Blood Defense (Samantha Brinkman Book 1)

by Marcia Clark

  Alex didn’t look happy, but he didn’t argue. “I see your point. But if that’s true, then you can’t go home. You and Michelle should stay with me.”

  I waved him off. “Can’t find me. My address . . . not public.”

  Alex was impatient. “If people are willing to burn down your office to get to you, what makes you think they wouldn’t find a way to get your address?”

  “It’s blocked.” Ever since my days as a public defender, I’ve had a block on my address. Even cops who stop me for speeding have to jump hurdles to get it.

  “Want me to show you how fast I can find it? And they don’t even have to be as good as me.”

  I held up a hand. “Please don’t.” I didn’t need to see how wrong I’d been to feel so secure all these years. Especially right now.

  He folded his arms. “It’s my place or my uncle’s.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “De nada. Just give me the key to your place and a list of what you need.”

  I tried to draw another deep breath and went into another coughing jag. When it finally stopped, I said, “Keys were in my purse, but . . .” They’d be a melted mess by now. Everything was gone. I couldn’t absorb it all. I closed my eyes. Alex’s voice yanked me back.

  “You don’t have a spare anywhere?”

  I forced myself to think. “I . . . wait, yeah. Taped on the ledge . . . above door.” I still had my apartment. I hadn’t lost everything. That thought made me feel a little better. I wrote down a list of what I’d need for the next couple of days.

  Of course the press got ahold of the story. I had a television in my room, and it was showing the footage of my office building going up in flames. Michelle and I had been the only ones inside, and we were reported to be in “stable condition.” But the building was a total disaster. One of the firemen said multiple code violations allowed the fire to spread as fast and hard as it did. That came as no shock. But the sight of it was devastating. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched all my hard work for the past seven years dissolve into ashes.

  Alex had a mournful look as he watched with me. But after a few moments, he snatched the remote and turned it off. “Stop watching that. It’s just a building. You’re still a lawyer; you still have cases. And there’ll be more.” I nodded and wiped my cheeks. Alex handed me a Kleenex. “Have the police called you yet?”

  Police. I hadn’t thought about that. But his mention of the police calling made me remember what’d pinged me before. “Phone!” My heart was hammering in my chest. Paige’s cell phone had been in my purse—the purse that was now a puddle of ashes and soot. We’d never find the place now. “Paige’s phone . . . the photo . . .”

  Alex put a hand on my shoulder. “Samantha, it’s okay. You left the phone with me. Remember?” It took a moment to register. That’s right. I’d left it with him when I went to see him at his uncle’s house. The relief was so sharp I couldn’t speak. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. Alex patted my arm. “Get some rest. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you both up.”

  I slept as well as anyone can in a hospital, with nurses constantly checking this and probing that. But I didn’t have any other visitors that night. Reporters had been calling the hospital, and the next morning, some even tried to see me. I told the nurses to throw them out and refused all calls. But there was one person I couldn’t keep out.

  Jack tapped on the door, which was standing open. As always, his round, smiling face and rosy cheeks lifted my spirits. The full head of auburn hair he’d had when he’d married Celeste was just a monk’s fringe now, and it was all white—like his neatly trimmed beard and mustache. But he moved like a man half his age, and he exuded good energy. His marriage to my mother was proof that darkness seeks out light.

  The smile froze on my face when I realized his appearance might mean Celeste was there. But when I looked over his shoulder, I saw he was alone. My smile relaxed into the real thing, and I told him to come in.

  He came over and kissed my forehead. “How are you feeling? You look remarkably good, all things considered.”

  “Getting better by the minute.” And I was. It had been a long, fairly sleepless night, but now my voice was almost back to normal, and the coughing fits were nearly gone.

  He pulled up a chair and sat next to my bed. “I assume the police will be investigating. Do you have any idea who might’ve done this? Or why?”

  “No. It might just be a scam by one of the other businesses in the building.”

