Chapter Twenty
As I started home, I contemplated calling Ashby. Mobile-phone conversations were relatively secure but the call logs weren’t, which was why we got new phones with each assignment. Plus I didn’t know how much my stalker friend had on me. It was a risk I should take since I’d only recently been issued this one. My phone rang. I hit speaker and set it on my lap.
“Hello?” I spoke loudly, trying to be heard through the car noise.
“No phone calls, Cassidy. I’m monitoring you.” The man hung up, and my hope of rescue ended along with the call. My thoughts flew back and forth between my impending demise and Sarah. I had no way to be sure nothing would happen to her. The thought was maddening.
After parking in the lot of my apartment complex, I got out of my car and waited. Moments later, a brown van entered. The driver slid from the van and stopped ten feet from me. He wore a ski mask that covered his head and neck, with holes for his eyes and mouth. I could tell he was Caucasian and, from his voice, guessed he was in his thirties or forties. He was about an inch taller than me, lean and muscular, coiled tight as a spring. In black jeans and a black T-shirt, he sported a small backpack and held a gun to his side.
My cell phone rang from inside my messenger bag. “Ignore it and open the door, Cassidy.” He gestured to the main door of the building with a flick of his gun.
I unlocked it with my key, then entered and pushed it open for him to follow, allowing a few feet of space to build between us. As I reached the door of my apartment, he trained his gun on me.
“I’m right behind you,” he said. He followed me into the apartment, closed the door behind us, and directed me to a kitchen stool. “Hands on the counter, palms down.” He flung his backpack onto my coffee table and rummaged around for something in it. “Put these on. One on each wrist.” Still holding his gun on me, he tossed me a pair of plastic zip ties and I put them on. “Too bad you investigative-types are all the same. I kinda hoped you’d tell your girlfriend what you’ve been up to, Cassidy. Bigger payday for me. But the boss would be very upset if I had to get rid of both of you, since he thinks she’s a big breadwinner. Nothing from your phone or e-mail suggests anyone else knows what you do, and you weren’t at her place long enough to get into it. So you get me all to yourself.”
A few short ring tones from my cell phone told me I’d received a voice mail, but I was more distracted by what he meant about my communications. His voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Cross your wrists behind you. Face that way.” He pointed me toward a wall. He used another plastic tie and cuffed my wrists together, first through the other ties and then over my wrists again, pulling all of them so tight they dug into my flesh. “Expecting a call?” he asked.
“No,” I said truthfully, wincing from pain.
“Let’s listen.” With his empty hand, he searched my bag and removed the phone, holding the key for voice mail. He put it on speaker mode.
“Cazz, it’s Sarah. Thanks to you, we’ve got enough to put Greg away for a long time. I’m really glad you told me about the investigation. We should call the police first thing tomorrow. I’m not sure why you suddenly had to leave, but I’m heading over now so we can coordinate. See you soon.”
What on earth was she talking about? What the hell was she doing besides trying to get herself killed?
“Well, well, well. Guess I was wrong about you. You did spill the beans,” he said with a glimmer in his eyes.
“I didn’t tell her anything.” I was mystified. Sarah’s message made no sense.
It happened so fast I didn’t see it coming. He backhanded me with such force I toppled over onto the floor along with the stool. I landed hard on my shoulder, hip and, to a lesser extent, my head. The dull ringing in my ears sounded as if someone in a nearby apartment had forgotten to turn off their alarm clock.
“Get up.” The gunman barked at me from within what seemed like a tunnel.
I was dazed and my head was throbbing. Had he held his gun as he struck me? It sure felt like it. His words registered, but I couldn’t move. Then strong hands lifted me and I was suddenly sitting on the righted stool again. He stood in front of me and patted my cheek patronizingly.
“Uh-huh.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m sure.” He pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and held one number, which speed-dialed a phone number. “It’s me. The daughter knows. Listen.” He pressed the voice-mail key on my phone again, hit speaker mode, and put his phone next to the speaker. After Sarah’s message played again, he clicked off my phone and lifted his back to his ear. “Your choice.” He then listened to whoever was speaking at the other end of the phone, presumably Greg Morrison. “No. No twofers. You know the price.” He paused to listen some more. “Will do.”
