Gia Santella Crime Thriller Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers)

by Kristi Belcamino

  “I can’t tell you yet, but the girl who was taken is a journalist. And they kidnapped her to stop her from printing it.”

  He opened his door. “Come on. Let’s get in the back and I’ll show you what I got from that night.”

  In the back, I watched footage of the protest from the sky. Unfortunately, much of it was from a bird’s eye perspective. Every once in a while, the camera zoomed in on some smaller skirmishes on the ground. After nearly twenty minutes, I saw something in the area where I believed Sasha had been.

  “Can you pause or zoom in here?”

  “I can’t zoom, but I can pause.”

  I got as close as I could to the still image on the screen. It sure as hell looked like a small pink dot surrounded by figures in black. “Okay, can you run it slow motion?”

  I watched as the pink dot and the black figures moved off the screen and toward the edge of the protest.

  It was the moment Sasha was kidnapped.

  “There it is!” I leaned forward.

  When she got to the edge of the screen she disappeared. He paused it there.

  I stared at the screen, reluctant to give up that easily. I’d hoped for a lot more.

  The cameraman moved to turn off the video.

  “Wait!” I nearly jumped out of my seat. I pointed at the corner of the screen. “What is that?”

  He leaned in and narrowed his eyes. “It’s a drone. It kept getting in my way and buzzing us.”

  “Buzzing us?”

  “Haven’t you seen Top Gun? When Tom Cruise buzzed the air traffic control tower?”

  I frowned.

  He sighed. “It’s a term that means he was being annoying, like a fly, and got super close to us and our blades. Once he even got right in front of my camera.”

  “Where’s that footage?”

  He leaned forward and hit play. “Any second I imagine.”

  After a minute or two the drone appeared right in front of the camera.

  “Bastard,” the cameraman said.

  “Any idea where it came from? Who’s operating it?”

  He chuckled. “I was so pissed I actually had the pilot swoop and try to take it out and the little fucker went and hid in an apartment. Watch.”

  For a few minutes the camera filmed the crowd of protesters below dispersing and then zoomed in on the drone. There was a jerky motion as the helicopter swooped down and the drone took off. The camera zoomed in on a building two blocks away where the drone zipped into a window.

  “Can you pause it right here?”

  A shadowy figure appeared in the window. It was too far away to distinguish any features or gender.

  “Now can you play in slow mo?”

  The drone entered the window, the figure disappeared and was replaced by a black shade. When the camera zoomed out again I asked him to pause it one more time.

  The window was ten up from the ground and two over from the right side. The red brick building was on the corner two blocks away from the plaza in the Whoa-Man neighborhood of the Tenderloin.

  I scribbled my number on another scrap of paper and handed it to the guy.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jimmy.”

  “Got a card?”

  “Nah, I’m just a photog.” He leaned over and ripped a piece of notebook paper out. “Here’s my number. I’ll be waiting for that scoop.”

  I looked him right in the eye. “You can count on it.” I meant it, too.

  He pointed toward a gate in the fence. “You can get out that way.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MY FERRARI WOULD PROBABLY be firebombed if I parked it in the Tenderloin. At the very least, it would get a few key scratches along its sides, so I decided to go home, park it in the garage and grab some food upstairs before I headed to the building in the Tenderloin. My car was my baby and I wanted to keep it nice as long as I could. My last Ferrari had ended up a heaping pile of twisted metal at the bottom of a Marin cliff. My doorman had made the fatal decision to take it joyriding right after someone cut the brake line.

  Upstairs at my place, last night’s argument with Bobby came back full force as I stared at a cold plate of leftovers. It had started out as the best night ever, and then, as was typical in my life, ended in a massive pile of shit.

  I chewed a few bites of the food that had suddenly become tasteless before I pushed the plate away. Instead, I poured a shot of bourbon and went out on the balcony where my smokes were stashed. It was past noon. I glanced at the clock. Barely past noon.

