The Gauntlet Assassin (2 page)

Lara’s pulse quickened.
What was he saying?
“Did you ask for me when you called the Paramed Service?”

“I didn’t have time. But I hoped it would be you.” Morton spoke softly, then waited.

Lara’s mind raced. The employment commissioner oversaw the contest, now in its third year, and he would rule on any situations that required a judgment call. He could disqualify any competitor too, including her.

Lara was torn. Her desire to win the Gauntlet was like a tumor growing inside her. Oregon desperately needed the grant money and the jobs that would be awarded to the winner’s state—and she needed a reason to keep getting up every day. Yet having the contest handed to her was not what she had in mind. “I don’t want to win except on my own merit.” She almost regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

“Be more specific.” He sat up and she noticed that he was attractive in a pretty-boy way with dark wavy hair and high cheekbones. She’d only seen the commissioner a few times on the news, and the camera had not flattered him. Still, he was almost fifty and the black leather gear he was sporting made her a little sad for him.

“I don’t want your help. I want to win clean.”

“Could I interest you in some cash?”

Lara laughed. “Taking a bribe for not reporting this incident would be worse than simply not logging the GSW.” She began to pack her medical supplies.

“Tell me what you want. I can’t let this incident reach the police or the media.”

“Your boyfriend is a menace. He shot at me on his way out and should probably be locked up.”

Morton’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry.” He scooted to the bed and leaned against it. “He’s having a bad reaction to some medication. He’s not usually like this.” The commissioner’s gaze slid away and Lara sensed he’d just lied to her.

“Does he have a criminal record?”

“No. He’s never hurt anyone before. He discovered I cheated on him and freaked out. Shooting at you was just a leftover emotional reaction. He’ll calm down and be fine.”

“I want his name. For my own protection.”

Morton hesitated. “Richard Bremmer, but please don’t report this. I’ll lose my federal position.” He locked into her eyes. “And everything that goes with it.”

Lara wanted to get the hell out. After a quick look at the dog, which hadn’t moved since Morton snapped his fingers, she slipped her gun back into its holster and stood to leave.

“Are you going to report this?”

“I don’t know yet.”

In the van, she accessed her call log on her iCom and stared at the cursor, which was waiting for her to speak or type something.
Crap
. She was required to report the GSW, so that was the safest thing to do. If she lost her paramedic license, she’d be scrambling to find work like millions of others. She couldn’t go through that nightmare again. After leaving the police department, she’d been unemployed for years. Then the gun laws loosened and health insurance got scarce, so paramedics were suddenly in demand.

Yet, if she reported the incident, Thaddeus Morton would be investigated and likely removed from overseeing the Gauntlet. His last act as commissioner might be to disqualify her. If she kept his secret and he stayed on as a judge, he would owe her, and it couldn’t hurt to have someone in her corner while she competed.

If she brought home a grant, co-funded by AmGo and the federal government, Oregon would have money to spend on jobs and social programs. AmGo would build a facility in Eugene that employed thousands. Teachers and police officers would go back to work. Not her, of course. She had burned that bridge thoroughly. Still, she was a cop at heart and she hated the way law enforcement had been crippled by the never-ending recession. Most departments now only investigated violent crimes, and detectives had a couple of days to track leads. After that, the case went into the cold file and they moved on. It was shameful. So many victims with no one held accountable.

Lara slammed out of the van and ran back into the house. Morton had changed into jeans and opened a suitcase on the bed. He jumped like a startled cat when she burst into the room.

“How is the first section of the contest structured this year?” The Gauntlet had five phases that changed annually, and the details were kept secret until the program went live.

“It’s an elevated maze.”

Lara made a quick mental assessment. “I’d like to be paired against someone tall and female.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Beyond that, I intend to kick ass on my own.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“I hope your accidental shoulder wound heals quickly.” Lara bolted from the room before he could say anything else. No promises had been exchanged, but she felt a little dirty anyway.