  “Can’t pay the rent?” I nodded. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Well, I’m just glad you’re okay. Can I get you anything to eat? I’m sure the food here really sucks.”

  I laughed. “They brought me scrambled eggs that tasted like cardboard. How do you mess up scrambled eggs?”

  Jack smiled. “It’s a medical miracle. But you’re not hungry?” I shook my head. “What about clothes, shampoo? I’d be glad to bring you anything you need.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I should be getting out pretty soon, so I’ll be okay.”

  “What time? I’ll pick you up—”

  “I really appreciate it, but no worries. I’ve got it covered.”

  Jack patted my hand. I saw a shadow pass over his face. I had a feeling I knew what was coming. I was right. “Your mother wanted to come see you, but we thought it might be best not to right now, given how . . . strained things have been between you two lately.”

  This was the time to tell him that things weren’t just strained between us—they were over. Forever. But for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  I gave him a twisted smile. “Bet it wasn’t too hard to talk her out of coming.” Celeste hated hospitals. And it would never have occurred to her to come just to check in on me. Had she really said she wanted to come? I doubted it. But if she did, it was only so she’d look good—probably knowing full well Jack would take her off the hook. Win-win for Celeste.

  Jack’s expression saddened. “Come on, Samantha. Your mother loves you. Surely you know that.”

  I knew Jack believed it, and I didn’t want to hurt him. But I didn’t want him to think I believed in that fiction. I put it as mildly as I could. “I think you see a different side of her than I do.”

  He frowned briefly and looked away. It was an understatement, but it was the truth. Would he ever be able to see that? Or was it possible he already suspected it? I couldn’t tell. But even if he did, I didn’t think he’d ever know what a monster she really was. And maybe it was better this way. He got his dream. She got hers.

  FIFTY-SIX

  That night, when the nurse told me I could leave, I was so happy I raised an arm to do a fist pump—and almost ripped out the IV needle. The nurse shook her head as she removed it. “I’m probably talking to myself right now, but you need to take it easy. Your body’s been through a lot.” I nodded and tried to look compliant.

  Her expression told me she wasn’t fooled. She probably got lied to as much as I did.

  When Alex arrived to pick us up that night, I told him I didn’t think I’d ever been happier to see anyone in my whole life. He’d parked at the back door, which was empty at that time of night, to make sure no one saw us leave. We made it to Alex’s place in no time, and when he opened the door, Michelle and I stood in the doorway and stared. His apartment, decorated in a modern, minimalist style, was sparkling clean. “You didn’t have to spiff up for us, Alex.”

  He looked puzzled. “I didn’t.”

  I looked around at the spotless kitchen, the dustless living room. “You will not be allowed to see my place unless you’re drunk.”

  Alex smiled. “Don’t worry. I don’t judge. Much.” Then his smile faded. “Sit down. I’ve got some bad news.”

  Michelle and I sank down on the beige sofa in the living room. I didn’t know if I could take it. “What now?”

  “Someone broke into your apartment. It’s . . . pretty bad. I couldn’t tell if anything was missing. But the place was really turned ups
ide down. It looked like they were searching for something. Did you keep any files there?”

  My heart began to pound. “No.” The import of it hit me like a sucker punch. The tiny sliver of hope I’d had that the fire wasn’t meant for me vanished. But there was an upside to that. “Then I was right. We’re onto something.” And it had to be something we’d gotten recently—something the public would know about. I forced my tired brain to backtrack. “Storm.”

  Michelle nodded, her face pale and pinched with fatigue. “Right.”

  Alex nodded. “Did you ever find out what he told the reporters off the record?”

  “No. He never called me back.” I paused. “And I’m not sure he did say anything off the record. But maybe he didn’t need to.”

  Michelle rubbed her temples. “That’s true. If we’re right about this, he obviously said enough to make someone think he was a threat.”

