Monster In The Closet (The Baltimore Series Book 5)

by Karen Rose

  ‘Yes,’ Fitzpatrick said, his brows crunching in a frown. ‘He stole it from Cleon Perry, the dealer he killed yesterday. Why?’

  ‘Because he was at the farm this morning,’ Clay said through clenched teeth. ‘I passed that car about a quarter-mile from the main gate. I should have checked the security tapes, but I was in a hurry.’

  ‘To see me,’ Taylor murmured.

  Clay turned his head to glare at her. ‘He came to kill you this morning, Taylor.’

  She nodded, the fear in her gut collapsing into a cold, hard ball. ‘I understand that,’ she said, trying to keep from panicking again. ‘But you have fences and alarm systems. He couldn’t have gotten in.’

  ‘But if we’d ridden a little further, he could have seen us from the road,’ Ford said hoarsely. ‘And he had a rifle. Jesus.’

  ‘We’ll look at the tapes,’ JD promised. ‘Along with all the security tapes in the vicinity. For now, I’ve put a BOLO out.’

  ‘Is he still armed?’ Ford asked, his voice steady again.

  ‘We’re assuming so, although he left his rifle on the ground and his handgun in the car. He also left a hundred rounds of ammo for the gun and another hundred for the rifle. He’d prepared for a firefight. He was going to kill you.’

  ‘How badly is he wounded?’ Ford asked.

  ‘Not enough that he couldn’t drag himself off, but he lost a lot of blood in the alley. I’d say that Taylor hit something vital for sure.’

  Taylor straightened her spine, prepared for the consequences. ‘Will you arrest me for shooting him?’

  ‘Fuck, no,’ Clay blurted out, moving like he was going to try to get up.

  Fitzpatrick shushed him. ‘Stop, Clay. I’m not arresting your daughter. We’ll do an investigation, but it’ll be paperwork. Just dotting the i’s for the bureaucrats. You know the drill.’

  ‘Okay,’ Clay said grudgingly, settling down as sirens whined in the distance. ‘They took long enough to get here.’

  ‘It’s been less than five minutes,’ Fitzpatrick said mildly.

  Seemed like five hours, Taylor thought wearily.

  ‘Then what the motherfuck,’ Clay said, every word sounding like he’d forced it out, ‘took you so long to get out here?’

  ‘We were in the listening room, which is soundproofed. We were prepping for Taylor’s chat with Jazzie, who thankfully didn’t show up today or he might have shot her too. And it wasn’t that long, Clay. Less than two minutes in total. Giuseppe ran in to tell us, and as soon as he opened the door, we heard all the screaming in the restaurant.’ He glared at Clay. ‘We came out the back door, which was the door you were supposed to come in. You would have been covered there. Not fodder for some lunatic killer on the goddamn street.’

  His voice had risen with every word, and Taylor was ready to tell him to shove his anger when she recognized it for what it was – true fear for his friend.

  Clay exhaled heavily. ‘Oh shit,’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh shit is right,’ Fitzpatrick spat. ‘What the hell happened, Clay? Why didn’t you follow the goddamned plan?’

  Hesitating, Clay gave Taylor a worried glance. ‘I forgot,’ he mumbled. ‘Just . . . forgot.’

  Fitzpatrick blinked. ‘You just forgot? You don’t just forget, Clay. You don’t ever just forget. Especially plans that keep your family safe.’

  Ford’s jaw had tightened. ‘He was distracted, JD, okay? Let it go.’

  Taylor frowned. Distracted? By wha— And then she remembered what they’d been talking about when Clay had parked the car in the wrong place.

  ‘Distracted?’ JD echoed. ‘And no, Ford, I won’t just let it go.’

  ‘He was distracted by me. Again,’ Taylor said quietly, wishing like hell she could go back and rewind the past hour. She’d all but told Clay she was going back to California. He’d seemed so . . . okay with it. Hurt, but like he’d make the best of it. Obviously he’d been a lot less chill than he’d wanted her to believe. ‘We were talking about my plans to return home. I didn’t realize how distracted he was. I didn’t know.’

  Clay winced. ‘Way to go, boy genius,’ he muttered sarcastically to Ford.

  ‘She would have figured it out,’ Ford snapped back.

