Hit and Run (5 page)

She got out of her Jeep and listened while watching the perimeter. She saw—and heard—nothing except the sounds of nature. The Topanga Canyon was one of the few places in L.A. that still felt like being in the middle of nowhere while also being in the middle of the city. She scrunched her nose. She didn’t like the silence. She much preferred the sounds of the ocean and seagulls to the sounds of song birds and rustling leaves.

Scarlet walked around the property, cautious. She didn’t see or hear movement in the house. She stepped on the rickety stoop to the small, covered porch.

The door opened and she immediately pulled her gun before she recognized Jason at the same time he said her name.

“Shit, Jason, that’s a good way to get shot.”

“I’m going to turn myself in,” he said.

She stepped in through the door, then closed it behind her. Dark circles framed Jason’s eyes and he wore the same clothes she’d seen him in last night.

“Okay,” she said. But she wasn’t sure that was the smart move, not if someone inside was gunning for him. They had to plan his surrender, get him a lawyer, and a guarantee of protection. “Why didn’t you respond to my messages?”

“I was thinking. I didn’t know what to say. I don’t want you involved if I can avoid it.”

“I’m already involved, Jason.” She paused. “What changed your mind?”

“I can’t live like this. Running. A fugitive. Risking you and your career.”

“Forget me. I want to know why you didn’t tell me you and Gina were lovers.”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t hiding it. I told you we were more than just friends.”

“Vague.”

“Why is it important, anyway?”

“It’s not important that you were involved. It’s important that you broke up. Kyle Richardson interviewed me last night. He says you were jealous that Gina passed her detective exam and was leaving you behind.”

“No. It wasn’t like that!” He ran his hands through his hair and sat down on the couch covered by a dusty white sheet. “Fuck.”

“Tell me about it.” She sat on the coffee table across from him. “The truth, Jason. All of it.”

“People knew we were involved, but we weren’t public about it. We knew it could create problems because we were partners. Taking the detective exam was actually my idea—she wanted it, I knew she’d get it, and if we were split up in the department, we could finally take the next step. We wanted to move in together, but until we switched to different units, it would be problematic. So we decided to just cool it until she passed. We talked all the time—you can check our phone records.”

“I’m not looking at your phone records, Jason. I’m wanting to trust you.”

“You can. I haven’t lied to you.”

“I didn’t say you did. But Richardson thinks that Gina broke up with you and you were going all macho bully because your ex-girlfriend was going to outrank you.”

“That’s bullshit. You know me, Scarlet. Have I ever gone all Neanderthal when a girl beat me out? And
I
was the one who pushed Gina. She didn’t have the confidence in herself that I had in her. She was so smart. Not book smart, really, but street smart. The detective exam was hard for her, which was another reason I wanted to cool things off so she had time to study and focus on the test.”

He paused. “I would have married her. We’d talked about it. She wanted to wait until we were in different units. I respected that.” He sank into the couch. “I should have been there. A month ago, I would have been there with her. I could have stopped this!”

“Or you could have been killed, too.” She believed him. How could she not? It made sense. And she had never, not once, seen Jason act so possessive over a woman that he would kill her. But she was torn about what Jason should do. Her head told her that he should turn himself in and tell Richardson everything.
Someone
should be able to corroborate his version of their relationship and break-up. Maybe a friend outside of the police department. A neighbor. Her mother.

Yet, Scarlet hesitated. Her gut told her something weird was going on. “Did you recognize the two guys who ran you off the road?”

He shook his head. “But the guy in Gina’s house, he was a cop. I swear.”

That reminded Scarlet of one of her concerns. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about the cop? You went to the station, gave your statement, you had an opportunity to put it on the record. It’s important. Now, who’s going to believe it?”

“I fucked up. I really don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I didn’t
want
to believe it. I didn’t know if I’d seen what I saw. But I had. Running through it all night, I know I was right. It was a badge. And how would anyone know when I left the station unless they had someone on the inside? Someone had to have followed me—they ran me off the road near the one-eighteen interchange while I was on my way home.”

