BITCH (A Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Calloway, Cay

  The only other option was tracking down the biker bar. She turned the key and got driving. She hadn't payed close attention to the route Hutchinson had taken when he took her there, but that didn't change anything. She knew how to get to the interstate. From there, it wasn't too hard to figure what came next.

  She pulled in, gave the bikes a slow drive-by. Maybe Craig was there, she thought, but his bike wasn't. No matter. She pulled in. If he wasn't, then maybe someone else was. Someone else who she needed to get to know.

  She caught a few funny looks as she came through the door. The sort of looks that should have told her exactly why she didn't belong there, but she'd been there with Craig already. For that matter, whether she had or not, it didn't matter, because she wasn't going to leave. Not when two women were already dead, and a third would be joining her any day now.

  They had been slowly accelerating things for the past four years. Would it be two this time? Or did they have three lined up? More?

  She took a breath and waited for the guy to bring her the beer and the fries. He did. Still piping hot, still piled far too high for any rational person, which was just high enough for a place like this.

  Then she started looking from face to face, person to person. A smile crossed her face when she saw the face she was looking for. Plain-looking except for his broad nose that looked like it was an art deco attempt at a flattish face.

  She took a couple fries and ate one as she walked up to the billiards table.

  "Hey, I know you."

  The guy turned and raised an eyebrow. "Well I don't know you, so buzz off."

  "No, I definitely know you. You were here yesterday, right? You talked to Craig."

  "You're—" he stiffened a little. "Look, I don't want any trouble, okay? Just go on, leave. I'm not looking for anything."

  "Well maybe I am, you think about that?"

  "It ain't going to happen, chickie. That man would kill me if he even saw me talkin' to you."

  "Really, that much, huh?"

  "So you need to buzz off, and you need to buzz off quick before one of the Angels see me, you feel me?"

  "Angels?"

  "Who the fuck are you? Some kind of reporter or something? Digging for a story? You a cop?"

  "Just looking to find out who I've been seeing."

  "Well why don't you ask him, then, and get the hell out of here?"

  "You and I both know he won't tell it to me straight. You come over here, have a beer with me—" The guy on the other side of the table sent the cue ball into the side pocket, and now it was flat-nose's turn.

  "I wish I could help you, alright? But I can't."

  "You at least got a name?"

  "Why?"

  "Just in case Craig asks who I've been talkin' to."

  "Fuck you."

  "I just don't want to keep calling you 'hey you,' if we run into each other."

  "I already said I wasn't going to tell you. Ain't gonna get myself into trouble giving out my name."

  The guy across the table, leaning on his cue and waiting for flat-nose to make his shot spoke up. "His name's Ryan. Satisfied? Now take your fuckin' shot, asshole."

  The way that flat-nose's face twisted up in annoyance told her that she hadn't just been played, unless they'd rehearsed it. He gave the tall guy a look and then started to line up his shot. He sent the nine into the corner pocket and Erin left them to play. She had to finish these fries before they got cold.

  The ride home was longer than she would have liked, with too many questions to answer. Either they were better actors than she thought, or she'd gotten his real name. None of the names from the dating sites were 'Ryan,' so it was something new to go on.

  She put her foot down harder. Speed limits were mostly a suggestion, this far out, anyways. Just don't go too far over. She whipped past something on the side of the road and immediately regretted it.

  A motorcycle. A very familiar motorcycle, in fact. She swerved over four lanes and pulled off to the side of the road a ways up, trying to put her Jeep where nobody would pay it special attention, and then she got out the passenger side. No reason to risk getting hit by a damn car for this.

  Then she went back. That was Craig's bike, no doubt about it. She thought for a minute before she kept going. This was a dangerous road she was headed out on, and no mistake. The man was dangerous and now, if she was lucky, she was finally about to find something out about him without his express permission.

  The bike seemed abandoned, initially. Nobody would pull off to the side of the road like this. It looked fine from the outside. Two full tires, and she didn't figure him for the kind of guy who ran out of gas on the side of the road.

  There was a place nearby where the trees spread just about enough for someone to go on through, and the grass kinked down where someone had stepped through, more than just once. She sucked in a breath and hoped to hell that she hadn't come at just the wrong time.

  It was a tight squeeze, but it would have been tighter for Craig and he made it through. She stepped on through and found herself facing another path. It widened enough that she didn't have to go through sideways, which was a blessing all by itself.

  Erin kept herself low. Any minute now, someone could come around the bend in the path, and the wall of trees were just a bit too thick to duck off to the side and try to let them slip by. If you were going to have someplace you didn't want people going, then there were worse ways to separate it from the street.

  She heard the voices before she was close enough to know what they were saying. They weren't making any effort to speak in hushed tones, though, that was sure enough.

  The path started up a hill, and around the base of the hill the trees started to spread out. She stepped off and went tree-to-tree. The way she'd hoped to have done it before, but there wasn't much opportunity up until now.

