by Blake Pierce
“Okay,” Goodsen said vaguely, all traces of arrogance suddenly gone, now replaced by fear. Despite that, Jessie still wasn’t convinced she understood the magnitude of the situation.
“Try to act normal,” she ordered. “It’s possible that Baker may have a spray bottle of some kind filled with acid. If she sees you, we don’t want to give her reason to be suspicious or act rashly. Do you understand?”
Goodsen nodded.
“Okay,” Jessie said, hoping she sounded confident. “Let’s go.”
She opened the door and poked her head out. The hallway looked deserted. She motioned for Goodsen to follow her. The woman stepped out into the hall and the door had just closed behind her when Jessie heard a voice she recognized.
“Ms. Hunt,” Sloane Baker said, stepping out from an alcove Jessie hadn’t noticed before. “What a pleasant surprise to see you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Jessie froze in place.
The woman had an unnatural, twisted smile on her face. She was wearing a bland floral dress with a gray sweater over it and holding something behind her back. In the darkened hallway, Jessie couldn’t identify what it was, though she had her suspicions. Behind her, she could almost hear Janet Goodsen shaking. Swallowing hard, she made every effort to seem like nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Sloane, is it?” she said, impressed with how unflustered her voice was, “funny running into you out here. Are you working this event too?”
“I am,” Baker replied, her eyes blazing with an intensity that had been nowhere in sight at the bakery. “Is the profiling business so bad that you have to take catering gigs?”
“No,” Jessie said, forcing a chuckle. “I’m actually undercover. We arrested Jeanie Court as you know, but we also found some overlap between the murder victims and a few folks at this event. My captain thinks the killer might be one of the guests here tonight. I’m skeptical but I’m not the one in charge so I have to run it down. You know the drill, always beholden to the boss, right?”
“Right,” Baker said, clearly not convinced. A long silence followed in which the only sounds Jessie heard were the distant chatter of guests and Janet Goodsen’s heavy, shallow breathing only inches from her. She finally broke the quiet.
“You haven’t seen anyone suspicious, have you?” she asked.
Baker’s twisted smile turned into more of a malevolent grimace.
“To be honest, Ms. Hunt, you’re the most suspicious person I’ve seen here tonight.”
Jessie was still trying to think of a response when Baker yanked her arm from behind her back and raised it up. She was holding something in her hand, but it was hard to identify it in the dark. Jessie lifted the serving tray to protect her face, but before she could block her eyes, she heard a click. A flash of bright light illuminated the hallway, temporarily blinding her. She took a step back and shoved Janet Goodsen toward the restroom door.
“Get back inside!” she shouted.
When her vision cleared, she found that Baker had disappeared. She unholstered her weapon with one hand as she pushed Goodsen back into the bathroom.
“What was that?” the woman asked in a quavering voice.
“It was her camera,” Jessie said quickly, scanning the hallway for movement. “Stay in the restroom. Lock the door from the inside. If that’s not possible, check the maintenance closet for a broom to shove through the handle to block the door. Lock yourself in a stall. Don’t come out until the police come for you.
“Please don’t leave me,” the woman begged.
“I have to,” Jessie said, “People are in danger.”
She shut the door and told herself to breathe slowly so she could hear any movement nearby. After a couple of seconds, a loud voice could be heard from the direction of the walkway where she’d found Nicholas Goodsen earlier.
“Hey,” someone yelled, clearly put out. That voice was followed by several others who sounded similarly aggrieved. She headed in that direction.
“I located Baker outside the west side women’s bathroom,” she said into her earpiece as she moved. “She’s on the move, headed toward the northwest corner. Janet Goodsen is hiding in the restroom.”
“Converge on the area,” Reid said in her ear. “Chavez, secure Janet Goodsen. Coyle and Kat, assist Hunt. Proceed with extreme caution.”
Jessie emerged from the unlit hall onto the exterior walkway, where several people looked flustered, though not injured.
“Which way did she go?’ she yelled.
One man in a silver tuxedo pointed to an opening in the walkway across from him. She ran over and discovered that the opening was actually the first step of a stone staircase that curled down and around the corner to what appeared to be a hiking trail below.
“She’s gone down a staircase connected to the west walkway,” she said. “It leads to a trail at the bottom.”
“Wait for backup, Hunt,” Reid ordered.
“The lights from the venue don’t extend that far down. If I wait, she’ll be able to get away in the dark. I’m going in.”
“Wait,” Reid shouted as she started down the steps. She yanked the earpiece out. The sound of his voice would be too distracting as she tried to listen for movement.
Quieting her own beating heart was another matter. With each step, she reminded herself to breathe long and slow. In one hand she had her gun, in the other the serving tray. After a few more steps, she came across Baker’s camera, lying on the grass to the right of the steps.
Suspecting what the woman might be holding instead, she decided that light was more important than the minimal protection of the tray. It wouldn’t do her much good if Baker snuck up on her with a spray bottle or syringe before she knew she was there.