Chapter 2

Lara parked her rig and hustled up the exterior stairs. On the drive home, she’d heard a storm warning on the radio and the winds were picking up already. Her apartment sat above her landlady’s oversized garage and she’d chosen it for the privacy. In real-estate terms, it was considered a studio even though her bed and dresser were in an alcove partitioned with heavy curtains. Not that the privacy mattered. The only company she ever had was her landlady, a recluse writer who lived online, but came over every once in a while when she needed Lara’s help with something.

Lara set the perimeter alarm, then unloaded her medpack and Taser into the trunk by the door. She changed into a t-shirt but left the Kel-Tec strapped in place. She liked the weight and comfort of it against her side. The weapon was even more effective than meds at keeping her anxiety to a low murmur. She resisted the temptation to sit down at the NetCom and conduct a quick search for Richard Bremmer. Her flight left at noon from Portland the next day, and she still needed to finish packing for the week-long contest. She’d finally broken down and bought new athletic clothes in bright colors because almost everything she owned was black or brown and wouldn’t look good on camera. She’d chosen water-repellent material on the assumption that she’d have to swim in at least one phase of the contest.

Her biggest challenge for now was to make everything fit into one suitcase. The “single checked bag and single small carry-on” rule had been in place with the airlines since 2013 when lighter loads and less fuel became a mandate. Since then, fuel prices had risen even more, driving the price of plane tickets even higher. So many people had quit flying that hundreds of airports had closed, including the one in Eugene.

The wind howled outside her windows and the tall pine trees swayed. Lara worried the storm might cause damage at the Maryland airport and delay her flight. It was tornado season in the Midwest and a twister could cause the airline to reroute her flight. That was the worst risk of flying now—sudden, powerful storms.

When Lara finally had everything squeezed into her suitcase, she went to her desk and began the search she’d wanted to conduct since leaving the commissioner’s house. With a few clicks and a password, she opened the Eugene PD’s citizen database. Her best friend was still a detective with the department, and he let her use his password to access information. Sometimes she looked up people she’d treated in an emergency call to get the background story. Other times, she perused the files just for the thrill of police work.

Richard Bremmer, the asshole who’d fired at her, was thirty-five and owned a spa and fitness center called Flex. Lara searched the Lane County criminal record files and discovered Bremmer had a public indecency charge from 2012 when he was twenty-five and an assault charge in 2014. The man he’d attacked refused to testify, and the judge had dismissed the case. Lara was relieved to learn Bremmer was only a passionate gay man in need of anger management and not a career thug who would track her down because she’d witnessed him leaving the scene of a crime. She stared at his mugshot and tried to visualize him ten years older and with longer hair. He seemed more attractive than the glimpse she’d gotten of him before hitting the ground. But age changed people’s appearance.

Lara hated being sucked into petty domestic bullshit. Yet for a few moments in that room with the bleeding man, she’d felt essential. Her presence in the world had mattered for a minute or two. Her stomach growled, surprising her. It was unusual for her to feel hungry except after intense exercise. She got up and crossed the living area into a galley kitchen the size of a walk-in closet. Even though her long period of unemployment had forced her into this small living space, she was grateful to look out the windows at a lush backyard surrounded by pine and oak trees, instead of being stacked up in a fifty-unit complex surrounded by asphalt.

She cored an apple and tossed it into the blender with pineapple juice, sunflower seeds, and two tablespoons of soy protein. She drank her dinner standing at the counter and worried about getting enough nourishment during the intense physical contest. She hadn’t been able to eat solid food since she left the department, and the next week would be no exception. Physically, everything still worked fine. The block was in her head. The idea of chewing and swallowing was simply too repulsive, and she couldn’t make herself put a chunk of food in her mouth. Lara knew what a shrink would say, so she’d never paid for the privilege of hearing it.

