Mortal Crimes 1

by Various Authors

  Once they had rejoined the others, Logan asked his dad, “How much does Dev know?”

  Harp shrugged. “Maybe not all the details, but pretty much everything.”

  Good, Logan thought. It would save him some time.

  Vets who’d seen serious action usually went one of two ways: they’d either wall off what they’d gone through and try to forget, or they’d remember and gravitate toward people they’d served with or who’d had similar experiences. Logan had a feeling Dev and his buddies fell into the second group. “You have any local friends you can call on for help?”

  Dev cracked a smile. “A few.”

  “Can you get them in a hurry?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem. Why?”

  “Tooney’s granddaughter had two close friends,” Logan said. “One of them’s turned up dead. That’s not public knowledge. Two things I need your help on. First, I know I’d feel a hell of a lot better if the one who was still alive had someone keeping an eye on her. And second, I’m hoping that you or someone you know can anonymously inform the police about the one who’s dead.”

  “The people who did this, are they the same people who are after Tooney and his granddaughter?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Give me the info. I’ll take care of it.”

  Logan wrote everything down on a piece of paper, then gave Dev a quick description of Lara. “She can’t know you’re there.”

  “She won’t.”

  “Thanks, Dev.”

  He gave Logan a nod, then left.

  “Do you really think someone’s going to try to kill Lara, too?” Logan’s father asked.

  Logan shook his head. “If they considered her a threat I think they would have gotten rid of her by now, but better not to take a chance, don’t you think?”

  For a moment, no one said a word, then Tooney looked up. “Find my granddaughter, Logan. Please, just…find her.”

  Logan hesitated, worried that he wasn’t the right one to do this, that he’d make a mistake, that he’d fail once more.

  Worried that he wouldn’t get to her in time.

  But he could see in Tooney’s eyes that he was also the old man’s only hope.

  “Rise above, that’s what we do, soldier,” Carl had often said with a smile when faced with adversity. “Rise above.”

  Logan nodded, still holding Tooney’s gaze, then said, “I will.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SO FAR LOGAN seemed to have been doing a lot of catch-up. What he really needed to do was get ahead of the game. To accomplish that, he needed to find someone who could help him, whether they wanted to or not.

  As he saw it, he had three choices: Aaron the not-boyfriend, Ryan the neighbor, or Angie the roommate. Aaron and Ryan, because of their sudden absences, would take time to find, if Logan could locate them at all. Angie, on the other hand, was still around, or at least had been when he’d talked to her that morning. Hopefully, she wasn’t gone, too.

  Logan made a quick stop at the Home Depot in Playa Vista, then got to the girls’ apartment by 7:30 p.m. With the exception of the sun having gone down, nothing else had changed—Ryan’s apartment was still empty, and the curtains were still pulled across the windows of Elyse and Angie’s place. Logan rapped on the door, but, like before, heard nothing from inside.

  Working security in trouble spots around the world meant knowing a variety of skills. The more you learned, the more likely you’d stay alive. As a trainer, it was Logan’s job to teach his men some of these skills. Skills like how to pick a lock.

  Wearing the thin rubber gloves he’d purchased at the hardware store, and using the other items he’d bought to serve as a makeshift lock-pick set, Logan set to work on Elyse’s door, and had it open in less than thirty seconds.

  He quickly slipped inside, then stood still, listening. Though the apartment was quiet, he was relieved to see it wasn’t empty like Aaron’s and Ryan’s places. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean Angie was still around. The apartment had been Elyse’s and her other two roommates’ before Angie had moved in, so there would have been no reason to remove all the stuff.

  The place was basically a mirror image of Ryan’s apartment. In this case, the living room was to the right, and the dining room/kitchen to the left. Logan checked the kitchen first. There were several dishes in the sink, and a box of cereal sitting on the counter, but nothing that really told him if Angie had bolted or not. He headed into the back of the apartment.