He hung up and grinned. “Good thing you told her after all. Your girlfriend’s worth another hundred grand to me.” He pulled a small rag from his pocket, balled it up, and shoved it into my mouth. Then he took a second rag from his backpack, rolled it snake shaped, wrapped it across my mouth, and pulled it tightly behind my head as he knotted it in back. It was difficult to swallow and I was drooling into the rag in no time.
I realized he had zero incentive not to check my messages. If they were irrelevant, it would take seconds for him to come to that conclusion. If they were relevant, he could have the opportunity to earn a lottery-size amount of cash without the tax bite.
“I have to hand it to you, Cassidy, you’ve been a busy gal.” The gunman held up my phone. “You won’t mind if I uninstall the software that’s been tracking your every text, e-mail, and telephone call?” I watched in sick fascination as he expertly uninstalled some sort of software from my smartphone while he kept talking. “Don’t act so surprised. It’s simple to get access to a cell phone for a few minutes. Offices are the easiest, especially when it’s a colleague who’s interested in what you’re up to. People don’t have their phones with them twenty-four seven. All it takes is two minutes and a willing participant. You walk out of your office, they go in, grab your phone, open the browser, download and install the software, return the phone, and boom. I’ve got access to everything.”
He held up my phone again, proudly. “Voila, no more spying. No one will know you were being tracked, assuming we leave your phone behind. Of course, I don’t know who you met at that pissant little strip mall in Phoenix or why you were at the Grand Junction courthouse, but my boss found that GPS info all very interesting.” The man removed another rag, latex gloves, and a spray bottle. He pulled on the gloves, sprayed some liquid into the rag, and started wiping down my phone and the side of the stool he’d picked up after he’d knocked me over. “Once you told that realtor you couldn’t talk about it, I was convinced you hadn’t told your friend what you were up to, and the body language between you at her house confirmed it. But after that voice mail, I’m very happy to be wrong.”
He shoved the spray bottle and rag back into the bag. “Now the question is what to do with the two of you. I don’t typically mix business with pleasure, but I’m not usually dealing with the likes of you and your hot little friend. The possibilities are endless, don’t you think?”
Against the backdrop of his black mask, the mouth full of straight white teeth grinning at me was alarming and only served to remind me of how law-enforcement investigators occasionally used dental records to identify remains—in this case, mine. Such morbid thoughts were not calming me.
“Especially when we add a couple more of these into the mix.” He grabbed two more plastic zip ties from his pack and bound my ankles to the kitchen stool. My knees were splayed and I was completely defenseless as he moved to stand between my legs.
He dug into my thighs with his latex-covered fingers and pressed his crotch into mine. I turned my face away so he couldn’t see the fear in my eyes. Then my head suddenly snapped back as he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled down hard, forcing me to look up at him. I stared at him, trying to douse the fear with as much fury as I co
uld muster in an attempt to lessen his satisfaction. He unleashed an eerie grin and loosened his grip on my hair. He made a show of smelling me, inhaling deeply as he trailed his nose over my face. “Like I said. Endless.” He patted my cheek and grabbed his gun. Then he leaned against the counter and propped a foot on the lowest rung of my stool. He watched the door while I tried and failed to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks.
A few minutes later, the buzzer sounded. The gunman jumped up and over to the intercom and pressed the button without saying anything.
“Cazz, it’s me.” Sarah’s voice came over the speaker. I tried to scream, but it came out as a weak muffled sound she had no chance of hearing. The man apparently read the brief directions posted below the intercom because he hit the pound sign to buzz Sarah up before returning to my side.
