Sullivan's Justice (44 page)

He smiled. “You’re my
salir
.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “What does that mean?”

“Come over here and I’ll tell you.”

Carolyn assumed it meant something like angel or savior. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he would have already done it. She walked over and bent down so he could whisper it in her ear.

 

 

Hank shoved the microphone away from his face, turning to Mary Stevens. “What the hell is she doing? I ordered her to stay a safe distance away from him. She’s practically sitting in his damn lap. Do you know what the word
salir
means?”

Mary shouted, “Ticket out! She’s his ticket out!”

Moreno raised his arms near the probation officer’s head.

“The restraints are off! Hold your fire!” Hank yelled in panic. “Carolyn’s too close. Shit, he’s already got her!”

Moreno had Carolyn in a choke hold. Her blouse was ripped open and he had the microphone from the wire positioned near his mouth. “I know you assholes can hear me. If you want your pretty probation officer back alive, get me the hell outta here. I want an unmarked car waiting at the back of the jail in ten minutes.”

“I have a shot,” one of the marksmen said over the radio.

Moreno jerked his head back, hearing noises on the ceiling. Carolyn grabbed onto his arm and let her body weight fall to the floor, breaking the choke hold.

A single shot was fired. Moreno tumbled backward onto the floor as his blood splattered on the freshly painted white walls.

 

 

 

 

 

N
eil stormed out of the restaurant, almost knocking down an elderly couple. He looked back and saw Melody getting up from the table to follow him.

He fumbled in his pocket for the ticket to pick up his car when he looked up and saw the valet had already pulled it up front. Strange, he thought. How did they know when he was going to leave? Then he saw a tall, lanky man, with long dark hair, and wearing a brown leather jacket, yank the valet out of the driver’s seat and force him to the ground. The guy must be trying to steal his Ferrari. Acting on impulse, Neil rushed toward the assailant.

To the left of his field of vision, Neil saw a large, blond man in a blue parka a few feet away. “Leo, the woman’s got a gun,” the man in the parka shouted, raising his right arm and bracing it with his left.

Neil froze, staring at the man’s gun as it shifted to a target behind him. When the gun fired, he thought he’d been shot. Throwing himself onto the ground, Neil glanced underneath the car and saw the terrified eyes of the valet peering out at him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He heard the car door close. If a man named Leo tried to drive off in the car, the valet would be run over. Maybe Neil, too!

Any minute, Neil expected a rain of bullets to sear their way into his back.

Melody!

She’d been only a few steps behind him as they’d left the restaurant. Another gunshot resonated in his ears. He pushed himself to his feet just as the man in the blue parka was propelled backward, then sank lifeless to the ground. Spotting Melody over the roof of the car, Neil saw her sitting awkwardly, holding her hand over her stomach. Blood was gushing out through her fingers. Her face was contorted in pain, but he was certain he heard her call his name. He dropped to the ground again and crawled over to her, using the Ferrari to provide cover.

“It’s okay, baby,” Neil said, cradling her head in his arms. “You’re going to be all right. Just hang in there until the paramedics get here.” Tears stung his eyes. He gritted his teeth and placed his hand over the wound, then stroked her pale blond hair off her forehead. She didn’t move or speak, but her eyes were open and fixed on him. “Hold on, Melody,” he said. “Once they get you to the hospital, the doctors will fix you up and you’ll be fine.”

Neil wasn’t aware she owned a gun, but he did remember her telling him she had trained to become an FBI agent when she was younger. After what Melody had told him inside the restaurant, he doubted if he would ever truly know her. That is, if she survived.

The exact sequence of events was muddled. Melody must have seen the man in the blue parka pointing a gun at him. If she hadn’t fired, the assailant would have shot him.

“I . . . love . . . you,” Melody said, her eyes closing and her head falling to one side.

 

 

Raphael Moreno was dead.

Elbowing her way through the SWAT team and jail deputies, Carolyn stormed toward Hank, taking him by the arm. “We have to get to the Chart House,” she said, her blouse ripped and her clothes splattered with blood. “Neil must be there with the Ferrari. I forgot, I forgot. Melody told me they were going there.”

