Redemption (Fateful Justice Book 2)

by Sara Vinduska

  Adam Bishop had watched that sorry excuse for an actor, Mark, say his final goodbyes after his last scene. He thought about the actor’s pathetic attempts to flirt at craft services. Adam would make sure he had a fitting final act.

  The fate of the movie continued to weigh on Lash over the next few days. No new tragedies or setbacks had occurred, but everyone was still on edge. You could feel the tension in the air.

  And damned if he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to make things right.

  Twenty minutes later, he took a breath, then raised his fist and knocked on the hotel door.

  Guy Sorenson looked out the peephole, then turned to look at the man sitting on his couch. “Brogan,” he said, softly.

  The man on the couch shrugged.

  Guy opened the door.

  “Hey,” Lash said. “Sorry to show up unannounced.”

  Guy motioned him inside. The man on the couch stood and extended a hand. “Sheldon Knox.”

  Lash shook his hand. “Lash Brogan.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” Sheldon said. “You’re one of the actors, right?”

  Lash opened his mouth, then saw the gleam of laughter in Sheldon’s eyes and shook his head. “No, who the hell would want that job?”

  They both laughed as Guy watched, a slightly embarrassed look on his face.

  Sheldon gestured to the open bottle of wine on the coffee table. “Drink?”

  “Sure,” Lash answered.

  After Sheldon handed Lash a glass, he refilled his own glass, then topped off Guy’s.

  Lash took a drink. “I don’t think I’ve seen you on the set before,” he said to Sheldon.

  “Yeah, Guy likes to keep me hidden away.”

  Guy finally laughed, then sat down next to Sheldon. “Hardly,” he said, reaching for his glass. “He just got into town.”

  Sheldon shrugged. “Photo shoot in Paris.”

  Lash raised an eyebrow.

  “I do hair,” Sheldon added.

  Lash looked from one of them to the other. “How long have you two been together?”

  “Two years,” Sheldon answered. “I gave him highlights and he’s been following me around ever since.”

  Guy laughed and relaxed a bit. “It’s pretty much true.”

  Sheldon stood. “I’ll go get another bottle of wine, let you two talk for a minute.”

  Guy finished his wine. “What can I do for you, Lash?”

  “I know the movie’s in trouble, Guy.”

  Guy ran a hand down his face, draped an arm over the top of the couch. “Considering how far behind schedule we are and the rumors swirling around, could be worse. But not much.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Honestly? One more setback and it’s over. We’re over budget and so far off schedule, I can’t even comprehend what it’s going to take to get this movie finished.”

  And that bugged the shit out of Guy. He considered himself to be the captain of the ship and this ship was sinking fast. But he was determined for it not to go down. “We’re going to finish it,” he vowed.

  Lash nodded. “I want this movie to get made, Guy. The talent is here, the story is here, it’s the best project I’ve worked on in a long time.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Give me a bottom line figure. Whatever it takes. I’ll have it wired tomorrow.”

  “Too late,” Guy said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve already given up my salary and arranged to have any deficit transferred from my personal account directly to the studio.”

  Lash drained his glass. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Guy shrugged. “There’s nothing to say. I’m committed to this project. It’s a risk, but if it pays off, I’ll more than recoup my money. Even if I don’t, it’s still worth it.”

  Sheldon reappeared with the wine.

  Lash raised his newly filled glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

  22

  “Well, this is it,” Lash said, standing on the edge of the narrow windy blacktop mountain road that had seen better days, and looking down at the river rushing below them.

  Calhoun looked over the scene where the car crash would occur. “You really shouldn’t be doing your own stunts, especially now.”

  “I’ve always done my own stunts and I’m sure as hell not going to stop now. Besides, we need the close up shots.” He smiled and shook his head. “Jesus, you’re starting to sound like Andy.”

  Ward shot him a quick glare. “Andy’s a smart man.”

  Lash stopped. “Wow, that must have been hard for you to say.”

  Ward ignored the comment and continued to look around, studying the area.

  “Look, I’m doing the scene. But I do have a stunt driver for the high speed chases.”

  “Well, thank God. That makes my job a hell of a lot easier,” Calhoun said sarcastically, looking down at the water and the surrounding woods.

  “Don’t worry, I can swim,” Lash said, clapping Calhoun on the back and starting back up the road.

  Adam Bishop pulled off the disguise he’d been wearing all day and scratched his head. Damn wig was itchy as hell.

  Brogan’s damned bodyguard was getting too close to finding out about the stuntman. So far, Millosky had managed to dodge him, but that wouldn’t last forever. And he had to face the fact that the stuntman wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Vulnerable to blackmail, yes, but a Rhodes scholar, not even fucking close.

  There had to be a way to get the bodyguard out of the way. He wouldn’t be an easy man to kill. But there were other, more creative ways to get him out of the picture.

  He rubbed his hands together and got out his notebook. If he timed it just right, he’d eliminate Brogan and his bodyguard in one day. Oh yes, it was time to have some motherfucking fun.

  Calhoun had a bad feeling about the river scene. He couldn’t be there because of a mandatory conference call with SAC Schenkelberger on the progress of the case. The best he could do was have his agents check out the scene and be stationed there during filming.

