Fatal Strike

by DiAnn Mills

  Leah climbed inside his truck and slid it into reverse. The moment Jon opened the passenger door, she stepped on the gas and whipped around in pursuit of the SUV. Sirens pierced the night sky. A squad car fell in behind them after the SUV—headed east on Harborside Drive.

  Those inside the SUV fired from the broken rear window. A bullet fractured Jon’s windshield and zinged between him and Leah.

  Close. Jon shot a glance at Leah. Her eyes were fixed on the street and the taillights of the SUV. Her foot pressed the gas pedal while the truck wove in and around traffic. Wiper blades swished over spidered glass.

  “Do I make you nervous?” She veered around a motorcycle.

  “I’d rather be at the wheel.”

  “You gave me the job.” She sped through a red light in a protest of car horns and squealing brakes, holding the truck steady on the wet pavement. The SUV ran a second light as a car entered the intersection, forcing Leah to brake. She then zipped around the car and on through the red light. Ahead the SUV whirled right onto Eighteenth Street.

  He wished for the hundredth time he was in control. “Forget my truck. Get these guys. They’ve done enough damage.”

  The SUV raced across the divided Broadway Avenue. The Gulf would soon be in view. She jammed the gas, closing the distance between the vehicles. The SUV swung left along Seawall Boulevard.

  A man was walking across the busy boulevard. She whipped a sharp right to avoid hitting him and then yanked the truck back onto the street. The delay cost them ground.

  Jon stole a look at multiple police cruisers behind them. “The only way these guys are getting away is to swim.”

  “Let them try.”

  He couldn’t help but admire her tenacity. Tough gal. Then it hit him. “They have a boat.” He made a quick call to Everson to relay that the SUV was heading toward the rocky end of the island.

  “Don’t be heroes,” Everson said.

  Leah kept pace.

  Jon held his breath with his hand wrapped around his Glock. The road cleared, and he leveled three shots into the back of the SUV. A single bullet responded.

  He hoped Everson had told the cops behind them he was one of the good guys.

  The SUV hit the end of the road and spun sideways. Four figures emerged and scurried down the embankment to the rocky beach. Jon could see the outline of a speedboat bobbing in the water. He leaped from the truck after them before Leah stopped. She shone the headlights on the escaping men.

  Gunfire erupted from the boat, breaking both truck headlights.

  GPD officers pulled in. Red and blue lights painted the darkness. In the distance more sirens blared.

  The four shooters from the SUV made it to the water and waded in with Jon gaining ground behind them. Through the haze of rain, Jon fired at the back of the man who trailed last. He fell. The second man whirled and aimed at Jon. Jon dropped to the rocks and brought down another man. Bullets whizzed over his head.

  Gunfire burst from behind him. Jon jerked around. Another police car had arrived. Four officers headed down the rocky bluff with Leah. She sprayed bullets toward the fast-disappearing men.

  “Two men down,” Jon said.

  “Got it—” The officer’s last words before a bullet flew into his shoulder. He groaned and slid onto the rocks. A second officer raced with Jon to the water’s edge. The speedboat jumped over waves. Jon fired repeatedly, but in the dark and rain, his sniper skills failed him.

  Jon bent to the gunman facedown on the rocks. No pulse. An officer shone his flashlight on the man—Aaron Michaels.

  25

  LEAH STUDIED AARON MICHAELS’S BODY. A horrible waste of a life with no hope for rehabilitation. How very sad when the young man seemed excited about his future. Aaron had sworn Dylan was a good guy, an old friend, yet the young man lying in a pool of blood had tried to kill her and Jon. A 9mm lay beside his hand.

  An officer approached her. “An ambulance will be here shortly.”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late.” She pointed to the weapon. “We interviewed him earlier today. Never had a clue.”

  “Another shooter bled out in the SUV,” the officer said.

  “Must have been five total.” Leah stood and gazed out over the waves where the boat had disappeared.

