by Elin Barnes
“I think you were trying to do the right thing, but Mitchell calls all the shots, and he wouldn’t let you.”
Bishop tucked his head down. Darcy was getting closer, but Bishop was clamming up. Damn.
“You’re fishing. You’re making this up, and it’s all bullshit,” the Marine finally said.
When they reached Saint James Street, Darcy started to cross, but Bishop turned left.
“Bishop, one man is dead and another critically injured in a shootout with the police. The pranks were fun, whatever, but now you’re involved in kidnapping, felony murder, and attempted murder of a police officer.”
“I got nothing to do with that.” Bishop licked his broken lip.
“I think you do. I think Mitchell led the kidnapping, and he recruited a few guys to help him. He picked you, and now you’re going away for good.”
Darcy let his words settle for a few moments.
“You know that even if you didn’t do it yourself, you’re an accessory now. You’ll get the death penalty, or at best life.”
“I know nothing about all that. I was at the regiment. How many times do I have to tell you that? So, as I said back at the station, you either arrest me or you leave me alone.”
Darcy tried a couple more tactics, but Bishop gave him nothing more. When they got back to Trials, Sorensen’s face told him that he’d been as successful in his quest.
Chapter 37
As Blake went through the gates, he thought about the code word. Emerald. What kind of stupid-ass password was that? He drove up a few yards and parked behind the other cars already lining the driveway. Blake killed the engine of his Jaguar XK and went around it to help Belle out. They strolled toward the house, and he took in the grandiosity of the place. He wondered how many millions it cost. He decided to buy a bigger one as soon as the sale of NanoQ went through.
Before they reached the front door, it opened. A man dressed in a black suit and a black shirt but no tie blocked the entrance.
“Name please.”
He waited until Blake introduced himself. The man nodded, probably having memorized the guest list, and invited them to walk in.
“Welcome. I’ll be happy to take your coats,” a middle-aged woman greeted them.
Blake helped Belle take hers off and handed it to the woman. Then he took off his sports jacket.
“I will need your cell phones as well.”
She was affable and sweet, but her extended hand told them there was no negotiating.
Blake shrugged and pulled his out of his pocket. Belle raised both hands, indicating that she didn’t have one.
“Enjoy.” The woman pointed toward the direction where they needed to go.
Blake took Belle’s hand and wondered if he would have time to play with her before the whole thing went down. He was enjoying himself and wanted to get a taste of his new girl.
He looked around the room. There were a few people already there. Most of the men were middle age; only one looked fit. He was not looking forward to seeing them naked. He counted five women. Two were Asian, both petite and almost fragile. They could have been sisters. Another had skin the color of caffè latte and was very tall, especially with her platform shoes.
The last two women were about ten to fifteen years older than the other girls. They were probably the only ones who weren’t pros. One had had too many encounters with plastic surgery, and yet she seemed to be losing the battle against time. The other one was even older but had an aura of dignity. She reminded him of some famous actress he couldn’t remember the name of.
The host came to meet them. “I’m so glad you could make it, Blake,” he said, even though they’d never met.
When they shook hands, Blake grimaced at his host’s sweaty palms.
Carlos de la Rosa moved to Belle and held her hand in his. “I’m very pleased that you brought such a lovely lady,” he said to Blake, never moving his hungry eyes away from her.
Blake pushed away a pang of jealousy and thwarted his instinct to hit the man for ogling his woman. He was at an orgy after all; the whole point was to share.
The fake blond with too much Botox and collagen implants came to greet them.
“Oh, what do we have here?” she asked Carlos as if she were opening a Christmas present. “I’m Hope. Welcome to our house.”
She air-kissed Blake and led Belle away to introduce her to the other women.
“I assume this is not your first time, is it?” Carlos asked.
“I trust you got my test results,” Blake said, more as a statement than a question.
“You wouldn’t have made it this far if I hadn’t.”
“Yes, this is my first time,” Blake said.
“Very well. You will have a fantastic time.”
Carlos looked at Belle, and his lascivious stare made Blake cringe again, but he had come here to do a job and had to play nice until it was done.
The short Hispanic man led Blake toward the other side of the room and introduced him to the other four men. There were two lawyers and two venture capitalists. Exactly the type of crowd he wanted to be associated with but not necessarily see naked. And unfortunately that was going to happen sooner than he would ever be prepared for.
Carlos invited the men to follow him into yet another room, and there Blake saw six black silk robes neatly folded and placed equidistant from each other on top of a California king bed. He felt as if he were at a spa rather than a bacchanalia. It almost made him laugh.
He went into one of the bathrooms to change. It was extravagant, covered in marble, and the mirror had a broad, golden baroque frame. He undressed, checked his fit body in the mirror and caressed his pecs. He needed to schedule another wax session soon. He tied his belt tight around the robe and stepped back into the room where the other men were.
The host headed to the door but turned before going through it. Looking from one man to the next, he said, “Let the fun begin.”
