by Vanessa Skye
“Negative,” came the fuzzy reply. “She’s still covering the baby. We can’t risk it.”
Elizabeth and the baby followed Berg inside.
“Stay in the van, Arena. I need you to track Berg via the wire.”
Arena nodded, putting the headphones back on.
Ordering SWAT off to cover the other exits, Jay stepped inside the door, his gun raised. They were nowhere in sight.
“Damn. You got anything from sound?” he asked Arena through the radio.
“Sound is compromised,” Arena replied in a burst of static. “I’m not getting anything but white noise.”
“Okay, Berg must be in one of the studios—they’re soundproofed. There’s eight of them. Come help me search them.”
“Roger that,” Arena said.
Jay started clearing the studios, his heart pounding. The adrenaline in his system allowed him to ignore the pain in his foot as he pressed on.
Jay knew that Berg could have the smaller, untrained Elizabeth disarmed in a second, but she wouldn’t risk it if the gun was anywhere near the baby.
Jay cursed again and sent out a silent prayer.
“Anything?”
Jay hadn’t heard him and couldn’t stop the reflexive jerk that shot through him as his heart pounded double-time. “Jesus, Arena!” he whispered. “I almost shot you!”
“Studio three and four are clear,” Arena whispered back.
“So are one and two. Let’s—”
They heard a muffled gunshot from somewhere up ahead.
Jay took off running before he even heard Berg’s terrified scream or the second shot not ten seconds later.
Please, no!
Arena was only a step behind him, his breathing instantly ragged.
We’ve only just found each other!
Chapter Forty-Eight
’Cause if it wasn’t for all of your torture,
I wouldn’t know how
to be this way now, and never back down.
So I wanna say thank you.
–Christina Aguilera, “Fighter”
Jay burst into studio six and found nothing but chaos—Berg, motionless, crumpled on the ground, and Elizabeth, bleeding profusely from a leg wound, was in the process of aiming the gun at the now screeching baby.
Jay flew at her, tackling her to the ground in a move any pro baller would be proud of. He knocked the gun away and trusted that Arena, only a second behind him, would secure Elizabeth.
He lurched toward Berg, skidding across the floor and stopping near her splayed legs. “Baby?” He picked her up and cradled her still body. “Berg?” he said louder, his voice cracking. He slapped her cheek lightly while checking her for injuries. He saw the bullet hole in her shirt. “Berg!” He scrambled to tear open her shirt, looking for blood. “Please tell me you did what I asked . . . just this one fucking time! Tell me you wore a vest.” Jay panicked.
I should have insisted!
“I. Wore. A. Vest.” Berg gasped as her lungs tried to work against the blunt force trauma of a bullet at point-blank range. She heaved and gulped for oxygen, like a fish out of water.
He tore off her Kevlar to reveal nothing more than a blooming bruise high on her sternum between her breasts. “Oh, fuck. Thank God.” He sighed in relief, pulling her close and kissing her lips repeatedly. “Why I fucking agreed to this is beyond me,” he muttered in between kisses.
“Hey!” Berg struggled. “Trying. To. Breathe. Here.”
“Oh, sorry,” Jay said, loosening his arms but refusing to let her go. He helped her sit up and they watched Arena handcuff a struggling Elizabeth with a cable tie.
“She attacked me!” Elizabeth shrieked. “She shot me. Look!” She tried to point to her bleeding leg with hands that were secured in front of her. “I was defending myself. Arrest her!”
Berg slowly stood and staggered over to the enraged woman.
Arena picked Elizabeth up and placed her on her feet.
Berg shook her head as she looked down at the hysterical woman. “You’re . . . so dumb.” She coughed. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? This was a setup. We’ve been onto you since you arrived at the bar.” She waved the wire in Elizabeth’s face for emphasis.
Elizabeth’s carefully constructed façade crumbled, replaced by pure, unadulterated hatred. She let out a blood-curdling screech, struggled out of Arena’s grasp, and baring her teeth, she lunged at Berg, hands outstretched into claws.
