Chills & Thrills: Three Novel Box Set

by A. K. Alexander

  As much as Ryan hated being away from the kids, wondering what he might come home to, the timing of the party could not have been better. Ever since he’d sent that e-mail, he’d been driving himself insane. The visit from Peter Redding hadn’t helped at all. Ryan had to find a way out. Any way out.

  Then yesterday, Jeanine reminded him of the dinner party at the Muellers’ home, and immediately he began to plan. For him to get out, for him to get his family out, would take some organization and risk. But he had no choice. He could not continue with The Brotherhood, with Frauen Pharmaceuticals, and with Peter Redding. He knew if he didn’t get them out, it would only be a matter of time until he and his family wound up like the Petersens. He winced at the thought.

  Ryan took another glass of champagne from the caterer and kissed Jeanine on the cheek. She flashed her pretty smile at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “I love you,” he said.

  She cocked her head to the side and brushed her blonde hair behind her shoulders. “I love you, too, sweetheart. Might want to slow down on the champagne, though. You’re not exactly great at holding your liquor.”

  He waved a hand at her. “I’m fine. I think after working as hard as I do, I deserve a little drink.” He waved the glass in the air, slurred a bit, and spoke more loudly than normal. Ryan was known for being a bit on the quiet side.

  “Ryan,” she said, giggling nervously.

  “In fact, sweetie, I am going to get another drink.”

  “I, uh, I…”

  Jeanine’s friend Bärbel approached them. “Everything okay?”

  “Just fine,” Ryan answered. He headed to the bar and then to the bathroom where he poured the drink down the drain and sat on the edge of the bathtub. He was tired of this game. And he hoped what he was about to do would work. He hoped Jeanine would believe him and do everything he needed her to do to get them out of this. He took out a card he’d bought at a gift shop earlier that day, and wrote a detailed note inside. He had to be quick, but it was the only safe place he knew he could do this. He was sure they had some kind of surveillance in his car.

  Redding may have had cameras installed in his home, but he couldn’t have put them everywhere Ryan and his wife went. Certainly there weren’t any inside the Mueller’s home.

  Someone tapped on the bathroom door.

  “Just a second,” Ryan said.

  He came out of the bathroom and smiled at the woman who walked past him, as he apologized for taking so long. Then he walked over to the bar and got himself another drink. Ryan found Jeanine talking with a small group of friends, laughing and gossiping. He staggered a bit. “Honey, I think maybe we should go,” Jeanine said, as Ryan stumbled into her.

  “No, no. I want to take a walk. Let’s go outside and get some air. I love their back yard,” he said, trying to keep just enough drunkenness in his voice.

  “Honey, really, you’re tired. We should go.”

  “No, Jeanine. Please. Take a walk with me.”

  Jeanine glanced at her friends.

  “Take him out for some air, darling. We’ll be right here. I can have the caterer brew some coffee. That will help,” Bärbel said.

  “Um, okay,” Jeanine replied.

  Ryan hooked his arm through hers and said, “That’s my girl.”

  They threaded through a group in the family room and out to the back garden where a few people mingled in the crisp night. “Ryan, you are drunk. We need to go,” Jeanine said once they were out of ear-shot.

  He took her by both arms, faced her, and looked straight into her eyes. “I am not drunk,” he said, his tone low. “I am stone-cold sober.”

  She hesitated. “What? Then what the…”

  “Come sit down on the lounge chairs with me. I have something for you that will explain everything. You’re going to think I’m crazy…”

  “No kidding. I already do.”

  He looked at her again. “Have I ever lied to you?” Of course she did not know their lives were now one big lie, but he was only doing it to protect them.

  She shook her head and looked warily at him. “No.”

  “I’m not starting now. I am dead serious and we don’t have a lot of time. Trust me. Sit down and act like you’re pleased I gave you this card. Then do everything it says.”

  “Ryan?”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Fine.”