“You left your car by the side of the road.”

“I didn’t know what was going on.”

“What are you driving now?”

“It took me two hours to walk home. No one was sitting on my house, but someone had been there. I took my bike—it’s not mine. It’s Josh’s. But he told me I could use it.” Josh was Jason’s older brother. He was a major in the Army and, last Scarlet had heard, stationed in Afghanistan. She didn’t know him well because he was ten years older than she was and already in the military when the Jones family moved down the street from the Moreno’s.

“This is important, Jason—did you leave a gun in your car?”

“No. I was still in uniform. They gave me back my service weapon when I left the station, and it was holstered.”

“You don’t have a nine millimeter back-up?”

He hesitated. “I have a nine. But it’s at my house.”

“You know that for certain?”

“It’s in a lock-box in my closet. I have my .45 service issue, and a nine and a .357 in my lock box at home. Plus a couple rifles in my closet.”

“What kind of nine?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Richardson said a nine millimeter was found under the seat of your abandoned car.”

“It’s not mine.”

“What do you have?”

“It’s a Smith & Wesson.”

One of the most popular models out there.

“You said Gina mentioned she didn’t trust her supervisor. I did a little digging on Tony Mercer. He’s a decorated veteran. Has been moving up quickly. Political. All the right friends in all the right places.”

“Everyone loves him, I know. All I know is that she didn’t like him from the minute he transferred to the Mission District. She never explicitly said why, but they were in the Academy together, the year before John and me.”

That would have been two years after Scarlet. She didn’t have her notes handy, but said, “He moved over to Mission about a year ago?”

“Yeah. He’d come from Sunset, took the sergeant position of my squad.” He paused. “In hindsight, I wonder if Gina agreed to finally try for her detective shield because she wanted to get out from under Mercer.”

“He hit on her?”

“Not that I saw. Not that she said. I should have seen it before.” He squeezed his eyes shut and the grief leaked out. He squeaked out, “I loved her, Scarlet.”

Scarlet believed him. She’d seen suspects fake emotion, and this grief wasn’t faked. It was like a switch, and he now understood that he’d never see Gina again. That a future they might have had was gone.

She considered Tony Mercer. Gina hadn’t liked him since the Academy. Why? Had he chased her? Had they dated back then? If they had, why hadn’t she told Jason? Or maybe Mercer’s feelings were one-sided. One-sided feelings could turn dangerous. She’d seen it before. Far too often.

Jason pulled himself together. Last night he’d looked scared and angry and confused. Now he just looked sad and confused.

“That still doesn’t explain what Gina said to you,” she said, “that she’d seen something she wasn’t supposed to see.”

“If we didn’t have the rookies, if I hadn’t been giving her space to study, I would have known. She wanted to talk to me about it, that’s why she called.” He put his head in his hands. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

They sat there in silence for a few minutes. “Jason, let me call Kyle Richardson. John says he’s a solid cop. I’ll arrange a neutral place where you can turn yourself in. You tell him exactly what you told me. You could easily say you didn’t even know anyone was looking for you, that you were just taking a day to grieve, and I tracked you down.”

“I really appreciate this, Scarlet. I should have done it last night, but after those guys ran me off the road and shot at me—I’m scared.”

“We’ll figure it out. You didn’t kill Gina. You'll be able to prove it. Forensics, your statement—make sure you tell them everything you saw, especially about the cop fleeing the scene. Get it on record. I’m going to dig around into Gina’s life, see if I can learn anything about what had her so freaked.”

She pulled out her phone. “The kitchen’s the only place I ever got a signal when I was living here.” She crossed over the threshold and saw two bars on her phone. She dialed Richardson’s number while staring out the back window. Living here had been both good and bad for her. The isolation wasn’t good—she’d drank too much and sulked and hardly talked to anyone—but she’d also come to terms with what happened, with who she’d become and who she needed to be. She’d spent so long trying to prove herself to everyone and everything, when she really had nothing to prove. She was who she was, and she’d learned to like herself, warts and all.

