Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8)

by Kaylie Hunter

  “Ready for what?”

  I threw my hands upward. “How many times do I have to tell you? I. Don’t. Know!”

  Ryan mumbled curses as he slipped out of the car and ran the other direction to loop around the block. I pulled my gun and gauged the distance. I could make the shot if I had to, but it would require everyone standing perfectly still and me getting out of the car. Any future stakeouts would be dead in the water. I just hoped whatever Trigger was planning didn’t get to that level of crazy. But it was Trigger. I wasn’t overly hopeful.

  “You know you love me, Boss,” Trigger said as he smiled at the sidewalk. “I entertain the shit out of you.”

  I laughed. I was about to reply something sarcastic when two men in suits walked out of the building. “Two suits are shaking hands. Only three feet from door and still talking.” I watched as the men continued to talk for a few more minutes. “Gray suit on the move. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet. Twelve. Ten. Eight. Six. Four. Two—”

  Trigger collided with Mr. Gray Suit hard enough to knock them both to the ground with Trigger landing on top of him. They were a tangle of arms and legs before Trigger suddenly jumped up—and ran away.

  “What the—” Ryan started to say over the earpiece as we both watched Trigger flee down the sidewalk at top speed.

  The man in the suit started yelling and I heard him say wallet, before several construction workers took off after Trigger. And by several, I mean at least twenty. There was a full-on mob chasing my top field guy—who’d just mugged someone. And the mob was gaining speed.

  I laughed.

  “You’re going to rescue my ass, right, Boss?” Trigger huffed over the earpiece.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I said, still laughing.

  Ryan casually walked back to the car, trying not to hurry. He slid into his seat and leaned his head against the dash. I watched his shoulders shake as he silently laughed. I started the car and pulled away from the curb.

  Three blocks later, we saw the mob had dwindled to three guys, but they were only ten feet behind Trigger as he dodged pedestrians, cars, and even a bicycle that nearly took him down.

  “What’s the plan?” Ryan asked. “We can’t pull guns on unarmed civilians and I’d feel bad if I had to fight them. They’re good Samaritans, trying to catch a mugger.”

  “I’m thinking.” I pondered our options as I juggled watching Trigger and driving.

  “Think faster, Boss,” Trigger wheezed into the earpiece. “I could use a lift about now.”

  “We’re in Charlie’s car so if I pick you up and someone jots down her plate number, she could lose her job. Assisting a criminal to escape a crime is kind of a cop no-no.” I kept driving, but Trigger and his pursuers were running faster than the traffic was moving. That would change another half block ahead where the street intersected with a five-lane highway. “Half a block up,” I said to Trigger. “Main road. Get there and let’s hope you can give them the slip. Just don’t get hit by a car.”

  I watched Trigger pick up the pace. When his pursuers saw him gaining speed again, one of them stopped running and leaned over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

  “Two bogies left,” Ryan said so Trigger was aware. “But they look determined to kick your ass. They won’t give up easy.”

  “Shit,” Trigger said.

  Trigger reached the intersection to the main road and disappeared around the corner. Seconds later, the two remaining contractors followed him around the corner. Ryan leaned over and laid on the horn. Other drivers joined the orchestra as we crept forward.

  “Thanks,” I said, sarcastically. “That helped so much.”

  Finally reaching the intersection, I accelerated into my turn and picked up speed as we searched ahead for Trigger.

  “Boss…” Trigger said.

  “I’m here, but I lost visual.”

  “I’m about to do something dumb. If it doesn’t work out, send flowers to my mother.”

  Ryan pointed and I followed his finger a half a block ahead where Trigger was running. He was one good arm’s reach from being caught.

  “I see you. What’s your plan?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer. I watched the scene unfold as if he was a younger Bruce Willis in one of the many Die Hard movies. Trigger jetted into the road, causing two cars to slam on their brakes to avoid hitting him. In the third lane, another driver hit his brakes as Trigger ran in front of the car, staying in that lane and turning to run with the flow of traffic. Ahead of him was a five-ton commercial truck still accelerating through the gears after the last traffic light.