He extended his arms wide, and the robe opened, showcasing an ample, hairy stomach, and a bush that almost hid his flaccid penis. Blake wished he’d never seen that.
They followed Carlos to the living room where they had originally met. It was now empty. Blake checked his watch—ten minutes to go. He needed things to start accelerating, or they may run into complications.
“We’re ready,” Hope sang from somewhere in the house.
Carlos rubbed his hands in anticipation and said, “Come on down.” Then he led his entourage to the bottom of the wide, curling stairs to welcome the women.
Hope appeared and started descending. She was tall and very tight, thanks to hours at the gym and many tummy tucks. She wore high-heel glittery mules, nude thigh highs, and a black see-through baby-doll. If Blake hadn’t seen her from up close, he would’ve been hard already.
The rest of the women followed her. One by one they came down, measuring each step, smiling at the men, but probably secretly wondering how much choice they would have.
Blake locked eyes with Belle. She was still the hottest one. He then checked his watch. Only five minutes to go. Fuck, he thought. I won’t get to play.
Once the women were downstairs, Carlos and Hope led everybody back into the living room.
Carlos took a flute of champagne and encouraged everybody to do the same. When everybody had a glass, he clinked his with his wedding band to summon their attention.
Three minutes.
“All areas of the house are open. Be curious, be courteous, share, and have fun!” He raised his glass, made eye contact with his guests and drained the bubbly in one gulp.
Blake grabbed Belle by her waist and turned to kiss her. Before he had a chance to touch her shiny pink lips, Carlos pulled her away from him.
“You surpassed all my expectations, Blake. Thank you for such a delectable present,” he said.
Belle smiled at their host, and as Carlos pulled her away she looked back at Blake and playfully blew him a kiss.
Blake wondered if
she actually dreaded being with the sweaty man or she just considered that part of her job. He checked his watch. He would probably never know.
It was time.
Chapter 38
Darcy and Sorensen left the two Marines behind and headed to the Jeep. Darcy looked at his shoes as they walked and wondered how it would feel to have one foot much larger than the other.
“I think you’re losing your charm,” Sorensen said as soon as they were in the car.
“I don’t think you did that well either.”
“But I’ve never had any charm.”
Darcy smiled in spite of being disappointed about not getting anything from Bishop. “I didn’t even rile him up a little.” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m losing my charm.”
“Why are you so sure he’s involved?” Sorensen asked, heading north on First.
“He’s a follower, and something happened to him he doesn’t want to talk about. He didn’t get black and blue playing football or falling down the stairs. Besides, somebody from the pranks has to be involved.” He thought for a second. “Or they shared with the bank perps every single detail and the gas grenades too, since they were all the same chemical composition.”
Sorensen sped through a yellow light.
“What did you get from Mitchell?”
“A lot of laughs.”
Darcy looked at him.
“No, seriously. Apparently the asshole found everything I had to say hilarious. And his laugh sounded genuine. I swear I felt I was in an episode of The Twilight Zone or something, like we were speaking different languages.”
“That guy’s weird. I wish he’d come to the station with the others.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s much easier to gauge somebody on our own turf.” Sorensen combed his blond curls.
“You really got nothing from him?” Darcy asked.
“Literally.”
“We’re both losing our charm.”
Sorensen nodded. “But I can tell you something: my gut feels about Mitchell the same way yours is bent out of shape by Bishop.”
After they parked and walked into the station, they said hello to the officer at the reception area and got into the elevator. The bullpen was empty.
“We got no evidence, we got no solid motive, we don’t have a single witness, and the alibis check out. We literally have nothing.” Sorensen sat on his chair and covered his face with both hands.
“I heard that,” Virago said, coming out of her office. She walked over to them and, standing between Darcy and the whiteboards, she asked, “Why do people kill?”
“Money, love, fear . . .” Sorensen said.
“Revenge,” Darcy added.
“So what do we know about Mr. Malik?”
“Thirty-seven, single, workaholic, patent reviewer, PhD in computer science from Stanford.”
“Law school?”
“Nope. Apparently the reviewers are the technical guys. They study the patents, compare them with others already filed and then submit their reports for the lawyers to do the rest.”
“The threats that you reviewed—anything there?”
“We still have a box, but no. Mostly empty threats about the lawsuits not being valid and all that. They are mostly made against the lawyers, not the reviewers. The reviewer job is pretty private. No limelight or anything.”
“You checked his place—anything there?”
“No. A lot of takeout in the garbage,” Sorensen said. “Speedway Stout in the fridge, though, so the guy wasn’t kidding around about his beer.”
“Isn’t that brewed in San Diego?” Darcy asked.
“Yep. One of the best beers in the world.”
“Can we focus?” Virago knocked on the desk a couple times.
“Yeah. Right. He didn’t have a landline, but he had a bunch of fancy computers and a kick-ass playroom with every single game console you can imagine. No photos with anybody, not even his parents.”
“So, back to basics. If he’s single and there’s no love interest, maybe we can rule out love as a motive. What about money?”