  Her attention settled back on Aaron Michaels. Leah berated herself for not aggressively questioning him this morning. More questions, more pressure, and his true colors could have lit up like a neon light. He’d be alive if she’d done a better job.

  Leah walked back to the truck with Jon. She remembered being nineteen years old and living on her own, working, and paying for college. A flash of repeated mistakes swept through her mind, ones she’d vowed never to make again. Failing to see Aaron Michaels’s deception added to the list.

  “We’re beating ourselves up when there’s not a thing we can do about him lying to us,” Jon said.

  “Except feel inept.”

  He opened his truck and pulled two flashlights from his glove box. Glass fragments littered the dashboard, seats, and floorboard.

  “Sorry about your truck.”

  “It can be fixed.” He handed her a flashlight and glanced around. “Aaron contacted Everson with an apparent good faith testimony, yet he was playing a role. Then Silvia tells us Dylan wants to turn himself in. I’d say he was out to get us, except the shooters were after him. Has he turned against the gang, and now they want him dead?”

  “We’ll never earn his trust or Silvia’s again,” she said.

  “The Venenos will pay for this.”

  Leah agreed. Neither she nor Jon dealt well with defeat. Must be in their sniper DNA, part of why they were able to do what others couldn’t or refused to do.

  She and Jon walked the beach where the men had rushed into the water. Heavier rain pelted them, like punishment. An FBI team was on their way to sweep the scene as well as a helicopter in flight to search for the boat.

  While Jon arranged for a twenty-four-hour car rental to deliver a vehicle to their site and AAA to pick up his truck, she ran the plates on the SUV. She verified the owner and shook her head.

  She turned to Jon, fury mounting. “You’ve got to be kidding. The SUV belongs to Judge Nicolás Mendez. Rachel reported the vehicle stolen earlier in the day. Why weren’t we notified?” She swiped at the rain soaking her face.

  Jon’s jaw rigid, he grabbed his phone, and she knew without asking he was calling Everson. She strained closer to listen, but he put the call on speaker.

  “Everson, in case you haven’t been updated, the owner of the SUV is Rachel Mendez,” Jon said. “When were you told?”

  “Exactly 7:45 p.m., when the officer protecting Mrs. Mendez and her family called it in. The same time you and Agent Riesel were engaged in a shoot-out and subsequent chase with said vehicle through the streets of my city.”

  Jon calmed. “What day and time was the vehicle last seen?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. The grandmother discovered it missing from the garage this evening. The theft must have occurred during the night,” Everson said. “I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t the officer on duty hear or see what was going on?”

  “Right.”

  “Said he never heard a thing.”

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “Hold on. Not like I’m sitting behind my desk.”

  Jon chuckled without any humor.

  “Here’s the officer’s number.”

  Leah jotted it down.

  Jon continued. “Dylan Ortega arranged to turn himself in, but he escaped during the chaos. We’ve got two dead men here—one of them Aaron Michaels. The second man hasn’t been identified.”

  Everson swore. “Michaels squeaked when he walked.”

  “Not anymore.” Jon wrapped up the call and turned to Leah. “Would you contact the officer on protection duty at the Mendez house? I might unload about him not doing his job and get written up.”

  “Funny you should ask the agent with the panther r
ep to be the pacifier here.” The officer assigned to the Mendez home responded on the second ring. She introduced herself and informed him her partner was listening in. “I’ll get straight to the point. How did thieves break into the garage and steal the SUV?”

  “No sign of breaking and entering.”

  “Was anything else stolen?”

  “She had a 9mm in the glove box. Registered. I reported it missing.”

  “You can tell her the SUV’s been found and possibly the weapon. The vehicle was involved in a crime.” She ended the call and laid the phone on the glass-crusted hood.

  “I want a background on the officer. How do you not hear someone breaking and entering?”

  “The interior of the house is monitored by security cameras. If he fell asleep, we’ll find out.” Leah wondered briefly if the officer had been bribed.

