Redemption (Fateful Justice Book 2)

by Sara Vinduska

  “Take care of yourself, Ward.”

  Ward hung up. Took another deep breath. What a fucked up day.

  He was frustrated. He was exhausted. He was pissed off. He was also worried, couldn’t shake the bad feelings. Some cases took a long time to break, you just had to keep plugging away until something broke loose. Those were the words he lived by. And yet, he wanted this one in the rearview mirror.

  But they were getting closer, that much was clear. Whoever was behind this was trying to take out those who were closest to knowing the truth. They had to have some pretty high up connections to be able to do what they did. Getting a story in the tabloids wasn’t that difficult, but planting a body in Hoyt’s car? That meant their subject had ties with the local police force, not to mention the connections with the movie people.

  Adam Bishop had newspapers and tabloids spread around him on the motel room bed. He couldn’t stop the laughter. Damn, he felt like a kid and fought back the urge to grab the papers and throw them up in the air around him while he howled with glee.

  All the chaos he’d caused. It was better than the rush of acting. Better than sex. Better than damn near anything.

  And it was only the beginning.

  Ward didn’t look much better the next time Lash saw him. It didn’t look like he’d gotten any sleep, the lines around his eyes and on his forehead seemed to have deepened. “You talked to Calhoun this morning?” he asked Hoyt, as he studied the agent from across the room.

  “Not yet. Why?”

  “Not sure. I think something’s up.”

  “Could be this,” Hoyt said, handing him the latest tabloid.

  “Shit. No wonder he looks like that. This is worse than half the shit they print about me.”

  Hoyt shrugged. “True. I’m going to call The Heat, feel them out. Try to sell a story.”

  “You going to tell Ward?”

  “Not yet.”

  Hoyt watched the scene wind down, his eyes scanning the crowd. Seeing nothing or no one out of place, he played the message on his phone, cursed once, then called Rafe over. “I need you to take over. I have to go meet Calhoun. Some damned emergency that can’t wait.”

  He paused outside the hotel room door and took a deep breath. He didn’t knock, just opened the door and stared down Calhoun.

  What’s up?” Hoyt asked, unable to hide his annoyance at being pulled away from the set. And from his job.

  Ward opened a folder on the hotel’s coffee table and pulled out several black and white photos. “Does this guy look familiar?”

  Hoyt studied the face in the photos, mid-thirties, beard, glasses, wiry build. “No.”

  “We’ve seen Millosky meeting with him on a regular basis. I wanted to know if you recognized him.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” Ward admitted, “just grasping at straws I guess.”

  Hoyt studied Calhoun. His irritation lessened. He may not like the agent, but few people he’d met had better instincts. And he wasn’t letting the bad publicity get to him. Or, he was at least good at hiding it.

  “Other than meeting with this guy, we haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary with Millosky. Let’s step up the pressure.”

  “On it,” Hoyt answered.

  30

  Stan Millosky hung up the phone. Damn, he’d be glad when this shit was over. He’d had a good career as a stuntman, made okay bucks, liked what he did. But the unexpected offer had been more than he could resist. If he could just hang on for a few more weeks without any more mistakes, he could really retire in style.

  Maybe this wasn’t exactly what he expected his life to be, but fuck it, he deserved a break. He’d made some bad decisions, sure, but who didn’t? And maybe, just maybe, if he had the nice house on the beach and the money for every luxury you could imagine, his wife would come back with his boy.

  He paused and listened, looked around. He was supposed to meet his contact a few blocks up ahead but he knew he was being followed. He had to make this work. Time for a change of plan.

  John Hoyt watched from across the street. He had no proof to go on, other than his observations and instincts. But the stuntman had been acting off ever since Lash’s accident. They were long overdue for a chat. Calhoun had agreed that Hoyt should follow him, find out where the loose thread led.

  Tonight it had led to an empty schoolhouse.

  He watched Millosky pry open the side door.