“Down you go,” Arena said, punching the enraged woman in the face.
Elizabeth hit the ground hard.
“That was strangely satisfying,” he said in surprise to no one in particular.
Jay picked up the screaming Emma from her capsule and patted her until she calmed down. “Fuck. I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow and have this whole day be over,” he said to Berg, pulling her closer.
“Are you kidding?” Berg leaned back and stared at Jay. “You called me a deranged slut—you’ll have to be punished before I’ll let you sleep.” She smiled widely and pulled him in for a kiss.
Arena made gagging sounds.
Jay let go of Berg long enough to dig around in his pocket, fish out a card, and hand it to Arena. “Here,” he said. “You two are definitely better suited than we ever were.”
Arena looked at the business card with Carla Maroney’s various contact numbers on it and perked up. “Hey, thanks!”
Chapter Forty-Nine
I am the bullet in the gun.
And I control you.
I am the truth from which you run
And I control you.
I am the silencing machine
And I control you.
I am the end of all your dreams.
–Nine Inch Nails, “Mr. Self Destruct”
Two days later, Arena and ASA Maroney quickly stepped apart as the elevator doors on the detective level slid open, both looking a little disheveled.
Jay grinned.
Well, well. He obviously used the card.
Carla walked toward him, smoothing down her skirt, while Arena and Berg convened at their desks. She let herself into his office and closed the door behind her.
“You and Arena? Seriously?” Jay asked Carla wryly.
“You and Alicia? Seriously?”
“Point taken.”
“Be careful,” she said, suddenly serious.
“What do you mean?” Jay asked, frowning.
“Feeny was disemboweled in a Utah prison today. He’s dead,” Carla said.
“So?”
“So your lady ever tell you how she got that gangbanger to give him up?”
Jay went completely still except for the angry color washing over his cheeks. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“Neither do I!”
“Berg would never do that. She’s a cop! Why would you think this was anything other than your run-of-the-mill prison killing?”
“A hunch.”
“Who did it? A gangbanger?”
“No, Feeny appears to have pissed off a fellow lifer. Someone who had been having trouble with some of the Latino inmates—trouble that’s conveniently all cleared up now because the gangbangers are known to be the forgiving and forgetting types.” She arched a brow in his direction. “But if I do get evidence of a connection between Feeny’s death and Rivera, I’m coming after your girl.”
“Noted,” Jay said coldly. “Anything else?”
“Just . . . be careful.”
“Are we done here?”
“No. We have more problems, as always.” Carla sighed.
“What problems? We wrapped Elizabeth Young up in a nice neat package for you!”
“Yeah, a package full of nutjob wrapped with a bow of loony! She’s been a jabbering mess since you arrested her. Her lawyer boss is claiming she is incompetent to stand trial, no doubt in preparation for an insanity defense—if it even gets that far. He wants her relocated to a secure psychiatric facility instead of Cook County, ASAP.”
“I did, and he agrees with the lawyer.”
“You’re kidding me! Her crimes not only show incredible premeditation, but also that she knew right from wrong when she was doing them.”
“I’m going to have to accept their assessment of her mental state, Jay.” Carla sighed. “She’s all kinds of crazy and cannot possibly participate in her own defense. Even if I took it to trial, it would take a jury about ten seconds to come to the same conclusion. She’s being moved to a psychiatric facility tomorrow for treatment and the chance of us reestablishing competency anytime soon is negligible. We’re taking a deal. It’ll see her locked up in a secure treatment facility for the foreseeable future. If it’s any consolation, I can’t imagine she’s going to get out in her lifetime.”
“Bullshit!”
Jay and Carla turned around in shock. Neither of them had heard Berg come in.
Berg pushed off the doorframe and stepped into Jay’s office. “This is just another game to her. You put her in a crazy house instead of prison, and I guarantee she’ll manipulate her way back into the community within two years.”