  Jon opened his truck door and proceeded to pull out their possessions. “Unless the Venenos have an army behind them, coming after federal agents shows a lack of brains,” he said.

  Leah turned to him. “Are you thinking about the cover-up theory?”

  “The magnitude of this operation. And Aaron Michaels doesn’t fit the Veneno profile. I’m convinced whatever’s going on has nothing to do with a reconquista war cry. It’s a front.”

  She wrapped her brain around the brewing concept. “If so, were Ian Greer, Marcia Trevelle, and Judge Mendez onto them?” She drew out a breath and picked up her phone. “I need to call Silvia.” But the woman didn’t answer. “Guess I’ll text her.”

  Someone tried to stop Dylan from talking to us. Please tell him we want to talk.

  “How far do you think that will get you?” Jon said, looking over her shoulder at the message.

  Leah shook her head. “Who else knew about the meeting?”

  26

  IN A RENTAL CAR, Leah and Jon returned to the busy crime scene outside Willie G’s, where police wove through the crowd asking questions and gathering intel on the firefight. Three ambulances flashed their lights, but she didn’t see any paramedics in action. Good. The rain continued to assault them.

  She spotted Everson by a cruiser under an umbrella. He reminded Leah of a football coach whose team was down in the fourth quarter.

  They made their way through the crowd to Everson.

  Water dripped off his poncho, and no eye contact. “The only good thing that came out of tonight was Aaron Michaels bleeding out,” he said.

  Leah resolved to be civil. “We’re talking about a human being here, a young man whose life is gone.”

  “Doesn’t change what he’s done.”

  Leah fought to keep from punching him in the nose, which already looked like it had been placed out of joint a few times. “Here’s the bottom line. When I get to the point a man’s death doesn’t affect me, then I’m no better than an animal.”

  Jon broke into the conversation. “Has Aaron Michaels’s family been notified?”

  “Officers are on their way there.” Everson rubbed his jaw, but still no eye contact. “They’ll get a statement.”

  “Send us a copy,” Jon said. “A second man died in the firefight. Do you know his identity?”

  “Landon Shaw.” Everson stared into Jon’s face. “Prescription drug theft in Dallas. Robbed a string of Walgreens on the same day. Tried to fence the drugs within three months and got caught. Now he’s running with the Venenos. Or was.”

  Leah pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’ll see what else we can find out about Shaw.” She sent a request to the FIG for a background.

  Without looking up from his notepad, Everson said, “I want Shaw’s background on my desk first thing in the morning.”

  Leah bit her tongue. “Sure. How’s the wounded officer?”

  “Getting treated.” He glanced up.

  In that moment, Leah saw Everson’s vulnerability. The hurt would devour him if he didn’t deal with it soon. She was the poster child on that one.

  As she and Jon walked back to the rental car, Jon pointed out what she’d been thinking since Everson mentioned Shaw’s criminal record. “I’d be surprised if Shaw is part of the Venenos. Reconquista wouldn’t have meant anything to him.”

  “So if we’re not after this gang, maybe we should explore the drug angle.” Leah sighed. “I wish we could have taken one of those men into custody.”

  “We have tomorrow.”

  Leah watched Jon walk around the front of the car. A lean man. Not an ounce of fat anywhere. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t interested, only admiring.

  Jon slid inside. “Partner, we made it through what was supposed to be our end. Thank God, we’re alive for another day.”

  Her attitude hit bottom. “Why is it people thank God when life moves in a better light and curse the name when life stinks?” She stopped before her cynical views about a deity took over.

  “I had a friend who thanked Him no matter what happened.”

  “What does your friend do for a living?”

  A bit of sadness passed over him. “He died.”

  “I’m sorry. What was his name?”

  “Hanson.” He adjusted the air-conditioning. “Hanson’s last words were for me to find God.”

  “You were with him when he died?”

  “Yes.”

  He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and she wouldn’t probe. “Have you found what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I don’t believe in fairy tales,” she said.

