Catch Your Death

by Kierney Scott

  He stepped forward toward her.

  “Can I please get a glass of water? I’m really thirsty. I think I’m dehydrated.” She tried to make her voice sound as pathetic as she could. The more vulnerable she appeared, the more scared he became because it showed him how wildly the situation had spun out of control.

  She wondered what he had been told. Who’d given him the order to pick her up? At what point did he realize he was just a pawn?

  “Um, yeah.”

  He turned to get her a glass of water. As he bent over the water jug, she lunged forward and grabbed his truncheon. She swung it at his head. A cracking sound splintered the silence of the room when the metal connected with the side of his skull.

  His eyes widened in horror as he stumbled back, stunned. She squeezed the stick until her palm ached. She could not afford to drop it and lose her advantage. He was a foot taller and at least seventy pounds heavier than her.

  She swung again and hit his arm. He held his hands up to shield his face. She pulled the baton back, ready to strike, but instead of hitting him she slid it under his armpit and then grabbed the other end, twisting his arm up above his back. His body spun away from hers, desperately trying to get away from the painful maneuver. She used his own momentum to push him to the ground. She fell heavy on top of him, never letting go of the nightstick. If she lost the upper hand for even a second, he would overpower her.

  She pulled up again on the nightstick to be sure she had completely incapacitated him. There was a loud ripping sound as the ligaments in his shoulder tore clean away.

  He screamed out in agony.

  “Shit.” She shook her head. That wasn’t an injury he was going to walk away from. He was going to need surgery. She’d known that she was going to break one of the bones in his arm, but she hadn’t realized his shoulder would be ripped from the socket.

  She pulled the cuffs from under him and fastened them. His arm dangled behind him. There was nothing but skin holding it in place. “Shit,” she said again. She hadn’t meant to hurt him that much.

  She took off her sweater and stuffed it in his mouth, tying the arms behind him to muffle his screams.

  She reached beneath him again to search for his car keys. When she found them, she stood up. “I know that hurts like a bitch. I’m sorry. If they offer you morphine, take it. Don’t be a hero.”

  She ran for the door. She stopped before she opened it and turned to look at him. “If you hurt anyone on my team, I will find you and make you pay.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Jess jumped into the police cruiser. She silently calculated how many years she would spend in prison if she were convicted for everything she’d done in the last twenty-four hours. She didn’t care because it didn’t matter. She would rather spend the rest of her life in prison than let these men get away with what they had done.

  She turned on the engine, put her foot down on the gas, and drove until she felt safe enough to pull over.

  She reached into her pocket for her phone. The battery icon in the corner was lit up. She only had ten percent left. She needed to work quickly. There was a text message from Tina to say that she had landed in Hawaii and was safe with her brother. Jess breathed a sigh of relief; that was one less person to worry about.

  She opened up Lindsay’s email. She held her breath as she waited for the page to load and she could see if the draft had been saved. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.” She tapped the steering wheel as she waited. “Don’t run out on me now.”

  Finally, it appeared. The draft was still sitting in the inbox. She looked up into the bright-blue sky. “Thank you,’ she whispered.

  As fast as her thumbs could type, she composed a message explaining the contents. She paused for a second. Jeanie and Lynnette Hastings and all the other families deserved to be told this in person, to deal with their grief in private, but this case needed transparency and there was only one way to guarantee it.

  She opened the browser to look up the email addresses she needed. In the recipient bar, she typed in the addresses of every major news network. She stopped before she hit send because there was no going back after this.

  This would destroy Jeanie. Her loyalty to her demanded that she bring this information to her first. Jeanie was not just her boss but her mentor and her friend.

  Her mind swam in uncertainty but there was no time to try to sort out her thoughts: her battery was about to die. She used to be so sure about right and wrong, good and evil. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore except that this secret had hurt too many people.

  This needed to be made public. That was the only way she could guarantee that this wasn’t buried again. Too many lives had already been destroyed.

  The phone shook because her hands trembled so much. She held her breath and hit send.

  Immediately relief and regret collided in her. She didn’t have time to think about whether or not she’d done the right thing. She still needed to make sure her team was safe.

  She dialed Jamison’s number again but still no answer.

  “Dammit, Jamison.” Fear clawed at her. Something was wrong. She had tried to ignore the anxiety that had taken root in the pit of her stomach but she couldn’t ignore it any longer. The kernel of dread had blossomed into a full-fledged panic. Something was wrong. She felt it. This was like Lindsay all over again.

  “No.” She couldn’t lose anyone else. She couldn’t do it again.

  Jess jumped when her phone rang beside her. She looked down at the familiar name.

  “Jamison!” she shouted down the phone.

  “Is this Jessica Bishop?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

  A bolt of terror ran up her spine. “Who is this?” she demanded.

  “This is Chief Hagan of the Metropolitan Police.”

  Jess dropped the phone. Pain shot through her head when she bent forward to pick it up off the floor and banged her head on the steering wheel. “Where is Jamison?” she demanded when she managed to pick up the phone. Her entire body vibrated with rage and fear. If he had hurt Jamison… She couldn’t even contemplate what she would do.

