Within half an hour, most of the women had fled, but we stayed to watch MaryBeth open the gifts. Skipping the customary ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’, she ripped through the packages like an English terrier, tissue paper flying. Altogether, she’d swindled about three-thousand dollars in gifts, not including the cash and gift card donations. Well worth sitting in a room with your husband’s flings in my opinion.
We’d left when grandma began searching online for a place to exchange the silver baby utensils for cash.
Aunt Suzanne turned in her seat to face me, bouncing with energy. “What’s next? What should we do now?”
“I have a meeting to attend. Alone,” I answered. “Then I need to follow up on a few things.”
“Like the dead bodies that were found in your building?”
“That and someone hiring a PI to hunt down one of Baker’s employees.”
“Busy girl. I thought you were taking time off?”
“It’s still time off if I don’t have to sit at a desk writing reports.”
“True. The paperwork was always Hank’s least favorite part of the job.”
I turned right onto Commerce Street and watched a silver Honda three cars back make the same turn. The car had been behind us since we left the baby shower. I didn’t recall seeing it around this morning, or even earlier in the afternoon, but I was damn well aware of it now.
I pushed the hands-free button on the console and voice-commanded my phone to call Uncle Hank.
He answered on the second ring. “Shower over already?”
“We’ve picked up a tail,” I said while dividing my attention between the car following me and the traffic ahead. “Who’s hosting your Sunday poker game?”
“We’re at Jack’s place, over on Fisher Drive. How far away are you?”
“Give me five minutes. Can you be ready in the east parking lot? It’s a silver Honda sedan with half tinted windows.”
“We’ll handle it. Reel him in, and we’ll drop a net on him. But if anything jumps off before you get here, get your aunt somewhere safe.”
“Roger.”
“I can take care of myself!” Aunt Suzanne said, leaning forward to speak directly to the radio as I disconnected the call from the button on the steering wheel.
I’d seen Aunt Suzanne in action, and agreed that most of the time she could handle her own. But whoever was tailing us knew what they were doing.
Professional? I thought. What if…?
I commanded my phone to call Spence.
“Spencer Investigations,” Spence answered.
“You wouldn’t by chance be following me, would you?”
“No. I’m sitting in my truck outside a motel, waiting for a money shot. Why?”
I had watched the driver, now two cars back, in my rearview mirror while talking on the phone with Spence. The windshield on the Honda was only partially tinted. I couldn’t see the driver’s facial features from the nose upward, but unless Spence was a damn good ventriloquist, he wasn’t the one driving.
“Okay. Later,” I said before pressing the button to disconnect.
My phone rang seconds later and I pushed the button to answer. “Yeah?”
“Do you need me to meet you somewhere?” Spence asked, sounding concerned.
I chuckled. “No.” I disconnected the call again.
“That was rude,” Aunt Suzanne said as she window-shopped the stores passing by, perfectly relaxed about us having a tail. “Who was that?”
“Russell Spencer, goes by Spence. He’s a P.I.”
“Cute?”
“Yup. Looks good naked, too.”
“Good in bed?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t slept with him. A private investigator isn’t too far off from breaking my rule of not sleeping with the men in blue.”
“But you had a relationship with Agent Kierson. And… that fellow in Texas. He was a deputy.”
“Neither work in Miami. My rule only applies to within Miami-Dade County. And I wouldn’t call the thing I did with the deputy in Texas a relationship,” I said, sliding a smirk at Aunt Suzanne.
“How did you see Spence naked, if you haven’t had sex?” my aunt asked out of curiosity, ignoring my relationship comment.
“He sleeps in the nude. I was sort-of in his kitchen when he woke to answer his cellphone.”
“And?”
I glanced over at her, but couldn’t read her expression. “And, what?”
“Was he, well, you know… big?”
