by Blake Pierce
He took a lurching step toward Jessie and another shot rang out. This time the bullet hit him in the left gut. Doubled over, he reeled backward, careening into the smoky haze of the open apartment door closest to him.
A couple of seconds later, as Beatty approached her, Jessie heard a shattering sound.
“Stay here,” the officer said as he passed by her and into the mist of the unit where Xander had gone.
Unable to stand any longer, Jessie slid down the wall until she was in a sitting position. A few moments later, Beatty emerged from the apartment.
“He’s gone,” he said. “He threw a chair through a window and jumped out.”
“Is he dead?” Jessie asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t see a body. The building’s awning is below that unit so it might have broken his fall. But even if he survived, I can’t imagine he’ll get far with that stomach wound. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” She winced. “You should go after him though, just to be safe. We can’t let him get away.”
“Okay,” he said. “Are you sure you’re good?”
She nodded and he started off down the hall, passing what remained of her apartment. That jogged her memory.
“Wait,” she yelled, despite the pain. “Nettles. You have to get him. He’s in my bedroom on the floor by the wall. He’s hurt bad. My father cut his throat.”
“What?” Beatty shouted as he ran into her unit, not waiting for an answer.
Jessie waited several seconds, trying to regain her strength. Eventually she managed to get to her feet and stumbled in the direction of her apartment. Just as she got there, Beatty emerged. Nettles was draped facedown over his right shoulder.
“Is he alive?” Jessie asked apprehensively.
“He has a pulse,” Beatty said. “But I’m not sure for how much longer.”
“I’ll take care of him. You go after Thurman,” she said.
“No way,” Beatty argued. “We can’t leave him here. It’ll take the EMTs another ten minutes to get up here. He won’t last that long. We have to go to them. And he’s too big for you to carry.”
“Let’s get him downstairs,” Jessie said, realizing he was right. “There has to be an ambulance here by now. If you can carry him, I’ll get the doors.”
Beatty nodded, though his silent grimace suggested it would be a struggle. He had been unconscious himself only minutes earlier and his head was probably screaming. They started down the corridor and were almost to the stairwell when the door shot open and three men in SWAT gear poured in.
“Nobody move!” the one in front yelled as he pointed his gun at them. “Identify yourselves.”
Jessie looked over at Beatty, who seemed to be struggling to hold onto Nettles, much less speak. She decided to take the initiative.
“I’m Jessie Hunt, a criminal profiler for the department. These are Officers Beatty and Nettles of LAPD Central Station. This is my apartment building. These officers were assigned by Captain Roy Decker to protect me from my father, the serial killer Xander Thurman. He attacked us moments ago.”
“I’m going to need ID,” the SWAT officer barked, cutting her off.
“I will be happy to show you ID,” she replied, keeping her tone calm but resolute. “But there are two more pressing issues. First, this officer was severely injured by Thurman. His throat was cut. He needs immediate medical attention. Second, Thurman jumped out of a window above the awning in front of the building. Officer Beatty shot him in the abdomen and shoulder and I think I fractured his skull with a nightstick. But he is still extremely dangerous. You should have men out there searching for him before he gets away.”
Before the SWAT officer could reply, Beatty grunted in pain. Jessie looked over and could tell he was about to collapse.
“I need help,” she demanded. “He can’t hold Nettles any longer. Either I assist him or one of you does.”
None of the SWAT officers moved so she did, stepping over to Beatty and helping him ease Nettles to the ground. The SWAT team’s weapons remained trained on them.
“I’m sorry,” Beatty huffed. “I thought I had him but I’m feeling woozy.”
“It’s okay. You were hit in the head. You probably have a concussion,” she said before turning to the lead SWAT officer and pleading. “Can you please call for an EMT and ask someone downstairs to be on the lookout for a tall man in his fifties with a bullet hole in his gut?”
That seemed to turn the tide.
“Call it in,” he ordered one of his cohorts. “EMT first, then the description. I’m going to assist here. Jeb—keep your weapon trained on both of these other two. Any sudden moves and they get it the kneecap.”
Jessie took no offense, happy to suffer a blown out knee if it meant Nettles would survive.
*
Ten minutes later, Jessie sat in the back of an ambulance, watching an EMT attend to Beatty.
Nettles had been stabilized and immediately transported to Dignity Health Hospital, less than a five-minute drive away, where he would undergo emergency surgery. Units were out, canvassing the neighborhood for any sign of her father. So far, they’d come up empty and she feared it would stay that way.
The EMT who had treated her for her various burns from the explosion and what he suspected was a concussion came over.
“Your captain wants us to transport you both to the hospital. He’s going to meet us there. We’ll head out in a minute. Other officers are just checking to make there are no other injuries significant enough to make the trip with us.”
Jessie nodded. As he stepped away, she watched the Crime Scene Unit van pull up, there to process the scene. The medical examiner would likely arrive soon to handle the bodies of Fred and Jimmy, two men who would be alive right now if she hadn’t moved into this building. An ugly cocktail of guilt and dread was forming in her gut when her phone rang. It was Brady Bowen.