She placed the tray gently on the step and pulled out her flashlight for the last few stairs. When she reached the bottom, where the stones gave way to the dirt trail, she shined her flashlight straight ahead. She could see that the path was about seven feet wide. On the other side of it, there was a narrow line of trees and bushes that ended abruptly at what looked to be a sheer drop-off.
She flashed the light to the left and right but saw no one. Pointing the light at the ground, she saw that the dirt to the right was undisturbed. To the left were footprints from what appeared to be heeled shoes.
She moved in that direction with her gun raised, shining the flashlight back and forth across the trail, intermittently checking for footprints. After about five paces she saw that the prints changed, indicating that Baker had removed her heels and was now barefoot.
Jessie could still hear Reid’s voice shouting in her earpiece, even though it was now down by her shoulder. She wanted to shut it off entirely, concerned that Baker could hear it on the otherwise near-silent path. But doing so would require her to stash either her gun or flashlight and that wasn’t going to happen.
She proceeded on. After another step, the flashlight caught a flicker from something shiny about ten feet ahead, under a bush. It took her a second to realize that it was one of Baker’s shoes. She was just starting to move toward it when she heard a rustle behind her.
A shiver shot up from the base of her back to her neck and her fingers started to tingle. The sound had come from less than five feet away. She knew who it was. Sloane Baker was behind her and close enough to spray her, if not inject her. There was no way she could spin around, locate the woman, and shoot her before she was attacked. There was no way she could dive far enough away. With no other option, she began to speak.
“Don’t do anything foolish, Sloane,” she said slowly.
For a second there was no reply. When the woman did finally speak, her voice was unexpectedly calm. It was also very close.
“You haven’t given me much choice, Ms. Hunt,” she said. “My back’s kind of up against the wall here.”
Jessie allowed a second for her brain to catch up to her fast-beating heart.
“It doesn’t have to be, Sloane,” Jessie said, usi
ng the woman’s name again, hoping to find some way to connect to her. “You can put down what you’re holding and surrender. I know that whatever led you to this moment must have been very traumatic. You deserve the chance to explain how we got here. But that can only happen if I feel that I’m not in danger.”
“But you are in danger,” Baker said flatly. “You put yourself there. You didn’t have to follow me. I was only doing what had to be done. These people deserve what they got. I was only rebalancing things. If you had let me be, I’d be halfway down the hill by now. But you didn’t. And now here we are. And if I can’t get away, I may have to do the next best thing.”
“What’s that?” Jessie asked.
But she knew the answer already. Baker had the emotionless affect of someone who had given up, who was no longer scared and just wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. So now Jessie was merely stalling, trying to find a way out of this that didn’t involve being disfigured or worse.
“Take you with me,” Baker said, just as Jessie suspected she would.
She stalled for time, fearing even before she spoke that the tactic wouldn’t succeed.
“How about I put my gun down so you don’t feel like your back is against the wall?” she offered.
“I think we both know it’s too late for that.”
Jessie could almost feel Baker’s finger on the trigger of the spray bottle. She knew she was out of time. So she played the one last card that came to mind.
“Was it too late when you had to leave Temple University for a semester?” she asked quietly.
“What?”
“What happened that night?” Jessie demanded. “What was so bad that you had to drop out of school?”
“You don’t know what your talki—!” Baker started to shout. But before she could finish the sentence, Jessie spun around, trying to simultaneously locate her with her gun and flashlight.
The distraction had provided her a moment’s advantage, but too late, she realized it wouldn’t be enough. As she pointed her gun in Baker’s general direction, she heard the distinct sound of a liquid being sprayed from a bottle. At exactly the same time, she saw a burst of movement to her right, as something blasted out from the wooded hill and slammed into Baker.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Involuntarily, she snapped her eyes shut and stumbled backward, hoping to clear herself from the area where the spray had been dispersed. When she thought she was far enough away, she opened her eyes again.
She could see. And she felt no burning sensation on her face or hands. It seemed that she’d escaped the acid’s reach. But Sloane Baker was no longer anywhere in sight on the path. In the darkness, she heard a loud grunting sound and aimed her gun and flashlight across the trail looking for any sign of the woman. That’s when she saw it.
Baker was on the edge of the trail, with her back pressed up against a tree by someone that Jessie quickly identified. Baker’s fingers were pressed tight against the trigger of the spray bottle by Kat, whose hand was clasped over them, trying to prevent her from squeezing again. Kat’s body was blocking Jessie from getting a good shot at the other woman.
“Duck, Kat!” Jessie yelled, though it was apparent that any adjustment in her friend’s position might allow Baker to free her hand and spray again. Suddenly, Baker snapped her mouth forward as if she was trying to take a bite out of Kat’s face. Her friend yanked her head back. But in doing so, she lost her grip on Baker’s fingers. She raised the bottle and aimed it Kat’s face.
There was no time to yell “duck” again. Jessie didn’t even try. Instead, she pulled the trigger. The gunshot exploded in the air. For a second nothing seemed to happen. The she saw the spray bottle drop from Baker’s hand as she howled in pain. Her arm rested limply at her side. Blood poured down from a spot just below her shoulder.