  There were two bedrooms at opposite ends of a short T-bone hallway, with a bathroom smack between them. Each bedroom was loosely divided into two separate areas, with beds, dressers, and, in three cases, small desks.

  He found Elyse’s room first. He knew this because of the framed picture on the desk under the window. In it, Elyse, Lara and Anthony were mugging for the camera somewhere along the beach.

  There were several paintings on the wall next to her bed. The images were almost cartoonish. Illustrations, he guessed you’d call them. The common thread in each was a young girl who looked more than a little like the girl in the graduation picture Tooney had given him. In the paintings, she seemed to be playing the role of the observer, not quite part of whatever was going on, but always hovering nearby. The girl in the one that stood out most to Logan had wings far too large for her body, and was sitting in a barren tree watching some other kids go by. If the colors hadn’t been so vibrant, and if there hadn’t been a mischievous smile on her face, it would have been depressing, but it was far from that. When he looked at the bottom corner, he wasn’t surprised to find it was signed Elyse Myat.

  He moved to the other half of the room. There were a dozen photos pinned to the wall, but the girl who reoccurred in most of them was not Angie, so Logan assumed Elyse’s roommate had to be one of the other two girls.

  He walked over to the second bedroom, and quickly determined that the bed nearest the door belonged to the last of the long-term roommates.

  The other half of the room, Angie’s half, was considerably less lived in. She had no desk, and what pictures she’d taped to her wall were limited to ones taken right there in the apartment. It was as if she had no life before moving in.

  When Logan looked around the bed, he stopped and stared.

  Sitting on the floor were a suitcase and a backpack. He checked inside each. They were stuffed with clothes and a few personal items. He zipped them up, then looked through the dresser he figured belonged to Angie. It was empty.

  Clearing out, he thought, but not cleared out.

  He thought for a moment, then walked back to Elyse’s room, and found a clear spot on the floor next to the wall to sit.

  An hour and twenty minutes passed. Several times during that stretch he wondered if Angie might have left town without her bags. It was always a possibility. But then a key entered the lock, and the door swung open, and someone stepped inside.

  He sensed more than heard the person rushing through the apartment.

  A light flicked on in the hallway spilling into Elyse’s room. Quietly, Logan rose to his feet, ready to act if Angie or whoever it was decided to come his direction. Instead, the person entered the bathroom.

  Logan repositioned himself so that he could see into the hallway, but wouldn’t be noticed without effort. Soon the toilet flushed, then water ran in the sink. A few seconds after it shut off, the person stepped back into the hallway.

  It was Angie, and she was obviously in a hurry as she all but sprinted into her bedroom.

  Logan stepped lightly out of Elyse’s room, and into the dark living room to wait.

  It was only a few moments before he heard the suitcase bang against something. Once Angie reached the hallway, she stopped just long enough to flip off the light, then she entered the living room.

  Logan remained motionless as she lugged her bags toward the front door. As soon as she passed his position, he moved silently in behind her, then reached out and grabbed a loop on her backpack, and gave it
a tug.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked.

  She swallowed a scream as she whipped around, nearly losing her balance in the process. Logan held tight to the loop of her backpack, so when she turned, the bag had slipped from her shoulder and off her arm, until he was the only one holding it.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” she asked.

  “Just wondering where you were going,” he said.

  She took a hard look at him, then her eyes widened. “You’re that guy from last night. Logan Hooper.”

  “Close enough.” He glanced at her suitcase. “You seem to be in a hurry.”

  “I am.” She tried to grab her backpack from him, but he swung it out of her reach. “Give it to me. It’s mine.”

  “You and I need to have a talk.”

  “I need to get out of here. Give it back!”

  “Talk first.”

  “I don’t have time to talk with you.”

  “And why would that be?” he asked.

  She looked at the backpack, then said, “Keep it.” She picked up her suitcase and headed toward the door. But Logan got there first, and put a hand against it before she could pull it open.

  “Please, let me go!”

  “Once we talk, you can go anywhere you want.”