They retrieved their personal items and guns from the lockers on the ground floor of the jail, then raced out to Hank’s police unit, leaving Mary behind to handle the after-math of Carolyn’s disastrous interview with Moreno. She had extracted the truth, but her recklessness and pride had cost a man his life. The autopsy photos had pushed him beyond reason. Why had she let him lure her so close? She should never have dropped her guard.

When Carolyn and Hank were en route, he told her to check his gym bag in the backseat for a T-shirt. She removed her torn blouse and pulled a white T-shirt over her head, then slipped on her shoulder holster and weapon. Just then, the dispatcher advised them of a report of shots fired in front of the Chart House restaurant.

“Unit two-twelve, will you be responding?”

“Affirmative, we’re two miles away,” Hank said, slapping the portable siren on top of his unmarked car.

“Witness said the shooting involves a red Ferrari,” the dispatcher continued. “Thought this might be the vehicle you’ve been looking for. I’ll get some units rolling for backup.”

“Keep them out of the area until I advise,” Hank told her. “Station one,” he added, “this is a direct order. Move them into position, but do not, I repeat, do not allow them to approach the restaurant. The same holds true for fire and ambulance.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Carolyn yelled over the shrill of the siren, terrified for her brother. “They may have shot Neil. Why would you tell her not to send backup units and the paramedics?” She grabbed the radio and shoved it in his face. “Rescind your order. My brother may be lying there bleeding to death.”

“There’s more at stake here than your brother.” Hank said, knocking her hand away. “You don’t know what we’re dealing with.” He squealed into the parking area at the Chart House.

Carolyn saw an unknown man with long hair in a brown jacket, seated in the driver’s seat of Neil’s Ferrari. The valet was crawling toward the front of the restaurant.

“Block the Ferrari, Hank!” Carolyn shouted, whipping her gun out of her shoulder holster and releasing the safety. “Neil could be in it, on the floor.”

The detective drove over the curb, smashing into the front section of the red car. Carolyn flung open her door only inches away from Leo Danforth.

Bullets whizzed over Carolyn’s head as she leaped out of the car. Other rounds rattled off from multiple positions behind her. She couldn’t be sure, but there had to be eight or ten men and at least four cars.

They had driven into an ambush. Because the police car sat higher than the Ferrari, she could see the man had a gun in his right hand. “Police!” she yelled, training her service revolver at Danforth’s head. “Drop the gun or I’ll shoot.”

As if in slow motion, the man turned to her, his eyes dilated and set. As he rotated his shoulders, she could see frame by frame, the black gunmetal emerging from the right side of his body. Her finger floating just above the trigger, Carolyn squeezed her hand and fired. Fragments of his skull drifted toward the window and dashboard. Tears gushed from her eyes as she opened her fingers and the gun tumbled to the ground.

Carolyn stood in shock, her arms limp at her side. Hank entered the passenger side, grunting as he pulled the lifeless man over the console and onto the pavement. He yelled at her, “Get in the car, Carolyn! You’re going to get shot.”

She heard Hank, but his words didn’t register. A bullet ricocheted off the top of the Ferrari. Hank’s attention was diverted by another man rushing toward the front of the car. The detective stood and returned fire. “Save yourself and the car,” he yelled over his shoulder at Carolyn, dropping the shooter five feet away.

Neil was alive. After she opened the door and entered the Ferrari, she saw him bending over a blond woman on the ground. It had to be Melody Asher. Gunfire came from the green Jaguar and a white Range Rover parked sideways in the street behind her. A tall, black man was crossing the parking lot, with what appeared to be an assault rifle. Her eyes panned in front of her—more cars, more guns, more men.

She became alert, feeling warm liquid seeping into her clothing. She was sitting in the dead man’s blood. Slamming the gearshift into reverse, Carolyn saw another armed male snaking his way through the parking lot a few feet from her. Throwing the car into first, she maneuvered around Hank’s police unit. She drove back over a curb, scraping the undercarriage, and made a sharp right. In the distance, a wood fence separated the parking lot from the alley. She blasted through it, then sped down the narrow road.

