Redemption (Fateful Justice Book 2)

by Sara Vinduska

  Ward was standing next to Guy when the first shot was fired. He heard the bullet whiz by at the same time he felt a hot searing pain across the top of his left shoulder. “Get down!” he shouted, pushing Guy to the ground as he drew his own gun, and chaos erupted around them on the set.

  The security guards and other agents instantly took charge of the situation, fanning out to find the sniper, calming the crowd, or taking up defensive positions. Three more shots rang out and Ward tried to make sense of the chaos over the shouts and screams that filled the air. Minutes went by and then the area quieted.

  “Son of a bitch,” Ward said through clenched teeth as he stood, intensifying the throbbing in his shoulder.

  “You okay?” Agent Thaler called out.

  “Yeah, fine,” Ward answered as his eyes skimmed the area.

  “We got one hit,” Agent Thaler called, bending over a woman on the ground.

  Ward’s training took over and the next few minutes passed in a blur as he made his way through the cops, agents, actors, and others gathered around. He answered questions and gave orders before allowing the medical personnel to have a look at him. Then Lauren was there in front of him.

  “Oh my God,” she said, pushing her way to where her brother was sitting on the hood of a police cruiser, jacket half-off, the shoulder of his white shirt soaked red with his blood.

  “I’m fine,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt so the paramedic could check the wound.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Tell her,” Ward said, nodding at the paramedic.

  “The bullet just grazed the top of his shoulder,” the paramedic replied, wiping away the blood and applying a bandage. “He’ll be fine.”

  Lauren sighed and sank down next to her brother on the car, taking his hand in hers. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  Ward forced a smile. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted Lauren here. The situation was too dangerous. He squeezed her hand and stood.

  She helped him back into his shirt and jacket. “I’ll take you back to the hotel to get cleaned up.”

  Back at the hotel, John Hoyt folded up the newspaper and sat it down on the coffee table. “Are you ready to go yet?” he called towards the bathroom.

  Lash finally emerged from the bathroom, his hair still damp. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

  Hoyt’s cell phone rang just as he was reaching for the door. It was Rafe. “Hoyt,” he said, stepping into the hallway, then, “shit, when?” He stopped abruptly and turned back, almost running into Lash. “Injuries?” he asked, motioning Lash back inside. “Okay, I’m on my way.” He shut the door. “There’s been shots fired on the set, I have to go.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “No, you’re staying right here until we figure out what happened.”

  “Don’t give me orders, John. Was anyone hurt? Was Lauren there?”

  “I don’t know. Rafe just gave me the basics. “ Hoyt stood in front of the door and gave Lash a stern look. “I can’t force you to do anything, but I’m asking you to listen to me and do what I say for your own safety. We don’t know who the shooter is or where he went. You need to stay here.”

  “Okay.” Lash relented and took a step back.

  “I’ll have someone stationed right outside your door and I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Fine, go.”

  Lash spent the next forty-five minutes pacing his hotel room. He ran a hand through his hair. He tried Lauren’s cell phone. It went straight to voice mail and he hung up. If anything had happened to her . . . Goddamn, he couldn’t stand to think about something happening to her. Finally, the phone rang.

  “John?” He picked it up on the first ring.

  “Yeah, it’s me. A security guard was shot in the leg and Ward in the shoulder.”

  Lash sat down at the table. “How bad?” he asked, rubbing his forehead.

  “The guard’s in the hospital, she’ll probably need surgery. Ward’s going to be fine. No sign of the sniper. Everyone should be headed back to the hotel shortly.”

  Lauren called him five minutes later. He had to fight to keep his voice steady as he talked to her.

  His hands were still shaking even after he hung up the phone. He found himself wishing she had listened to her brother and gone back home. Then she wouldn’t be in danger. And he knew in his gut that the danger was only going to get worse.

  He should talk to Ward. Maybe together, they could convince her to go home.