I was desperate with fear. I was bound and gagged, my temple and shoulder were throbbing, and the woman I loved was coming to help me finish an investigation I never should have taken on as soon as I knew she was involved. Every movement I made to try to get out of the makeshift cuffs dug them further into my wrists; they must have cut into me when I’d struck the floor. I was nearly gagging on the rag he’d shoved into my mouth, as it tickled the back of my throat and I couldn’t move it with my tongue. A trickle of something, probably blood, trailed down my face from where he’d smacked me at the temple or from when I’d landed on the floor; I wasn’t sure. I was full of snot from silently crying and wet with drool from the rag, both of which made breathing extremely difficult.
This was it. There was no backup plan. Sarah was out of time. We were both out of time. I was a civilian in a police officer’s world. I wasn’t trained for any type of physical confrontation or violence. This kind of thing simply didn’t happen, wasn’t supposed to happen.
Time moved in slow motion, leaving me wretchedly anxious and despairing, further exacerbated when I heard a knock on my apartment door. The gunman whispered in my ear, “Not a sound, Cassidy. Not one sound.” He then quietly walked to the door and stood behind it so Sarah wouldn’t immediately detect a problem until she was inside. His gun in one hand, he turned the knob with the other. He aimed the gun at chest level, ready to pounce on Sarah as she came through the door. More tears escaped, making it difficult to clearly view what was happening.
As the knob twisted, a thunderous cracking sound erupted as the door crashed inward in shards. Sections of wood flew everywhere. Following the imploding door was a massive human body in the unmistakable form of Commander Ashby. Behind him was another cop. Both had guns drawn. The sheer force of the door launched my captor onto his back and he fired aimlessly as he fell. Ashby fired a half-second later and the man stopped moving.
With his eyes and gun trained on the man, Ashby spoke to me while his partner surveyed the apartment. “Just him?”
I nodded, tears of pain and relief springing from my eyes. Realizing the officers were focused elsewhere, I tried to make an affirmative “Mm-hmm” sound in answer. Their stances perceptibly relaxed upon hearing my reply and glancing over for confirmation. As the other cop knelt next to the man to check for a pulse, Ashby holstered his weapon and spoke to me.
“Yeah. My team only saw this one. I’ve got guys there and there.” He gestured with his chin to the two buildings across the street. “But they didn’t have a clear shot, so…” The cop turned to Ashby and shook his head. The commander told him to call it in.
Ashby crossed to me in a few muscular strides and removed the gag and the second rag from my mouth. He pulled a Leatherman tool from his pocket and cut the plastic cuffs from my wrists and ankles as his cell phone rang.
“Ashby,” he barked. “Yeah, send her up,” he said into the phone while he fished something out of his jacket pocket with his other hand. I surveyed my bleeding wrists and rubbed around the cuts to get some blood flowing into my hands. “Here.” He shoved a folded handkerchief into my hands to let me clean the blood, sweat, drool, and snot from my face. “You okay?” Though still a growl, at least it was a softer one. I nodded. “Need an ambulance?” I shook my head, which made the throbbing worse. My wrists hurt, but they would heal. Ashby looked at the side of my head. “He hit you?” I nodded again. “You’re going to the ER.”
“I’ll be okay,” I said faintly, coughing at the first use of my voice after the rags were gone.
Ashby strode to my freezer and grabbed a package of corn. “I’m sure that’s true, but we’re not taking any chances. Here.” With far more gentleness than I could imagine coming from him, he placed the frozen corn in my hand and lifted, resting it lightly against my wound. “Hold that there.” By this time, multiple uniforms were already swimming through my apartment taking videos and measurements, while I sat stunned.
“Commander,” I said, finally finding my voice. “How did you…” I still couldn’t comprehend what had just transpired.
“Don’t look at me,” Ashby said gruffly. “It was her idea.” He tilted his head toward the doorway.
Sarah stood there, staring at me. I didn’t bother to wipe my fresh tears away as she crossed the room in seconds and engulfed me in her arms.
Relief, gratitude, love all washed over me as I found solace in Sarah’s embrace.
“It’s okay, Cazz. It’s all okay now,” she said, rocking me gently.