  ‘This isn’t your fault, Taylor.’ Clay reached for her hand and she held his tightly. ‘This is my fault and only mine. You better not feel guilty for any of it.’

  Taylor could only sigh. ‘Pot, meet kettle?’

  Ford rolled his eyes. ‘That’s the understatement of the goddamn century.’

  Fitzpatrick held up his hands like a traffic cop. ‘Okay, okay, I get the picture. Who’s going to tell me what happened next?’

  ‘I will,’ Ford said, and quickly relayed the entire scene, including their belief that something was wrong with Lilah before the shooting even started.

  Taylor twisted around to look toward the restaurant. She’d forgotten all about Jazzie’s aunt. ‘What happened to Lilah?’

  Fitzpatrick frowned. ‘No idea. She didn’t come into the restaurant, through either door. I’ll have someone go by her apartment and make sure she and the girls are okay.’

  An ambulance and several BPD cruisers arrived, lining the street.

  ‘Now there’s cover,’ Ford said with a shake of his head.

  Two paramedics lifted Clay onto a stretcher. Even though they were as gentle as possible, pain tightened his features, his eyes appearing alarmingly more sunken in the seconds it took to settle him. His whole body seemed to shrink on itself and suddenly he was . . . frail. My God. He looks so frail.

  Taylor rose on shaky legs to hold his hand while the medics hooked him up to an IV. ‘You stay with me,’ she ordered, grateful her voice was stronger than her legs. ‘Your hair is too short to pull or I’d be returning the favor right now.’

  A ghost of a smile quirked Clay’s lips. ‘Smartass.’

  She cleared her throat, grateful when Ford moved to stand behind her, holding her upright when her knees wobbled. ‘You got that right, Pop,’ she said, keeping her tone light.

  Clay winced. ‘Dad. Father. Pa. Know-it-all old man.’ He drew a labored breath that scared the shit out of her. ‘But not Pop.’

  She leaned down to kiss his cheek, shoving her fear deep down. ‘We’ll negotiate later.’

  The paramedics had started wheeling him toward the ambulance when a different kind of panic gripped her. She didn’t want him to be alone. ‘Can I ride with him?’ she asked. ‘I’m his daughter,’ she added before they could ask.

  Both medics avoided her gaze and her heart dropped to her gut. This was bad. Very bad. When one of them looked at Fitzpatrick and shook his head, all the blood in her head drained to her feet and she felt herself sway. Ford gripped her shoulders, continuing to keep her upright.

  ‘Breathe, Taylor,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Just breathe.’

  She tried. She honestly tried, but her fear had burst from its cage, clawing at her throat. ‘I can’t lose him, Ford. I just found him.’

  JD sent a cruiser to escort the ambulance. ‘Just in case Jarvis tries shooting at them en route,’ he said, then pointed to the remaining squad cars. ‘You two get in one of those. I’ll get you a ride to the hospital.’

  Ford led Taylor to the cruiser. ‘Clay’s a tough son of a gun. He’s fought through far worse.’ He gently pushed her so that she sat sideways on the rear seat, then lifted her chin, and forced her to meet his eyes. Steady and honest and blue. ‘And don’t forget, he’s just found you too. He’ll fight as hard as he needs to. He has a family to live for, you included.’

  Fitzpatrick followed them to the squad car, his big body throwing a shadow over them. ‘Anything either of you need before you go to the ER?’

  ‘Stevie,’ Taylor said, frowning. ‘I need to call her. What happened to
my phone?’

  ‘I’ll call her,’ Fitzpatrick promised. ‘And I’ll find your phone and have someone bring it to you at the hospital. Ford, you will let them check your leg, won’t you?’

  Taylor was annoyed with herself for forgetting Ford’s leg wound so soon. Even a scratch could become infected. ‘He’s right. Dammit.’

  ‘Don’t agree with him,’ Ford said, trying to tease her. ‘He’s already got a big head.’

  ‘Don’t start with me, kid,’ Fitzpatrick warned, but it was only more teasing. They were both trying hard to keep her from falling apart.

  When Fitzpatrick’s shadow disappeared, Taylor’s body sagged as if the detective had taken her bones with him. She wanted to believe the day couldn’t get worse, but she knew that it could. Clay could die. Oh God. And the blame would fall squarely on her shoulders.