  So he set up camp in his temporary office in one of the trailers, took a breath and dialed the phone.

  Schenkelberger answered in his typical grunting fashion and got right down to business. “Tell me about Brogan. Is he a suspect?”

  Calhoun sighed. “No. No fucking way.”

  “Maybe he was in on it, did it to get starring role.”

  Calhoun bit back a curse. “No, things have happened since he’s been here.” He paused. “I know him.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem.”

  “What are you saying?” Ward asked, fighting to keep his temper in check.

  “That maybe your past involvement with Lash Brogan is clouding your judgment.”

  “Look, Marty, I’m doing my job and I’m not going to waste time going after someone who’s not involved.”

  “Given his history . . .”

  “His history? You mean people trying to kill him?”

  “How many actors you know continually have shit like this happen to them? Has to be a reason,” Schenkelberger suggested

  “No, there has to be something else. Someone who didn’t get a part maybe.”

  “That’s a pretty thin connection.”

  “People have been killed for less,” Ward said.

  “I think this started way before filming even started.”

  “Probably,” Ward conceded. “I don’t like what’s going on here. There is some serious evil shit going on. But I will find out what it is and put an end to it.”

  “I trust you,” Schenkelberger said. “But don’t screw this up.”

  John Hoyt had never ignored his gut instincts. They’d kept him alive on more than one occasion. He was on his way to Stan Millosky’s house for a little one on one chat. Hoyt’s gut said it was time to hit the guy hard. Ward hadn’t gotten anything out of him, but Hoyt had no doubts he could get the guy to open up. He could be very persuasive
when he needed to be. And Millosky wouldn’t be expecting it on his home turf.

  He had just taken the North exit out of town when he heard the sirens behind him. Damn, and he’d really wanted to catch Millosky at home, nice and early. Find out what the hell his angle was. Something definitely felt off about the guy.

  He glanced down at the speedometer, mumbled a curse, and pulled over. He watched in the rearview mirror as the slightly overweight, balding, officer made his way over. Hoyt obediently handed his license and registration over before he was asked.

  “Where you headed?” The officer’s nametag read Rorbach.

  “Lost Springs.”

  “You’re not a local. You one of them actors?”

  “No.”

  Officer Rorbach peered over his sunglasses at him. “So, what are you?”

  “Security.”

  “For who?”

  Hoyt sighed. “Lash Brogan.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “What’s that like?” Officer Rorbach asked.

  “It pays the bills.”

  Rorbach smiled, rocked back on his heels. “Yes, I imagine it does. I’ll be right back,” he said slowly, holding up Hoyt’s license and registration.

  Hoyt sat with his hands on the steering wheel while Rorbach ran his license. The officer got out of the car a few minutes later, this time with his partner, a rather formidable looking dark-skinned man with close-cropped hair.

  “Pop the trunk, Mr. Hoyt,” Officer Rorbach stated calmly while his partner stood close by, hand resting just above his gun.

  What the hell? Hoyt thought, but did as he was asked. He couldn’t see what they were doing back there, but as soon as they came around the side of the car Hoyt immediately sensed the change in their demeanor.

  “Step out of the car. Now.” The officer’s voice had a hard edge to it, but there was something else. A hint of fear.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked. He stopped talking when he heard shouted curses from the other officer.

  “The problem is, you’re under arrest,” Rorbach said, breathing hard and pushing Hoyt roughly against the car as he cuffed him. Then he saw what the officers had found in the trunk, and as much as he wanted to knock both men on their asses, he forced himself to remain calm as the other officer yelled frantically into his radio.

  23

  Lash accelerated the sleek red Jaguar XKR Coupe around the corner, appreciating the car's handling. Maybe he'd have to get himself one. 0-60 in 5.2 seconds, damn, it was a shame he was going to have to bang it up a bit.

  The stunt driver came up alongside him as planned and crashed into him. The trailing truck with the cameras was close behind. The other car sped off and Lash drove the Jag into a controlled spin in front of the bridge just like they’d practiced half a dozen times. Only this time, the Jag’s brakes didn’t engage.

  Lash tried again. Nothing. The car continued to spin, wildly out of control now. Shit. He continued turning the steering wheel in the direction of the skid, catching glimpses of the road and the guard rail flashing by, closer and closer.

  The Jag hit the guard rail head on with a bone jarring crash that slammed Lash’s head against the steering wheel despite the safety harness he was wearing. He was vaguely aware of the sound of groaning, creaking metal, then the car was airborne, falling.

  The impact of the car hitting the water from thirty feet above knocked Lash momentarily unconscious. He came to seconds later as icy cold water started coming in through the half-open window.

  Lash appreciated the irony of the situation. Looks like I’ll get to go for a swim after all, he thought as he reached down to unfasten his safety harness. All humor quickly evaporated when the harness refused to unlatch. He took a deep breath and tried again.

  It wouldn’t budge. Lash now realized the gravity of the situation. He was trapped and water was gushing inside the car now as it started to sink. He tried to roll up the window, but it wouldn't move either.

  The set erupted in chaos as the car plunged into the water.