  I had thirty hours until James went to his supervisor.

  I had brought the bottle of bourbon with me onto the balcony so I poured another shot and smoked a cigarette. I thought of the pit bull receptionist’s heavily-lined mouth and stubbed out my second cigarette halfway through.

  When I stood, I had a little bit of a buzz. I eyed the bottle but decided I needed to be halfway sober to confront the drone operator. The bottle had a magnetic pull. It would help me tamp down the ugliness I felt inside about Bobby leaving.

  But then I snapped out of it.

  I had no time—and no right—to feel sorry for myself. I had everything money could buy and good health to boot and here I was having a fucking pity party. Look at Ethel: never had a damn good thing in her life and now she’s dead in the ground. I had no right to wallow in self-pity. No wonder Bobby stormed out. I didn’t blame him. I would’ve done the same exact thing.

  I would find Sasha and make everything all right.

  On my way out the door, I decided my first stop in the Tenderloin should be Darling’s salon. I needed to tell her what I’d learned at the campus newspaper and ask her about Eddy and KKK and 12. Then I would try to find the person who operated that drone and see if they had any camera footage that would help me find Sasha. I squared my shoulders and grabbed my bag.

  I could have my very own pity party later—after I brought Sasha home safe.

  FOR ONCE, INSTEAD OF people jeering at me asking why a white girl was in the salon, everyone was hushed when I walked in. A few women in their chairs raised their eyebrows and shot looks at one another when they saw me. I went straight to Shelley’s chair. “What’s going on?”

  She leaned over and said in a low voice. “Miss Darling won’t let anyone in back there. We’re all worried about her.”

  “Oh no.” I rushed right to the back door and knocked firmly.

  “Darling? Open up.”

  Nothing.

  Fear spiked through me. “Darling? I’ve got to talk to you.” I looked up at the camera pointing down at me.

  Still the door remained closed.

  “It’s about Sasha goddamn it. Open up.” I glanced over my shoulder and saw everyone was staring at me. The door clicked open.

  Darling was slumped on the couch in the corner. Django, who’d never been allowed on the furniture before, was curled up beside her. He gave me a guilty look. But I was too concerned about Darling.

  I barely recognized her. The put-together, well-dressed and coiffed woman I knew had disappeared. Instead, a woman I barely recognized wearing some stained T-shirt and baggy sweatpants sat there eating twisted crackers covered in neon orange cheese that had stained all ten of her fingers. Her head was bald. I’d never known her elaborate hairstyles were wigs. Dark bags cupped her eyes, which were red from crying.

  I rushed over and crawled onto the couch to hug her. Django turned his head away from me. He thought he was in trouble for being on the couch.

  “Darling, pull yourself together. We’re going to find her. I’ve got some leads. I just wanted to stop and check in on you for a minute. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself so I don’t have to sit here with you and I can be out there finding Sasha.”

  I was guilt tripping her into pulling it together.

  Just then my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but couldn’t afford not to answer it. Not if it was someone who might know something about Sasha.

  “Gia.” I answe
red, eying Darling, who was absentmindedly patting Django and wiping her nose with tissues.

  “It’s Bruce Baumann, from the paper.”

  “Hey.”

  “I thought you should know that I got an email from the dark net saying that if Sasha’s story was printed, we would never see her again.”

  “Okay.” I kept my voice neutral. Darling raised an eyebrow, suspecting something.

  “Can I call you back in a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  “By the way, what’s the dark net?”

  “It’s an encrypted part of the Internet. Where nothing can be traced. Where everything nefarious happens.”

  “Um, can you be more specific?”

  “It’s an underground network where you can buy anything you ever imagined. WikiLeaks is on the dark web.”

  “Gotcha.” I said. “I’ll call you back in a few.”

  I hung up and turned toward Darling. “Did Sasha ever mention anyone named Eddy?”

  Darling shook her head.