  Ford slid her over so that he could sit next to her. ‘You realize,’ he said softly, ‘that this very moment Clay is lying in that ambulance thinking the same thing you are, that this is his fault. Except he’ll think it an octave or so lower, because, you know, mega-buckets of testosterone left over from being a Marine.’

  She huffed a tired chuckle. ‘You’re right. I’ve known him less than twenty-four hours and I can hear him thinking it right along with me.’

  ‘You’re not doing each other any good feeling guilty,’ he continued mildly. ‘So stop it.’

  She leaned forward and rested her forehead against Ford’s. ‘I shouldn’t say that I’m glad you’re here, because you got hurt. But I’m so damn glad you’re here.’

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Sunday 23 August, 4.15 P.M.

  Goddammit. That bitch. She just grabbed that gun and fired it. Like a fucking soldier. What the hell kind of therapist shoots like that?

  Apparently Taylor Dawson did. At least he’d hit the two men she was with – Clay Maynard and Ford Elkhart. He’d hurt Maynard pretty badly, but Elkhart was just a graze. The men had formed a protective shield around Taylor and they wore Kevlar, meaning they’d come expecting trouble.

  Gage had failed. Spectacularly. He’d left DNA all over the damn place. Fucking bitch. He’d bled all over the alley and the car he’d stolen from the old lady who’d been hobbling toward it, her keys clutched in an arthritic hand.

  Now he’d ditched that car because it was new enough to have GPS and was looking for another. He’d have to zigzag his way back to his place. And not leave any more blood for the cops to find.

  I need to get out of here. Out of the city. Out of the fucking country. This was it. He’d completely messed up.

  He sidled toward a car that had been left with its engine running. The windows were up, the A/C blasting so that the window glass was cold. A small dog sat on the front passenger seat, snarling. A bumper sticker proclaimed that the owner loved his shih-tzu.

  Gage rolled his eyes, tempted to shoot the barking little fucker. He’d left the new semi-auto and rifle behind, but he still had his piece-of-shit pistol. He used the butt of the gun to break the passenger window, then took the shirt he’d wrapped around his bleeding shoulder, reached through the broken glass, and shoved it over the dog’s head, scooping the dog up and tossing it to the ground. He shook the shirt to get rid of the broken glass, then balled it up. He’d toss it in a dumpster somewhere along the way. Unlocking the driver’s side, he slid behind the wheel.

  He took the car as far as he dared, then ditched that one too. He filched a few shirts from a clothesline, using one to pack the wound and shrugging into the other as best he could. It was several sizes too big, but it would do for now. His shoulder still bled, but it had slowed to a seep versus the gush it had been.

  He’d need stitches. Fuck. He’d stitched himself up once before, when he’d been sliced with a broken bottle in a bar fight. He could do it again. He’d have to.

  He was only a few blocks from his rented room when his cell buzzed in his pants pocket. Only two people had his number – Denny and Cesar Tavilla. It was Tavilla.

  ‘Yes?’ Gage answered, hoping he didn’t sound too weak.

  ‘You said there would not be any repercussions, Mr Jarvis, but not even twenty-four hours later, I hear your name is being broadcast over the police radio. You’re wanted for a shooting in front of Giuseppe’s restaurant.’

  Gage didn’t know what to say, so he simply sighed wearily. ‘I figured as much.’

  ‘Our business association is terminated. It will be only a matter of time before your face is all over the television. One of your victims is the son of a prosecutor in the DA’s office. That was particularly bad judgment on your part, Mr Jarvis. I suggest you run very far, very fast.’

  Gage heard the click as Tavilla hung up on him. ‘Yeah, I’ll do that,’ he muttered, barely able to stay on his feet. ‘I’ll run like the fucking wind.’

  He made it to his room and staggered through the door, closing it and throwing the deadbolt. He wasn’t sure if he’d been followed, but he had to rest. If they came after him, he had the kids as hostages.

  At least he now knew that Denny hadn’t set him up to be caught at the restaurant. It had been way too easy to shoot at Dawson and the two men. If it had been a setup there would have been snipers on the rooftops, and there hadn’t been. At a minimum, there would have been cops out in front of the restaurant, and that hadn’t happened either.