  “Agent Briggs is being questioned about his involvement in the Last Supper suicide game.”

  Jess shook her head. “He has no involvement in this.” They weren’t going to pin any of this on Jamison. She wouldn’t let them.

  “Why don’t you come into headquarters so we can discuss it? I know you know your way here.”

  “Is that where you’re holding him?”

  “Yes. I think there has been a serious misunderstanding. If you come in, I think we can get this all squared away. I know you wouldn’t want your partner taking the rap for something you did.”

  Jess sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you saying you will let Jamison go if I…” She could barely get the words out. “If I take responsibility?”

  “I’m saying it is such a tremendous injustice when people are wrongfully accused of anything. That destroys lives. You can never really wash the stink of that shit off.”

  Jess bit into her lip. She knew what he was saying. Hagan was going to make up false allegations against Jamison, frame him for something. They couldn’t blame him for The Last Supper because they had already publically named her as their only suspect, but they could accuse him of other things.

  “Let me speak to him.”

  “You can talk to him when you get here.”

  “No.” Jess shook her head. “I need proof that he is alive.”

  “I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m saying we both know you’re capable of murder. I won’t hand myself in unless I know Jamison is alive.”

  There was a long silence. Jess thought Hagan had hung up but he said, “You have ten seconds.”

  “Jessie.” Jamison’s voice was hoarse.

  “Oh, thank God.” Her throat tightened from the overwhelming intensity of her relief. He was alive. That was all that mattered. “Are you okay?”
/>   “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just can’t see anything without my glasses.”

  Jess shook her head in confusion but before she could ask him what he meant, the call was cut. She called back but it immediately went to voicemail.

  “Dammit!” she screamed. Jamison didn’t wear glasses. He never had. He was trying to tell her something. What? What was he trying to say? That she wasn’t seeing something? Her mind went blank. She slammed her hands against the steering wheel. The impact sent an unbearable jolt of pain up her arm, probably damaging herself even further, but she didn’t care.

  She couldn’t do this, not on her own. She needed her team. She wasn’t like Jeanie. She wasn’t a natural leader. She never had been. She sat back in her seat and thought about Jeanie, about how she would handle this. In her mind, she saw her pull down her bifocals when she was about to get serious and then push them back up when she looked up to speak to someone.

  “Jeanie,” she whispered. Is that what Jamison was trying to tell her, that they thought Jeanie was involved with the investigation? How? That didn’t even make sense. Jess had done everything she could to keep the rest of her team out of this, especially Jeanie.

  Jess shivered as a cold chill washed over her. Of course, they had been watching. They knew that Jeanie had come to Jamison’s house after her apartment had been broken into. And Levi’s phone records: he had called Jeanie just before he died. They thought Levi had confessed and that was why Jeanie had called Jess the night he was murdered, because she had uncovered the secret about that night at Pine Ridge.

  “Oh my God.” She called Jeanie’s number. “Come on. Please be safe in Utah,” she said as she waited for Jeanie to answer but she never did. She called again but still no answer so she left a message. “Jeanie, this is Jess. Please call me when you can. I think you are in danger. Please call me.”

  She hung up the phone and then opened the browser to look for Paul’s number, but the screen went black as the battery went dead. “Shit!” she screamed. She threw the phone down.

  Jess turned the key over in the ignition. She didn’t even know exactly where she was. She looked at all the buttons on the dashboard. One of them might have been satellite navigation but she wasn’t going to start messing around with them.

  She pulled onto the road, searching the street signs for a clue to her location. The first one came in the form of sign indicating that she was nearing Fairfax. That was good. She knew roughly how to get back to DC from there—she just needed to find I-66.

  Once she hit Fairfax, she got her bearings and knew roughly where she was going. It took her a few minutes to realize why the other cars were going so slow, or pulling over to let her pass: they were scared of being pulled over by her.

  She merged onto the interstate, pressed down harder on the gas to accelerate past a minivan with a Coexist bumper sticker, and moved into the fast lane.

  Several miles later she passed a Virginia State Police cruiser. She glanced at the driver in the rear-view mirror as he pulled into the lane behind her. He was too far away to see his face. She pulled into the middle lane, hoping he would pass her but he didn’t. He continued to stay a car’s length behind her for another mile.

  Her hands went slick on the steering wheel. She told herself not to panic. They were just going in the same direction. At the next on-ramp, two more State Police pulled onto the interstate followed by two unmarked black SUVs.

  Shit. They were FBI. Her own people were hunting her. Betrayal stabbed her hard in chest. “Come on, come on, come on.” She urged the morning traffic to go faster. She looked up at a police helicopter that was hovering above her.

  “Oh, shit.” Her mind raced. This wasn’t going to end well. She bit back the fear that was rising in her. She needed to find Jeanie. That was all that mattered.

  At the next on-ramp two more police cars joined the interstate in front of her. They were trying to block her in but she hit the gas hard and sped past them. Another police cruiser pulled in front of her and she slammed on the brakes to avoid colliding with the back of his car.

