But Trevor did not see Skye and Bella. Just as well. There was a lot he shared with her these days. A lot more he wanted to share with her. But now that they were involved—hey, maybe he was being overprotective, but he really hated the idea of Skye threatened by the perils of a crime scene with an unpredictable SOB like Marinaro.
“Hey, Owens, you want to go in with the first group?” Shavinsky returned to the cover of the van. He was definitely team leader now, though Trevor had not won the office pool about when he’d be permanently appointed. Carl had already suited up and would be among the first to enter. Trevor knew it involved a lot of trust for Carl to ask him to go in with him.
Either that or Carl knew Trevor would do anything to get rid of Marinaro once and for all—by legitimate means, or not.
SWAT, and the entire department, was convinced that this was another of Marinaro’s crimes. The victim—a working girl who was into drugs—had been sexually assaulted and murdered.
“Count me in,” Trevor said grimly. He was ready. His AK-47 was cradled in his arms, and he was prepared to shoot or, if the situation warranted it, to set his eyes on Marinaro and will him to die. Painfully, if possible.
He looked around. A couple of K-9 cops—Tritt and Vesco—stood behind their vehicles. Presumably, their dogs were beside them, on the ground. Still no Skye, though.
Trevor had promised Skye not to use his new, presumed ability without first considering the consequences. But if he had an opportunity to dispose of Marinaro without anyone else getting hurt—well, that had been his intent since long before he could have gained any special abilities from her.
Carl had his radio up to his ear. He looked pissed, and his tone wasn’t too calm, either. Apparently the chief had given him orders to delay entering.
Did the powers that be think Marinaro was suddenly going to get scared by the police and give himself up? That would be as likely as his suddenly sprouting a halo and wings.
They stood there with their proverbial thumbs up their behinds for what felt like eternity, but was probably only ten minutes.
While they were waiting, Trevor saw Skye arrive with Bella. She maneuvered around the van where the damned reporter still seemed to be conducting his blow-by-blow commentary. She looked around anxiously until she met his gaze. She still looked worried, but he smiled as reassuringly as he could at her from half a block away.
Gunshots! From somewhere inside! And screams. Female. The victim was still alive? Why were they still out here?
“Let’s do it!” Carl Shavinsky shouted, either overriding his orders because of the change in the situation—or getting new and improved orders.
No need to bust the door open. The warehouse was unlocked.
“Angeles Beach P.D.,” Carl yelled. “Everyone inside—drop any weapons and come forward with your hands on your head. Now!”
This place was similar to the last warehouse, but the crates on pallets were neat and there was no smell of anything resembling oil or car parts. The labels on the boxes were from large food manufacturers.
But that didn’t matter. The massive stacks still provided too many hiding places.
The SWAT team entered. Like Trevor, each sighted along his weapon, aimed, then let up, only to rush forward, pivot and do it again.
No signs of life.
“Hey, miss, are you in here? Marinaro? Who’s here?” The place resounded with the team members’ shouts.
And then—“Over here! Quick!”
Trevor hurried in the direction of the shout—and gasped in surprise. “Marinaro!”
The suspect was lying on the floor. A semiautomatic was near his outstretched hand.
And there was a bloody hole in his head.
Had Marinaro taken his own life rather than facing the law?
Disappointment flooded through Trevor, even as he realized how foolish that was. Since they’d heard the woman scream, there was hope that she remained alive.
With Marinaro gone, no one else needed to face death that day—including him.
“What the hell happened here?” Carl demanded.
As soon as he got the words out, they heard the woman scream again.
Skye stood absolutely still when the sound of the woman’s scream again sliced through the air outside the sprawling warehouse. What was going on inside? Could she help the woman?
Did she need to help Trevor?
She wanted to grab Bella’s leash and dash in, but instead she waited. For now.
Because of her ability to save lives, she always kept her department radio on low, even when she was off-duty. She had heard the call-out about forty-five minutes ago and followed it up by turning on the TV news, then threw on her uniform and raced here in her personal car with Bella in the back. Parking at the fringe of the crime scene, she’d grabbed the extra set of protective gear that she now kept in the car for emergencies and dashed to where her fellow officers had massed. She came prepared to help however she was needed.
Almost immediately, she’d heard a scream, gunshots…and distant, nearly inaudible chanting. Someone in that building had been near death. But the chanting had stopped right away. It was too late for Skye to help whoever it was.
It wasn’t Trevor, though, thank heavens. As soon as she’d arrived, before the scream, she saw him pacing outside the warehouse, like a dark, sleek panther on the prowl awaiting the chance to leap onto his prey.
Skye was unsure why the SWAT team hadn’t immediately accomplished a brute-force entry, but she had caught Trevor’s glance before he joined his group in finally storming the warehouse.
She hated waiting under any circumstances, but standing still here, now, was worse than usual. She wanted more than anything to be inside, too. To at least know what was going on. To determine who had died in there. Had Marinaro deviated from his prior scenario by taking more than one female captive to assault and kill? Or had someone else been in the warehouse whom he’d decided to eliminate?
Just then, one of the SWAT guys got on the radio. Skye yanked it from her heavy utility belt and heard the announcement that they had found Marinaro, and he was dead.