  Officer Rorbach stared at his cell phone. This was a call he sure as hell didn’t want to make. If that wiry Hispanic bodyguard hadn’t moved at the last minute . . . But he had. And Rorbach had not met his objective. He clenched his jaw, and dialed the phone.

  “You missed your target,” Adam said, his words quiet but harsh.

  “I know.”

  “You’re lucky Agent Calhoun caught one, so it’s not a total loss.”

  Rorbach didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing.

  “Keep your phone handy,” Adam said. “I’ll let you know your next assignment soon.”

  The decision to postpone filming wasn’t easy, but Guy and Robert needed to reassure everyone that the feds and cops had things under control. So they called a mandatory meeting for everyone involved.

  One of the advantages to staying in a large hotel was that it’s conference room was big enough to hold hundreds of people. Tonight, it held all personnel and security involved in the movie from the leading man to the grip.

  The room was filled with nervous chatter and speculation.

  Lash saw Ward from a distance with Lauren at his side as he took a seat in the back. Even though he knew she hadn’t been hurt, he still felt weak with relief at the sight of her.

  Ward walked to the front of the room and started the briefing, his left arm held stiffly at his side, but other than that, he appeared fine.

  “Rest assured, we will catch whomever is behind this. My one ask is that each and every one of you remain on alert. Report anything or anyone suspicious to myself or the other two agents. It doesn’t matter how trivial it may seem. It could be the one detail that we need.” His deep, authoritative voice seemed to have a calming effect on those gathered there.

  Robert was the next to walk to the front of the room.

  His words blurred together. Lash didn’t want to hear any more reassurances. The air in the room grew stifling. He needed to get the hell out of there. He ducked out and sent a text message to Hoyt so he wouldn’t send out a search party.

  As soon as everyone filed out of the conference room, Ward left for a much needed but dreaded meeting with the police chief.

  Judging by his chilly reception at the station, he wasn’t the only one dreading the meeting.

  Devane didn’t get up from his desk when Ward entered his office.

  Ward figured he’d jump right in. “The sniper was using police issued ammunition. Are you ready to listen to me now? One of your people is dirty.”

  “The ammo could have been stolen. Could have come from anywhere. Now you listen to me, I’ve been at this job for almost twenty years. I think I’d know if I had a dirty cop working for me.”

  Ward gazed coolly at him. “It doesn’t appear so this time.”

  “Fuck you, Mr. FBI Agent. We’ll all be better off when you suits go back home.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Ward stood, braced both hands against the chief’s desk. “We’ll go home after we do your job for you. So step aside and let us do it.”

  Devane’s face reddened and he clenched and unclenched his right hand. Then he walked out the door.

  Ward stretched out his arm. He hated pissing contests. They were only slightly better when you won. Damn, his shoulder hurt.

  He found his car, drove himself back to the hotel.

  All these years with the bureau and I get shot twice in less than six months. What were the odds? Ward thought shaking his head. But he wasn’t getting any
younger, and despite everything that still needed his attention, he forced himself to put it aside and made his way to the bed. Seconds after his head hit the pillow he was asleep.

  With Ward being called away, it fell on Lauren to meet with Guy, the FBI agents, and the other movie executives. Everyone was tired and had little concrete evidence and a whole lot of speculation to offer.

  The meeting lasted well into the night and Lauren was exhausted as she finally made her way towards her room. She was looking down, thinking of how good the hotel bed was going to feel, and didn’t notice she wasn’t alone in the hall until she was almost directly in front of her door.

  Lash was waiting there, sitting on the floor, hands clasped between his knees, Rafe keeping watch a few feet away. “How’s Ward?” he asked, getting to his feet.

  Lauren unlocked the door and let them in. “Stubborn. I tried to get him to skip his meeting with Devane, told him to go to bed, but he just can’t admit that he’s tired and in pain, so he’ll probably stay up till God knows when working.” She stopped. “You’re lucky he didn’t come back here with me.”