  Hoyt paused and assessed his opponent. Stan Millosky was about two inches taller than him and a good thirty pounds of solid muscle heavier. Yet, he wasn’t worried, he’d been in enough fights to know when he should be concerned and this wasn't one of those times.

  He waited a few minutes, crossed the street, then opened the door and stepped into the dark. He slowly walked down the corridor.

  The instant Hoyt passed the intersecting hallway, Millosky was behind him, an arm wrapped around his neck. Hoyt felt the cold steel of a blade against his throat. “Why are you following me?” Millosky’s voice hissed.

  “Relax. I just want to talk.” Hoyt extended his arms out to the side.

  The blade’s pressure on his neck increased ever so slightly. “So talk.”

  “What do you know about Lash Brogan’s accident?”

  “You accusing me of something?”

  The blade’s pressure increased again. Hoyt could feel the sharp edge digging into his skin, the individual drops of blood starting to run down his neck.

  “That depends. Did you do it?” Hoyt forced his body to relax.

  “I’ll slit your throat right here if you don’t tell me who sent you. Was it the fuckin’ feds?”

  Hoyt threw his head back as hard as he could. Millosky stumbled back, blood streaming from his broken nose. He shook his head, bent his knees. “You’ll pay for that.”

  Hoyt reached for his gun but Millosky delivered a lightening fast roundhouse kick that sent the gun flying halfway down the hall. Hoyt came at him and slammed him against the wall, the hand with the knife pinned above them. “Stop this or I will kill you.”

  Millosky elbowed Hoyt hard in the kidney, causing him to double over. “I don’t think so.”

  Hoyt came back with a punch to Millosky’s left eye and a right to his temple, causing him to stagger back a few steps. “I don’t want to fight you,” Hoyt said.

  Millosky just grunted and ran at him again, head down, and they both went down together. Hoyt regained his feet first and delivered a powerful kick to his stomach. Millosky swung the knife, just nicking Hoyt’s calf, then scrambled up.

  Hoyt had killed men with his bare hands before, but he wanted this one alive. They needed to know who he was working for, but damn, this guy was determined to fight to the death, leaving Hoyt with few options.

  He came at Hoyt with the knife again, Hoyt jumped back, narrowly avoiding the blade. Hoyt kicked out, knocking him to the ground. Then they were both down again, wrestling for purchase, the knife cutting though the air next to Hoyt’s head. Hoyt reached up and grabbed the hand with the knife. Millosky threw his weight to the side and they rolled, struggling. Hoyt felt a dull pain in his arm and readjusted his grip on the other man.

  Then Hoyt heard the other man grunt and go still. He got shakily to his feet and looked down. Millosky lay motionless, the handle of the knife sticking out of his chest, blood trickling from his the corner of his mouth. Hoyt leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath, then pulled out his cell phone.

  Ward Calhoun looked down at the body and shook his head. “Now we’ll never know who he was working with.”

  “Don’t you think I know that, Ward?” Hoyt shot back. “I did everything I could to take him down alive, he just kept coming at me.”

  Ward studied Hoyt’s battered face and torn, bloody clothing. “Goddammit,” he muttered. “This could have been the break we needed.”

  “I told you, I did everything short of letting him kill me,” Hoyt said, in Ward’s face now.<
br />
  “John, settle down. I believe you. And I have no desire to put your skills to the test.”

  Hoyt took a step back. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

  “You should get looked at first,” he said, nodding at the paramedics.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t be a fucking hero.”

  Hoyt laughed. “It’s just scratches. I’ve had worse. Much worse.”

  Ward couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll get you out of here as quick as possible.”

  Hoyt nodded.

  Lash heard the knock on his hotel room door. Time to go to work.

  He opened his door to find Rafe standing outside. “Where’s Hoyt?”

  “He’s being questioned by the cops.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “All I know is he and that stunt guy, Stan Millosky, got into a fight last night and Millosky ended up dead.”

