by Quinn Avery
“They threw him into the passenger’s side of a car, and told me I’d done a good job.”
Bexley’s stomach knotted. “And that was it? You didn’t think to call for help, or ask where they were taking him?”
“Like I said, I thought he was dead.”
“Did they warn you not to tell anyone?” Bexley pressed on. “Did they draw a weapon? Or did you simply not care?”
“They said my brother better be thankful I complied, then they left.”
A little growl ripped through Bexley’s throat. She’d had enough of this girl, and didn’t know how to get through to her in a way that would be helpful. With as little information as she had provided, Bexley imagined a sketch artist wouldn’t be able to create anything beyond stick figures.
Colt must’ve sensed her frustration the way he slid in at her side. “How many men were there?” he asked.
“Two,” Camila answered. “One was really big, like a linebacker, and the other was pretty average looking.”
Colt crossed his arms over his chest. “They both drove off with the unconscious man?”
“The big guy left in a black SUV, and the other one took off with the hottie.”
“Did anything about the men stand out to you?” Bexley asked. “Do you remember any unusual features, or maybe something about the way they spoke? Was there anything about the vehicles that you can remember?”
Throwing an exaggerated shrug, Camila held her hands up by her head. “I mean it was dark, and I’d been drinking. Like, a lot. It’s not like either of them were attractive or anything. What do you want from me?”
“A clear detail of anything would be nice,” Bexley snarled. “You set a man up to be murdered, and you’re handling the situation like a bad Tinder date!”
Camila stepped closer to Bexley. “If you have a problem with me, chica, maybe we should settle this outside!”
“Maybe we should!” Bexley shot back. “Maybe it’d knock some memories back into that gorgeous head!”
With a burst of laughter, Colt nudged his way between the women and pulled Bexley aside. “Okay, okay. I think that’s enough questioning for now. Maybe you should step outside for a minute by yourself to cool down.”
“Hold on!” Camila called out. “I just remembered something weird those guys said before they left!”
Bexley glanced around Colt, impatiently waiting for Camila to continue. She rolled her hand through the air. “Well?”
“The big dude…he told the little guy he’d meet him back at ‘the Murder House’ once he was done. The little guy laughed and said something like ‘better not let the boss hear you call it that—he forbids anyone to mention Halliwell lived there’. Do you think they were talking about Dean Halliwell? Like that hot actor who went crazy and killed all those girls?”
Bits of the conversation Brewer and Bexley had with his friend Mugsy came flooding back to Bexley all at once.
“He’s staying in one of those ridiculous mansions out past Highland Avenue,” Mugsy had told them of Redding’s last known whereabouts.
“It was owned by that actor,” Brewer had added, “…the psycho that killed all those women.”
Bexley’s stomach plummeted.
They were using Dean Halliwell’s house as their compound.
19
On the drive to Stronghold Investigations, Bexley called Red once again, this time requesting that she dig up the current deed holder on Dean Halliwell’s property. Next she called Luke to check the status on Brewer’s transfer, and was told even though he was a little ahead of schedule, they’d still see him at 4:00. Tension gripped her neck, wrenching her shoulders. She was running out of time to save Brewer, and she was terrified by the consequences of her failure.
J.J.’s new pickup truck was the only vehicle in their building’s parking lot. He emerged from his office right as Bexley dashed inside. “Slow down,” he drawled. “I was hopin’ we could have us another talk.”
“Where’s Leona?” she asked, gesturing to the empty receptionist desk.
“In the hospital with pneumonia. Doc thinks she’ll pull through, but either way I don’t know that she’ll be comin’ back. She’s not gettin’ any younger. None of us are, I suppose.” He scratched at his white hair. “You’ll probably need to find yourself a new receptionist.”
Bexley was beginning to worry there was a direct correlation to the old building and her coworkers’ lungs. “You’re entrusting me with the task?”
His white eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You did agree to take over.”