  “Okay. Call me if you remember anything else. I have to go, but I’m not going to let you sit here by yourself and deal with this alone. Who can I call to come be with you? Who do you trust?”

  She sniffled. “I’m fine.”

  “I said I’m not going to let you sit here alone. Who? Now.” My voice was firm. I knew it was the only thing Darling would respond to.

  “I’m not alone. I got my new dog keep me company.” She gave me a look.

  “My dog.”

  “Whatev,” she waved me off with her hand.

  “Darling, call someone right now to come be with you until we find Sasha.” I hoped she couldn’t read my mind because what I was really thinking was I wanted someone to be with her if what I found out wasn’t good.

  Sighing, she reached for her phone. “I’ll call my sister Precious. She’ll come.”

  “Promise?”

  Darling nodded. I gestured at the secret back door out of the office.

  “I’m heading out now. Keep your phone by your side. I’ll call as soon as I learn something solid. Keep your head up. Stay strong for Sasha.”

  She gave me a look that told me she didn’t need anyone—especially me—telling her to stay strong.

  As soon as I’d made it through the maze of stairways and tunnels from Darling’s secret exit and emerged a few blocks over, I dialed Baumann.

  “Is there any way to trace that message? Any way at all?”

  “I really don’t think so.”

  “Can you respond to it?”

  “No. I can’t even reply.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  I hung up and dialed James.

  “Any luck on the plate?”

  “Still working it. Do you know how many black SUV’s there are with license plates that start with 6L? I’ve got a list from the state DMV I’m narrowing down to those registered in the Bay Area.”

  “I found out Sasha was working on a story exposing the mayor.”

  “Exposing the mayor to what?”

  “Hell, if I know? Something big, though.”

  “That’s speculation.”

  “Jesus, James, this isn’t a court of law. I got it from a good source.”

  Silence.

  Anger flared through me. He dismissed what I said like it was nothing. Maybe he shouldn’t be a detective after all. I had planned on telling him the detail on Sasha’s calendar mentioning an Eddy but decided against it. If he was going to be a dick about it, I wouldn’t tell him anything. Besides, for now, the numbers and letters meant nothing. I’d tell him once I figured out what they stood for.

  “Okay, then ...” I trailed off waiting for him to say something.

  “Six p.m. tomorrow.”

  I hung up without answering.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE RED-BRICKED BUILDING had an aura of neglect. A lot of the buildings in the mostly residential Whoa-Man neighborhood did. Almost all the windows were covered with sheets or blankets instead of curtains. The front door leading into a small lobby had two double dead bolts on it. There were no doorbells to be found. I peered inside a window by the door. A bank of mail boxes lined one wall and a staircase the other.

  No elevator in sight. I backed up and looked at the window where the drone had come from. Then I circled the building. There was a fire escape in the alley. Only about ten feet off the ground. The city of San Francisco didn’t mess around with fire escapes after the 1906 fire. Most of the Tenderloin had burned to the ground. The buildings around here were all built after the fire.

  But the fire escape also signified a way for someone to get to me. A danger, as well, as a safety feature. A double-edged sword. If I were a prospective tenant for this building, I would’ve immediately been concerned that someone could get up the fire escape and into my building. It wasn’t an idle worry. It was exactly what I was going to do.

  The alley was full of overflowing trash cans and Dumpsters. The closest Dumpster had wheels. Perfect. I peeked inside. It was empty. Trash pick-up must’ve been this morning. I got on one side of it and pushed with my entire body. It moved. I pushed it until it was right underneath the fire escape. Then I closed the lid gently so it wouldn’t make a loud bang and pulled myself on top. If I stood on tiptoe, I could reach the small railing that surrounded the platform at the bottom of the fire escape. I clung to the rails and thanked Kato for making me start a push-up and pull-up regime over the past year.

  Grunting and groaning, I pulled myself up but my feet lost traction and I slipped back to the top of the Dumpster. I could reach the platform but it was surrounded by a railing. I couldn’t get enough of a grip to pull myself over the railing.