  “Jesus, let’s get over there.”

  Rafe crossed his arms. “I’m supposed to take you to the set. You’re due there in half an hour.”

  “Rafe, don’t forget who you work for. Now let’s go.” Christ, the kid still had a lot to learn. Like who the hell was paying his salary.

  Rafe drove silently, quickly and smoothly weaving through the morning traffic. Maybe Lash had judged him too harshly. The kid had just been doing his job. “Where’d you learn to drive like this?” he asked.

  Rafe glanced at him then back at the road, a slight smile on his face. “You don’t want to know.”

  Lash laughed. “Fair enough. Someday, I’ll bribe you with enough whiskey that you’ll tell me.”

  “Sounds good.”

  When they arrived at the scene they found Hoyt in one of the classrooms surrounded by three of the local cops, Ward a few feet away keeping a close watch on the situation. Ward turned and frowned when he saw Lash. “What the hell are you doing here, Brogan?”

  Lash ignored him and moved closer to Hoyt. There was blood covering the front of his shirt. “John, are you okay?”

  One of the cops moved to intercept Lash. “You need to get out of here, sir.”

  Lash shrugged off the cop’s arm and turned to face him head on. The cop must have seen something in Lash’s eyes. He backed off, but kept a hand near his gun.

  “I’m fine, Lash, get out of here. I’ll find you guys later,” Hoyt said wearily.

  “Are you sure?” Lash asked.

  Hoyt nodded.

  Lash turned towards Ward.

  “It’ll be fine,” Ward assured. “We’re sorting things out.”

  Back in the car, Lash turned to Rafe. “Think you can get me to the set in time?”

  Rafe grinned, stepped on the gas. “No problem.”

  Ward had to fight the local cops hard to keep them from taking Hoyt in.

  Chief Devane was barely able to rein Officer Rorbach in. He knew he was in over his head, but tried to fake it anyway. Ward actually felt a little sorry for the guy. So he went through the motions, dotted all the i’s crossed all the t’s.

  “A few days ago he had a body in the trunk of his car. Now he’s literally caught with blood on his hands and a dead body at his feet. And you’re trying to tell me he’s not the killer?”

  “He’s not the killer. We both know that. It was clearly a self-defense killing.”

  “Right,” Devane drawled. “He’s just one unlucky son of a bitch.”

  “If you don’t shut the fuck up right now, you’re going to have an asston of FBI agents descending on your town making your life a living nightmare. Or, you can do the right thing.”

  Three hours later, he was walking Hoyt out of the building.

  “Planting Mark in my car didn’t work, I guess they thought they’d get me out of the picture another way,” Hoyt muttered angrily to Ward when he was finally allowed to leave. He was tired, irritated, and just wanted to take a shower and change out of his bloody clothes.

  Ward couldn’t blame him. “We’re going to end this.”

  Hoyt stopped and turned back towards him. “I know you will. But how many more people have to die first?” He turned around and continued walking towards the car.

  31

  No one wanted to work. Everyone on the set was talking about what had happened the night before.

  Guy watched Lash do his scene. He was upset with the actor for showing up late, though he understood the reasoning. But he couldn’t show special treatment to any of the actors. “We still have a job to do,” he said. “And half-assing it won’t cut it.”

  To his credit, Lash didn’t reply, just took his mark again.

  The other actors didn’t respond as well.

  “Come on, people! We still have work to do here.” Guy took off his baseball cap, ran a hand through his hair. Things were starting to fall apart and he felt what little control and authority he had start to slip away. The picture was on the brink of becoming one of the most expensive disasters in movie history.

  “Again,” he yelled. And something in his voice had them all responding instantly this time.

  When Lash walked off the set, he found Hoyt standing next to Rafe in a fresh set of clothing. “Well, you look like shit, but I’m glad they didn’t haul your ass off to jail.”

  “Ward wouldn’t let that happen.”