  Alex narrowed his eyes. “And Storm might know more than you—or he even realizes.”

  I agreed. “But given what he said to the press, we know one thing for sure: my theory that Paige was the target must be close to the mark.”

  Alex met my gaze. “Exactly.”

  But that made it clear I couldn’t stay here. “I think I’d better go to a hotel, Alex. If they could find my apartment, they could find—”

  “No, they couldn’t. Because I know how to hide.” He gave me a pointed look. “Remember how we met, Samantha.” He’d hidden those two BMWs beautifully. “No one knows where I live except my uncle. You’re safe here.”

  “But we’ve got to tell the cops,” Michelle said.

  “And we will,” I said. “Just not yet. Whoever’s after me won’t know where I am until I go back to court. That means we have tomorrow. And it’s all we’ve got, so I want to use it.” I’d been too thrashed to feel anything but pain and exhaustion. But now that I was better, I had energy to spare for anger, and it felt like a red-hot spike in my gut. Someone had tried to kill us—and destroy our evidence. And whoever that was wanted me to run and hide. Well, to hell with that. “I’m not just going to let the asshole who did this back me down. I don’t know if it’ll pan out. I just know I’ve got to see it through.” I looked from Alex to Michelle. “But you guys don’t have to go with me. This is my insanity. I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

  Michelle still looked pale, but she shook her head. “Save it. I—” She had a coughing fit. When she’d recovered, she took a deep breath. “I’m going.”

  Alex gave her a skeptical look. “Uh-huh.”

  She waved him off. “I’ll be fine. One good night’s sleep away from that damn hospital and I’ll be good as new. What time are we getting up?”

  I pulled my phone out of my purse. It was ten thirty. “I’d like to aim for seven thirty. Sound okay?”

  They both nodded. Alex looked from me to Michelle. “Okay. You two can either share the foldout couch in the guest room, or one of you can sleep on this one.” He pointed to the sofa we were sitting on. It was nice to look at, but it was hard.

  Michelle and I exchanged a look. “We’ll share,” I said.

  We talked for a little while about our plans for tomorrow, then called it a night.

  Michelle and I hadn’t shared a bed since we were in ninth grade, and I was always leery of sleeping with someone because I never knew when I’d wake up screaming. But it wasn’t a problem. We were so tired, we fell asleep within seconds, and I didn’t wake up until Alex knocked on the door the next morning.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Alex had coffee waiting. We gulped it down and got on the road by eight o’clock. There were a few things I’d forgotten to ask Alex to pick up, so we had to stop at my apartment. Alex wanted to go in for me, to spare me the bummer of seeing how badly it’d been thrashed, but that would take longer, and I didn’t want to waste the time. Alex had put a padlock on the door because the flimsy door-handle lock had been broken. When I got the padlock off and pushed the door open, I stood there, frozen.

  It was a horrible sight. The place had been turned upside down, and a violent energy still hung in the air. It felt as though the burglar was still there. I got out as fast as I could. I’d have to call the police and report it soon. But there was no point wasting time with it right now. Anyway, a report was just a formality. The odds of them catching the burglar were about as good as my winning the lottery. And I’ve never bought a ticket.

  I got back to the car within minutes, and we headed for Malibu. The good thing about doing this on a Sunday was that there was no traffic. We’d make good time, and it’d be easier to see if we were being followed. We watched for any suspicious cars all the way to Pacific Coast Highway. The road behind us was clear.

  It was one of those sparkling fall days when all the colors seem too vivid to be real—the cornflower-blue sky, the golden sunshine, the azure ocean that shimmered like glass.

  The beauty of the day and the hope for our mission buoyed our spirits. We started our search at the northern edge of the Colony, energized and optimistic. We drove up one street and down another, working our way up the coast, sure we’d be able to find the house in the background of Marc’s photo in no time. But as we traveled up and down block after block, our spirits sank like a punctured air mattress.