I knew Uncle Hank was the only man she’d ever seen naked. Her curiosity of the unknown was the reason I shared some of my sexual exploits with her. Sometimes they made her blush. Sometimes, like now, I wondered if she’d run off to watch porn or buy a Playgirl magazine so she could figure out what “average” meant, and where Uncle Hank stacked up against the general male population.
I didn’t want to know the answer to that question, but enjoyed watching Aunt Suzanne mentally stumble around it. “He wasn’t fully inflated so I’m not sure what the end result looks like. I’d guess above average.”
“Above average…” Aunt Suzanne whispered to herself.
I laughed out loud as I made the last left turn into the east parking lot behind Jack’s condo building.
As soon as I stopped the car, Aunt Suzanne’s door opened and Joe Jr., one of Uncle Hank’s poker buddies, pulled her from the car and led her toward the back entrance of the building. I pulled my Glock from my purse and walked to the center of the lot as the Honda turned into the drive. Before he could change course, two cars pulled out, blocking his escape.
The driver watched me as he sat in his idling car. I couldn’t see his eyes but felt them focused on me, waiting to see my next move. Unfortunately, old man Brody—known as Pimples to his poker buddies—walked out from behind a parked SUV and raised a rocket launcher, pointing it at the Honda.
The driver bolted from the car, knocking both Juan and Jack to the ground like a linebacker as he ran across the lot toward the street.
Being the only one under the age of fifty, it was up to me to give chase. I took off as fast as my ballet-style shoes would allow me to run, regretting my shoe choice for the day as my feet slammed against the sidewalk. The man jetted left once he reached the end of the parking lot, knocking people out of his way. I pushed myself to run faster, knowing that if he made it another two blocks I’d lose him in the crowd at the next public beach access.
A half a block later, I was only ten paces behind him when he turned into an alley. I was surprised by his change in direction but didn’t think out the approach as I followed. Still running, I didn’t have time to stop as he swung an arm out, clothes-lining it against my ribs. I doubled over, the wind knocked out of me, as I stumbled and tried to stay upright. Before I was able to correct my stance, a leg sweep to the back of my knees flung me backward to the ground, my gun bouncing from my grasp.
Lying on my back in the dirty alley, he pounced on top of me. His hands wrapped around my neck, cutting off my air.
Instinct. That internal switch that when flipped on, changes everything. The pain, the noise, the lack of oxygen… it all fades away. And instinct channels everything into one thought—fight like hell.
Releasing my hands from his wrists, I used my right fist to throat punch him while digging my keys from my pocket with my left hand. Weaponizing a key between my fingers, I knifed it between his ribs. He winced back, giving me a chance to stab him in the cheek with the next blow.
He growled a scream, jumping to a standing position. I rolled to the right, toward my gun, but as I reached for it, his boot crushed it into the asphalt.
I screamed out as I scrambled to tuck my legs under me, readying myself to stand. The last thing I saw was a boot coming at my face as I heard a nearby woman yell for the police.
Chapter Twelve
CHARLIE
Sunday, 3:15 p.m.
By the time my surroundings stopped spinning, I looked up to find a crowd of strangers an
d two young beat cops staring down at me as a familiar pair of paramedics pushed their way into the center of the crowd.
“Shit, girl. What’d you get yourself into this time?” Doug Robinson asked as he set his medical bag beside me and squatted to take my pulse.
“Oh, you know…” I sighed as I took a few deep breaths to clear my head. “Just a lazy Sunday spent window shopping.”
The other paramedic, Ralph Stoggs, snorted as he placed a pressure cuff on my right arm. “Anything broken?”
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me that?”
“I figure you’ve been injured enough times; you’d be the expert.”
I jerked my wrist from Doug’s grip and used my hand to push myself into a sitting position. They both shook their heads but knew better than to try to stop me.
For a brief moment the crowd swirled in my vision before everything settled again. I reached up and gingerly felt my nose. The cartilage seemed to be in the right place and blood had stopped gushing, but my eyes were watering from the throbbing pain. “Anyone see which direction the guy I was fighting ran?”
