She ran around through the alley and up the narrow space between the bar and the property rental company next door. She scaled the wall of the building using the disguised footholds, then hopped over her ledge and went in through the sliding glass doors she never locked. She sent Bishop a text message.
Closed sign on door. I’m going to unlock the service door in the alley for you. You can thank me later.
She stood at the top of the stairs to listen to the bar. That was the third thing that was off—the phones, the sign on the door, and now no music.
It was relatively slow, but steady, for Diego on Sundays. The regulars only came during the week, and the tourists preferred the pier and trendy bars on the beach. She didn’t hear any voices. She walked down the stairs and rounded the corner. Now she heard voices, but couldn’t distinguish what was being said.
Cautiously, she crossed the hall to the stock room and unbolted the service door. Then she stood inside the doorway and listened.
She heard a frantic voice. “No more excuses!”
“Buddy, I’m not making excuses. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Shut up!” Then, the same frantic person said, “I told you not to move! Just stay seated. I don’t have a problem with anyone here, except Skip and the bartender.”
Was that Chase doing the talking? Why did he have a problem with Isaac?
She risked putting her head out the door. Her view was still mostly blocked by the main wall, but she had partial line of sight into the bar. Several customers sat at the main bar; oddly, every stool was taken. They were all looking down at their drinks. She couldn’t see behind the bar, whether Isaac was there or in the main room, which was also out of her line of vision.
“Let the rest of us go.” It was Heather and she sounded terrified. Why? Did someone have a gun? A knife?
“I can’t. Not until he tells me the truth.”
“I did, man. I told you I left and didn’t see anyone again.” Scarlet didn’t recognize the voice. Skip Oliver?
“I don’t believe you!”
“I’m telling you the fucking truth! Get that gun out of my face. I’m not lying!”
There was a grunt, as if someone had been hit, then the gun went off. Heather screamed, then cut it off abruptly, and several of the customers gasped and mumbled.
“Next time the bullet goes in your head!” Chase screamed. “Shut up, you people!”
Scarlet had to do something. Had Chase seen her well enough at Valerie’s yesterday to recognize her? She couldn’t be sure. She stepped back into the storeroom and grabbed Diego’s Dodgers cap. Nearly killed her to put it on, but sacrifices had to be made. She grabbed an apron, a generic black apron that be from anywhere, and tied it on. She slipped her gun into the front pocket and took her holster off her belt. Now what?
A clipboard hung on the wall. She grabbed it and walked out into the bar with the clipboard and a pen. “Hey, Diego, you weren’t answering your bell. I got the cases of Jack you ordered—”
“How the hell did you get in?” Chase screamed at her. “Who are you?”
“Krista Hart,” she said the first name that came to mind. “I work for a distributor. What’s going on?”
As she spoke, she assessed the room. Heather was behind the bar. Isaac was on his knees next to Skip Oliver. Chase had wisely put his back to the corner, to prevent anyone from sneaking up behind him. There were several tables with half-finished drinks—it seemed all the patrons were sitting at the counter. Another smart move, since Chase was a lone hostage taker with presumably one gun. A nine millimeter. The same caliber that had killed Juan Robertson and shot Richie Sanders.
“Behind the bar,” he ordered. But her appearance had thrown him for a loop. He was losing control.
She didn’t go behind the bar. She put her clipboard down and stepped toward him. She caught Isaac’s eye. He was confused but resolute. She didn’t want this kid to die, not here, not in the bar. She didn’t know what had happened, but she needed to talk him down. “What’s going on? Isaac?”
“Don’t talk to him! He could have stopped it all, but he has no balls.”
Isaac’s jaw clenched and he was red-faced. Angry, not scared. Definitely not scared. Isaac was a rare one who might prefer death to living. She hoped not. She hoped he didn’t do anything stupid.
“Stopped what? What’s your name?”
“Behind the bar I said.”
“You don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said.