  He sat in the one chair in the room and closed his eyes, so damn tired. He needed food, water, money, and stitches in his goddamn shoulder. Not necessarily in that order. He still had about twenty-two hundred left in cash.

  And he had a passport, courtesy of Reverend Blake. He wiped his bloody hand on his pants and pulled the passport from his pocket.

  Ronald Lassiter.

  He drew a ragged breath and let it out, choking back a sob. He was not going to break down. He did not have enough time.

  Neither did he have nearly enough money. Two grand and some change wouldn’t get him very far, even if he lived on the cheap, under the grid. Need to get out of the country. And go where? Anywhere they don’t extradite for murder.

  ‘Focus,’ he snarled. He needed to get more money and fast, before he was tracked here.

  His gaze landed on the two girls in the bed, still bound and gagged. He might use them as bargaining chips, but to do that he’d have to get close enough to the cops to be within the sights of their snipers. The kids were too small to be much of a shield and he could only keep hold on one at a time with his shoulder messed up.

  But . . . One side of his mouth lifted. Lilah had money, and she loved the kids.

  It was really the best of both worlds. He could get the money he needed and not have to kill the children. He wasn’t going to make it too complicated. He didn’t have the time or the concentration. He was becoming light-headed from loss of blood.

  He stood up to get a glass of water and a sheet of paper. He’d make a list of the things he’d need to do and then he’d call Lilah.

  He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the cloudy mirror over the dresser. ‘Hi, Ronald,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Sunday 23 August, 4.20 P.M.

  JD pulled a uniformed officer aside, and squinted at the man’s badge. ‘Officer Nelson, I need those two taken to the ER.’ He pointed to Ford and Taylor. ‘She was the intended target of this attack, so use all caution and for God’s sake make her keep her head down. Him, too. He’ll try to protect her.’

  JD was downright rattled, in a way he hadn’t been since . . . God, not since Stevie’d been shot a year and a half ago. He drew a breath, trying to calm down enough to think clearly.

  ‘Are they under arrest?’ the officer asked.

  ‘No,’ JD answered automatically, but once again he was wondering about Taylor Dawson. Either she had the worst luc
k ever or she was not as innocent as everyone else thought she was. Ever since she’d turned up, it had been one fucking disaster after another. Most of which were probably not her fault, he reasoned. But still. ‘Watch the girl. I think she’s okay, but . . . Just watch her. And when you get to the ER, stand guard until Agent Carter arrives. He’s the boy’s stepfather.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the officer said, and JD realized that the man wasn’t much older than Ford, who JD had just called a boy. God. When did everyone get so young?

  He pulled out his phone and flipped to the photo of Gage Jarvis that Thorne had given him the night before. He manipulated the photo so that only Gage’s face could be seen. ‘If you see this man, call for backup.’

  Officer Nelson studied the photo, then looked up at JD with a hard nod. ‘He’s the shooter?’

  ‘Most probably. Thank you.’ JD waited until the officer had walked away before placing the call he dreaded like the plague. From his favorites, he tapped ‘Boss’, and told himself to breathe once again.

  ‘Hey,’ Joseph said when he picked up. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Where are you?’ JD asked, instead of answering right away. ‘And where is Daphne?’

  ‘At my sister’s event hall,’ Joseph grunted. ‘We’re setting up for the rehearsal dinner.’

  Goddammit. Holly’s wedding had completely fled JD’s mind. ‘We’ve had a situation. A shooting. Clay was hit.’

  Joseph sucked in a breath. ‘How bad?’

  ‘Bad. Bullet to his femoral artery.’

  ‘Again?’ Joseph gritted out, his voice as angry as JD had ever heard it.

  ‘He’s in the ambulance on his way to the hospital right now.’

  ‘God. All right, so where’s the shooter now?’

  ‘Escaped, but he’s bleeding too. Taylor shot him.’

  ‘Taylor?’

  ‘I know, right? I’m frankly amazed. Maggie said she could shoot, but this was a shot I might not have been able to make, and I was a sniper.’ He could hear the distrust in his own voice and didn’t care. ‘She’s not what she seems, Joseph.’

  ‘All right,’ Joseph said again, and it was clear he was trying to calm himself just like JD was. ‘We’ll deal with the puzzle of Taylor Dawson later. Was Gage Jarvis the shooter?’