by Gerri Hill
She hated that chair. She leaned her head back and looked up into the foggy sky and smiled. Her neighbor’s pier with the godawful red chair that stuck out like a sore thumb. She swam toward that ugly chair now, feeling relief flood her when she finally reached the pylon. She rested again, getting her bearings. Her own pier was another fifty feet away.
With a push off, she swam on, feeling stronger now as the lights of her own pier came into view. She grasped the end of the wood decking, holding herself up and out of the water. However, she knew she couldn’t pull up there—it was too high—so she moved around the deck that jutted out at the end, holding on to pylons as the waves of high tide tried to push her under the pier itself. She lost her grip on a slippery post and went under. She came up spitting water and she grabbed the edge of the pier again, pausing to rest. She could hear voices now and see the flashing of police lights at her gate, the misty fog making them appear distorted.
Lots of lights. A break-in at her house wouldn’t warrant all of that. No. But the killing of two cops would.
She was tired and cold and she pushed on, moving to where the boat slip was. There was no boat there. She’d never gotten around to getting one. But there was a ladder. She recognized the sense of relief she felt when she grabbed it. It was only as she tried to pull herself out that she realized how heavy her wet jeans were, how chunky her wet sneakers felt…and how cold it truly was.
She was chilled to the bone—it had been warm in the house and she’d been wearing only a T-shirt on top. She wrapped her arms around her torso and headed toward the lights of her house, dripping on the already soggy pier and making a squishing noise as she stumbled onward. It was only then that she felt the ache in her left leg. She looked down, seeing her torn jeans. She’d almost forgotten she’d been hit. Judging by the feel of it, she’d only been grazed by the bullet. For that, she was damn lucky.
She saw Rylee standing at the broken bay window, staring out into the darkness. Rylee’s head tilted…as if she wasn’t quite sure of what she was seeing…as if she was seeing a ghost, perhaps.
Finn moved closer, out of the shadows. She could see the wonder on Rylee’s face, the disbelief. Then Rylee was running and Finn stopped, bracing herself as Rylee sailed into her arms—unmindful of Finn’s wet clothing—nearly tipping Finn over backward from her force.
“Oh, my God!” Rylee pulled away enough to cup her face, to run her hands along her shoulders. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Are you okay?” Finn inspected her cheek, seeing the beginnings of a bruise.
“Yes.” Rylee touched the spot. “Tender. A little ringing in my ear, but fine.” Rylee pulled her into another tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I thought the worst and I was so scared for you. God…I’m sorry, Finn. I should have done something. I was—”
“No. You did the right thing. You did everything right.” Finn wrapped her arms around her and held her. “I was afraid they were going to shoot you. I didn’t know what to do.”
“I thought they were going to shoot me too,” Rylee mumbled against her neck. “God…what happened? Did they push you out of the boat? You’re shivering.”
Finn pulled away from Rylee but took her hand, leading her back to the house. “I jumped overboard. It seemed like the lesser of two evils.”
“You jumped out of the boat? Into the bay? At night?”
“I know…crazy.” She motioned to the front. “The two cops…they make it?”
“No. They…they killed them. But this place is crawling with police. I peeked out the front door and there’s like twenty or thirty cars, all with their lights on.”
“Kill two cops. That makes for one hell of a distraction.” She went inside. “I need to get into some dry clothes.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I guess we’ll see if my phone lives up to the waterproof status. Need to check in with Dee. Or is she here already?”
Rylee shook her head. “No. They can’t find her. They won’t tell me much. Said she must be unavailable or maybe Captain Mabanks has her on something else.” Rylee squeezed her hand tightly. “I think…I think they have her. She would have come here.”
Rylee was right, of course. If Dee had heard about the shooting here, she would have come immediately.
“Who’s in charge? Do you know?”
“There’s so many people here, I have no clue. There are some detectives, though, I know that. I’ve been questioned several times.”