  “I thought I’d take my chances.” He grinned and Lauren instantly felt her whole body relax.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Lash took her in his arms and pulled her tight against his chest. He’d told himself he’d come here to check up on her, but the truth was that he had needed her tonight, more than he wanted to admit. “I was worried about you today.”

  She could see the truth in his eyes. “That’s sweet.”

  They made slow, gentle love right there on the couch and Lash held her close until she feel asleep, then he quietly untangled himself from her and stood unsteadily, looking down at her.

  He stood motionless like that for a long time until her eyes opened and she was looking directly up at him. “You’re leaving?”

  “I should get back to my room. I’ve got an early call.”

  She smiled sleepily and closed her eyes again. And he felt like an ass for leaving. But he didn’t have a choice. Today had been too close. She’d be better off far away from the set. He had to get her to leave no matter how damned much he wanted her with him.

  36

  Robert had spent a sleepless night alone, drinking and thinking. He wanted to be wrong, God how he wanted to be wrong. But if he was right, he needed to find a way to end this before they were all truly fucked. He filled his glass again, not giving a damn that it was nine in the morning. He picked up the phone.

  “Adam, it’s Bob.”

  “Well, hello, Bob. Sounds like you’ve been having a rough go of it there.”

  “You could say that.” Bob took a long drink.

  Adam laughed softly, hearing the clink of ice cubes. “Is there a reason for your call? I’m assuming it’s not to offer me a part in this disaster of a movie you’re trying to finish.”

  “No, Adam, it’s not.” He paused. “Are you the one doing this?”

  Adam laughed again. “Now, why in the world would you think that?”

  “I know you wanted one of the leading roles in Redemption. I know you were unhappy with our choices. And I know about Red Tide.”

  “And what is it you think you know about Red Tide?”

  “I know Chuck’s death wasn’t an accident on the set. And it’s pretty hard to believe the cop that suspected you just happened to die in a house fire.” Even now, Bob could see the sinister look of glee on Adam’s face when he thought no one was looking.

  “You can’t prove anything. No one will believe your crazy suspicions.”

  “You’re a good actor and you’ve fooled a lot of people for a long time.”

  “But not you.” Adam’s voice took on a deeper, more sinister tone.

  “Not me,” Bob agreed.

  “But you don’t really have the balls to do anything about it, do you?” Adam asked, enjoying the back and forth volley. Too bad it wasn’t with a more worthy opponent.

  “I’m not a good man like Guy. I’m calling you not because I want to see you rot in jail. I just want you to stop so I can finish my movie and get paid. I was hoping we could come to some sort of arrangement.”

  “Are you trying to bribe me, Bob?”

  “Call it what you want, you son of a bitch, just name your price.”

  “This isn’t about money, Bob.” Adam laughed again, the sound sending chills down Bob’s spine. “I suggest you make your peace, because your days are numbered, my old friend.”

  Bob stared at the dead phone in his hand, poured another drink, debated going to the feds with what he suspected. He stopped the recorder. It wasn’t exactly proof, but it was something. Tomorrow, he thought. Today he was going to get good and drunk.

  Bob turned off his cell phone and didn’t leave his room all day. Luckily, he had plenty of booze to help him shut out reality. Just for the day. Tomorrow morning he’d deal with it.

  He was passed out on the couch when there was a soft knock at the door. He squinted at the clock. Two in the morning. He was still drunk, but not drunk enough to forget to turn on the hidden camera he’d hoped to put to better use with one of the beautiful but marginally talented extras he’d hired.

  He opened the door to a dark-clothed figure. “Let’s talk numbers,” Adam said, pushing his way inside.

  Bob poured them each a drink. Adam drained his and Bob got up to get another bottle, the last, damn it.

  They drank in silence. “So?” Bob asked. “How much do you want?”

  Bishop didn’t answer, just smiled at him and he knew. He realized too late that he hadn’t even told anyone he’d talked to Adam. A stupid mistake. He knew better than that. But he’d been too excited about salvaging the movie to do what he should have done. And now it was too late.