  “No! Please! If I stay here, I’m dead!”

  For half a second, he was struck silent. Not by her words, but by the utter fear behind them.

  “All right. Then we’ll go somewhere else,” he said.

  “Fine,” she said quickly. “Just, please, let’s go.”

  He moved his hand, and let her open the door. Once they reached the ground level, she turned toward the back of the small complex, presumably heading for the tenant parking area.

  “No,” he said, then motioned in the direction of the street where his El Camino was waiting. “This way.”

  “Hell, no! You’re crazy if you think I’m going to come back later to get my car. I’m taking it now.”

  They locked eyes for a moment. “All right,” he said. “But you’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you drive on your own. We’ll go together, then you’re going to have to drop me off close to here when we’re done so I can get my car.”

  “Whatever. No problem.”

  Logan knew she had no intention on dropping him off anywhere near this area. In fact, he was sure she planned on getting into her car, and leaving before he had a chance to join her.

  He let her lead them down a winding stone path to the back parking area. Most of the dozen or so spaces were full. Angie headed toward a blue Mini Cooper near the left end.

  “I’m going to have to pull out first,” she said. “The jerk in the slot next to me always parks too close.”

  As they got closer Logan could see that she was right, but he had no illusions she would actually stop to let him in. He was about to tell her they would both get in on the driver’s side when a man stepped from the shadows, a gun in his hand.

  “No one’s going anywhere,” the man said.

  Angie reflexively brought the suitcase in front of her like a shield, but unless the clothes inside were made of Kevlar, her luggage wasn’t going to do her much good.

  The man walked steadily toward her, moving his gaze back and forth steadily between Angie and Logan. It was Tooney in the refrigerator at Coffee Time all over again. Logan knew instantly this man was only here for one purpose, to deliver the death Angie had been trying to avoid.

  Logan had only one shot at this, and he knew it. He watched the man’s eyes, and the moment they flicked from him back to Angie, Logan drew his arm back a few inches, then swung it forward, letting Angie’s backpack fly from his hand on a low trajectory, straight at the man’s knees.

  Immediately, he followed.

  The motion of the bag caught the gunman’s attention. He turned, then twisted to the side to get out of the way. The bag missed him, but Logan didn’t.

  He slammed into the man’s shoulder and pushed him face first into Angie’s Mini. He wrenched the gun away, then landed two quick blows to the guy’s kidneys. The man rolled onto his back, and threw a punch that grazed Logan’s chin.

  Logan didn’t want to waste any more time, so he kneed him in the groin, and shoved him to the ground.

  The man writhed in pain, and wasn’t getting up any time soon.

  When teaching self-defense techniques, Carl had always said, “Hit ’em fast, and hit ’em hard. Don’t ever give them a chance.”

  Check. Check. And check.

  Logan turned, intending to grab Angie and get the hell out there. But while her suitcase was sitting in the middle of the pavement, she was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  LOGAN SCOOPED UP the man’s gun, then headed straight for the street knowing there was little chance Angie had returned to her apartment. When he reached the sidewalk, he spotted her two buildings down, running away. Instead of chasing her on foot, he ran over to his El Camino and jumped in. By the time he pulled level with her, her pace had begun to slow.

  As he rolled down his window, he yelled, “Get in!”

  She looked over, but didn’t stop.

  “How far do you think you’ll get like that? Just get in the car!”

  A squeal of tires echoed down the street from somewhere behind them. Logan looked back. A car had just sped out of Angie’s apartment complex driveway, and was now heading straight for them.

  “Angie, now!” he yelled.

  She didn’t need any further prompting. Logan slowed but didn’t stop as she raced around the back of the car, and opened the passenger door.

  “Come on! Come on!” he yelled, his gaze firmly affixed on the rapidly approaching car in his mirror.

  The moment her butt touched the seat, he hit the gas, but even as fast as they were accelerating, it wasn’t enough. Seconds after Angie closed the door, they lurched forward with a loud, metallic crunch as the other car rammed into them.