  “Stop the shoot!” one of the safety guys yelled.

  “Call 911,” someone else shouted.

  Agent Thaler radioed for Calhoun as he and Agent Maroney raced down the river bank with Rafe.

  Calhoun rubbed a hand across his forehead. He respected the hell out of his boss, but damn, the man gave him a headache.

  His radio crackled. “Agent Calhoun,” he answered.

  “Calhoun, it’s Thaler. You better get over to the river now. We got trouble.”

  “I fucking knew it,” he mumbled. “On my way,” he said into the radio.

  The car was now completely underwater. Lash was aware of other people in the water, outside the car. He’d stopped struggling against the belts, knowing he had to save his breath until they got him out. He had the absurd thought that if he died, his death would be preserved on film for all time.

  Rafe emerged from the water first, gasped in a breath. “The damn harness won’t release. We’re going to have to cut him out.” He pulled out his ankle knife, took a deep breath and dove back in. Agent Maroney followed Rafe under, while Thaler continued to work the radio.

  Lash closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his jaw clamped shut. They would get him out, he just had to hold on a little bit longer. He could feel himself start to lose consciousness. His mouth opened involuntarily and he took a huge breath of water. He felt his lungs painfully try to expel it. I thought drowning was supposed to be peaceful, was his last conscious thought.

  Oh my God, Agent Thaler thought as he tried to calculate how long Brogan had already been underwater. It had to be nearing the five-minute mark. There were now two stuntmen working with Rafe and Maroney to get Lash out of the car.

  Calhoun arrived minutes after getting the call, slammed on his brakes, and switched off his siren just as Agent Maroney and Rafe pulled Brogan’s unconscious body out of the water.

  He stood back from the crowd, not watching them work on Lash, but scanning beyond, looking for something, someone out of place. His gut insisted that the person behind all this would need to stay and watch his handiwork. Then he saw it, a face hidden in the trees, watching, and he took off.

  Calhoun raced through the trees and water, ignoring the branches cutting his face, stumbling and twisting his ankle before he saw his prey ahead, a slight figure in dark clothes. He gathered the last of his reserves and launched himself through the air. His fingers brushed the guy’s ankles, but the son of a bitch kept running as Calhoun pulled out his gun. He couldn’t get a clear shot through the trees and lay panting on the ground for a moment before getting slowly, painfully to his feet.

  Guy stood watching the scene in front of him unfold, a look of abject horror on his face. He wasn’t concerned about the movie anymore. He cared a great deal for Lash and the thought of him dying was incomprehensible. “Where the hell is the ambulance?” he shouted.

  Agent Maroney and Rafe emerged from the water, carrying Lash’s limp body. They laid him down alongside the river. Agent Maroney placed his hands on Lash’s neck, felt a weak pulse, but there was no breath movement, and very likely hypothermia setting in despite the warm outside temperature. He started CPR, hoping like hell the ambulance was close.

  “Breathe, dammit,” he muttered as precious minutes ticked by.

  The sound of sirens in the distance quickly became louder.

  Finally, Lash started coughing and his eyes fluttered open as they rolled him onto his side. He got to his knees coughing and gasping for breath, then started shivering uncontrollably.

  Calhoun appeared downstream and limped towards them. He saw Lash sitting in the back of the ambulance, a blanket draped around his shaking shoulders. A paramedic was giving him oxygen.

  Agent Maroney was standing alongside, dripping water. Agent Thaler was interviewing the witnesses.

  Calhoun walked towards the ambulance.

  “Good to see you’re still alive, Brogan.”
>
  “Just barely.” Lash gave a weak smile. “Maybe you can convince the medic here that I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

  The medic looked up. “We need to make sure his blood oxygen level is back to normal. There appears to be no permanent damage, lungs are clear. He’s a little banged up from when they got him out of the car, but nothing more than a few cuts and bruises. If everything looks good, he’ll be released in a few hours.”

  “Lash, go. Let’s not take any chances here,” Ward said.

  Lash reluctantly agreed. “It’s a damn shame about that car, though,” he said, looking back towards the water.

  Adam Bishop paused at the edge of the woods. Damn, he hadn’t expected the older fed to be that fast. It had been way too damned close. And stupid of him to hang around the scene. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. The car rigging had been brilliant and he’d been looking forward to watching Lash die.

  Damn the efficient feds and bodyguards. They’d managed to get the actor out, and from what he’d seen, save his life.

  He stripped off his jacket, put the wig back on. Mingled in with the crowd, pretended to listen to what one of the other craft services people was saying.

  He felt eyes on him, glanced up. He’d gotten rid of one of the bodyguards, but the small darker one was staring at him. When he glanced up again, the bodyguard was threading his way towards him. Adam ducked and weaved through the mass of bodies. One more threat to eliminate. But one he wasn’t ready to deal with. Yet.

  Ward’s cell phone chirped. What now? “Calhoun,” he barked into the phone.

  “It’s Hoyt.”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “The Lost Springs police station.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone planted a body in the trunk of my car.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Ward covered the phone with his hand and hurriedly shouted orders at his agents standing by.

  “What’s going on there?” Hoyt asked, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer, especially given what he was dealing with at the moment.