Chase fired at her feet. He was a good shot, missed her by inches. Or a bad shot and missed her by inches. “Shut up and get behind the bar.”
This time, she complied. Two bullets in a nine millimeter gone. Had it been fully loaded? She couldn’t tell from the way he held it, it could have been a seven round clip or a nine round clip. Gunners would have a plus-one, chambered. Maximum ten bullets.
That left him with eight. She had to assume he had eight, even though this was likely the gun that had shot the others, meaning he could have six or fewer bullets.
But he was on edge, and every time he pressed the trigger, he was one step closer to being willing to kill. She could see it in his eyes—he was building up the nerve to kill.
To kill again?
Had he killed his friends? He had a gun. It was logical. But there was something in his expression… and she was ninety-nine percent positive he didn’t do it. She would swear on her license that he hadn’t killed anyone in his life. But something had happened. He was on edge and traumatized. He blamed Skip and Isaac. Why Isaac?
Because Isaac didn’t stop Richie and the others from hurting Valerie and Tessa. He’d seen the problem but let them go.
She had let them go. She was just as culpable as Isaac under that reasoning. But Chase had already left with girls. He’d tried to protect them, but had no idea what the drugs had done to them and their reasoning. He thought they’d been safe in their apartment, but they’d left for some unknown reason and he blamed himself. For not staying with them, protecting them from themselves—and his friends.
She slowly approached Heather. As soon as she was behind the bar, Chase returned his attention to Skip and Isaac.
“Deets?” Scarlet whispered.
“He thinks Skip drugged and raped those girls, and wants him to confess.”
“Isaac?”
“I don’t know.”
“Shut up!” Chase screamed at them.
He didn’t look like he was on drugs, but he was on the edge. No sleep? Stress? What had he seen? Or done? Maybe Scarlet was wrong and he had killed his friends, but hadn’t processed it yet. Either way, he was going to crash, and if Scarlet didn’t do something, innocent people would die.
She glanced at the door. It was locked from the inside as she suspected. He wouldn’t want to be surprised by customers or make it easy for the police.
The problem was, he was going to get himself killed. SWAT didn’t play games when innocent lives were at stake. If he didn’t immediately surrender, they would shoot to kill. And he wasn’t holding either Isaac or Skip as true hostages. They were on their knees and Chase was pacing around them.
She stared at Isaac, and when he finally looked at her, she made a motion to keep him talking.
Chase was talking to himself, and Scarlet couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then Isaac said, “I tried to help.”
“Trying is not good enough,” Chase said. “You could have stopped it. You could have called the police.”
“You could have called the police, too,” Isaac said. “If you blame me in any way for what your friends did, start looking in a mirror.”
Chase froze, and Scarlet could tell by his expression that that was exactly why he was doing this. He blamed himself more than Skip and Isaac, and he thought revenge was justice. That he would feel less guilty if he could do something to bring Valerie and Tessa’s attackers to justice.
And Skip was the last one walking.
Or, in this case, knee
ling.
“I thought they were safe,” Chase said quietly. He put the gun against the back of Skip’s head. “What drugs did you feed them?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You gave Richie the drugs. I know you did. What were they? Why did they leave the apartment? Did you do it? Did you and Richie take them away? Hurt them?”
Was Richie so angry that his plan had been thwarted that he’d found the girls and brought them back to his place? Or had they left willingly? How willing could they have been on the drugs they’d ingested?
Scarlet said, “Chase? Why don’t I search him for you? If I find the drugs on him, you can call the police and turn him in.”
He stared at her. “Do it.”
She came around the bar and searched Skip’s pockets. He was glaring at her with the same hatred he had for Chase. He’d been one of the three who’d confronted Isaac on Friday night. He recognized her.
She pulled out his wallet, his car keys, and some loose pills. She had no idea what they were, but they were small and white. She put them on a napkin on one of the tables.