  The truck had a non-standard back with tall side rails but only heavy straps were netted along the back. Trigger ran faster, trying to catch up to the truck, as I changed lanes and moved into the center lane.

  “You lost the bogies,” Ryan said to Trigger. “They aren’t as dumb as you.”

  Trigger leapt forward, securing his hands into the cargo net. The truck lurched forward as the driver made another gear change. The jarring motion caused one of Trigger’s hands to lose its grip on the net and his body swung from side to side. He managed to grab hold again as he was thrown around, but he was hanging too low to secure his feet.

  “Trigger—” I yelled. “Left foot to bottom outside corner of the truck! There’s a foothold!”

  Trigger stopped scrambling with both feet and swung only his left foot out, searching for the hold. I watched his hand start to slip on the netting. The speed limit was twenty-five, but based on my own speed, the truck was moving along with traffic at closer to thirty.

  I cut off another car and moved behind the truck. Horns blasted around me but I ignored them. “You’re missing the foothold by two inches. Farther left! Higher!”

  His foot found the cutout and he lifted himself up. We heard him release his breath over the mic.

  I looked around, trying to gauge our location. A sign indicated that the exit for the interstate was one mile ahead and that both outside lanes would exit. Since the truck was in the third lane, I was hopeful. Then the driver turned on his right blinker to get over.

  “Shit,” I said. “He’s taking the interstate.”

  “I can’t jump, Boss,” Trigger said, glancing back at me as I followed the truck over one lane to the right.

  Traffic was moving even faster than before. If he jumped now, his body would bounce into another lane and he’d be squashed.

  “What’s the plan, Boss?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Think faster. He could drive for hours before he stops again.”

  I ignored him and followed the truck onto the interstate. As we merged, a cop sitting on the side of the road spotted Trigger. The cruiser’s lights flashed on and the officer charged full speed ahead to get in front of the truck.

  “Trigger. Before that truck stops completely, you need to jump, then run back toward the exit. Find a place to hide until we pick you up.”

  “Can’t you just pick me up now?” he whined, looking over his shoulder at me.

  “In front of the cop? You just mugged someone, dumbass! Dispatch would’ve broadcasted your description by now.”

  “Shit.”

  I slowed, creating a larger gap between my car and the truck which was edging off the side of the road. The cop was in front of the truck. They both coasted as the truck prepared to stop. “Remember, if you fall, tuck your shoulder and roll.”

  Trigger looked down at the asphalt. It was still passing at about ten miles an hour.

  “Now, Trigger!” Ryan ordered.

  Trigger jumped.

  Unfortunately, his legs swept out from under him and he rolled toward the shoulder of the road. There was zero tucking involved. He slammed, bounced, and then slid across the road, skidding through the gravel shoulder before toppling over the edge into a ditch. His body disappeared from our view.

  Ryan and I both inhaled sharply. We sat frozen, staring at the ditch. Trigger, covered in greenish-brown slime, s
prang up and ran back toward the exit.

  I looked ahead and saw the cop was walking toward the rear of the truck. I’d waited too long and he spotted me. He started running, looking first to see that Trigger was gone and then running to our car and looking inside.

  “Why did you stop?” the officer asked.

  “There was a man—” I pointed to the truck, stuttering my speech “—on the truck. I didn’t know… what I was supposed to do.”

  “Did you see where he went?”

  Ryan pointed to the other side of the truck. “He ran into that ditch.”

  The cop’s face puckered in disgust. “That’s a runoff. It’s filled with sewage and trash.” He sighed and looked back at us. “Did he look injured? Because if he wasn’t injured, maybe I let this one slide.”

  “He looked like an idiot!” I said. “But not injured.”

  “Hey!” Trigger said through the earpiece. “I heard that.”

  “Good enough for me,” the cop said, nodding as he thumped the top of our car with his palm. “You folks have a nice day.”