  They sat down on the edge of the chairs. Ryan put his coat over her shoulders. He handed her the card and watched her expression. She glanced at him a few times, a look of disbelief and dismay on her face. “This can’t be true.”

  “It is.” He wasn’t sure she believed him. Not until she slapped him hard across the face, with angry tears in her eyes, in front of everyone at the party.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kelly hadn’t wanted to come into work. And she hadn’t wanted to leave Syd. But Jake’s murder had shaken her to the core and now she needed to find a way to get those blood samples to Tamara. She knew she could get blood from Baby S, but getting a hold of Lupe Salazar’s blood-work would not be easy. And what was she testing for, anyway? Damn. Kelly knew it was a long shot, but she had to try everything. If she sat back and did nothing, she worried Jake’s murderer would get away.

  Since she’d last been there, the hospital had flooded with reporters and police making it difficult to get through the front doors. She threaded her way between officers and frustrated patients. The police were vainly trying to manage the media. Fortunately, by five o’ clock the turmoil had quieted down. The reporters had filmed their footage, aired their stories, and left.

  What happened? Why had Jake been murdered? He was in trouble, she knew that. Why hadn’t she told the detective last night? Yeah, he was kind of a jerk, albeit an attractive jerk. He had been doing his job and she respected that. All the same, she couldn’t help resent his line of questioning. Had she been sleeping with Jake? Jesus!

  But when all was said and done, she knew she had to reveal the conversation between her and Jake to the detective along with her theories about foul play and what happened to the Salazar girl and her baby. Kelly couldn’t help but suspect something sinister was underfoot where Lupe Salazar and Baby S. were concerned. She couldn’t help wondering what similarities there were between Salazar’s death and the recent deaths of those other two moms. She needed to get a hold of those files. She also needed to get at least one vial of Lupe’s blood.

  She walked into the NICU and spotted Eric filling out a chart. He glanced up, a concerned expression on his face. “You okay?”

  “Just tired, I suppose.”

  “I am sure you are. We’re all a bit shaken, I think.”

  A monitor sounded from down the hall, and Kelly remembered why she’d come into the unit. She walked over to the Salazar baby. Her little eyes were closed, opalescent lids shut tight. Her tiny body heaved with each machine-assisted breath. “Hi, sweet one.” Kelly put gloved hands through the incubator’s hand holes, and skimmed Baby S’s back with her finger. The baby flinched slightly. She removed her arms and hands, not wanting to over-stimulate her. It didn’t make any sense, but something told her tiny Baby S. held the key to Jake’s murder.

  She also knew the child’s life depended on those answers. She took out a tube from her lab coat and performed a quick blood draw, gently inserting the needle into the infant’s heel. She’d done this so many times during her intern days, babies rarely even felt it. This one was no exception. She glanced around, knowing it was a bit risky. The docs rarely drew blood and she didn’t want to be questioned. No one seemed to take note as she slipped two vials of blood into her coat pocket. “Please help me find the answers, little one,” she whispered. “I think I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was one of the most heinous and grisly murders in San Diego history. Known for its pristine beaches and moderate climate, the city was totally unprepared for a crime of this magnitude.

  San Diego was only
two hours south of Los Angeles and the Petersen murders had been a huge story well beyond the city’s borders. Gem covered it for The Times. It was a seemingly senseless crime and people wanted answers. They needed someone to blame. The only thing the police could dig up was Petersen’s tenuous link to the Mexican drug cartel. No arrests were ever made, but they connected his wife, Selena, to the cartel via a cousin involved in drug running. He’d been found dead only a week after Eric and his family were murdered. Some figured it might have had something to do with Petersen’s job as a chemist for a San Diego bio-tech firm. It was believed Petersen had been developing a new kind of drug for the cartel, or possibly supplying them with Percocet, Vicodin, or some other pharma narcotic they could resell for top dollar on the street. The police assumed something had gone sour and pissed off cartel leaders, and the family had been brutally murdered as a warning to any other “risk takers.” But even now, it was hard to know the truth. When it came to the Mexican cartel, there were few informants, and many suspected drug money padded police pockets on the U.S. side of the border.