“We need to get a statement,” one of the beat cops said, lowering himself to a squat.
I looked him square in the face. “No. You need to clear the crowd and find my gun.”
“What gun?” the other cop asked.
“The gun that was somewhere in this area before I lost consciousness.”
“She’s a cop,” Ralph told them.
“You heard her,” Doug added. “Clear the crowd and find her gun.”
“Show me your ID,” the officer squatting in front of me ordered.
I raised my hand and uncurled my middle finger.
Ralph laughed. “We can vouch for her. This is Charlie Harrison, a detective out of the south-central precinct. I wouldn’t mess with her, man.”
The officers either knew my name or decided to believe Ralph because they jumped into action and started clearing the scene. When they said a few minutes later that they couldn’t find my gun, I tossed the baby wipes I used to clean the blood from my face to the ground and reached a hand up to Doug, who pulled me upward. We all searched, but my gun was gone.
“Damn it.” Frustrated, I walked to the far end of the alley. Just around the corner was a dumpster, baking in the Florida sun.
“I’m not going near that thing,” one of the officers said.
“Me either,” the other added.
“I could order both of you to search that dumpster.”
They both grimaced as Ralph and Doug laughed. His hands still covered in protective medical gloves, Ralph walked over and opened the heavy plastic lid. Doug dragged a wooden pallet over and leaned it against the dumpster as a makeshift ladder. Both looked back at me, grinning.
“This day just keeps getting better and better,” I mumbled to myself as I scaled the pallet to look inside the dumpster.
And then my luck changed. My gun, minus the clip, was lying on top of a garbage bag. I snagged the gun, climbed back down, and released a long breath—relieved that I didn’t have to report my firearm missing. That was a pretty bad thing to happen to a cop.
Another patrol car pulled up, this time with officers I knew. They convinced the younger officers that typing up a report was a waste of time, then they gave me a lift back to Jack’s condo building. Uncle Hank, Jack, and Pimples were still in the parking lot, waiting for me. I limped over to them.
Uncle Hank gave me a once over with his eyes. “He got away?”
I dipped my head in a yes.
“Your face is a mess. How bad is your leg?”
“Bruised knee. Anything in the car?”
“Not even a registration,” Pimples said, shaking his head.
“Called the license plate and VIN into a buddy,” Jack said. “It’s a day rental. Paid cash.”
“Video image at the car rental?”
Pimples’ shoulders lifted proudly as he answered. “Already sent to your phone. He’s got a hat on and wearing tinted sunglasses, though. Kept turned away from the camera for the most part.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Uncle Hank asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah. Nothing an ice pack can’t fix. Just pissed he got away.”
Uncle Hank’s eyes narrowed as he silently processed his thoughts.
“What?” I asked him.
“I can’t remember the last time you lost a fight.”
“He surprised me. That’s all.”
Uncle Hank watched me, and I knew he saw it. I knew he saw that I was rattled. I’d trained routinely for years, never letting my guard down. It took a lot of skill for someone to beat me in a fight. And that guy had nearly been the death of me. I wasn’t ready to process how close I’d come to the end, nor what that would’ve looked like for those left behind. Instead, I followed Jack into the building and into the elevator to the fourth floor.
In Jack’s bathroom, I washed up the best I could and changed into one of Jack’s t-shirts. My shoes and pants were filthy with streaks of bloodstains and tinted from other unknown substances, but they’d do until I got home and changed. Aunt Suzanne handed me an ice pack when I returned to the living room. I sat on the couch holding the pack to my nose as I blindly drank from a bottle of beer. The boys settled into their poker game again while Aunt Suzanne rummaged around in Jack’s kitchen, making herself at home.
I’m not sure how long I sat there before drifting off to sleep. When I woke, I was lying on the couch covered with a blanket. I looked at the clock as I gained my bearings. I’d slept the afternoon away and into the early evening.