  They all saw the man headed towards them at the same time. He had a security badge around his neck. He moved fast, pushed through the crowd and gave Hoyt a shove. “You killed my friend, you goddamn son of a bitch!” Hoyt ducked just in time and the man’s fist sailed over his head.

  Rafe pulled the man back as Ward made his way over. “I see you’re making more friends,” Ward said to Hoyt with a smirk.

  “Very funny,” Hoyt said as the would be assailant was hauled away by security, still yelling threats at him over his shoulder.

  Ward looked Hoyt over. His face looked even worse than before, if that was possible. “What are you doing on your feet anyway? You should be in bed resting.”

  Lash put his arm around Hoyt’s shoulders. “It takes a hell of a lot more than this to get him to take a day off.”

  Ward shook his head and walked off.

  “Come on,” Lash said to Hoyt. “We’re both officially done for the day.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “I know just the place.”

  Rafe didn’t ask any questions, just followed Lash’s directions, dropped them off, then settled into the driver’s seat of the limo for what promised to be a good long time.

  Hoyt looked around the old bar. It was so dark inside he could barely make out the faces of the few patrons inside. The floor was sticky and the mirrors behind the bar were dirty and streaked. “Nice place,” he said sarcastically.

  But he soon found that the glasses were clean, the beer ice cold, and the bartender was friendly without being nosy. He was also Irish and knew exactly who Lash was.

  “I’ll throw out anyone who gives you a hard time, that’s a promise,” he said with a wink.

  “Thank you,” Lash said, shaking the man’s hand.

  They got a table in the back, away from the crowd. The waitress brought over their beers.

  Hoyt tried to push his beer away. “I shouldn’t.”

  “Shit, you killed someone last night. That deserves a drink or two. You are officially off duty, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the adrenaline, whatever it was, Lash was glad to find Hoyt in a more talkative mood than usual. Before he knew it, it was closing time, but the owner made it clear that they were welcome to stay as long as they wanted after the other patrons left. He even started giving them free drinks.

  “You’re so calm about what happened,” Lash said.

  Hoyt just shrugged. It wasn’t the first time he’d killed.

  “I thought I was calm too, but it ate at me.”

  “It’s easier for some than others,” Hoyt said, taking a drink.

  “
I know, and I’d still do it again if I had to.”

  “Lash, there’s a difference between killing to save a life and killing to take a life.”

  “I owe you my life,” Lash slurred.

  Hoyt shook his head. “I was just doing my job.”

  But Lash knew it was more than that. It wasn’t just that Hoyt had done his job and pulled Lash back from the brink of depression. He’d also been a huge support as Lash dealt with the stigma of killing. He finished his beer and reached for another one. “I haven’t been this fucked up in a long time.”

  Hoyt finished his own beer and started on the next. “Me either.”

  “You ever been in love, John?”

  Hoyt thought about it and answered honestly. The truth was that he believed relationships could make you weak and distracted. Especially in his line of work. “Never even been close,” he said.

  “You’re lucky, then.”

  “I don’t know about that. Who are you in love with?”

  “I’m not,” Lash slurred.

  “Yeah, whatever. She is a beautiful woman.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Hoyt laughed and downed the rest of his beer. “You’d have to be blind not to see how you feel about her. I can’t believe Ward hasn’t caught on yet.”

  Lash looked at his watch, squinted at the numbers. “Shit, I have to be on the set in five hours.”

  Hoyt woke up with one hell of a hangover. He sat up, put his feet on the floor, then dropped his head into his hands and groaned. He’d been stupid last night. He’d let his guard down. It was his job to be on duty at all times. What if someone had come after them when they’d left the bar?

  The alcohol had dulled his numerous aches and pains the night before but they were back with a vengeance now and he was sure he’d be stiff as hell if he ever managed to get to his feet. He probably should have gotten stitches. At least for the cut on his arm, which had started bleeding again during the night, leaving a dark crimson stain on the white hotel bedsheets.