  Logan looked in the mirror again. One of the sedan’s headlights had been knocked out in the collision, but he doubted the man sitting behind the wheel cared. The guy looked like all he wanted to do was finish the job he’d started, and throw Logan in as a bonus.

  Logan glanced at Angie. “Hold on! We’re going to make a quick turn.”

  If she acknowledged him, he didn’t hear it.

  He kept their speed up until the very last second, then backed off the gas, and turned the wheel. As he’d hoped, the guy behind them hadn’t anticipated the move, and was forced to rapidly decelerate.

  They ended up with about a half-block gap between them, which was a hell of a lot better than the half dozen feet they’d had before. Logan’s initial strategy was to lose the other car in the maze of the less-populated, residential streets, but while the tactic had kept the sedan from gaining on them, they hadn’t shaken him.

  Ahead, Logan saw a busy, six-lane boulevard, and decided to try something different. His timing was perfect as he reached the intersection, and he was greeted with a space just large enough for the El Camino to make a right turn without stopping.

  The sedan following them wasn’t so lucky. It had to wait for several cars to pass before it could turn onto the road behind them.

  At the next intersection, the countdown clock on the crosswalk sign was almost at zero. Logan weaved into the fast lane, pressed the accelerator to the floor again, and shot through the intersection as the traffic light went yellow.

  He looked in the mirror, expecting to see that the sedan had been left behind. But instead of getting stuck at the light, the sedan pulled out into the oncoming lanes, and hit the intersection moments after the light turned red. Horns blared, and brakes screeched, but their pursuer didn’t stop.

  Logan swore under him breath, then scanned ahead. A half block up was a sign that read: 405 FREEWAY. Below the words were arrows, one for southbound traffic and one for north.

  Logan kept out of either lane until the last second, then shot across the traffic and onto t
he 405 northbound on-ramp. The road dropped quickly toward the freeway. They got all the way to the bottom of the ramp before the now-familiar single-headlight car entered at the top.

  The 405 freeway had always been one of the busiest in Los Angeles, and that evening was no exception. Though technically rush hour was over and everyone was going close to the speed limit, there were cars everywhere.

  Logan moved from the slow lane to the next lane and then the next, dropping into gaps in the traffic the moment he spotted them. Soon they were approaching the junction with the I-10 freeway. Logan knew if he could get over to the transition without the guy tailing them realizing it, they could head east, putting their pursuer behind them for good. He eased the El Camino to the right, stopping just short of the transition lanes, then looked in his mirror to see if he could spot the other car.

  “Watch out!” Angie screamed.

  Logan’s gaze quickly shifted from the mirror to the road. The cars ahead of them had suddenly slowed to a crawl. He hit the brakes, then whipped the El Camino into a hole that opened up in the lane to their right just a few seconds before they would have smacked into the car that had been in front of them.

  He glanced at Angie. “You all right?”

  The nod she gave him said, “Yes,” but the look on her face said, “Hell, no!”

  The transition lane they were now in was moving better than the others. Apparently, whatever was causing the traffic jam was not on the 10 freeway.

  Logan moved over to the far right lane so that they’d end up going east, then checked to see if they’d lost the other car.

  For a second he stared into his mirror in disbelief.

  Talk about persistent. The one-eyed car was driving on the shoulder between the right lane and the freeway sound wall, and would reach them before they got to the 10 freeway. Having no choice, Logan swung his car to the shoulder, too.

  “What are you doing?” Angie asked.

  He nodded toward the back window, and let her figure it out herself.

  The drivers in the cars they were passing didn’t look particularly happy that Logan had created his own lane. A couple of them honked, then one jerk pulled his car partially onto the shoulder in an attempt to block their way. His act of protest was ill-timed, though. The sound wall that had butted up against the edge of the shoulder ended a few seconds after he crossed over, and was replaced by a landscaped slope. Logan didn’t even slow down as he veered the El Camino onto the hill, and went around the blocking car.