  The story had been awful and Gem was happy to put it behind her. But now…this e-mail. It got her thinking again. She reread it at home. Went back over all her files on the Petersen family.

  Gem got up from her desk and went to the fridge to pour herself a glass of Pinot Grigio. She took the glass of wine outside and sat on the patio. The sky had transformed into a myriad of different hues—purple, red, yellow. It was a gorgeous sunset. But its beauty didn’t take away the feeling she was missing something. Something big. She could not get the images of the Petersen family out of her mind. The photos sat on her desk. They showed a happy family. They were well-off and lived in the well-to-do Scripps Ranch suburb. How no one in their neighborhood saw or heard anything the night of the crime still baffled Gem, but she’d let it all go once the cops said the cartel was responsible.

  Gem stood and moved an overgrown hanging fern out of her way. There didn’t seem to be anyone home at her neighbor’s house tonight.

  Three years ago she’d noticed her very handsome, younger neighbor in the townhouse across from her place in Studio City. She wasn’t sure if he owned or rented. What she did know was how much she enjoyed watching him sun himself on the patio when the weather was warm. Yum. But no women ever seemed to visit. At least not any Gem had seen. No men either.

  She’d only actually exchanged words with him a few times. But although the guy was handsome, something in the way he spoke to her gave Gem the creeps. However, creepy or not, she could not see Mr. Clean-Cut, all-American involved with the Mexican cartel. Then again, stranger things had happened.

  Gem went back inside and poured herself another glass of wine, her nerves on edge. She sat down again and read over the story she’d written about the Petersens. She looked at the photos again. She tried to send Chemmadderhorn@gmail a reply, but it bounced back. Of course it did. Maybe this was all a hoax. But why?

  Gem went up to her bedroom and into her master bath, hoping a bath would relax her. She turned on the tub, poured in some lavender salts, and then walked toward her balcony to open the door and let in some fresh air. She couldn’t help looking over at Chad’s place. As the tub filled, her mind wandered. An idea grabbed her. It was crazy and might not result in anything, but she felt compelled to try.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Pazzini was late. He’d gotten caught up in more interviews with folks who’d known Dr. Hamilton. This guy seemed to have no enemies whatsoever except for his ex-wife. Interestingly enough, she was overseas in Monaco, of all places. He couldn’t help but wonder how she could afford that kind of vacation on alimony. Sure, doctors made a very good living, but not the kind that afforded the items the ex-Mrs. Hamilton seemed to have. At least not these days.

  The ex had to have moved on to something, or someone, bigger and better—someone with a substantial bank account. Simmons was still trying to reach her. Pazzini had a few pointed questions to ask. A woman with that kind of money could easily hire out a hit. But then why bother? She was divorced, clearly well off...what was the motive?

  Then there was the teenage daughter. She was staying with friends while her mother was cavorting in Monaco. Tony had yet to speak to her, but she could be an excellent source of information. He’d had one of the female officers break the news to her about her dad, and take a statement. However, Pazzini figured it would be vital that he also have a word with the kid. From what he heard, she was pretty distraught, and even more so because her mother was incommunicado. Another odd thing…if the ex-wife was out of town, why was the sixteen-year old daughter staying with friends and not her dad? That didn’t add up. Nothing was adding up for him with this case. Maybe the doc could provide more insight.

  Dr. Morales met Pazzini at a Starbucks around the corner from the hospital. She gave him a slight wave and a tentative smile when he came through the door. It appeared she’d forgiven his heavy hand from the evening before. Her face was drawn with exhaustion but she still looked lovely.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he sat down.

  “It’s fine. I got you a coffee. Black. Didn’t know if that was okay, but…”

  “Live off the stuff. Thank you. Black is perfect.”

  She smiled again, erasing some of the fatigue from her face. “I grabbed a sandwich…this is my dinner break,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind. If you want something, I can wait.”

