anything would have made her vomit. Sam split his sandwich with Lara who seemed sweet enough and had the courtesy not to look too intrigued by her professor.
Sam pointed to the microphone Phil had found in the lab. “So what exactly is your plan?” Both believed if they filtered their conversation, they could trap the guy.
“I’m going for a jog in Lettuce Lake Park. I need to unwind. Finding Deidra dead has me on edge.” No lie there.
“Be careful.”
“I promise.”
Jenna kissed Sam goodbye and left. Once in the car, she adjusted her earpiece under the headscarf. The leather collar itched like hell and the Kevlar vest weighed her down, but Jenna was determined to get this guy.
She tilted her head downward and spoke into the mike that was pinned to her bra strap. “I’m heading down Fletcher Avenue toward Lettuce Lake Park.”
“I read you loud and clear. We’ll have our guys there before you even arrive,” Larry said. He’d volunteered to run the sting and had four beat cops stationed inside the park. “You have nothing to worry about, but do be vigilant.”
“You can count on it.” Thankfully, the windows in the car were bulletproof.
Even though the plan was on schedule, Jenna couldn’t stop glancing in the rear view mirror every thirty seconds. A white truck followed her for about a mile before turning off. Either the guy was good, or she was going for a nice run in the park—alone. The sun shone bright, the day in the mid sixties. If nothing else, the fresh air might give her time to think about Sam and how to approach him about what she did for a living.
Jenna pulled through the gate and drove down the tree-lined road to the parking lot. Gnarled live oaks dripping with sphagnum moss extended their long arms and provided some nice shade. Palmetto bushes, intermingled with some scruffy underbrush, dotted the landscape. About six other cars were parked in the lot. Given the cops were in unmarked vehicles, she figured one or two must belong to them.
Her bodyguards were good about keeping out of sight. Deciding to enjoy the clear, cool day, Jenna slipped out of the safety of the car and jogged toward the wooden walkway that wended through the park toward the Hillsborough River. Egrets feasted on snails, seagulls squawked overhead, and lily pads bobbed in the running water. When she reached the peaceful river, she leaned over the handrail and caught sight of an alligator basking in the afternoon sun.
She waited over five minutes, but no one approached her. The person after her must not be as observant as she thought or he would have taken advantage of her supposed isolation.
“No one’s here,” she said into her microphone. “I’m going to head east before swinging back to the parking lot.” Even though no one was close enough to hear her, she felt stupid talking into the hidden microphone.
She trotted around the long pathway until the wooden walkway forked and then stopped to watch a mother with her young child off to the left. The mom pointed to a white bird in the tree and the little boy laughed. Her heart tugged as Sam’s face emerged in her mind’s eye. Would she ever enjoy such a moment?
Sighing, Jenna edged her hand along the weathered wooden railing and peered into the water, hoping to see some other form of animal life. The sharp prick of a needle and the hand over her mouth sent a surge of adrenaline zinging through her. Her muscles went numb as her fingers attempted to grab the gun at her waist. Her forefinger brushed the cold steel, but before she could grasp the weapon, the strong man pinned her arms behind her back and dragged her in the opposite direction of the woman. Jenna moaned, hoping the cops would pick up her distress or at the very least attract the attention of the woman. The little boy squealed and pointed to a buzzard flying overhead, overriding any noise she could make. Turn around. Please.
Where the hell were her bodyguards? When she said she was going for a run, did they decide all was clear? Jenna struggled, listening for the pounding footsteps of her fellow officers coming to her rescue, but she heard nothing.
She expected to hear the usual shout of, “Stop, Police.” Only she didn’t.
“It’s no use struggling,” her captor said. “The drug will render your muscles useless in a few minutes.”
She knew that voice. Oh my God. Her eyes crossed and breath hitched. Her legs gave out and her knees nearly dragged to the ground. In a flash, she was hoisted up and over his shoulder. Her eyelids wouldn’t stay open and her body turned to lead.
Oh God, she was going to die, and she’d never see Sam again.
Marlon Giombetti tapped the microphone. “Jenna, can you hear me?”
Derek Wolf, a fellow homicide detective, sat across from him, earphones on. He shook his head, his eyes creased in worry. “Call Prior and Gomez. They’re at the park. See what they say is happening.”
Marlon tried contacting the two agents. “They’re not responding.”
“Shit.” Derek tore off his earphones and stood. “Let’s go.”
“To the park?”
“No, dumb fuck to Busch Gardens.”
Pisser. Once out the door, Marlon notified Phil how they’d lost contact with Jenna. The string of insults lasted until they were halfway to Lettuce Lake Park. Derek ran two red lights and wove in and out of traffic to reach the park.
“Turn left here.”
Wolf tore into the entrance, down the rutted road, and past the guard station. He whipped in next to Jenna’s car.
“She’s still here,” Marlon said blowing out a long breath. “As are Gomez and Prior—or at least their vehicles are here.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Wolfe said with way too much authority. “Divide and conquer.”