“Okay. Let me change. Then we need to find out what’s going on.” She headed to the back, then stopped. “For everything’s that happened tonight…that moment in the kitchen…with you…is the only thing keeping me sane right now.”
Rylee came closer, leaning over to kiss her cheek lightly. “I had almost convinced myself that was all a dream.”
Finn gave her a tired smile. “When this is over with, I’ll show you that it wasn’t a dream. A nice hotel maybe…one with a Jacuzzi.”
“And room service.”
Finn laughed quietly. “Trust you to be more interested in food than a naked dip in a Jacuzzi.”
Both their smiles faded, though. Rylee gave her a gentle push. “Go get changed. I have a feeling it’s a long way from over with.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Dee twisted her hands, feeling the rope cut into her wrists. Mabanks was on the floor beside her. Next to him was Barbara, his wife. She was crying quietly, her head buried against his shoulder. Like everyone else, she had her hands tied behind her back. She wasn’t sure who was sitting next to Barbara. One of their ten, but who? By process of elimination, she determined it must be Oliver Judge. He wasn’t on her list. She knew what Brett Peterson looked like, only because she’d made a point to look him up after Carlos Hernandez had been killed. And the man was too young to be Peterson’s father. Had to be Judge.
It was the same warehouse where Brian Hodge had been found shot dead. Dee thought it ironic that the crime scene tape was still up. Drake and the others—there were five of them— had no fear of being here, though. The scene had already been processed. No one was coming back anytime soon. Besides, every cop in the city had descended upon Ocean Drive and Finley Knight’s house. There probably wasn’t a police officer within miles of this location.
She moved her hands again, feeling no give in the rope. She couldn’t believe she’d gotten herself into this situation. Sure…Mabanks had his weapon pressed against her ribs on the entire drive out here. Would he have really shot her? She’d like to think no, but at the time, she couldn’t be sure. Did it matter? Was her fate here going to be any different? Who would find her here, at this warehouse? Her phone—like all the others—had been confiscated and smashed to bits. There would be no tracing it. Would anyone even consider they’d use this warehouse a second time?
She glanced to her left. Roger King was beside her. For all of his loud, boisterous commercials, he had not uttered a sound. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed. Next to him was Eric Lawrence, the real estate agent. She’d never met him before, but she recognized him from the profile pictures Rylee had assembled. Councilman Stevens was next to him.
She wasn’t really surprised to see Duncan Frazier there, although he wasn’t tied up like they all were. He was standing off by himself, away from the others. However, the cockiness she’d seen on his face before was absent. Apparently, this was more than he’d bargained for…whatever his role was in all of this. She was surprised, however, that Finn wasn’t here. She didn’t want to speculate or assume, but if she’d been taken from her house…and wasn’t here now…well…she didn’t want to guess what that meant. She couldn’t.
A phone rang and Drake snatched it up. He began speaking rapid Spanish and Dee couldn’t follow along. She heard the Petersons’ names and from Drake’s reaction, assumed they hadn’t been able to locate them. Then he handed the phone to the one Mabanks had called Lobo. She could see why they’d given him that name; he was a hulk of a man. His Spanish was broken, howeve
r, and he reverted to English several times, enough for her to learn that Finn had apparently jumped from a boat out into the bay. They’d “sprayed the goddamn water with bullets” and assumed she was dead. Dee stopped listening then.
She turned her head toward Mabanks, finding him watching her. He’d heard too, yet there was no reaction. He was too far gone. They were all too far gone, apparently.
“Lobo, is that Hernandez? You can’t keep us here like this! Do you know who I am? You tell him he can’t keep us here like this!”
“Shut up!”
“I demand that you untie me! Right now! We can work this out. Let me talk to him!”
Demand? Didn’t Stevens know who he was dealing with? They didn’t care who he was. They didn’t care that he was running for mayor in the next election.
Drake looked over at him. “Be quiet.”
“I will not be quiet! Untie me!”