  “No. I’m good. Hoping to get a home-cooked meal tonight.”

  “Your wife is a good cook, I take it?”

  He didn’t respond for a moment. “Actually, my mother. She takes care of my son while I’m at work. My wife passed away a few years ago. Cancer.”

  “Oh! I am so sorry. I didn’t mean…” She shook her head, looking chagrined. “I would love a home-cooked meal. I really should eat better. Doctors’ schedules and all.”

  “We all should….eat better, that is. And you don’t need to apologize, but thank you.” She had lost the anger, but seemed jumpy, anxious—something was off. He clasped his hands together. “You called, which is good because I wanted to ask you some more questions.”

  She took a sip from her coffee. “Ask away.”

  “Why don’t we tackle what you wanted to talk to me about first, Dr. Morales. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Sure. By the way, you don’t have to call me Dr. Morales, Detective. Kelly is fine.”

  He hesitated for a second. Yes, there was a definite edginess to her, which put him on alert. “Okay, then, Kelly. Please call me Tony.” If she wanted to try and make things comfortable, he’d follow her lead.

  “You may think I’m a lunatic—and I may be, I don’t know—but, here goes. I think that Jake’s murder ties into something more sinister and complex than a revenge plot, crime of passion, or whatever the police might think is going on.”

  “Really? I don’t know that anything of the sort has been concocted. What are you getting at?” How had she come up with an idea about revenge? She knew more than she was letting on.

  “I believe someone wanted Jake dead because he knew something that…that someone didn’t want him to talk about.”

  “What do you mean?” He set his cup down on the chrome table, and leaned back watching her every move—her eyes, her hands. All of her. He was looking for any tell-tale expressions or movements that would show she was lying.

  “Have you looked through his most recent case files?” she asked.

  “Of course we have. I can’t go into details, though. Why?”

  She crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. “I went to speak to Jake yesterday about a patient. A young mother, Lupe Salazar, came in for an emergency delivery. She was a runaway but was really concerned about her baby. She told me she had been doing all of the right things, as much as she could anyway, and was even being seen at the local clinic. She was living at the shelter on East Fifth. The whole thing was strange. The girl had a wild-eyed look to her, and it
crossed my mind she was using. Lupe flat out denied it, but she was frightened. These kids come in and think if they give us any kind of information about using, we’ll have them hauled off to juvie after they deliver. Anyway, I didn’t get much time to get any history from her, and neither did the attending O.B., because she seized, coded, and died in a matter of minutes. We had limited time to attempt to resuscitate because of the infant.” Kelly finished telling him the details of Baby S’s delivery. She told him about the inconclusive reports and possible connection to other recent deaths with pre-term mothers. “This isn’t normal. Three young women die in labor and delivery in one week, presenting the same symptoms…I don’t know what to think. It’s what Jake and I planned to discuss over dinner.”

  “I’m confused how all this relates to Dr. Hamilton’s murder, though. Granted it sounds strange but what’s the tie in?”

  She frowned and leaned towards him, lowering her voice just above a whisper. “Jake got nervous…I mean, not just nervous, but he seemed terrified when I asked him about Lupe and the other girls. I asked to see the autopsy reports. He told me to back off, told me I could get hurt. He wasn’t acting at all like his usual self. He was…he was really scared, and kept trying to get me to drop the whole thing. When I kept insisting, he agreed to meet me for dinner and tell me what was going on, or maybe what he thought was going on. I don’t know. I am wondering if my insistence on getting info out of him got him killed.”

  Tony wasn’t sure he believed her. It didn’t make much sense. Was she trying to feed him a line to make him think Dr. Hamilton was caught up in some rotten deal? She was sounding a bit too “conspiracy theorist” for his tastes. Street kids died every day from drug overdoses and other causes. Maybe she was a crazy and covering her own tracks? And why hadn’t she told him this last night? She’d had twenty-four hours to concoct a story, but why? “So you are saying the deaths of these women and their children are tied to Dr. Hamilton’s murder?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”