  Chapter Thirty

  CHARLIE

  Tuesday, 10:34 a.m.

  Beast whined again. We'd waited for Lydia for an hour and a half. The patch of shade we'd claimed under the corner tree was shrinking fast as the sun rose toward late morning.

  “Come on, boy,” I said, slapping the side of my leg. "We'll track her down later."

  Beast jumped up and bounced alongside me as I signaled to Bones and Wild Card that I was calling it. They'd positioned themselves so they could monitor me from afar. Far enough so they wouldn’t spook Lydia, but close enough if Mr. Tricky got any ideas.

  As Beast and I walked toward the precinct, I wondered why Lydia hadn’t showed. She couldn’t have spotted Bones or Wild Card. It had taken me forty-five minutes to find Bones, and I never did figure out where Wild Card was stationed. Knowing him, he'd wandered toward the beach, following bikinis.

  So, no, Lydia couldn’t have spotted them. She was either hiding from me or someone prevented her from meeting me. I had a bad feeling as I climbed the stairs to the precinct. I held the door open for Beast. The desk officer buzzed the inner door and hit the automatic door opener. I followed Beast into the main room, where he was greeted with ear scratches and good mornings by officers as he made his way to the stairs. I stopped at the last desk and asked one of the rookies to put out a BOLO on Lydia. Turning back to the stairs, Beast sat waiting for me. Grinning, I ran at the stairs, racing up them as fast as I could. Beast barked twice before chasing after me. He beat me by one stupid step.

  Unlike Beast, I was winded and put my hand on the wall to catch my breath.

  “That’s her!” a man yelled. I looked up and saw Danny Rickers standing next to Detective Ford’s desk. “That’s the woman who cut off my fingers!”

  All the detectives froze in their tracks, turning to look at me.

  “What?” I asked, looking around before walking toward the back of the room.

  Ford sighed. “Did you cut this man’s fingers off?” he asked loud enough for everyone to hear.

  I snorted. “No.”

  I continued toward the far end of the room, stopping at my desk. It was piled high with files. I grabbed a nearby empty box, set it on my chair, and skim read the contents of the files before dropping them inside the box. Ignoring the chaos on the other side of the room, I was halfway through the pile before Quille walked over.

  “You’ve been back on the job one day. One day! And you’re already facing an I.A. investigation. That has to be a record.”

  “Quit worrying,” I said, dropping another file into the box. “It’s not good for the old ticker.”

  “Are you telling me you’re innocent? Because somehow I doubt that.”

  I turned to face Quille. “I did not cut that man’s fingers off.”

  It was the truth. I had chopped, not cut, the tips of his fingers off. I had every confidence that I could pass a lie detector test using that logic. Quille knew me well enough to know he wasn’t getting the whole truth. He also knew he didn’t want to know the truth.

  “What’s the worst-case scenario on this?” Quille asked, thumbing over his shoulder at Danny.

  I glanced across the room. “Internal Affairs will get all excited when they hear my name, but in the end, it will get filed away with their other fizzled attempts at taking my badge. Danny’s a scumbag wife beater. No jury will ever buy his victim act.”

  “He could sue you.”

  “He could try,” I said, laughing. “I keep a lawyer on retainer who’d jam him up for years.”

  “Someday you’ll make a mistake and get caught,” Quille said, placing fisted hands on his hips. “Then what?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, slapping a file against his chest. “That’s the ME report on Roseline. Notice anything odd?”

  While he read the file, I texted Bones and warned him that Danny Rickers was leaving the building via the stairs and to make sure he and Wild Card weren’t spotted. Bones replied a thumbs up.

  I slid the phone into my back pocket as Quille looked up from his reading. “The bruise on Roseline’s neck?”

  “Bingo. Pauly had the same bruise. The question is, why? What’s the connection?”

  “Hopefully you’re about to enlighten me, because I got no damn idea.”

  “No such luck. I’m all out of enlightenment today. This case is nothing but a pile of questions.”