“I went through all of his financials. Fat, steady paycheck. Nothing that jumps out in any way. Healthy savings account, very decent 401(k). Every year he goes skiing in Tahoe and treats himself to the Ritz-Carlton hotel. Yearly trip to India. Always one ticket. No offshore accounts.”
“Okay, so maybe somebody was after his money.” Her eyes darted over the whiteboard. She was probably trying to figure out what the missing connections were.
“There’s really not that much for such a huge job,” Sorensen said. “Maybe a total of $200K . . .”
“I wouldn’t mind having that chunk of change,” Virago said. “Revenge, fear?” she asked.
Sorensen raised both palms up in the air.
Chapter 39
One of the coolest things about being a Marine was that climbing a wall was as easy as walking through an open door. But Blake convinced him that it was better not to risk it, not to call attention, just in case. So Ethan drove his rented Porsche SUV up to the gate and pushed the speaker button.
“Hello?” said the voice on the other side.
“Emerald,” Ethan said.
After a long couple of seconds, the gates opened and they were in.
He was the only one visible in the car. The others were hiding behind tinted windows in the backseat and for extra precaution covered by a black blanket. Ethan drove up the driveway and made sure he parked in a way that allowed him to drive back out fast.
He got out of the car and walked to the open door. A bouncer wannabe was eyeing him. This time Ethan was wearing a black suit instead of the night camouflage clothing he’d been wearing the last couple days.
“This is a couples-only event,” the bouncer said, probably wary that somebody had the password but was not on the guest list.
“Oh, she’s coming,” he said, looking back as if he were expecting a beautiful woman to emerge from the car at any moment.
He sensed the bouncer look past him. Ethan turned around and punched his Adam’s apple so hard the man toppled backward and then fell forward on his knees while grabbing his neck. He was coughing and gasping for air when Ethan kicked his head, making him fall flat on his back. Ethan checked his vitals. He was still alive. He looked up to his parked car and signaled for his men to come over.
Bishop handed him his Beretta, and Ethan shot the bouncer in the head. He felt the kickback, but the suppressor masked the shot noise. Before they entered the living room, an older woman came out of the entry closet. Curtis moved behind her and covered her mouth with his hand, then subdued her with a chokehold until she passed out. Ethan looked at her lying on the floor. He pointed the gun and fired, piercing her forehead. Mac stepped over her body but made sure he didn’t touch the spreading blood.
Ethan sent Bishop and Mac upstairs to recon the house. He went into the living room, followed by Curtis and Barr. What he saw made him stop in his tracks, but only for a second. There were four men, naked, sweaty, and already hard with desire. The women wore the same black see-through baby-dolls. They looked hot, even the older ones. As soon as they saw him, they all stopped playing with each other and stared at him. Blake walked in from the opposite door and acted as surprised to see them as Ethan had prepared him to.
“What the . . . ?” A scrawny guy with a shaved head and a salt and pepper goatee started saying.
Ethan raised his Beretta, and the man stopped talking.
“This could go easy, or it could go hard,” he said.
The women recoiled, instinctively trying to find protection behind the naked men. But Ethan saw that they looked just as scared as the women were. The expectation that a man is the protector creates a lot of anxiety in moments of truth. He knew. He’d been there many times. Those were the moments where only real men shone.
“You. Come here,” Ethan said to Blake.
Blake hesitated for a second, then walked toward him.
“I
want you to use this to tape everybody’s ankles together.” He was pointing at the thick roll of duct tape Barr was holding in his hand.
Blake passed him and took the tape.
“I want all of you to form a line. I want boy, girl, boy, girl. Understood?”
Nobody moved.
“What are you waiting for?” Ethan didn’t have to raise the volume of his commanding voice that high to make everybody sprint into action.
The guests moved around, trying to figure out who should stand next to whom. Once they were all set in the right order, Ethan motioned for Blake to start working.
“You can take anything you want,” Hope said.
“You don’t know what I want,” Ethan taunted the woman he knew to be the hostess.
“Anything you want. We have money in the safe and more in the bank. Or jewelry. We have jewelry too.” She looked around. “We’re all rich. We can give you anything you want.”
Ethan ignored her. The fat guy next to Hope started crying.
Blake was taping the third person when Ethan observed one of the women scan the room.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said to her, but the tall woman with the bristly Afro was already running toward the opposite side of the living room.
Curtis followed her. Before she reached the door Blake had come from, he tried to grab her, but his hands didn’t get a grip on the slippery material of the baby-doll. She bolted into the other room, and a second later they were both out of sight.
Ethan heard a scream, followed by a thud. Blake had stopped taping, and all heads were turned toward the direction in which they had disappeared. Several women gasped when Curtis walked back into the room with the girl over his shoulder.
“Is she dead?” Ethan asked.
“Not yet,” Curtis said.
Ethan smiled. Curtis knew how to play the game.
“People, we are prepared to go all the way. If you try to run, we’ll catch you. So please don’t be stupid,” Ethan said, getting everybody’s attention back. “You, go on. We don’t have all night,” he urged Blake.