Chapter Twenty-one
An officer-involved shooting (OIS) required a lot of interviews and paperwork. Although Ashby told me I didn’t have to go to the station immediately following my stop at the ER, I wanted to be done with it. I also wanted Morrison behind bars as soon as possible. Because OIS protocol required that Ashby, the other officer involved, and I be separated in order to be interviewed, I would need to wait until I was released from questioning to tell Ashby what I had on Morrison.
Sarah insisted that I not stay at home tonight, not after what I’d been through. Ashby concurred, saying the OIS investigation team needed at least a day—probably more—to clear the scene. Sarah offered to let me stay at her place, but I was feeling pretty raw and didn’t think I could handle any additional emotional tangles with her tonight. Instead, I agreed to let her book me a room, given her familiarity with the local hotels. We weren’t allowed to touch anything in my living room or kitchen, but thankfully the area cordoned off didn’t extend to my bedroom or bathroom. We separated, each under strict supervision, Sarah having offered to grab some of my clothes and personal effects, while I was escorted to the hospital.
Being accompanied by an LAPD officer had its perks, as one of the ER doctors saw me immediately. I answered some basic questions to rule out a concussion and received a bandage on the cut near my eyebrow that had required only three stitches. A nurse applied some ointment to the cuts on my wrists and wrapped them with gauze secured by tape. I received an ice pack, ibuprofen, antibacterial ointment, and in half an hour was transported by my police escort to meet with the OIS investigation team.
After our interviews, I debriefed Ashby on my investigation. It was easy enough to have Morrison taken into custody. I was willing to stay as long and do whatever was necessary to make that happen quickly, but Ashby sent me on my way. With evidence they’d gathered from the gunman’s phone, home, and bank accounts connecting him to Morrison on the Perkins murder, Morrison’s arrest was imminent. Once convicted, he would be put away for a long time. With him behind bars, I wouldn’t need to worry about anything happening to Sarah.
Once Sarah assembled what she thought I needed from my apartment, she waited for me at the station for hours and finally drove me to the hotel after the OIS investigators released me. During the drive over, she said she’d called Ashby right after I left her house and told him I was in danger. Sarah had immediately hatched a plan to try to save me. She wanted to make herself a target by pretending she knew something she didn’t. Based on my attempt to get a photograph of Morrison and her overhearing my conversation with the realtor asking her to identify someone, she put two and two together and assumed Morrison
was up to no good.
She’d been tipped off by a comment her father had made to Morrison shortly before his death: that Luke (via the Foundation) would be taking on Ashby’s niece as a favor to his old friend—an odd statement since Sarah knew Ashby didn’t have any nieces. So Sarah had insisted that I, the “niece,” be hired just as her father had wished before he died. Though she’d considered asking, she knew Ashby well enough not to press him for information since he wouldn’t have acknowledged the existence of an active investigation. And I hadn’t divulged any information either. Not until today had she known why her father brought me on board, but she trusted him implicitly. She pieced together what she thought I must have been assigned to do.
She hadn’t said it, but her comment about unconditionally trusting her father underscored that she couldn’t say the same for me. Soon enough I’d revisit and obsess over it, but at the moment, I was grateful she’d fought her doubts and distrust of me, instead following her father’s lead and believing I hadn’t come to the Foundation to do it harm.
Because Ashby had been instrumental in getting me installed at the Foundation, they were able to save time when Sarah called him, since he knew exactly who I was and why I was involved. His invocation of Section ninety-two had already alerted him to the possibility of something going amiss. He didn’t want to rely on a civilian for any police work, but acquiesced when Sarah suggested she go to my apartment so she could be the voice at the other end of the intercom. They both knew the plan had a chance to succeed only if the man believed Sarah had arrived.
Their plan was risky, since the man could have shot me as soon as he pulled into the parking lot or right after I let him into my apartment. But they believed the man wanted me to return to my apartment for a specific reason, and they planned accordingly. They didn’t have time to come up with an alternative, so Ashby moved swiftly. In under fifteen minutes from Sarah’s frantic call, nearby units had been positioned in the parking lot and in the buildings facing mine to ensure any other perpetrators were accounted for. My chances of survival would have decreased precipitously if the man hadn’t been working alone.
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