Bexley’s heart plummeted. Amidst all the madness with Brewer’s case, she’d completely forgotten about J.J.’s proposal to take over the business. “Oh…right.”
“Before I forget, my attorney drew up some papers for you to sign—make the transfer of this place official.” He stopped, hacking a little before he was able to continue. “You can take ‘em home, have your attorney friend give ‘em a look while you’re at it, but I’m not tryin’ to pull one over on you. It’s pretty cut and dried. I paid this place off a decade ago, and now it’s yours. I know it ain’t much to look at, but you could always sell it and roll the profit into a new place. The business itself is always a struggle from month-to-month, but at the rate you’re goin’, you’ll make more than enough to take care of yourself, and live a good life. Especially when I’m no longer on the payroll.”
“Not so fast.” Bexley’s throat thickened. “What if I want to keep you on as a consultant?”
“It’d only be an occasional expense. I’m sure as hell not sitting in an office every damn day, waiting on you to call.” His eyes lit and his cheeks spread with a wide grin. “I’m planning on buying me a fishin’ boat—spending my retirement the proper way. I’m on my way to look at one now. Cross your fingers it’s as good in person as it looks on paper.”
“This is all happening kinda fast.” Bexley wrapped her arms around her waist, hoping his plans meant his diagnosis wasn’t as grim as she feared. “Are you sure you want to entrust your life’s work to a rookie?”
“There’s no one else I’d rather see take over.” J.J. patted her shoulder. “Life tends to happen fast to the best of us, sweetheart. All a person can do is hold on and enjoy the ride while you can. Speaking of riding, how did things go in Iowa with your friend?”
“Not as planned. He was arrested—turned himself in, actually. And we brought down a shooter who seriously injured Brewer’s friend.” Her eyes shifted past J.J. when a wealth of emotions clogged her throat. “Someone wants Brewer dead, and I’m terrified I won’t be able to save him.”
J.J. eyed her with a tilt of his head. “Sounds like you’re personally invested in this case.”
Lying to her mentor had never been easy. “Brewer has become important to me,” she admitted with a guilt-ridden look. “He seems convinced I can get him out of this mess, but I’m worried I’m too close to him to properly do my job.”
Glancing thoughtfully across the room, J.J. scratched at his chin. “Want my advice?”
Bexley rolled her eyes. “You may as well ask if I want Pollo’s tacos.”
J.J. turned to her, brows furrowed with confusion. “Come again?”
“The answer will always be yes,” she explained, winking.
“You’re far more capable than you realize. It’s time you come to terms with that. If he believes in you, maybe you need to believe in yourself too. You have what it takes to help this Brewer person. As for your relationship with ‘im, if it’s meant to happen, it’ll fall into place on its own over time. No need to rush things.”
As she absorbed his advice, she blinked back at him with a blank expression. It was almost the exact opposite of what he’d once told her in regards to her relationship with Grayson. Back then, he’d said life was short, and encouraged her to go for it without hesitation.
Did he sense things were different with Brewer, or was he being cautious for other reasons? Did he sense she was somehow different? S
he certainly didn’t feel the same kind of pressure she’d felt with Grayson.
J.J. pulled a worn baseball cap from his back pocket, and slipped it over his white hair. “Papers are in a manila envelope on my desk with your name typed on the outside. Holler if you have any questions.”
Watching him stroll out of the office toward the parking lot, her stomach began to twist. Was she really ready to run the place on her own? It didn’t seem she had any other choice. She wouldn’t dream of asking him to change his plans. He deserved to spend the time he had left however he wanted.
She retrieved the thick envelope from his office, taking a moment to inhale the rich scent of tobacco that lingered from all the years J.J. had sat at his desk, puffing on a pipe while attempting to solve one of a thousand cases. She’d miss his constant encouragement and words of wisdom as much as she’d miss seeing his sideways smirk every morning.
Feeling a little despondent, she sat at her own desk to check her emails. A handful of minutes passed before Red’s name flashed across her smart phone’s screen.