  She peeked over the ridge-line of the hill and saw a dozen-odd men, most of them heavily tattooed, and not a one of them weighing less than two hundred pounds. Most looked like they could crush a baseball in one hand, and might do it if you disrespected their momma.

  "My brother's none of your concern, Lee."

  "Well, I just don't want to walk into nothin'."

  "I ain't gonna compromise this club just for some family shit, you know that. I got that cop on the line specifically so I could get that monkey off our back. You got me?"

  Twenty-Two

  Erin slipped back into the Jeep. What the hell was he talking about? She was there to get what off his back? Something told her that she already could guess. He knew, in fact was intimately acquainted with the fact, that she was a police officer.

  Which meant that he was letting her think that she was getting away with something. Why? The only reason that made sense was that he also knew why she was getting acquainted with him. The pieces fit into place better than she liked.

  He was just going to go up the line of the previous killers and introduce her to them, was that how it worked? The entire idea seemed strange. But more than that, it made no sense. Why? What was he trying to protect by driving her attention towards them?

  A few serial killers in their midst would eventually drop the law hammer on them. So maybe that was it. She was the release valve for the guys who were drawing too much heat. Well, if that was all it was—was that a bad thing?

  Why not just tell her straight out? Informants weren't unheard of. Even the ones that just came in and said "hey, I'm part of such-and-such gang."

  But instead they'd gone for the long game, some sort of big charade where he pretended not to know anyone in a gang and slowly introduced her to all these men. His brothers, he'd said. Then what was the speech he'd given her the other day? A bunch of bullshit?

  Craig Hutchinson seemed at all times like the kind of guy who would bullshit her. Yet, in that moment, he'd seemed more serious than anything. As if for the first time she was getting a look behind the curtain.

  He said he wouldn't let anything happen to his brot
hers, and she believed him. Even after she'd heard him tell someone that she was there specifically to bring his brothers in.

  Which meant there was something more to it. Something that he was leaving out, either with the others in that little club he'd been talking to, or leaving something out with her.

  She had heard them talked about before, and it wasn't unheard-of for motorcycle gangs to call their other members brothers. They might be his family, too, in that sense. But none of it made sense, not really. She needed to get someone else's eyes on this.

  Her fingers were shaking enough to make it hard to dial Roy's number. He answered quickly. "Is everything okay?"

  "I'm fine," she said, holding the phone up in front of her face with the speakerphone on. "But I've got some information for you."

  "Shoot."

  "Hutchinson. He knows who's been doing your murders. But I think there's something else going on."

  "That's absurd, Erin. What could possibly be bigger than repeated serial murders?"

  "For you? Probably nothing. Probably you'd be willing to overlook whatever it is, once you get the killers. But he's definitely made me. Made me from the beginning."

  "Are you in danger?"

  "Not sure."

  "So what comes next?"

  She paused a minute before answering. "Not sure. I don't like being used."

  "I wouldn't either."

  "If he thinks that I'm going to go in and just do whatever he says, then—"

  "Then what?"

  "Then I guess I'll let him."

  "What?"

  "It's my sister. I don't like being played. But if his play is to give me my sister's killer on a silver platter, then I accept."

  "You sure there's nothing else to it? No trap?"

  "I don't know anything but what I told you. I met one of your guys. Hold off until we get more info, but he was calling himself 'Ryan' this time. I think he was the second guy, the one who did the Maine job."

  "We have him down as a… 'Spencer Gold.'"

  "Well, you always knew those names were fake, right?"

  "Nothing else to call him until now. 'Ryan,' huh? Got a last name?"

  "I couldn't push him any harder for it without being suspicious."

  "Alright. I understand. I think you've earned yourself dinner tonight, know anyplace good?"

  "Sure. I'll pick this time."

  "Good choice."

  Erin wasn't in any sort of mood for dinner. Not yet. It was early, though, and a few hours would do a hell of a lot for her mood after the morning she'd had. A few hours, a nap, and some idea of what the hell was going on around her.

  Ryan was one of the brothers that the guy had been talking about, right? It was the only thing that made any sense. But why? He'd been real defensive about his name, too. He was trying to keep a low profile, far as she could tell, and tattoos had turned that all around.

  The monkey on their back…

  She pulled onto her street. Only a four-mile shot down the road now, and she'd be able to go lay down and maybe try to sort this shit out.

  There were too many questions to be sure what the right answers were. The important ones were all the most questionable.

  Why her? There are a thousand cops in this city. Ten thousand maybe. There's no reason to go straight to her, not when they could have gone to any of them. Maybe Craig didn't get word that he was involved in the murder plot until it was too late, and now he was using her to clean up the mess because it was convenient.

  But that didn't sit right. He had been pulling the strings since the beginning. Waiting for her to message him, and he'd answered in minutes. Like he knew it was going to come.

  The threat of reprisal was very real, as well. It was all well and good to sell your family up the river, but it didn't sit that well with them after the fact. Maybe his whole plan was to get her to move, and then get revenge right after he got what he wanted. It would tie the whole package up nice and tidy, and he'd already demonstrated that he could get into her place any time he liked.