Almost dying could do that to someone.

“Richardson,” a rushed voice said.

“Kyle Richardson?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Scarlet Moreno. The PI you met last night.”

“I remember.”

“I tracked down Jason. He wants to come in.”

“Where are you?”

“I know how this works. He needs to talk to you. No SWAT, no cuffs. I’ll bring him to my brother’s division. Special Operations headquarters. Neutral territory.”

Something caught her eye. A deer, most likely. She stepped closer to the window and looked out into the trees.

“I don’t think he’s in the position to negotiate, Moreno.”

Richardson was angry. She couldn’t blame him, but it irritated her just the same.

“Jason didn’t kill Gina Perez. I believe him one hundred percent. All I ask is that you listen to him.”

“He should call his union rep.”

“I’ll have him do so. One hour and—”

There was no deer outside. It was a light-haired man. In black. With a gun.

“Shit,” she said. “There’s a man with a gun outside and—”

A burst of gunfire at the front of the house cut her off.

Scarlet grabbed her gun at the same time as she hit the floor. She half-crawled, half ran to the living room. Jason was on the floor covering his head, as glass and wood splinters flew around the room. That’s when she realized that they were being fired on from both sides.

“Jason!” she yelled.

“I’m not hit,” he said.

There was silence. Shouts. It sounded like two men, one in front and one in back. Possibly three.

Another burst of gunfire from the front had Scarlet automatically returning fire. She stopped; her extra clip was in her Jeep. She only had the fifteen—now thirteen—rounds in her Glock.

“Who?” Jason asked.

“Not cops.”

“No shit.”

Cops didn’t start shooting without identifying themselves. And she’d just called Richardson three minutes ago. Hardly enough time to trace her cell phone. She looked down at her phone—the signal had been lost.

“How many?” Scarlet asked.

“I didn’t see anyone. A shadow in front of the window.”

“I saw one in the back.”

“We’re dead. God, I’m sorry Scarlet.”

“We’re not dead yet.”

Her blood flowed hot and fast. Her elbow throbbed where she’d been shot three years ago.

Ambush. Again.

Silence. Silence so sudden she thought she might be dead.

But she wasn’t dead. She hadn’t been hit.

They’d followed her. Or followed Jason. Or tracked him somehow. She couldn’t think about who or how; she had to think clearly to get them out of this.

Even if Richardson believed her about the man with a gun, it would take at least fifteen minutes for Topanga police to get here—if Richardson was able to trace her phone. If he could track her GPS. Possible … but that fast? Only in the movies.

She didn’t have enough ammo to hold off two men with semi-automatic rifles for two minutes let alone twenty.

Think, Scarlet!

“The cellar,” she said.

“We’ll be trapped.”

“Trust me.”

Most Southern California houses didn’t have a basement, but there was a large crawl space under this house. One of the previous owners had used it to dry pot he’d grown among the trees. When Scarlet lived here before, she’d explored every inch—she didn’t have much else to do—and there was not only an unfinished basement but plenty of places to hide underground.

But they had to get to the kitchen first.

“Follow me,” she said.

They crawled across the floor and she stopped in the threshold of the kitchen. She looked up at the window but didn’t see anyone. The side door was locked, but anyone with a gun or a little strength could easily break through. The window was single-pane and covered by a ratty curtain.

The basement was accessible from the small laundry room. She quickly crawled across the cracked linoleum and reached up to slide open the pocket door.

Breaking glass distracted her. She half pushed Jason down into the cellar. Eyes focused on the kitchen door, she watched as a hand came through to unlock the door. She aimed, fired, hit the bastard on the wrist. He screamed and blood sprayed into the kitchen.

She followed Jason down into the cellar. It was pitch black. The power wasn’t on in the house, so lights weren’t an option, not that she’d turn them on and alert their attackers to where they were hiding. She made sure the door was closed, but that wouldn’t keep them from locating this place if and when they did a full search.

She whispered, “Take out your phone. There’s a tunnel that leads to the woodshed. It should be on the southernmost wall.”