  Bob started to sweat. He tried to stand up, but couldn’t. He looked down at the ice cubes in the empty glass in front of him on the coffee table. “What did you give me?”

  Bishop just smiled and Bob knew with utter certainty that it was the last thing he would ever see.

  Guy pushed his baseball hat farther down on his head. “No. No way. He was not suicidal.”

  Ward agreed, but they couldn’t ignore the evidence. If Robert hadn’t killed himself, then whomever had killed him was damned good.

  Guy looked wrecked. Finding the body of someone you knew would do that to a person. “Go back to your place, have a drink, get some rest. We’ve got this covered.”

  Guy looked towards the bedroom and shuddered. He looked out the window where a crowd had started to gather.

  “And don’t talk to anyone. Not yet,” Ward cautioned.

  Guy nodded and walked out the door.

  Lash opened his hotel room door two hours later. He could tell by the look on Ward’s face that he wasn’t there with good news. “What happened?” he asked.

  Ward ran a hand down his face. “Why don’t you grab Hoyt and Rafe, too?”

  “Sure.” He nodded towards the cabinet. “Whiskey’s in there.”

  By the time Lash grabbed Hoyt and Rafe from next door, Ward was deep into his glass of whiskey. Not a good sign.

  “That bad, huh?” Lash asked, pouring himself a glass. He held the bottle towards Hoyt and Rafe who both shook their heads.

  Ward took another drink before answering. “Bob is dead.”

  “Shit,” Lash muttered.

  “How?” Hoyt asked.

  “Guy found him this morning in his suite. He was hanging from the closet rod.”

  “No,” Lash said.

  Ward continued. “There was a note. It appears to be his handwriting, but it’s being analyzed as we speak.”

  Hoyt had been silently watching Ward. “You don’t believe he killed himself,” he said softly.

  Ward took another drink, which in itself spoke volumes about his thoughts. He looked each of the three men in the eye. “This doesn’t leave this room.”

  They all nodded their agreement.

  Ward sat back in his chair. “No.
I don’t fucking believe it. The circumstances are too perfect. The scene feels too staged. It screams newspaper headline: World renowned movie producer kills himself after latest project goes to shit.”

  “If he was suicidal, he never showed it on the set,” Lash said. “He was an arrogant prick, but he seemed determined to see this through.”

  “Anyone you know who hated him enough to want him dead?” Ward asked.

  Lash shook his head. “People may not have liked him, but they respected him. He got things done.”

  Ward finished his drink, leaned forward in his chair and turned his gaze towards Hoyt. “We’ll have to step up security in all areas.”

  Hoyt nodded. “Consider it done.”

  Lash finished his own drink. “Refill?” he asked.

  Ward shook his head and stood. “Let’s all try to get some sleep. The next few days are going to be crazy.”

  Hoyt stood and paced the room after Ward left, a rare indication of his stress level.

  Rafe sat on the couch, hands clasped between his knees, his brow furrowed.

  Lash poured another drink. “You two are way too fucking quiet right now.”

  Hoyt turned on him. “This isn’t funny, Lash. If Robert didn’t kill himself, which seems likely, we’ve got a big fucking problem on our hands. Not the least of which is keeping your ass safe.”

  “I know that, John. And believe me, I’m not making light of the situation. I just want to know what you guys are thinking. I don’t want to be left out.”

  Rafe and Hoyt exchanged a look.

  “I mean it,” Lash said. “I trust both of you with my life, but this is my life. My career. Don’t shut me out.”

  Hoyt ran a hand down his face. “Okay. Let’s assume that Robert didn’t off himself. That means we definitely have someone on set that’s killing major players in the film. If Eric Sutton’s death wasn’t an accident, then what’s the connection?”

  “If the goal is to ruin the film, or prevent it from being completed, maybe there isn’t a connection. Maybe it’s just whomever is convenient,” Rafe said.