“What’d you find?”
“Dean Halliwell’s property was purchased three weeks ago with cold, hard cash by a bogus corporation,” Red reported in a rush. “Someone tried to bury their tracks, but they didn’t do a very thorough job. It only took me a few minutes to track down the social security number linked to the corporation. Seems it was created by Papaya Springs’s own Mayor Edward Hoffman.”
Bexley slapped her desk. “I knew it!”
“Hold onto your undies, because I have some more ground-breaking news. I uncovered some more deets on one of the young men who died near Tijuana last weekend. It seems Martín López—real name Victor Martínez—is tied to the Mexican cartel, and his death has created some major conflict over the border. Probably because his father is the head of the cartel, one Mr. Francisco Martínez. Victor was given an alias at a young age in an attempt to keep him off the hit list of Francisco’s enemies, but his identity wasn’t wiped clean enough to escape my radar. Daddy dearest escaped from a California prison less than a year ago after serving two out of twenty years on a felony drug conviction. Wanna guess where Francisco’s originating arrest took place?”
“Victor’s father has close ties to Papaya Springs,” Bexley surmised, digging through her folders until she found the information she already had on Victor. “Good to know.”
“The cartel put a hefty reward out for anyone who can produce Victor’s assassin.”
Alarm rattled Bexley’s bones. If Brewer had killed Victor, even if in self-defense, he’d have even bigger problems than those already on his plate.
“Red, you’re killing this job.” Bexley drummed her fingertips against the manila envelope containing J.J.’s gift. “Listen…I know it’s lightyears beneath your skill set, but would you happen to be interested in working for me as an occasional receptionist in addition to being my technical expert? I’m taking over the business soon, and can’t promise you a pay grade anything close to what you’d make for the FBI, but I need someone to keep me in line…prevent this place from going under.”
“I’m in. Anyone who throws a Star Wars reference into casual conversation is alright with me. Besides, being your Padawan is a thousand times more engaging than IT work.”
“Being my what?” With a harsh laugh, Bexley shook her head. “You know what, forget it. I’m excited to officially bring you on board, Red. You certainly bring…life to this place. And you’re one smart…ah…Wookiee?”
“You’re already speaking my language. It’s like we were destined to work together.”
“Plan on coming in Monday morning. I’ll give you a run down of the basics you need to know about this place, and we’ll talk more about your duties. Then we can talk about updating the computer system to something from the current decade.”
“You will not regret one nanosecond of this decision!”
Ending the call with another shake of her head, Bexley grabbed her handbag. On the way to the parking lot, she called Kiersten. “I have a huge favor to ask.”
“Are you kidding?” Kiersten’s bright voice sang. “I’m indebted to you for life after what you did! You could ask for my first born and I’d hand him on over!”
“Why is it a ‘him’? Oh my god, are you trying to tell me something?”
“Of course not. Luke and I aren’t there…yet.”
Bexley sighed. She wasn’t ready for her inner circle to include dirty diapers and drooling hair-pullers. “Do you think you could get down to the courthouse for a four o’clock hearing? They’re expecting Brewer to appear on felony charges. Luke’s his attorney—he can fill you in on the details. If he’s released, I want you to give him the spare key to my apartment. He’ll need a place to stay.”
“Where will you be?” Kiersten demanded.
“I have to look into something related to his case.”
Kiersten clicked her tongue. “Who would’ve thought one day Sexy Bexley would be lusting after the kid voted most likely to become the next unabomber?”
“First of all, there’s no lusting on my part, and secondly, be nice. Our classmates probably say the same thing about you and me. Besides, there’s more to Brewer than you know.”
“No one’s blaming you. I’m simply pointing out that the man has changed. Like completely.” She took a hesitant breath. “Does Grayson know about your budding romance?”
Bexley closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to lie to her best friend either. “He has his suspicions. I keep telling him there’s nothing there, but I think I was wrong. I need to let Grayson know it’s over between us so we can both move on. Only I don’t know how to do it without hurting him. He’s a good man—just not the right one for me.”