It might have been his end that had been the cause of the chanting Skye had heard. Skye was glad she hadn’t been there as he expired. She could guess where his spirit would end up, and she would not have chosen to help him peacefully to the other side.
So it was over. Or was it?
Another scream—from a female—made Skye wince. The same female who’d screamed before? Probably.
She looked around. Bella and she were surrounded by other law enforcement personnel, all shouting and swearing and clutching their weapons, preparing to barge in. The other K-9 officers here, Tritt and Vesco, were at the other end of the row of irregularly parked vehicles, and she didn’t want to go toward them. Not yet.
She looked at the edges of the crime scene, toward where yellow tape was strung to keep out onlookers, including media jackals like Dellos. Skye couldn’t complain about him too much at this moment, though, since his sensational commentary had helped to bring her up to date as she’d hurried here.
Usually, she spotted Ron when he was keeping the crowd at bay, but she didn’t see him now.
And then…shots resounded again from inside. Skye froze, listening for more. For chanting. For anything.
She had to know what was happening. Trevor was in there. What if he was hit again? She had no idea if she could do anything for him, even see him to the other side, if…No! She wouldn’t even think about that possibility.
But she had to do something. Now.
Taking only an instant to clear it with a distracted superior officer, she pulled gently on Bella’s leash, then led her to the side of the warehouse. Then, with her back to the wall and Bella at her side, she edged along until she found an entrance. The door was unlocked. Had this been the suspect’s entry point?
With one hand on her weapon, Skye led Bella inside. The place was illuminated, though dimly, by a row of security lig
hts along the edge of the high warehouse ceiling.
The best way to find anyone was to follow Bella’s nose. “Search, Bella,” Skye commanded softly, knowing she might just be confusing her partner since she hadn’t given her an object to smell first, a scent to lead her.
But Bella put her long, dark nose to the floor and walked forward, down an aisle formed by the crates.
Skye strained to hear anything in the warehouse that would give her a clue about where she’d find another person—preferably the woman who had screamed. If she ran into the SWAT guys, who wouldn’t want her here, she’d need to make up a story about how Bella’s urgent tugging on her lead outside led Skye to believe that Bella had heard something from inside—the cries of the victim, perhaps. That led Skye to believe she could find the victim more quickly than they could, which might, in fact, be the case.
So what scent was Bella following? Maybe none, for now her head was raised as her pace quickened, and Skye hurried to keep up. Bella’s pointed ears twisted alertly as she loped forward. She must be hearing something beyond Skye’s range of hearing that got her excited.
And then Skye heard it, too—a woman’s voice. Where were the SWAT guys? She grabbed her radio, preparing to call them, but heard the woman whimper, “Please don’t hurt me anymore. Just let me go. I won’t say anything.” The sound came from her right, and she held Bella back as she peered around a corner. The rows of pallets stopped at a doorway that appeared to go into an office.
The woman was in there.
“Shut up, bitch, and let me think,” responded a raspy voice. Marinaro’s?
But someone on the radio had said he was dead. Was that a ploy to throw them off? Maybe Marinaro himself had stolen a radio and made that announcement.
Something about that voice sounded familiar….
A thump. The woman cried out, softer this time.
“Shut up!” the man shouted again.
Skye grabbed her radio, pushed the button and quietly called for backup, unsure if her explanation of her location would allow anyone to find her quickly.
Then she wrapped Bella’s leash around the wooden slats of a pallet. “Stay,” she whispered. She wasn’t certain what she would find in that room, but she didn’t want her partner to get hurt.
She drew her Glock, held it in both hands, positioning it for firing if necessary. She maneuvered carefully so she couldn’t be seen through the open doorway and kept her back against the outer wall to the office. She waited, listening. She heard the woman crying, but nothing else.
What was going on in that room? If she waited for her backup to arrive, the victim might be harmed even more, maybe killed. Skye inhaled deeply, readied herself, then pivoted into the open doorway, her weapon aimed. “Angeles Beach Police,” she shouted, hoping that some of the SWAT guys were near enough to hurry to her assistance. “Freeze.”
And found herself facing Ron Gollar. Although he wasn’t in uniform, he wore a protective vest. He had on latex gloves, and his police-issue weapon, almost the same as her own, was at the ready to fire.
“Ron? Did you already apprehend the suspect?” But she was nearly certain she knew the ominous answer. He was the suspect.
“Drop it, Skye,” he growled. His tone was throaty, menacing, not at all the sound of her longtime friend.
“What’s going on, Ron?” she asked without lowering her weapon. “I don’t understand.”
“He kidnapped me,” shrieked a voice from behind him. “He’s going to kill me like he did my friends. He told me so. He already killed that other man.”
“That dumb-ass Marinaro showed up.” Ron’s hands trembled in obvious distress. His face, usually so boyish and sweet, looked drawn. Angry. “Someone saw us come in here and told the damned reporters, who said something on the news.” The reporters Skye had heard on her way to the scene had in fact mentioned an unidentified witness who had claimed to have seen suspicious activity around this site—like a woman under duress. “He came here to stop the copycat stuff he was being blamed for. He wanted to kill me—but I got him first.”