“Hey, Brady,” she answered, impressed with how normal her voice sounded.
“Hi, Jessie. Sorry to bother you in the evening but I was hoping you could lend me a hand.”
His voice sounded anxious but she got the distinct impression that he had no idea what her situation was. That was fine. If it meant shifting her attention away from what had just happened, she was more than willing to set aside her personal nightmare and focus on someone else’s.
“How can I help?”
“We’ve definitely lost Gray Longworth,” he said. “It’s like he completely dropped off the grid. We’ve been going through his financials and found that he has a storage unit in Venice, not too far from his office. We’re assigning a team to breach it in case he’s holed up there. I’m going to join them.”
“Okay,” Jessie said, not sure where this was going. “It sounds like you’ve got things under control. What do you need me for?”
“Because one of the last communications Longworth sent before he went dark was a text to his wife saying it was her fault all of this was happening and she was going to regret how she’s been treating him.”
“That sounds ominous,” Jessie said.
“I agree. I called her a little while ago. I didn’t tell her what’s going on. I said I just wanted to check in. She’s at home and sounded like everything was normal. But I thought it might be worth it for someone to go over there and just check on her, maybe hang out for a bit until we get this resolved.”
“And you want to send me?” Jessie asked, surprised. “You know I’m not a cop, right? Besides, we didn’t exactly hit it off.”
“I know. But I figured sending you would freak her out less than having a couple of uniformed officers stationed outside her house. Also, I can’t get hold of Ryan. My calls keep going to his voicemail.”
“He’s getting in a workout,” Jessie informed him. “He was feeling inadequate after Percival got the jump on him. He should be done soon. Are you sure that you’re not just calling me because you think a chick would be better at comforting another chick?”
“First of all, that hurts,” Brady said, mock offended. “I’m a modern man and would never make such archaic assumptions. Second, like you said, I’ve seen you two interact. There’s no way I’d describe your manner as ‘comforting.’ I just need someone she knows to babysit her until we lock this down.”
Jessie wanted to say no. The burns she’d suffered in the explosion needed attention and her head was still ringing slightly. But letting down an LAPD detective in need who was directly asking her for help felt like the wrong move. More importantly, if Gray Longworth ended up killing Eliza and she could have been there to help prevent it, she knew she’d never be able to forgive herself.
“Okay, I’ll go.”
“Thanks,” he said, sounding genuinely grateful. “I’ll see if Ryan can meet you when I finally reach him. I should warn you, it might be a few hours. We’re a little short-handed for this raid. There was a massive pileup on the Pacific Coast Highway about an hour ago. There were multiple fatalities and half our units are there. Are you still okay with it?”
“I’ve already committed, Brady. I’d look pretty lame if I backed out now.”
“Yes, you would. Thanks again. I’ll keep you posted on how the raid goes.”
He hung up without another word.
The EMT walked over, holding the forearm of a twenty-something woman who was limping slightly.
“We’re taking this young lady as a precaution,” he said, clearly annoyed. “She may have a sprained ankle. If you can hop in, Ms. Hunt, we’ll head out.”
“She can have my spot,” Jessie told him. “Something’s come up. I’ll have to go to the hospital later.”
“I don’t think that’s a great idea. Those burns could get infected and I’d like someone to evaluate your head. I’m almost positive you have a concussion. Besides, your captain would be pretty upset if you didn’t show up.”
“I appreciate the concern,” Jessie said as she climbed out of the ambulance. “I promise to get checked out as soon as I finish this other thing. And I promise to call Decker to let him know what’s up. You’re off the hook.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Considering she had no intention of calling the captain, the poor guy was probably right.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Jessie almost drove off the road.
By the time she got to Pacific Palisades it was dark out. And with the limited lighting in the isolated, oceanside community, traversing the winding roads was challenging, even without a head injury. At least twice, she had to yank the wheel away from a canyon cliff.
She pulled up to the Longworth house and got out. As she walked to the front door, she texted both Ryan and Brady to let them know she’d arrived. She got no response from Ryan but Brady texted her back immediately.
His message read: Venice storage unit was a bust. Checking office again. Running his credit cards to see if anything pops up. Sending a unit to meet you as a precaution. Stay alert.
Staying alert was one thing. Doing anything about a potential threat was another. She was alone with a woman and her children in an isolated home without a sidearm. She didn’t exactly project strength and security.
Fake it, Jessie. If you seem confident, she’ll feel safe.
She knocked on the door. It took almost a minute for Eliza to answer. The second she did, Jessie knew she was drunk.
“What do you want?” Eliza asked, borderline hostile.
“Are your kids here?” Jessie asked before she could stop herself.
“No. They’re at my mother’s in Orange County. I needed a night off. In case you didn’t notice, I’ve been under a little stress lately. Are you here to add to it?”
She wasn’t slurring but Jessie could hear the mild effects of the liquid lubrication on her speech. She decided that if she was going to convince this woman to let her inside, the best course of action was deescalation.
“I hope not,” she said mildly. “I’m actually here to help, if you’ll let me. May I come in?”
‘Promise not to interrogate me again?” Eliza asked.