“I saved you a plate of food,” Aunt Suzanne said, handing me a glass of water. “We didn’t want to wake you. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately.”
“Lately?” Uncle Hank laughed from the table. “You mean like she always does?”
“Catnaps,” Jack said, snorting. “That’s what she calls them. I don’t know how she does it.”
“Leave her be,” Juan said. “That’s one hell of a detective you boys are making fun of.”
“Never said she wasn’t,” Uncle Hank said. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wish my girl would stop stalking Miami streets at night.”
I tossed the blanket off, set the glass of water on the side stand, and ran my fingers through my hair. I started cataloging the day’s events and wasn’t surprised that I’d fallen asleep. Two dead bodies, Evie’s case, a baby shower, and a street fight all accumulated into one hell of a day.
Then I remembered the rocket launcher. “Pimples, what’s the deal with the rocket launcher?”
He chuckled and walked down the hall, returning with the launcher. “Pretty cool, aye?”
“I’m guessing you don’t have a special permit for that.”
“I might’ve bought the launcher from a guy I know who works in the gray area of the resale business. The rocket’s not active, though. Would barely ding a car door.” Pimples held the launcher out toward me.
“I used to shoot these in the military,” Joe Jr. said as he reached out and took the launcher from Pimples.
Joe Jr. had been a senior citizen for at least a century. He was at that age where he no longer gave a shit what mischief he caused because he celebrated every day like it was a bucket list kind of day.
In one second, we all scrambled toward the launcher to take it away from Joe Jr. In the next, we all pivoted the other direction, trying to distance ourselves from the oncoming catastrophe.
With a bum knee, I was too slow. Pimples tackled me to the ground as the rocket zoomed through the space where I’d been standing and pierced through the living room wall.
A scream sounded, and we all scrambled for the condo door. In the building’s hallway, we saw the perfectly round hole from our side which aligned with the perfectly round hole in the wall of the condo across from Jack’s.
I ran over and pounded on the door, identifying myself as a police officer
. An elder woman opened the door, looking shocked to the bone. I moved past her into the condo where I found the rocket embedded in her recliner. A TV tray lay on the floor next to the recliner. A plate of food had been flung to the center of the room. By the looks of the mess, the older woman had been sitting in the recliner when the rocket made its abrupt appearance.
I turned back and saw Jack was holding the older woman, offering her comfort. She’d went from shocked-scared to completely enthralled as she rested her face against his chest and rubbed her hands along his arms. Her blissful expression told me she was in the midst of inappropriate thoughts.
I limped toward the door. “I wasn’t here. I don’t want my name anywhere near this.”
“That makes two of us,” Uncle Hank said, following me out.
He towed Aunt Suzanne, her mouth still open in stunned disbelief, out with us.
Chapter Thirteen
CHARLIE
Sunday, 8:05 p.m.
“You’re late,” Baker complained when I walked through the door of the safe-house condo.
“You’ll live,” I snapped back, tossing my purse on the entranceway table as I moved into the kitchen for some ice.
The central-city condo was in a controlled-access building. It was used as a safe house, purchased under one of our many shell companies. It was seldom needed, but there was comfort in having it available when we did. Like now.
“Where’s Evie?” I asked, joining him in the living room and throwing myself onto the couch. I placed the ice, wrapped in a towel, on my bruised knee.
“What the hell happened to you?” Baker said, taking in the damage to my face.
“Took a foot to the face. I’ll heal. Where’s Evie?”
“Here,” she said from the bedroom doorway, staring at me. “Were you hurt because of me? Is this my fault?”
“Whether it’s related to whoever is looking for you, is yet to be determined,” I said, shrugging. “But the fault of my injuries rests purely on my own shoulders. I was caught off guard, and my opponent was bigger, stronger, and faster than me. It could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.” I shook off the memory of his hands around my neck and motioned for Evie to join us.
Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Page 7