Chase stared at the pills. “I saw those. At Richie’s house.”
“They’re just caffeine pills.”
“Bullshit!” Chase said and hit Skip on the side of the head with the gun. Skip fell to the floor.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement in the storage room. Bishop?
“Don’t move,” Chase commanded her. “How did you know my name?”
She gestured to Skip. “He said it.”
“No he didn’t. Take off the hat.”
She did.
“You were at Valerie’s yesterday.”
“I’m helping Valerie. She was scared and hurt and needed her mother. She’s now home, with her mom, safe. You want her to be safe, right?”
He nodded, almost involuntarily, then said, “Get on your knees. I don’t know who you are, but you’re not a delivery girl.”
She didn’t move. “You want answers, Chase. I get that. I’m a private investigator. I can help you find the answers you want. I know you and Parker got the girls back to their apartment safely. I also know that something happened and they left and ended up at Richie’s house. Tell me, how did you find Tessa? After she killed Parker, how did you find her?”
Tears welled in his eyes, but his jaw was tight with rage.
He shook his head. “I’m not doing this. It’s his fault. He gave Richie the drugs. Those drugs—they weren’t the same girls. They wouldn’t—she couldn’t have done that to Parker.”
He’d found his friend, suspected what had happened—Scarlet had to get him to calm down.
“If you kill him, the police will never be able to trace his supplier. These drugs are responsible for multiple deaths. If you kill Skip, more young women will be raped and lose their minds.” She hesitated. “That’s what happened, didn’t it? Valerie and Tessa killed Juan and shot Richie.”
“I don’t believe it.” But he averted his eyes.
“Where did you get the gun?”
“It’s mine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care!”
She stepped forward. She had to take the risk. “Chase, you’ve never killed anyone. You didn’t kill Juan or Parker.”
His eyes watered, and this time he couldn’t stop the tears. “Parker—he was my best friend. I didn’t know she’d kill him. I took the gun from her. I didn’t know she’d stab him.” He aimed the gun at Skip. “What did you do to them!”
At that moment, Scarlet nodded to Isaac and he jumped up. His movement distracted Chase enough that Scarlet could leap between him and Skip and grab Chase’s gun hand. She pressed hard against the sensitive and fragile bones on the inside of his wrist.
The gun fired into the ceiling, then he dropped it. He cried out in anguish.
“It’s okay, Chase,” she said. “It’s over now.”
“Like hell,” Skip said.
Before Scarlet could kick away the gun, Skip grabbed it and aimed it at Chase.
“Newport PD, put down the gun!” A booming voice came into the room.
Skip didn’t comply. Isaac leapt at Skip and wrestled for the gun.
Scarlet pushed Chase to the floor and pulled her gun out of the apron. She couldn’t fire without risking Isaac. Bishop had the same problem from his angle. They both stood two feet from the fighting men.
The gun went off and Scarlet’s heart skipped a beat. She saw blood on the back of Isaac’s left arm. The bullet had gone clean through.
Isaac hit Skip hard in the jaw with his right hand, then grabbed his wrist and pinned it down.
Bishop stepped on Skip’s fingers and the shooter finally let go of the grip. Bishop kicked it away.
“Get off, Dunn,” Bishop said, holding his gun on Skip.
“Dammit, Isaac!” Scarlet said. What had he been thinking? They’d had this covered. But Isaac was a man of action, and he’d reacted on instinct. She understood—and respected—that.
Isaac punched Skip in the gut as he got up, blood pouring down his arm.
Bishop ordered Skip, “Down, on your stomach, hands behind your back.” He told Chase the same thing. He tossed his cuffs to Scarlet. She clipped them onto Skip and tightened them.
Then she turned to Chase, who had his head down as Bishop had ordered. “Stay put, Chase,” she said. Then she turned her attention to Isaac.
“Heather,” she shouted, “call an ambulance.”
“I called 911,” she said.
“Bring me all the clean towels you can find.”