  “What if God is real? And there’s a chance at eternity?”

  She believed in what she could see and touch. “I know faith gives many people comfort, and there are a lot of varieties to choose from. Religion’s not for me.” Leah needed to change the subject before she unloaded her nightmares. “Do you still want to stop by Elena James’s home?” It was nearing 11:45 p.m.

  “Yes. Let’s be optimistic and believe Dylan is there ready to spill his guts.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. I don’t think her parents knew they were dating.”

  27

  THE HOMES ON TIKI ISLAND were built straight up on narrow lots, leaving the low area for floodwaters that accompanied tropical storms and hurricanes. The James home had the elegance Leah had come to expect from many who lived in the coastal community surrounding Galveston. Three stories with lots of outdoor living space including a pool and a boat slip. Easily a million-dollar price tag.

  “The Jameses must be doing well for themselves.” Jon’s observation echoed her own thoughts. He rang the doorbell of a double door. A yappy dog responded in its best watchdog voice. “If a woman answers, you lead out,” he said.

  “Got it.”

  He rang the bell a second time.

  A light in the foyer flipped on, and a middle-aged woman with bare feet and dressed in white shorts opened the door.

  Leah held up her credentials and introduced herself and Jon as members of Houston’s FBI. “We’d like to talk to Elena James.”

  The woman’s face blanched. “I’m Olivia James, her mother. Please wait while I get my husband.” She closed the door and latched it.

  “How long before you ring the doorbell again?”

  “Twenty more seconds.”

  With four seconds remaining on Leah’s countdown, the door opened. Olivia and a tall, tanned man appeared. Both were undeniably islanders with tanned skin, highlighted hair, and Botoxed faces.

  “I’m Richard James. Explain to me why you’re here at this hour. What’s happened to our daughter?”

  “Agent Colbert and I have questions regarding her friendship with Dylan Ortega,” Jon said.

  “Who?” He glared. “Are you referring to the man the police and FBI are looking for? The man wanted for questioning regarding the murder of Judge Mendez?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jon continued. “May we come in?”

  He stiffened and for a moment Leah thought he’d slam the door in their faces. “I’m wondering if I should have my attorne
y present.”

  Lawyering up always delayed interviews, but it was the right of every citizen. Leah respected him for wanting to protect his daughter—she would do the same in his shoes. She picked up the conversation. “Legal counsel is your choice, Mr. James. But none of you are in any trouble. We just have a few questions for Elena that are important to our case.”

  “Then come in. We need to clear this up. Our daughter’s reputation is at stake.”

  Leah and Jon were led to an open foyer with light oak floors. Mr. James pointed to a spacious living room facing the water. High ceilings gave the room an outdoor feel. Furnishings were black and white with accents in shades of turquoise, red, and yellow. Leah and Jon were seated on a white sofa, and Olivia James sat in a nearby chair.

  Richard James paced the floor, hands in his cargo short pockets.

  Jon started things off. “Dylan Ortega’s mother, Silvia Ortega, gave us Elena’s name, address, and cell phone number yesterday,” he said. “Agent Riesel talked to your daughter then. Elena claimed she had no idea where Dylan could be found. Today when Agent Riesel phoned her with more questions, she didn’t pick up. Is she here?”

  “Not right now. She’s out with friends,” Mr. James said. “Where did this Ortega woman get Elena’s information? Because she’s harassing us.”

  Jon ignored the last half of the man’s comment. “According to her, Dylan and Elena are dating.”

  Mr. James’s face reddened. “Your source is a liar. He’s never been here, and neither would our daughter associate with the likes of him.”

  “We can clear this up if we speak to Elena directly.”

  Mr. James addressed his wife. “When is Elena expected home?”

  The woman touched her mouth before speaking. “Tomorrow.”

  Leah considered taking over the interview to calm Olivia. As if reading her thoughts, Jon glanced her way.

  “Can you give us a number where we can reach her?” Leah lowered her voice. “All we need to do is ask a few questions.”