Hearing sirens, she looked in the rearview mirror and saw police cars merging onto the scene. She turned right onto Vista Del Mar, thinking the safest place to go was the police station. To reach the station three miles away, she needed to take the 101 Freeway south. When the entrance to the freeway on Seward Avenue came up, the Range Rover suddenly appeared in the left lane next to her, blocking her from moving over to enter onto the southbound ramp. The Jaguar was directly behind.

A bearded, slender man thrust his upper torso out of the car window and yelled at her. “Pull over,” he said, waving a gun. “All I want is the fucking car, lady. Is it worth dying for?”

Carolyn panicked, afraid they were going to run her into the embankment on her right. Then the road opened at the ramp leading to the 101 Freeway north, and she downshifted to second and took the sharp corner at thirty, losing the Range Rover. She’d never driven a high-performance car like this Ferrari. It required real physical strength. The muscles in her arms were trembling from exertion. Weaving in and out of lanes, she could now see the California coastline approaching on her left.

She glanced at the instrument panel and saw the top speed was two hundred miles per hour. She was certain she could outrun the Jaguar if she pushed the Ferrari to the limit.

As the needle on the speedometer passed the hundred mark, she realized that Hank had been protecting more than her life when he told her to leave. The killers wanted the car, not her. What in God’s name could be inside that would be worth all this bloodshed? If it had been a large parcel of narcotics, the lab would have already found it.

“Shit,” Carolyn said, realizing she didn’t have a phone. She had to advise the police that she was being pursued. Most of the expensive cars had voice-activated phones. People couldn’t drive a car this fast and hold a cell phone to their ears. Seeing a row of buttons on the rearview mirror, she started randomly pressing them. A mechanical voice came on and said, “Ready.” Checking the rearview mirror, she could see the headlights of the Jaguar fading.

She was about to order the phone to call 911 when she realized it was ringing. She hit the button, hoping it was Hank. “Hank?” she said.

“Ms. Sullivan, I presume,” a male voice said, the last syllable deepening. “What exactly are you doing with my car?”

“Who is this?”

“Let’s just say I’m a friend, someone who’s concerned for your safety.”

“Liar,” she shot out. “I know there’s something valuable inside this thing. I had a long talk with Raphael Moreno. He told me everything. I know you’re responsible for killing those innocent people.” More lives had now been lost because of this evil man. It had to be the man Moreno called Larry. “You’re never going to get this car back, Larry. I’ll destroy it before I let you have it. The game is over.”

“Have it your way.”

She could hear him breathing heavily. He might sound calm, but he had to be furious that things hadn’t turned out the way he’d planned. The men that hadn’t died in the shoot-out would be dead as soon as he got his hands on them.

“You’re a foolish woman, Carolyn,” Lawrence Van Buren continued. “If something happens to you, who will take care of John and Rebecca? Your daughter is a beautiful young girl. My men picked them up an hour ago. I hope they control themselves. They loved following her over the past few days. Rebecca shouldn’t wear such seductive clothing.”

“You sick bastard.” Her rage was so intense, she almost lost control of the vehicle as she switched lanes to avoid slower traffic. “I’m going to track you down and kill you with my bare hands. Don’t you dare touch my children, understand?” Her finger moved to end the call, so she could dial her house and confirm John and Rebecca were safe. Then she hesitated. She felt as if she was back in the classroom at St. Mary’s with Sister Catherine giving them their weekly lecture on the temptations of the Devil. He was bluffing, she told herself. Everything he said was more than likely a lie. After Moreno, she knew better than to trust a killer, particularly one this vicious.

His men had made a mess of things. Now he was taking control. Before she forged ahead, however, she reminded herself of the things Moreno had told her. They had somehow managed to find out where he lived and beheaded his mother. She had no choice but to take the voice on the phone seriously. The children were home alone. His men could have followed her from the courthouse. She couldn’t end the call, not when she was negotiating for her children’s lives. Her vision blurred. The car veered into the other lane.