Carla was already shaking her head. “It’s not that easy to—”
Berg threw one hand up, palm out. “This is an intelligent, conniving woman who has had no problems manipulating people into doing what she wants since she was in diapers! She knows that if she can get into a psychiatric facility they’ll have to let her out if she suddenly becomes sane. She could end up serving almost no time for the cold, calculated murders of her own sister and Buchanan, not to mention several attempts to murder a tiny baby! She has zero remorse for her crimes and has zero empathy for her victims. She had done nothing but blame others for her actions and now she’s going to get away with it!” Berg stormed off.
“Good luck with that,” Carla said sarcastically before heading back to the elevator.
Arena nearly twisted his neck in a knot watching Carla walk away before turning back. “What was that about?” he asked, propping against the office door.
“Elizabeth Young’s getting off by reason of insanity. Berg’s not pleased,” Jay replied.
Arena grinned. “I bet.” He turned to leave.
“Arena?” Jay called.
The muscular detective turned back. “Yeah?”
“I just got word that the police board has dropped its charges against Berg. Any idea how that happened?”
Arena smirked. “Well, Elizabeth Young’s claims of harassment held considerably less weight once it turned out she was actually guilty. And . . .”
“And?”
“And some recordings of a certain ex-chief of detectives ordering me to plant drugs from the evidence locker in Berg’s apartment may have accidently been sent to the superintendent . . . anonymously, of course,” Arena said and smiled, the very picture of a smug bastard. “One of the great things about everyone thinking that you’re dumb is the fact that they constantly underestimate you.”
Jay grinned. “I’m glad you’ve found a way to come to terms with it.”
Berg waited as the heavy door of the psychiatric facility buzzed open. She flashed her badge and asked to see Elizabeth.
The nurse at reception frowned. “They didn’t tell us you were coming. Sign in please. I’ll get her doctor,” she said in a no-nonsense tone.
Berg signed her name in the book and waited.
It wasn’t long before a short, balding man with a pronounced beer belly not very well concealed behind a white doctor’s coat came bustling up the carpeted hallway. He used his pass card to let himself into the unadorned but comfortable reception area.
“Detective?” he asked. “I thought you guys were all done for the day?”
“Not quite. Sorry for the confusion. I’ll need to speak to Elizabeth for few more minutes. It won’t take long,” she replied.
He sighed. “Okay, this way. She received treatment for a flesh wound, so I’ve locked her back in her room. Do you want me to take her over to one of the interview areas?”
“No, her room is fine.”
“It’s not under surveillance—I’ll post an orderly at the door, just in case . . .”
“That won’t be necessary,” Berg said. “She poses no threat to me.”
Shrugging, the doctor led her to level three of the facility, then down a series of long corridors separated by thick metal doors that he opened with his pass card. Security increased the farther into the heart of the hospital they went, with guards appearing at the inner security doors. Both Berg and the doctor were required to show their ID as they entered the inpatient facility for violent psychiatric patients.
The doctor nodded at one of the guards who stepped forward and opened a door marked 2319 with both a pass card and a heavy brass key.
“Pound on the door when you’re done, or if you need help,” the large man said gruffly, stepping aside to let Berg into the cell.
The door locked ominously behind her.
Elizabeth sat on the unmade mattress, a folded sheet, blanket, and pillow at one end of the bed. Her hair was once again short and wispy—extensions weren’t allowed inside. She wore standard issue hospital pajamas with string ties. She looked at Berg with loathing.
“Haven’t made yourself at home yet?” Berg asked.
“I won’t be here long. Doesn’t seem necessary to unpack,” Elizabeth said. Crossing her legs and linking her fingers over her knees, she looked every bit the proper lady waiting for tea rather than inmate-patient waiting for evaluation or prosecution.
“You’re right not to unpack, actually,” Berg replied.
Elizabeth peered at her. “Really. And why is that?” she said, tilting her head to one side.