  I spotted Maggie stepping off the elevator and was about to wave when I saw two men in black suits follow behind her. Bones and Wild Card casually followed the suits. How they’d managed to pass Danny without being seen, I wasn’t sure.

  Maggie spotted me and led the group my way. She didn’t look happy. Whatever was happening was big enough to disrupt her plans of lying poolside until her flight.

  “Sorry, Quille.”

  “For what?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know yet. Just thought I’d apologize now to save time later.” I walked over and opened the conference room door. I asked for the two researchers and the detectives to clear the room. As they left, Quille, Maggie, the two black suits, Bones and Wild Card entered.

  “Who are they?” Quille asked, pointing toward Bones and Wild Card.

  “Bodyguards.”

  Quille looked down at Beast and frowned. “You’re not getting rid of the dog, are you?”

  “Eventually. But not today.” I walked around the table but didn’t sit. I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. “What’s going on?” I asked Maggie.

  “Seems our friends in the DOJ have an issue with you investigating Roseline’s murder.”

  “Tough shit,” I said, turning a glare to the suits. “My town. My murder investigation.”

  The shorter of the suits reached out with a business card. “I’m Deputy Byron with the U.S. Marsh—”

  “I don’t care who you are,” I said, interrupting him.

  “Behave, Kid,” Quille warned, taking the card and shaking the man’s hand as they went through the formalities of introductions. I listened as I pretended to ignore them. The other Marshal introduced himself as Deputy Wright. I looked over at Wild Card and rolled my eyes.

  He laughed as he pulled a chair out and sat, leaning back and stretching his legs. Bones stood stiff as a board, guarding the only exit.

  “I’m afraid your investigation is interfering with our federal case,” Deputy Byron said to Quille. “We’ll need to take over from here.”

  “And I’m afraid that just doesn’t work for me,” I said, stepping forward and leaning my hands on the table. “One of the victims, Paul Leenstra, was a friend of mine. No way will I walk away from this case.”

  “We could arrest you,” Deputy Wright threatened.

  “Time out!” Maggie snapped. “I’d like to remind everyone, we’re on the same team. The good guys, remember?”

  Wild Card laughed out
loud which earned himself a glare from both suits and Quille.

  Maggie ignored him and turned to face the marshals. “Your case is sinking fast. The way I see it, if you share information with Detective Harrison, she might find a way to salvage your case.” She turned to me and pointed. “And you! Did you ever consider they may have details that will help you solve Pauly’s murder? Huh?”

  “What crawled up your ass?” I asked her.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I was perfectly relaxed in a poolside chaise when my phone rang. I decided to get dressed and come down here to mediate this shit-show before you—” she pointed at me “—got yourself arrested. You’re welcome. And you owe me a margarita.”

  Knowing she was right, I pulled out a chair and sat. “I’m willing to work together if I have to, but I’ll need full access in return. I’m running blind here.”

  The deputies looked at each other, debating their next move.

  “Quit wasting our time,” Bones barked.

  Byron looked back at me. “What do you know?”

  “Roseline and Pauly were both killed in her apartment late afternoon or early evening Saturday. Roseline’s cause of death was massive blood loss. Her heart stopped when there was more blood on the outside than inside. Her death was violent. There was a clear indication of overkill. Pauly, on the other hand, was likely choked until he lost consciousness before he was injected with enough morphine to kill an elephant. Then, his body was moved to the first floor under the staircase. Only someone who knew his habits would know to place him there. Either someone close to him or someone who’d been watching the building.”

  “Roseline was likely killed by a hitman,” Deputy Wright said, shaking his head. “Someone hired by the Jameson crew out of New Jersey.”

  “If it was a hitman—and I’m not saying it wasn’t because the rumor on the street is that it was—then it’s someone new. No way a seasoned killer would’ve lost control like that on Roseline.”

  Byron snorted as he arrogantly inspected his tie. “You’re an expert on contract killers?”