“Let me give it a try. We both know he’s incredibly stubborn when it comes to your relationship. Maybe he needs to hear it from someone else.”
“Thanks, Kiersten. You’re a good friend.” Heaving a sigh, Bexley climbed into her SUV. “Listen, I need to get going. I’ll catch up with you later tonight.”
“Whatever you’re up to, please be careful. I have a feeling I’m going to need a maid of honor soon, and there’s no one else who could possibly fill that position.”
Despite the warm rays that came with the afternoon sunlight, the sight of Dean Halliwell’s elaborate mansion alongside the roaring ocean sent several cold, mind-numbing chills down Bexley’s spine. After she’d been drugged and attacked by the Hollywood actor inside one of the guest rooms, she never would’ve dreamed of returning for any reason. Yet there she sat in her vehicle across the street, watching as two guards carried on a conversation inside the gated property.
Although she’d gone there intending only to case the joint and observe any activity, her curiosity was too strong to resist. Whoever was the mastermind behind the drugs and the fate of Brewer’s crew could be inside, thinking they were untouchable. It wasn’t in her skill set to simply sit back and let them get by with ruining the life of someone she cared about.
She snagged her handbag off the passenger’s seat, digging around inside it for her stun gun. When her fingertips brushed over the cool metal of her pistol, she sucked in a deep breath. She’d swung by her place to grab it after leaving the office, deciding if she were to confront the heavy-hitting criminals on her own, she wasn’t about to do it unarmed. Plus she was certain she’d seen the bulge of weapons beneath the guards’ jackets. And after all the time she’d spent at shooting ranges with Grayson and Cineste, it wasn’t like she was inept with the weapon.
Against her strongest desire to leave the gun behind, she tucked it into the back of her jeans before slipping from the vehicle. The guards were deep enough into their conversation that they didn’t seem to notice as she darted across the street. Having been to the mansion several times before, even once spending the night as Dean Halliwell’s guest, she had the advantage of knowing the property’s layout. If luck was on her side, they hadn’t bothered to update the location of Hall
iwell’s security cameras. She crept along the thick bushes meant to block the prying eyes of Halliwell's fans, and headed toward the ocean where she’d have an unobscured view.
Very little had changed since the night she helped Grayson bring Halliwell down for multiple murders. The landscaping was a bit overgrown and the cushions were missing from the dozens of patio furniture pieces filling the backyard patio, otherwise it was as if the actor could still be taking residence there. Bexley shuddered with the thought.
Luckily, the secret fence built into the shrubbery was still in place, and hadn’t been locked. She carefully pushed it open, remembering it tended to rust from lack of use.
As she crept closer toward the mansion, her ears perked with the sound of a deep voice rumbling with anger from the open patio doors. “…if someone witnessed you entering the property? We can’t be seen together!”
“I came here because I need to know why that biker still isn’t dead!”
Bexley sucked in a sharp breath. She knew the baritone voice that answered.
“Silencing him has been difficult from the very start,” the deeper voice volleyed.
She knew that voice too. She grabbed her phone and quickly activated the voice recording app before inching closer.
“They shouldn’t have sent an amateur punk to do the job!” the deeper voice continued.
“That amateur punk was the son of Francisco Martínez, you fool! I wasn't about to turn down an offer from the cartel! Do you think he would’ve volunteered to send his son had he known the boy’s identity had been compromised? Since Martínez escaped prison, the hit list on his family has grown to the size of the Baja peninsula!”
It didn’t sound as if Brewer had killed Victor Martínez. At the same time she felt a surge of relief, an angry tremor slipped through her. Whoever was speaking was responsible for kidnapping Brewer and clearly wanted him dead.
The deeper voice grunted. “If you’d been more careful with Hawkins’s child and fiancée all those years ago, we’d still have significant leverage over him!”