“Because they’re coming to take you back to Cook County tomorrow. You’ll love the ladies in the women’s section of the prison, and I imagine all eight hundred of them can’t wait to meet you. They love attempted baby-killers there.”
“Wrong!” Elizabeth latched onto the bed, her knuckles turning white, and planted both her feet firmly on the floor. “I’m here until I decide it’s time to leave. Deal’s done.”
Berg shook her head. “The deal’s been revoked. You’re off to Cook County to stand trial for capital murder. Just wanted to tell you myself.” Berg raised her hand to pound on the door.
“Wait!” Elizabeth stood and reached one hand out toward Berg. “T-t-that’s not possible. My lawyer would have—”
Berg snorted and turned to face Elizabeth again. “Your lawyer has removed himself and his firm from all dealings with you. It seems once we searched your place and found the sex tape you’d been blackmailing him with—really nasty stuff by the way—he wasn’t nearly so keen to come to your assistance.
“Particularly after I told him about you blackmailing your law professor at your community college—you know, the one who signed off on your paralegal degree even though you never finished it? But not to worry, we’ll find you a lovely public defender for your unqualified, fired ass.”
Berg watched as the look of calculation crossed Elizabeth’s face. She could almost hear the gears turning as the young woman’s eyes flicked and flickered around the room, searching for her next angle. “I assume you’re thinking you’ll hire your own Loop lawyer?” Berg smirked. “With what? All your assets have been seized—proceeds of crime, you know.”
That part was, in fact, true. The law firm that had collected the reward money for the Buchanan tip and the estate agency that had sold Elizabeth her house had coughed up their financials after warrants had been presented. The money would eventually find its way back to Marilyn Young.
“It’s just a pity we can’t take back that spray tan, lipo, hair dye, and dental work.” Berg spread her fingers wide, flipping her hand and curling her fingers inward, checked her nails and looked so very bored. “Without access to a personal trainer, a hairdresser, cosmetic surgery or dentist in Cook County, I imagine you’ll look like your n
ormal self in no time! I hear they serve a lot of carbs in there.”
Elizabeth sagged under the weight of Berg’s words, but her stare remained defiant. “Daddy would never—”
“What? Let you rot in prison? Oh yes, he would.” Berg laughed. “He’s disowned you, and not only had your mother released, but added a lovely little statement of his own to hers about your behavior toward your sister. Weren’t you wondering why he hadn’t visited? Don’t wait for that to happen anytime this millennia.”
Not only had Alex Young disavowed all knowledge of his daughter’s criminal activities and completely cut her off, he had signed over custody of little Emma to Tim Hudson with minimum fuss. He’d had to once he had learned that Hudson had a number of CPD detectives willing to testify on his behalf in any custody hearing. Little Emma was with her father, safe and loved, and would remain so. And, last Berg had heard, Marilyn had kicked Alex’s ass out and filed divorce papers.
“He loathes you. The man who you’ve been trying to get the attention of your whole life denies your very existence. Says he has no daughters anymore.” With that, Berg watched as Elizabeth finally broke. A single tear made its way down her cheek. Berg recognized it for what it was—not remorse, but self-pity. The only tears that Elizabeth had ever, and would ever, shed were for herself.
“And he’s not the only one. Enough is Enough has cut you loose in a lovely little statement that not only covers their asses but announces your replacement, too.” Berg pulled out the statement from her jacket pocket and held it out. “Would you like to read it?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
Berg snorted and tucked the paperwork away. “But all your efforts to be famous weren’t entirely in vain. Although, infamous is not really what you were aiming for, was it?
“The producers of your little TV show walked out on an average Chicago street, hocked up some phlegm, and spit on six younger, prettier women with more talent than you. Seriously, they said that,” Berg said. “And the little tantrums you threw on set will be exhibit one in an episode dedicated entirely to your botched life of crime! Or were you not aware they had been taped?”