Lobo handed the phone back to Drake, then walked in front of Stevens. “I never did like you. Stop talking.”
“Untie me. I can make this go away. I can make the police go away. We can work this out. Let me talk to Jose. I can work magic. He knows that. Let me talk to him!”
“Somebody shut him up,” Drake shouted.
“Gladly.”
Councilman Stevens was shot six times. Blood splattered against the wall behind him and he fell to his side, against Eric Lawrence. Eric Lawrence practically jumped into Roger King’s lap. King never moved a muscle. Barbara Mabanks screamed, her cries turning into hysterical wails that echoed inside the empty metal building. Lobo turned his rifle in her direction.
“No!”
Captain Mabanks tried to shield her, but it was too late. The wailing stopped immediately as she fell backward, blood oozing from her head. For a few seconds, there was absolute silence in the warehouse. Then John Mabanks was the one to wail, his cries deep and wrought with emotion. He lunged at Lobo and Dee watched in horror as his body was riddled with bullets, his blood spraying against her cheek as she turned away from the sight.
“Anybody else got something to say?”
No one did.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Finn found Joel Yearwood and two other detectives in her front yard. She assumed they were the two who had taken over Dee’s investigation. She walked up to them, interrupting their conversation.
“Excuse me. I’m Finley Knight. Don’t know if you remember me. I—”
“Wait a minute. What are you doing here? We were told—”
“Yeah…they took me on a boat. I jumped. Where’s Dee?”
One of other two stepped forward. “Ms. Knight, I’m Detective Davis. You’ve got to be interviewed. We’ve got two officers down. Our priority right now—”
“Where’s Detective Woodard? Captain Mabanks?”
“Look, we’ve got to take you in. You’re our only link—”
She took a step back and held up her hands. “I know the drill, but it ain’t happening right now.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Joel said.
“The hell I don’t. Find me Detective Woodard and Captain Mabanks. I’ll talk to them.”
Detective Davis looked at the others, then let out a frustrated breath. “We can’t locate them. Neither of them is answering.”
“Trace their phones?” she asked quickly.
“It’s in the works, yes. Now…how many men were involved?”
“Two. And I’m sure my assistant has already told you this when you interviewed her. We heard two shots. Then they came to the back, blew out the bay window. Took me.”
“Why did they take you?”
Finn hesitated. “I have no idea.”
Joel looked at her skeptically. “You’re saying it doesn’t have anything to do with the murder investigation?”
She met his gaze. “What murder investigation?”
“Come on. Dee was still working it, even if Mabanks told her to back off. And she was here quite a bit.”
She took another step away. “Call me when you find them. I’ll be happy to sit for an interrogation then.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to my office.” She pointed to her driveway. “And move some of these cars out of the way. They’re blocking my garage.”
Everything had gone down pretty much as she’d expected. Rylee was already in the car, waiting. Smokey had been secured in her bedroom. She hadn’t bothered with the lights or locking the front door. She figured the cops would be there for several more hours, futilely looking for evidence that didn’t exist.
But she wasn’t going to her office. She had a hunch and she hoped it was the right one.
Only she needed help.
Chapter Sixty-Four
“Sorry, kid. It’s not going to work out after all.”
Dee watched as Duncan Frazier was spun around, his hands jerked up behind him while one of Lobo’s goons tied him up.
“Wait! He said—”
“Orders from the top.”
“Orders? From Jose? But he said—”
“Shut up already,” Drake said, pointing his gun at Duncan’s face. “Join the others on the floor.”
Duncan’s lower lip trembled. “What…what are you going to do?”
“I’m waiting on a phone call. Then we’ll know.”