  She shut her eyes. That meant they were playing a dangerous game. She needed to be more careful with her moves. Before, she'd thought that she was the cat, and he was the mouse. Now it seemed more like they were both playing games with the other. Now that she saw that it wasn't a one-sided game, it changed things.

  Was this how Craig had seen everything from the beginning? She shuddered. That wasn't good. How much had he known would happen, and how much was just rolling with the punches?

  Erin forced herself not to ask too many questions like that. There was no reason to do it, and it was just going to upset her. No reason to get herself riled up just yet.

  Not when she had plenty of time left to look into all those questions. This wasn't about a race, and it wasn't about a finish line. Now she understood it more like a dance. In the end, she was going to get what she wanted. The only question was the state she got there in.

  So she slipped into her bed and shut her eyes. It was easier to think after she slept. It was a damn shame that she hadn't had enough time to do much of it before. But now she needed to be at the top of her game, because when he made his move, there wasn't going to be any backup.

  Twenty-Three

  Erin woke up to the sound of something at her door. A scratching noise. Her hand reached automatically for the gun by her bedside. She clicked the safety off as she stepped up. If she was someone's pawn, then that meant that there was an opponent. As soon as they noticed what was happening, they were going to come after her.

  The door came open a little way before encountering the chain. Erin crouched down in the little hall that the apartment tried to pass off as a kitchen and trained her weapon on the door. When the chain shattered under the weight of someone putting their shoulder into it, she waited half an instant to see who it was before she fired.

  The explosion in her hand was loud enough to make her head dance around and her vision go wonky for half a second. Her ears rang. She took another shot and the guy tripped over his own feet. Erin turned him over. Poor Ryan, the guy never saw it coming. Erin didn't feel particularly bad about it.

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Roy first.

  "I've got a situation here."

  "What's wrong?"

  "There's a dead body in my kitchen."

  "Are you okay?"

  "Our friend Ryan tried to break in. I defended myself."

  Roy paused on the other end of the line a minute before answering. "Okay, we can take care of this. You called 9-1-1 yet?"

  "Not yet, no."

  "Okay. I'll communicate it to your people."

  "Good. Make sure you communicate that I'm going to leave my firearm on the floor and move away. I'm going to be dis-armed and waiting for them."

  "Good. Will-do."

  Roy showed up at the apartment flanked on both sides by L.A.P.D. They all huffed over the body on her floor for a minute. She understood the position that she was in. She could have killed someone. On the other hand, it was still her right to defend herself from someone who meant to harm her. That she was a cop also meant that certain things would be understood, and one of them was that she knew what she was doing.

  None of that made the body go away, or stopped the blood from staining her kitchen tile.

  Roy spoke first. "Are you alright?"

  "I'm fine. I heard him coming in. The chain latch was shut. He broke it getting in, and I took steps to defend myself."

  "Good."

  They turned the body over. There was a pistol in a shoulder-holster. She didn't recognize either of the uniforms, but then again she rarely did. They got on the radio and called in a medical team. The guy was sure as hell dead, but that didn't mean they could leave him on the floor.

  The two of them took their sweet time getting to her, which she didn't mind. Erin's skin was starting to crawl at the feeling of having used her gun. They were as safe as anything, she knew. She'd used them every week at the range. Shooting p
aper had taught her that they didn't just go off willy-nilly.

  Accidents happened, sure. But they didn't happen when you were careful and smart about what you were doing. Now, though—she had been careful. She might have been smarter, but with a .38, the odds of blowing straight through and hurting a civilian were slim.

  She'd decided to kill the guy, and there he was. Dead on the floor. Roy was saying something to her, but she wasn't listening. The instant she'd pulled the trigger kept playing through her head in slow motion. Maybe she would have been fine. Maybe he was just there to talk. Did she have the right to shoot a man for breaking in, not knowing what he would do?

  If she had waited, and she hadn't been safe, wouldn't she have been able to deal with that when the need arose? Maybe not. Erin knew the odds of beating someone in a quick-draw weren't good. Even if you had the gun already in your hands, you still had to worry about aiming in a high-stress situation. It wasn't a situation she would have wanted to put herself in.

  But that didn't mean she had the right to kill the guy, not even if he was a murdering son of a bitch.

  More than that, though, the only play she'd made, the only information she had outside of what Craig had chosen to give her, was gone now. Ryan something-or-other, suspected in the murder of a young twenty-something with dark hair from Maine under a false name, was the only link that she'd been able to make on her own.

  Well, now they weren't going to be able to question him, were they?

  She heard the uniform asking her a question and asked him to repeat it. "Is this firearm registered?"

  "Yes."

  "Good." He ejected the magazine and counted off the ammunition. Five shots left out of seven. She watched him with a detached interest. The mechanical actions made sense to her. It was what she would have done. If a detective were to show up, which they might not waste one on, then the guy would tell him.

  The detective probably would believe him, but it wouldn't stop him from checking. The uniform slid the magazine back into the gun and put it back where he'd found it close enough.