  “Shit!” she screamed again. Her heart pummeled her ribs as she veered into the middle lane to avoid a collision. She clipped the front of the police car in the next lane. In her rear-view mirror, she saw it lose control and plow into the center divider. What were they doing? The proper protocol was to follow at a safe distance to minimize risk for other drivers.

  They didn’t care about civilian casualties, they just wanted to stop her, whatever it took.

  She squeezed the steering wheel until the blood stagnated in her hands and her knuckles were like white boulders beneath translucent skin.

  She put her hand on her blinker to indicate she was about to change lanes before she realized what she was doing and pulled her hand away. She didn’t want to tell them where she was going but old habits die hard. Jamison was right: even when she was breaking the law she liked to follow the rules.

  She pulled off the freeway and prayed she remembered the way to Jeanie’s house. She wished she had paid more attention the last time they were there. A second helicopter was now above her, this one from a local affiliate of a national news station.

  She could see the headlines in her mind about a psychotic rogue agent. All her life she’d been motivated about what people thought of her, making sure they knew she was a good person. Nothing like her father. In the space of a week that illusion had been blown to shit and she didn’t have the energy to care right now. None of it mattered. She could deal with everything later, once she knew Jeanie was all right.

  She rolled through a stop sign. Once she knew she wasn’t going to hit anyone, she floored it.

  There were now seven police cars behind her and two FBI SUVs. It was like a funeral procession commemorating the demise of her career and freedom.

  A screeching sound exploded when her side mirror hit the brick column of the gate as she sped into Jeanie’s driveway. She pulled past the garage to the front door. She took off her seatbelt and bolted to the front door. She jabbed her finger into the buzzer. They hadn’t yet left for Utah. The lights were still on and suitcases were sitting beside the door along with Jeanie’s purse.

  “Come on, Jeanie. Please answer the door. Please be okay.”

  “Jessica Bishop, put your hands above your head and get on the ground,” an officer commanded through a megaphone.

  She pressed the buzzer again and then thumped frantically on the door before she raised her hands above her head. Slowly she turned around to face them and the reality of the situation.

  The police were lined up on the street, guns drawn, pointing at her.

  “I’m unarmed!” she shouted at them. She glanced up at the sky, grateful the news helicopter was there to document her downfall because if the police killed her now, the world would know they had murdered an unarmed woman.

  “Get on the ground!” he shouted back.

  Jess closed her eyes to block it all out, to lessen the blow of her world imploding, but her mind flashed back to the day her father was arrested. Immediately she was transported back. Guns were pointed her direction that day too as she clung to her father’s hand and she begged and screamed for them not to take him away.

  This wasn’t how her life was supposed to go. She wasn’t like him. She was one of the good guys. That was all she’d ever wanted, to be part of the light in a dark world.

  Everything was silent except for the occasional chirp of birds and distant whoosh of helicopter blades.

  She closed her eyes and listened harder. There was another sound… a mechanical purr… like an engine.

  Jess’s eyes flashed open. Her head snapped back to look at the closed door of the garage. That was where the noise was coming from.

  “Get on your knees!” another voice screamed.

  Jess ran back to the police car.

  “Stop or we will shoot.”

  Jess turned on the engine and then put the car into reverse. She didn’t have a lot of room to ma
neuver. She had to hope it was enough.

  A shot rang out. The left side of her car dipped as the back tire blew out.

  She snapped her seatbelt into place and took a deep breath before she put the car into drive and then closed her eyes. She pushed down on the gas pedal with all her weight.

  Inertia pushed her back against the seat as she accelerated straight ahead. Her body jolted forward as the car slammed into the garage door. Wood splintered as the panels of the door snapped.

  The airbag detonated. The force was like a blow to the chest. For several seconds, she couldn’t breathe. She tried to suck in air but it was like trying to get a marble through a straw. Her chest burned from the impact of the airbag and the seatbelt holding her in place.

  Another shot fired, shattering the back window. She jumped out and ran to Jeanie’s car. The engine was still running. Jeanie was slumped over the wheel.

  Jess opened the door and Jeanie’s lifeless body flopped out onto the concrete floor.

  “Oh God, no!” Jess screamed until her throat burned. Not again. Not Jeanie. She couldn’t lose her too. “No,” she cried again. She dropped to her knees and gathered Jeanie against her, to shelter her. She couldn’t be dead.

  A small drop of blood formed along Jeanie’s eyebrow, slowly getting bigger. Jess shook her head. She was seeing things. Her mind was playing tricks on her, to make it not real or at least lessen the blow. She had done the same when Lindsay died. She had sworn she could see the rise and fall of her chest even as she lay cold in her casket. Her mind just refused to believe she was gone and now she was doing the same with Jeanie.

  Jess blinked to dislodge the tears welled in the corners of her eyes but they wouldn’t shift so she wiped her face with the back of her hand.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got you involved. And I’m sorry I couldn’t get here in time.” Jess gently rubbed the blood off Jeanie’s temple, but in an instant it was replaced with a fresh drop.

  Jess’s eyes widened. Again, she wiped away the blood on Jeanie’s forehead and again the drop formed again. Her heart was still beating.