“I promise.” Jessie assured her.
“Fine,” Eliza said and returned back down the hall, leaving Jessie to close and lock the door.
“Do you mind if we turn on your security system?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could.
“Shouldn’t I be safe with the LAPD in my house?” Eliza called out from down the hall.
“I’m actually not a cop,” Jessie told her. “And better safe than sorry, right?”
“I guess. The code is nine-eight-seven-six. I changed it after I kicked Gray out.”
Jessie punched it in and followed the other woman down the hall into the living room, where Eliza was already plopped out on the couch with a glass and a bottle of vodka on the coffee table in front of her.
“You changed the code the night he left?” Jessie asked.
“Yup. Had a locksmith come out and change the locks too. Cost a pretty penny.”
“Were you worried about your safety?”
“Nah,” Eliza said dismissively. “I just didn’t want him skulking back in and getting extra clothes or crashing on the couch or something. He deserved to muddle through in a hotel in the few things he managed to put in his suitcase.”
“Is that why you didn’t report the text he sent you this afternoon?” Jessie asked, sitting down in the hard-backed wooden chair opposite Eliza. “You don’t view him as a threat, even after what happened to Penelope?”
“Maybe he was a threat to her, but not to me. You have to have passion for someone to do what was done to her. He doesn’t have that for me anymore. In a weird way, I think we both loved Penny more than each other. Anyway, I think his talk in that text of me being ‘sorry’ was mostly a financial threat.”
“He’s gone missing,” Jessie told her flatly.
Eliza’s vodka-dulled eyes perked up at that.
“Really?” she asked. “That’s not very Gray-like. Is that why you’re here—to protect me in case he comes to make me pay for my crime of feeling wronged?”
“Kind of, yeah. You’re not concerned?”
“I wasn’t until about ten seconds ago. But now you’ve got me a little freaked.”
“Did he know the kids wouldn’t be here tonight?” Jessie asked.
“Yeah. He called this morning and said he wanted to take them to dinner tonight. I told him they were at my mom’s and he wasn’t to go near them or I’d call the cops claiming attempted abduction.”
“I’m sure he loved that,” Jessie mused.
“Let’s just say that his text was tame compared to what he said on the phone after I told him that,” she admitted, then furrowed her brow. “What do you care anyway? The way you came at me the other day, it sounded like you wanted to throw me behind bars more than him.”
“I was just doing my job, Mrs. Longworth,” Jessie said. “Being sympathetic doesn’t make you innocent. It’s my job to follow all the leads, even if one of them is a woman who was betrayed by her husband and her best friend.”
“Yeah, well, I guess you would know about betraying husbands,” Eliza muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“Like I said, my mom lives in Orange County. When I told her about the case and mentioned your name, she knew exactly who you were—the wife of the cheating husband who tried to kill her. I would have thought you’d have understood where I was coming from a bit more.”
“I do understand,” Jessie insisted. “That’s why I had to look at you harder—because I’m inclined to be sympathetic toward you.”
“Yeah, well, what you call looking at me harder, I call being a bitch. But whatever.”
“Look, I don’t want to get into an argument now,” Jessie said, trying to keep her cool even as her head throbbed, likely an aftereffect of the concussion. “Detective Brady asked me to come by until they locate your husband and keep an eye on things. That’s what I’d like to do. Do you mind if I look around?”
�
�Suit yourself,” Eliza said, refilling her half-empty glass.
Jessie walked around the entire main floor, checking that every door and window was locked. Then she did the same with the top floor. When she came back down, Eliza was in the kitchen, microwaving some popcorn.
“I was going to watch some crappy reality show,” she said when she saw Jessie reenter the room. “You want to join me?”
“Maybe in a minute,” Jessie said. “But from the outside, I thought this place was three stories. I only see two.”
“The door to the lower floor is in the laundry room near the garage,” Eliza said, pointing the way. “The house looks impressive with three stories and all. But the truth is that the lower level is more of a basement. We use it for storing supplies and stuff. It’s a bit disappointing.”
“Does that level have any access points? Doors? Windows?”
Eliza’s face suddenly changed, losing the disinterested expression.
“Actually, there is a window facing the backyard.”
“Have you checked to make sure it’s locked?” Jessie asked.
“No. I haven’t been down there in days.”
“Okay,” Jessie said, her heart sinking. “I’m going to go down and check it out. Do you have anything in the way of a fireplace poker or golf club I could borrow?”
“Gray’s clubs are in the garage, right next to the door. But you don’t really think he snuck in, do you?”
“Almost certainly not,” Jessie said reassuringly. “But I’ll take a peek just to make sure the window is locked and everything is in order.”
“Maybe I should go down there with you,” Eliza suggested, “to show you where everything is. It’s easy to trip over stuff down there.”
“No. My priority is keeping you safe. I’d prefer you stay up here. But maybe grab the phone and if you hear anything…unusual, call nine-one-one.”
“What about the whole ‘strength in numbers’ thing?” Eliza asked. “You might need me.”
“That numbers thing may be true in general but when one of those people is vodka-soaked, the strength tends to be minimized. No offense.”