Wolfe shot out of the car and took off down a well worn path as Marlon tried to make contact with Jenna once more. Nothing. He tapped the microphone in case a wire was loose, and then attempted to contact Prior and Gomez again. “Do you read me?”
He waited for a response as he kept his gaze on Wolfe. After ten long seconds of silence, he jumped out the vehicle to search on foot.
He’d gone about fifty feet, when Wolfe shouted, “Giombetti,” and waved him over. Marlon traipsed down the path and wiped sweat from his forehead despite the cool temperature.
“What is it?”
“Blood.”
“That’s not good.” Wolfe was a full-blooded Seminole Indian and had the talent to track anything. “I wonder if it’s Jenna’s.” Marlon knelt down and studied the large stain. “It doesn’t look good for whoever it belongs to.” He glanced around for signs of a struggle. No broken branches, no pieces of torn clothing, and no bullet casings. So far, so good.
Without offering any speculation, Wolfe raced away, stomping through the underbrush. Like a bloodhound, he stepped through the sharp-ended palmettos as if they were blades of grass and stopped about one hundred feet from the path. “Over here.” He ran a hand over his head.
From the hoarse shout, whatever Wolfe found wouldn’t be good. Marlon raced over. Both Prior and Gomez lay tossed on the ground, their throat
s cut. “Shit. How could this person have gotten a jump on both of them?” Marlon sank to his knees. “Prior’s wife is due to deliver their first child any day now, and Gomez is a single dad raising three young sons. Dear God.” His voice cracked. “I’ll call it in.”
Marlon contacted Captain Lucas, expecting another tirade. Instead, his captain sounded relatively calm, but he could hear the strain in his boss’ voice. “Look to see if her phone is in the car,” the captain said. “The GPS indicates she’s still at the park. Someone needs to check every vehicle leaving the place.”
“Yes, sir.”
Armed with some direction, Marlon rushed back to the parking lot and peered into her car. Her cell was prominently displayed on the driver’s seat. The phone was on, the message light blinking. He tugged on the door handle. It was unlocked. Dumb girl. After donning gloves, he picked up the cell, scrolled through the buttons for the messages and listened.
After two rings, the phone announced the arrival of one message. Three seconds passed. Click. “Jenna’s going to die.” Click.
“What do you have?” Wolfe said right behind him, and Marlon jumped.
He held out the phone. “He’s got Jenna.”
“What did he say? Did he ask for a ransom or anything?”
“No. All he said was that Jenna was going to die.” Wolfe stood like a stone statue, as if he were in a trance again. “The captain said to stop anyone trying to leave. Why don’t you search the park while I talk to the guard on duty?”
Wolfe snapped back into this world, nodded, and took off running again.
Loud country music, mixed with the roar of a big engine greeted Jenna the moment she realized she was alive. Her body heavy, she tried to assess the situation. Where was she, and how did she gotten there? She must be in a car because the movement was linear instead of up and down. A rag was stuffed in her mouth and a blindfold covered her eyes. The vehicle stopped, and then jerked forward. From the low-pitched sound of the engine, they must not be going very fast. That meant they probably weren’t on I-4 or I-75.
Jenna wiggled her toes and fingers, but little sensation registered until pin pricks of pain raced to her extremities. Too bad her hands were tied behind her back or she could have searched for her weapon. Her face rested against a rough carpet that smelled like dog pee. She inhaled to bring air into her lungs and tried not to gag. Mentally, she ran through her options. Her captor must have found the gun stashed at her waist, but had he located the pearl handled 22 shoved in her boot? She wiggled her thighs together but didn’t find the knife she’d strapped to her inner thigh. Damn. The thought of that scum touching her made her skin crawl.
She’d kept her phone in her top pocket but couldn’t tell if she still had it. Jenna rolled part way onto her chest to feel for any kind of lump. Damn. Her cell was gone. There went the GPS. A wave of depression assaulted her. Captain Lucas’ failsafe plan had failed.
Wait. If she could get the mask off far enough to see, she might stand a chance at finding something to attack him with when he came for her.
Energized with hope, Jenna rubbed her face over the carpet, hoping to move the material an inch. With each swipe, the cloth edged farther upward, but it also scraped her skin. After trying for another few minutes, she finally succeeded. Light filtered in and she blinked. In front of her sat a stained carpet, a pen, gum wrapper and an unused cigarette—but no gun, tire iron, or knife. She was in the backseat of a car, not the trunk as she’d anticipated. That made it easier to escape. Maybe.
At least her feet were free. Assuming she had the opportunity, she could make a run for it—if she ever freed herself and her toes functioned again. She needed to go on the offensive when her kidnapper stopped the car. Without making any noise that would let him know she was awake, she rolled onto her back and tucked her knees to her chest. She stretched her shoulders to the max and managed to swing her hands under her butt and threaded her feet through the loop. Phew. Free at last. Thank goodness for being double jointed.
The vehicle turned off the paved road onto a rough surface. She had no time to spare. The ride jostled her up and down, making maneuvering difficult and rather painful.