“I’m okay,” Isaac said as Scarlet put pressure on the wound.
Bishop was on the phone with his people, and Scarlet took the towels from Heather. “Tell everyone at the bar drinks are on the house.”
Bishop said, “But hold off serving until I get everyone’s statement. I don’t need a bunch of drunks giving me their eyewitness accounts.”
Chapter Thirteen
Organized chaos filled the bar. Uniformed officers took custody of Skip and Chase; other officers came to help with witness statements, and Hank Riley showed up right after Heather left with Isaac in the ambulance. Scarlet wondered if maybe there was something going on between the barmaid and the bartender, but she didn’t tend to care much about other people’s relationships. She barely cared about hers.
Diego arrived—after a three-hour drive in traffic from the east valley. Scarlet filled him in while Bishop was in the parking lot transferring the chain of custody to two uniformed officers. She wished she could ask Chase more questions, but she had to give Bishop room to do his job.
She didn’t think Chase killed his friends. She also didn’t think that Skip had. It was clear Chase was protecting someone. Whenever a new designer drug came out, there were unintended consequences. They tweaked and manipulated the formula until it was “perfect.” That’s why it was crucial that Bishop get Skip to talk. Knowing where they came from, who made them, would help them take this bad batch off the street.
“I leave for the weekend and my business falls apart,” Diego mumbled. “A shooting? Why are you even here, Blue? I thought you were supposed to keep my bar safe and clean.”
“Hey, I got it under control. This wasn’t something we could have prevented.”
“Heather told me what happened Friday night.”
“And the same thing would have happened if you were here.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Diego was acting like a hard ass, but his eyes showed concern.
“It was a clean shot,” Scarlet assured him. “Isaac will be fine.”
“You need to wash off that blood. It’s making me queasy.”
She looked at her shirt. It was stained red. Her hands, though she’d washed them in the bar sink, were still pink. “Tell Bishop I’m upstairs.”
The adrenaline from the hostage situation had left her system, leaving her tired and sluggish. At least, that was her excuse when she walked into her
apartment and saw Wendy Anderson standing in the middle of her small studio with a gun aimed at her.
“It’s about freaking time you came home,” Wendy said.
“There’s a bar full of cops downstairs.”
“Most of them have left. Besides, they have no reason to come up here. Lock the door.”
Scarlet complied, assessing the situation and trying to figure out how much time she had before Bishop came up. It could be five minutes. An hour. Tomorrow. She couldn’t count on anyone else to get her out of this mess, but that was okay. She’d always depended on herself first.
“Where’s Jim? He’s not at his apartment, he’s not at my parents’ house, and he’s not at any of his friends’. Where is he?”
“You promised me that if Jim didn’t want to get back together, you would leave him alone.”
“But that was before I knew you wanted him all to yourself!”
“There is nothing going on between Jim and me. If you really think about it, you’ll know I’m telling you the truth.”
Wendy shook her head. “Hardly. Why wouldn’t you want Jim?”
“He’s not my type.”
She reddened. “Are you saying I don’t have good taste in men?”
This conversation was well above Scarlet’s skill set. Anything Scarlet said was going to be the wrong thing. She’d twist the conversation any way she wanted to justify her actions. Frankly, Wendy needed a good shrink. Preferably in a hospital for the criminally insane. Only, they’d put her there after she killed someone, and Scarlet didn’t want to be her victim.
Wendy said, “I know women like you. You’re just like all my friends. You want what I have.”
“You don’t have Jim,” Scarlet said. Damn, she needed to stop talking. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? She’d never been able to, which had often got her into trouble.
“Because of you. You told him bad things about me.”
“Wendy, I met both of you two days ago during the accident on Jamboree. Remember?”
“How do I know you didn’t know Jim before then? Or maybe you saw how much we loved each other and you couldn’t stand it, so you came between us.”
Crash and Burn Page 11