  You can do it, Gia.

  I heard my father’s voice in my head. Every time I’d attempted a physical feat just a little beyond my ability, he had urged me on. You can do it, Giada! You are a Santella.

  A sob caught in my throat. Not very long ago, I’d doubted that. I’d worried that a sadistic murderer was actually the one whose DNA I carried. Luckily, it wasn’t true.

  I was a Santella through and through. I stepped back and examined the fire escape and the building. There was a slight architectural groove on the building where a brick stuck out. If I pulled myself up, managed to get a foot onto the brick, and gave myself a boost, I could potentially pull myself up and over the railing.

  I gave a huge grunt, hoisted myself up to my chest and found a foothold on the brick. But then I slipped.

  One more time.

  This time, the toe of my motorcycle boot gripped the brick and I was able to pull myself up so my stomach was at the edge of the small railing around the platform. From there, I tumbled over the railing onto the platform.

  And just in time. I heard voices below and scooted back against the brick wall, holding my breath. When the voices passed, I began to climb. The first window showed a hallway. Good. All the entrances would be to the hallway and not into people’s apartments. I climbed cautiously, peeking into the bottom of each window before I clambered past it.

  When I reached the tenth floor, I tried the window. Too easy. It was unlocked. I opened it and listened. It was silent. I ducked inside, leaving the window open behind me in case I needed a quick escape. I was turned around, so it took me a few minutes to figure out which doorway would lead to the drone operator’s apartment I’d seen from below. I counted the doorways. Then I figured it out. 10 D.

  Before knocking, I pressed my ear to the door and heard a TV. I rapped on the door with my ear still against it. There was no peephole. The TV suddenly went quiet. I rapped again and listened. This time I heard movement.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Gia.”

  Silence. I backed up.

  Then the door cracked. I saw a huge face. Like the biggest face I’d ever seen on a person. The boy or man, or whatever he was, also had long red hair with floppy bangs. He towered over me and peered through the two-inch gap the chain allowed.

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p; “I don’t know you,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  “Yeah. I know. I need your help.”

  He frowned. “Why me?”

  His bulk took up the entire space where the door had opened but I made an educated guess. “I need your expertise. Your tech savvy. You know, your technological know-how.”

  He scrunched up his face, taking all that in.

  “You gonna let me in?” I said with a scowl. “I doubt I’m any threat, right?”

  Maybe he realized he was acting like a wuss because he undid the chain opening the door. But still hesitated.

  “I don’t know. Who are you?”

  He drew back as I took a step into his place. The solid weight of my gun in the holster on my back reassured me. I slid past him, patting his chest. “I told you, I’m Gia.”

  He was a big boy. Enormous. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt over a faded Green Day T-shirt.

  “I saw them in Vegas. 2012,” I said, nodding at his shirt. “You know the show where Billie Joe Armstrong lost his shit.”

  His eyes widened. “You saw that show?”

  “Hell, yeah, I did.”

  His arms circled as if he were playing guitar and his voice rose and took on an English accent. “You’re giving me one minute? You’re fucking kidding me. I’m not Justin Bieber, you fucks!” Then he mimicked smashing his guitar.

  “Yeah, that show. Did you know he’s from California, even though he sings with a British accent?”

  I didn’t think his eyes could get any wider. I’d blown his mind, apparently. With the ice now broken, I strode past his ratty couch to the window. “Right here. This is where you fly her, isn’t it? Will you show me?”

  I turned and smiled. He seemed confused. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a huge desk that held three keyboards attached to three giant computer screens.

  “Listen, sailor. I got a problem I need your help with. My friend was kidnapped from the protest and I know your drone recorded it. If you can show me that footage, I will make it worth your while.” I dug a hundred dollar bill out of my front jeans pocket. “Here’s something to start—for your trouble, for letting me in.” I threw the bill on the coffee table. “We have a deal?”