Two containers of protein powder were already tucked into her suitcase, along with a week’s supply of vitamins and flax seed. She’d buy a blender when she arrived in D.C. and drink plenty of coffee. After four years of living this way—and training intensely through most of it—her body had adjusted, and she could only hope that she’d perform at her best. At five-five, she was one of the smallest contestants, but she had exceptionally strong muscles, the only decent thing her father had given her.

Lara pushed her hands through her shoulder-length, recently-bronzed hair, now worried that she didn’t have enough
wow factor
to gain the audience votes she needed to win. What would the millions of viewers see in her face? Would they think she was kind of pretty with a heart-shaped face and nicely spaced blue eyes? Or would she look short and mousy next to a tall, big-breasted blonde with prominent cheekbones and silicone-plumped lips? Male contestants had won the first two Gauntlets, but the pundits and gamblers were all saying a female would win this year to balance it out. If the tall blondes didn’t make it through the Puzzle, which required quick analytical thinking, Lara figured she had a chance.

Back at the NetCom, she listened to the wind in the trees and searched for Thaddeus Morton, surprised at how few pages came up. Most were articles about his corporate positions leading up to employment commissioner. A few news blogs had gossipy stories about Morton’s single life and rumors of his various sexual relationships. Even though gay sex was now illegal on a federal level, few people were prosecuted for it. Yet incriminating photos could ruin a government career. For the heck of it, she plugged Morton’s name into the local law enforcement database and nothing came up. So he was a good guy, or at least smart and careful. How had Morton ended up with a hothead lover?

Lara forced herself to put the incident behind her. She opened her blog and wrote her last entry about her two-year journey to qualify for the Gauntlet. Once she was registered at the competition, she wouldn’t be allowed to post any details. The contestants competed in rounds, and the sponsors didn’t want those who went later to have an advantage. Writing the blog had been somewhat therapeutic, but it had also opened her up to far more people, strangers really, than she wanted in her life.

Her iCom beeped and she saw Wade Jackson’s handsome face. She decided to take the message on her NetCom so she could see him on a bigger screen. She loved having one number that linked all her communications. Even more, she loved the tiny receiver that tucked into the fold of her ear and made messaging easy. “Hey, pal. What’s up?”

“The system notified me that my password had been used and I assumed it was you.”

“Yep. I had a weird encounter on the job today and I wanted to check the guy out.”

“Anything I should know about?” He sounded concerned, but then, Jackson always sounded concerned.

“Probably not.” Lara wanted to tell him about the incident, but it would only cause him internal conflict. She changed the subject. “Are you working any interesting cases?”

“I’ve got a couple of missing foster teenagers and I’m trying to find a link between them.” He sounded tired. “I really called to say good luck at the Gauntlet. I’m so proud of you for making it this far.”

His words were like a warm heart massage. “Thanks, Jackson. It won’t mean much if I don’t bring home the grant.”

“Bullshit. To get there, you kicked ass against all the jocks and firefighters in this state who competed to represent Oregon. You’ll always have that honor.”

“Bringing jobs back to the state will mean so much more.”

“You’re a good woman, Lara. Go win this thing for us.”

“Thanks. I hope to.” Lara hung up before old emotions could surface. Jackson had trained her to be a detective and was one of the few on the force who hadn’t shunned her after the incident. She’d been in love with Jackson for a while too, right up to the day she’d started dating Ben Stricklyn. Then a crazy woman had shot Ben, and Jackson had been there for her again. A cold ache spread through her chest and she pushed both men out of her mind.

She finished packing, placed her Dock in her shoulder bag so she wouldn’t forget it, then set the sleep alarm on her iCom. As she got ready for bed, the situation at the commissioner’s house troubled her again. What if the shooting wasn’t a domestic altercation? She knew she’d let herself believe Morton’s story because it suited her agenda.

Lara let it go. Why would the commissioner lie? Reporting the incident would have made little difference anyway, except to make an enemy of someone who could help her. If she hadn’t been headed for the Gauntlet, she might have done a little surveillance on Richard Bremmer to see what he was really about. But she wasn’t a cop anymore. She was just a lonely woman, trying to salvage her soul.