  By noon, we were tired, stumped, and demoralized. And I was starving. I spotted a sandwich shop across the highway from the ocean. “Let’s take a break. I’m buying.”

  We ordered at the counter and took our sandwiches to the little metal table on the front patio. There was an older couple at the table next to ours who wore the unflashy tans and bleached cotton T-shirts and shorts of locals. I told them we were looking for a house that our friend had visited and asked if they might recognize the area from a photo. They said they’d give it a try. I showed them the photo on Paige’s phone.

  The woman squinted at it and tilted her head. “I don’t know where this is, but it’s not this neighborhood.” She passed the phone to her husband.

  He stared at it for a few beats. “I couldn’t tell you what street this is, but it kind of reminds me of Broad Beach. You know where that is?”

  I’d heard of it. Broad Beach was multimillionaire territory, where humongous mansions sat right on the sand. Mega-celebrities like Barbra Streisand and Danny DeVito lived there. “It’s a little north of here, right?”

  “Yeah. Just head up the coast.”

  I thanked them and we got back into Alex’s car. “There you go. Progress at last.”

  Michelle gave me a tired look. “Unless there’s more than one street in Broad Beach.”

  I sighed. “And more than one house on that street. But at least we’re getting closer.”

  We found the road the man had told us about. It was exotically named Broad Beach Road. But we couldn’t find a spot that looked like the one where Marc had been. We showed the photograph to everyone we saw, but none of them recognized the area.

  It was almost five o’clock, and we were running out of energy—and daylight. I suggested a last-ditch effort across the highway, where there was a Rite Aid, a liquor store called Beachside Bevs, and a gas station.

  The clerk at the liquor store, a tall, skinny young guy with acne, studied the photo, then shook his head. “Nah. Doesn’t look familiar to me.”

  We struck out with all the clerks at the Rite Aid, too. The gas station was our last chance. I showed the photo to the cashier. She stared at it, and I could see she was really trying. But she shook her head. “No, sorry.”

  We were about to leave when I noticed a mechanic working on an old Mercedes. I nodded toward him. “What the hell, it’s worth a try.”

  Alex and Michelle followed as I headed toward the service bay. He had a tat on his neck that said LIVE FREE OR DIE, and he wore a leather necklace with what looked like an animal tooth.

  I asked him if he might recognize a street in a photo I had. I held up the phone, and he wiped his hands on a dirty rag as he studied it. His face brightened. “Ye
ah. I know that place. It’s at the end of Sea Smoke Drive.”

  A jolt of electricity ran through me. I tried to act casual. “You know the address?”

  “The last house at the end of the road. It’s one of the smaller cribs in this community. You can’t miss it. Sits by itself out there.”

  “How do you know the place?”

  “Been taking care of their cars for the past couple of years. I pick ’em up and deliver ’em.”

  “Then you know the people who live there?”

  “Sure. Cory and Sarah Larsen. But if you’re looking for them, you’re out of luck. They’re in Thailand. Took off at the end of January. Won’t be back till next year.”

  The end of January was right around the time Marc had taken the photo. But that meant these people—the Larsens—had been gone for months by the time he and Paige got killed. Marc and Paige wouldn’t have gone there if no one was home. Unless someone else was staying in the house. “Has someone been house-sitting for them?”

  “Nope. They told me they were locking it up, asked me to check the place when I had a chance. Matter of fact, I’m storing their cars for them.”

  How could this be? I felt like an anchor had lodged in my chest. I’d been so sure I was about to hit gold. Not only didn’t I hit gold but my one solid hope had been crushed.

  Depressed, I thanked the mechanic and we trudged back to Alex’s car.

  Alex leaned over the steering wheel and stared at the ocean. “Someone else might still have access to the place.”

  I sighed. “I suppose.”

  Michelle rallied. “And maybe Crocodile Dundee over there was wrong. Maybe it’s another house.”

  Alex nodded. “She’s right. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to look.”