Her hands might be bound, but she could reach the gun in her boot—assuming it was still there. Groggy from whatever he gave her, her eyes blurred as she reached along the inside of her shoe. When her tingling fingers found her weapon, she nearly let out a strangled cry of gratitude.
With gun cocked, she propped herself up on her elbows and waited for the bastard to open the door.
25
The engine died, and the music stopped. Jenna counted to ten, expecting the jerk to whip open the door her any second. She concentrated on her surroundings. No sounds of tires whirring on the nearby road, no birds singing, and no feet crunching on fallen leaves. Where the hell was she? Did he realize she was awake yet? Whatever drug he gave her, it made her mouth dry, her vision blur, and her body slow. Most likely, he was relieving himself or readying his weapon to kill her. Jenna tried to squash the horror running rampant through her brain.
A tap on the window behind her locked her muscles. He’d gone around to the side where her back was. Shit. Wedged in between the back and front seat, there was no way she could turn around in less than a second in order to shoot him. Before she could maneuver into position, the door squeaked open. With his hands under her armpits, he dragged her out and flipped her over so that she was on her stomach, the clutched gun trapped between the ground and her ribs.
“Trying to get away my little cop?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. That voice. That unforgettable voice.
Knowing time was critical, Jenna scrunched into a ball, flipped over, and thrust her feet into him, knocking him backwards. In that split second, she leveled her gun and pulled the trigger. Damn. She hit him in the shoulder. Stupid drugs.
His eyes widened, and the knife he’d been holding dropped to the ground with a dull thud. A gust of wind whirred through the trees as life needed oxygen rushed into her lungs.
The man from Botanica’s backroom stumbled toward her. No way was she going to let him live. With trembling arms, Jenna lowered her gun and pulled the trigger again, sending a pool of blood bubbled out of his crotch, right where she’d aimed.
He dropped to his knees, his eyes vacant. “You bitch.”
Relief powered her body to move the hell away from the madman. Holding the gun with wobbly hands, she jumped up and raced ten feet away from him, ready to move back at any second. She didn’t need the bastard trying to disarm her. Even with two bullets lodged in his body, he could attack. Unless she’d nicked an artery, his bleeding out would take ten, fifteen minutes—equal to a lifetime of waiting.
She waved the gun at him. “Tell me about the nun you killed.” For Carla’s sake, she needed to know.
His contorted face made her think her question didn’t register. “Don’t know.”
“Surely you remember You remember Carla, don’t you? She was the HOPEFAL person you stabbed. Her sister was a nun.”
His eyelids fluttered. “Oh, her. Yeah.” He smiled, blood dripping off his teeth. “I killed the nun all right. Gutted her in fact.” Red caked his lips. He reached across to his shoulder and grabbed his arm, exposing a tattoo in the shape of staff and a snake. The bastard had blown up her car.
Jenna ground her teeth. “Why’d you kill her?” And Chance.
He winced. “She saw me kill a homeless man who was at the wrong place at the wrong time.” His sentences came out in panted bursts. He was dying.
“Then why blow up my car.”
“Revenge.”
Revenge?
“For what your father did to my mother.” The man coughed up blood.
“What did he do?”
“He fucked my mom, so Dad left us. Three kids and he walked about because she couldn’t keep her pants on.” The man’s gaze shot behind Jenna. “What are you doing here?”
Jenna spun around. “Marlon!”
He dra
gged her behind him. “This killing has to stop.”
“You—”
The man never got to finish the sentence. Marlon shot him through the heart and the man’s head crashed to the ground.
Sam paced Phil’s office. “It’s my fault. I should have gone with her.”
“You didn’t know. Don’t worry. TPD will find her.”
The phone rang and Phil picked up. “It’s Detective Wolfe.”
Sam stood in front of Phil’s desk, his hands clutched in front of him. If anything happened to Jenna, he wouldn’t forgive himself. She was a civilian for God’s sake. Why the police let her put herself in danger made no sense. Where were the cops who were protecting her?
Phil disconnected and placed the phone on his desk. “Detective Giombetti found Jenna. She’s okay.”
“Thank God.”
Phil leaned back in his seat. “The good news is that the killer is dead.”
The relief socked him in the chest. “That’s wonderful. Can I talk to her?”
“She’s at University Community Hospital.”
His euphoria died. “Is she hurt?”
Sam didn’t like the way Phil avoided eye contact. “He didn’t give me any details. I say we see for ourselves.”
Because Sam’s assistant, Lara, was down at the DNA lab, he left a note saying he might be gone for the rest of the day. If Jenna needed him, he wanted to be there for her. She’d been through so much.
“Do we know the name of the man who attacked Jenna?” Sam asked as he followed behind the fast moving wheelchair.
“Not yet. He had no identification on him. Marlon Giombetti delivered the fatal bullet before they learned who he was.”
Phil punched the electric door button and headed outside. Sam’s boss drove and parked in the handicapped spot. The moment Phil cut the engine, Sam dashed out.