She stumbled backward slightly and lost her balance. She tried to find solid footing, but she was too close to the edge of the trail, where the trees and bushes gave way to the cliff side. All at once she started sliding down the edge of the hill. She was almost out of sight when she reached out and grabbed Kat by the pant leg. Then she disappeared from sight.
Kat yelped as her feet came out from under her. She was being dragged to the edge. Jessie dropped the gun and flashlight and charged after her. She dived toward her friend’s outstretched hand. But before they made contact, Kat disappeared over the cliff side.
Jessie scrambled forward, hoping against hope. She peered over edge into the darkness. At first, she saw nothing. Then the moon emerged from behind a cloud and the scene below her cleared. Kat Gentry was just three feet below her, clinging to the narrow trunk of a tree growing out of the side of the hill. She groaned softly.
About forty feet below her was Sloane Baker. She had landed face-up on a boulder. Her right leg was twisted awkwardly beneath her body. Her neck was bent in an unnatural position. Blood was seeping out from under her head. She wasn’t moving.
Jessie returned her attention to Kat and scooted out as far from the edge of the cliff as she could without losing leverage.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” Kat moaned more than said. “But I’m losing my grip on this tree.”
Somewhere high above them, she heard Officer’s Coyle’s voice yelling, “Hunt, where are you?”
“At the bottom of the steps!” she yelled back before returning her attention to Kat. She extended her arm and gave an order. “Grab it. I’ll hold you steady while you use me to pull yourself up.”
“Are you sure you can do that?” Kat asked through gritted teeth. “I don’t want you tumbling down past me.”
Jessie looked her best friend square in the eyes, buoyed by adrenaline and certainty.
“Kat,” she said without any hesitation. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
It took some cajoling, but eventually the EMTs let them leave Ángel Montaña Misión on their own.
Other than the cuts Kat had sustained when she tumbled over the side of the cliff, there were no injuries to speak of. Jessie had emerged completely unscathed. The same couldn’t be said for Sloane Baker. The paramedic who treated Kat told them he thought Baker had likely died instantly upon impact, due to a broken neck.
On the drive back to the city, Jessie texted Ryan: Case solved. Killer didn’t make it. Heading home now. Can’t wait to see you.
The reply came quickly: Same. Glad it’s over. Will wait up. Hannah is too. She wants to say goodnight before bed. Seems to be making a real effort. I love you.
She responded in kind: I love you too. With her most important communication taken care of, they called Decker. He sounded ecstatic, almost inappropriately so.
“The press is singing our praises,” he said. “The online headlines all say things like ‘LAPD gets justice for Jax.’ Some of the reports specifically mention HSS. This is huge. Now if we can just nail the Night Hunter, the bigwigs at headquarters won’t be able to touch us. They wouldn’t dare shut down the unit that saved the city from two menaces threatening it at the same time.”
“That’s great, Captain,” Reid said wearily. No one commented on his seeming outsized optimism.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Decker said, oblivious to his detective’s tone. “Hunt, we’ve got two units circling your block in ten minutes intervals. Until we catch this guy, you’ll have round the clock protection, even at Trembley’s funeral on Saturday.”
“Thanks, Captain,” she said, embarrassed to admit that she’d forgotten about the young detective who had been murdered only forty-eight hours prior. The thought of standing over his grave mere days from now was more than she could deal with in that moment. Reid glanced over at her, obviously sensing that she was on the edge of collapsing from fatigue.
“I’m going to drop these two off at home and come in to finish the paperwork, Captain,” he said. “I’ll see you in a few.”
“Sounds good,” Decker replied before
adding, “Hold on, Winslow wanted to add something. I’m going to connect you to him now.”
Jessie looked at the time. It was past 9 p.m. She was starting to wonder if Jamil ever slept.
“Hello,” he said after just one ring.
“What are you still doing there?” she asked.
“Just wrapping a few things up before I go home,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m expanding the surveillance camera range in my search for the Night Hunter’s car. Detective Hernandez is certain the man’s using an old clunker like he did before, one without GPS that he likely bought for cash. If I can get even one database hit in the area where Hallie Douglas was killed, I can start to extrapolate out from there.”
“Do you think that will work?” Kat asked from the backseat.
“Not really,” Jamil admitted. “But it can’t hurt. That’s not the reason I wanted to talk to you though. I guess it doesn’t matter now but I did a little digging and found out why Sloane Baker left school for a semester.”
“I won’t ask what you mean by ‘digging,’” Jessie said, sensing some of his tactics might have skirted the edge of legality. “What did you find?”
“She was arrested by campus police for stalking the girlfriend of a senior she’d become obsessed with. The cops thought she’d even broken into the girl’s apartment to steal some personal items, though they couldn’t prove it.”
“I never saw any police report or court filings,” Reid said.
“That’s because she agreed to a deal,” Jamil said. “She would leave school until the guy and his girlfriend graduated in the spring. If there were no additional incidents during that time, she could be re-admitted for her senior year and have the record of the incident sealed. That’s what happened.”
“It looks like she stayed on the straight and narrow for over a decade before she snapped again,” Kat noted. “I wonder what pushed her to the breaking point.”