“I still don’t understand.” Skye wished she could see more of their surroundings. From what was visible in the periphery of her vision, this was, in fact, an office—a small one, with file cabinets and a metal desk and not much else. Not much room for her to maneuver. Best she could do would be to distract Ron, try to disarm him. But he was intelligent and had always seemed rational and down-to-earth despite envying the powers shared by Skye and her girlfriends. What had happened to him—and when? Why hadn’t she realized it before?
“Sure you understand,” he shouted. “You and the others have always had the power of life and death, but not me. You even gave power to your lover, Owens. He’s an okay guy, you know? He metes out what he calls justice in his own way—acting in supposed self-defense to kill murderers who’ve gotten off. Making sure they stop hurting other people. I wanted to make a difference that way, too. Only, I didn’t go after innocent young women. I went after hookers who push drugs for their pimps, people who harmed others in the first place—like this bitch.” He gestured behind him, and Skye dared to look at the woman on the floor. She was barely dressed, and her limbs appeared to be bound. “Assaulting them sexually—hell, that was fun. In my mind, I thanked Marinaro for making that part of the deal. But I didn’t intend to get caught. Ever. Not by Marinaro, and definitely not by you, Skye. Oh, Lord, what am I going to do now?” His voice fell into a wailing whisper.
Skye wished she could hug him. Soothe her longtime friend. She knew he particularly hated drug dealers, thanks to the loss of his friend in high school. But this? He must have felt more than jealousy against Skye and her female friends to take such joy in assaulting and killing women.
Well, first things first. She had to figure out how to help them both out of this potentially no-win situation, then get him the help he needed.
Skye heard stirring in the hallway behind her. Her backup must have finally arrived. But that meant Ron could be in danger. She had to save her friend, help him get past this awful time in whatever way she could.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Ron continued sadly. “There’s no way out for me now. Shoot me, Skye. Then do your magic and help me die peacefully and end up in Valhalla or wherever—the good place. Don’t bring me back. I can’t live, you know. I can’t go to prison.”
She couldn’t shoot Ron. If he died here, could she help him over the bridge to a peaceful forever, or would he immediately go to hell?
She hated the sad yet manic look in his pale blue eyes. It hurt her to look at them.
“What the hell’s he talking about?” the woman on the floor demanded. Since she wasn’t in danger, at least not for now, Skye ignored her.
“We’ll see how we can work this out, Ron,” she said gently. “I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
“Then kill me!” His shout reverberated in her mind.
“No,” she said sadly. “You know I can’t.”
She heard a noise from behind her, and Bella dashed in. Her leash was still attached to her collar. Had someone in the hall loosened her to create a diversion, or had she broken free?
No matter. The beautiful black canine was trained to protect Skye as well as scent out suspects. But as she leaped in Ron’s direction, she seemed to hesitate in confusion.
“Bite!” Skye ordered, hoping she could grab the gun in Ron’s hand without causing him to shoot. But even before Bella got to him, he shot at her. The sound was deafening.
With a yelp, Bella stopped midleap and fell to the concrete floor, whimpering. Bleeding.
“No! How could you do that?” Skye shouted, then tried to calm herself as she rushed to her dog’s side. The shot had missed Bella’s protective vest, hitting her at the top of one leg, fortunately only grazing her. Skye looked up and saw that the bullet was embedded in the office wall.
“Kill me,” Ron said again, more calmly. “Or I’ll shoot her again, and you, too.”
“You know I won’t do that,” Skye told him as she hugged Bella.
“Then get ready.” But Ron wasn’t looking at her, despite aiming his weapon in her direction. Instead, he looked beyond her. Toward the doorway. “I’ll kill her,” he said again, matter-of-factly.
Skye knew whom she would see if she turned around.
Sure enough, there was Trevor in the foreground, other SWAT officers behind him. His AK-47 was aimed at Ron.
“Don’t hurt him!” she commanded Trevor.
But before she could finish, she heard the thunderous report from Ron’s Glock…and pain shot through her upper body.
“Please. Don’t—” she tried to say, looking with horror toward Trevor as she fought to stay conscious.
Chapter 19
“S kye!” Trevor yelled as he kept his weapon pointed at the bastard who’d shot her.
He wanted to throw himself onto the floor, shield her from further harm. The shot seemed to have hit her square in her protective vest. She’d hurt like hell, but she’d be okay…wouldn’t she?
“I’m okay. Don’t hurt him.” She was breathing heavily, but since she moved a little and cradled her whimpering dog, he figured she would survive. “You promised.”
But he wanted to do something slow, painful—and fatal—to Gollar for what he had done to her.
Still, he had promised her…something. Not to become an ineffectual wuss, though. Only to be judicious in his use of the power she had supposedly imparted to him.
Besides, he had an audience—his team members were champing at the bit to get involved. But they wouldn’t move until he gave them orders.
“Drop your weapon now,” Trevor commanded in a tone that meant business. He kept his AK-47 aimed squarely at the man who had been his fellow cop. The man who’d started to become a friend and was now the worst of enemies.
He had to act fast and get Skye help despite her protestation.
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