Duncan was shoved down next to Dee, his feet sliding through the drying blood of John Mabanks. The bodies of the captain and his wife, along with that of Councilman Stevens, had been dumped in a heap against the opposite wall. The rest of them had been quiet, no one even making eye contact with each other or their captives. Roger King was still in his catatonic state, barely breathing. Eric Lawrence’s knee was twitching nervously. Oliver Judge was clenching and unclenching his jaw, his eyes darting around the room, never landing on anything. Beside her, Duncan Frazier was beginning to cry, a quiet sound that—despite his obvious involvement—tugged at her heart. He was just a young kid mixed up in something that was way over his head. She wondered if he’d had a role in his parents’ deaths. Even that thought did little to harden her heart toward him. His fate—like theirs—seemed to be sealed.
She didn’t know what the delay was or why Drake needed a phone call to tell him to pull the trigger. Unless Hernandez had some other unfinished business to take care of. Like maybe finding the Petersons. Brett and his father were the last. Everyone else involved was dead. Daniel Frazier, Carlos Hernandez, Mayor O’Leary, Judge Santos, Brian Hodge…now Mabanks and Stevens. The only others who knew anything about the goings-on of Jose Hernandez’s business were Finn and the Petersons. Was Finn dead like they believed? Did that leave only the Petersons as the loose ends? Did he have another team out hunting for them?
Yes…her fate seemed to be sealed. Her only hope would be if she and Captain Mabanks were missed. They could put a trace on their phones, but she doubted the SIM cards were of any use any longer. She glanced at the pile of rubble that used to be their cells. No. A trace would probably do no good. The GPS tracking device on her car was of no use either. As far as she knew, her car was still parked at the Whataburger where they’d met up with three of Drake’s men. By the time they pulled security images, this would be long over with.
She leaned her head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. She no longer felt the cold concrete she was sitting on. Her body seemed to be going numb…accepting its fate. Duncan’s quiet sniffling was almost comforting to her now.
Because her fate was sealed.
All they were waiting on was a phone call. She almost wished it would ring so they could get it over with.
Almost.
Chapter Sixty-Five
“Do you think he believed you?”
Finn was speeding along the foggy JFK Causeway, not worried about being stopped. Every cop on the force had seemed to be parked near her house. Two cops dead? No…no one would be out patrolling, looking for speeders. Not tonight.
“I hope so. It’s our only chance.”
>
“But what if he didn’t?”
“Then we’ll go in alone.” She glanced at Rylee. “I’ll go in alone,” she corrected.
“The hell you will. Quit trying to protect me. I…I folded earlier. That won’t happen again.”
“Rylee—”
“No! And maybe it’s this gun on my hip that’s got me feeling brave…but you will not go in alone.”
Finn didn’t argue, but she had no intention of letting Rylee get involved. Yeah, she’d folded, as she called it, but Finn was glad she had. Rylee had no police training…but she did. She just hoped her hunch didn’t prove to be a dead end.
“A la bodega. Rapido!”
Or at least that’s what she thought she heard Drake yell to the guy on the boat. Her Spanish wasn’t great, but she remembered when she’d had the office building remodeled, the guys kept calling it “bodega.”
Store. Warehouse.
According to Rylee, from the research of Jose Hernandez’s business and property, the old boat trailer facility—warehouse—was the only thing still owned by Bayside Janitorial. Brian Hodge had been killed there. The police had it secured. Would Drake and Lobo be crazy enough to use it again?
But why not? If the police were going to revisit the scene, they wouldn’t do it in the middle of the night.
“A la bodega. Rapido!”
They had been intending to take her there. If Dee and the captain had been abducted as well, it stood to reason they’d take them there too. And the others? What better place to tie up loose ends? Take care of business, then disappear. Jose Hernandez was already in Mexico. In a few hours, these guys could be in Brownsville and then cross over into Matamoros with ease.
Game over.
Of course, if they weren’t at the warehouse…if there was some other property Drake was referring to…then it was game over for sure. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, trying not to think about Dee and Mabanks being at the mercy of Drake and Lobo. They were obviously trying to eliminate all the players. She remembered what they’d done to Connie Frazier. Dee wasn’t a player in this game, but she knew too much. And Finn knew part of that was because of her.
