Hit and Run (Moreno & Hart Mysteries)

by Allison Brennan

  Jason said, “Scarlet, thank you for everything. For believing me, for saving my life. I don’t know how to repay you.”

  “Fuck that. You’re my friend, Jason. You always will be. Just get better so you can help take down that prick Tony Mercer and everyone else involved in Gina’s murder. I’m really sorry I didn’t know her.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So are you done trying to interrogate my witness?” Richardson said.

  She rolled her eyes, leaned over and kissed Jason on the cheek. “I’m all yours, Kyle.”

  “Go home and get dressed for the party. I’ll set everything up on my end and call you. Plan on arriving by seven-thirty.”

  “What party?” Jason asked.

  “The party to celebrate the beginning of the end of police corruption,” Scarlet said.

  “At least one small part of it,” Richardson said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Scarlet headed straight to the Moreno & Hart office in Santa Ana after calling to confirm that Krista was there.

  The cool blast of air conditioning hit her when she walked in. Moreno & Hart occupied one-fourth of a Spanish-style building only a few blocks from the county courthouse and about twenty minutes from her apartment in Newport and Krista’s house in Huntington.

  Krista was in her small office with the door open because Mac had classes and wasn’t manning the front desk. Scarlet helped herself to coffee before walking in and sitting heavily in one of the two guest chairs.

  “You look exhausted.”

  “Fabulous sex with Alex all night,” she said flippantly. “Didn’t get much sleep.” She didn’t really want to talk about the shooting or her insomnia. Krista probably suspected both had kept her up longer than Alex.

  “But Alex didn’t give you that bruise on your neck.”

  She’d almost forgotten about that. “Yeah, well, I pissed off Sykes.” She told Krista what happened in the jail.

  “Bastard,” Krista mumbled.

  “We have to tread carefully around him. Especially when he goes to trial. You’ll be called to testify, and if he thinks he can make a run at you in order to get off—”

  “You have my back, I know. And there is more than enough evidence even without my testimony,” Krista said.

  “He might go after you for revenge. He threatened my brother.”

  “He threatened the wrong Moreno.”

  “I love your faith in me.” Scarlet began to relax. She filled Krista in on the attempt on Jason’s life, and the plan for tonight to confront Mercer and Richardson’s plan to follow him. She left out everything about the Vartarian’s and Richardson’s larger investigation, though she itched to tell Krista.

  But Krista wasn’t an idiot. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I was sworn to secrecy.”

  Krista thought on that a moment. “Does it have to do with the Vartarians?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you trust Richardson?”

  “Yeah, I do. John’s working with him now. That makes me feel better, but also, just my gut feeling, he’s clean. And smart.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I trust Richardson, to a point—but I trust you more. Richardson said his people are going to be deep cover so Mercer doesn’t make them. If Mercer and his people have done research on me—and we have to assume they have—you need to go in disguise as they might recognize you. Do your hair different, make-up different, whatever. Something so you don’t stand out. It’s the Kids of Cops charity, so dress up. He’s not going to do anything to me there, but outside? Fair game.”

  “I can call in a favor and borrow a limo, drive you there and back—”

  Scarlet shook her head. “I really think it’s best that I show up alone. If they’re watching me, they need to think I’m being the maverick on this. That I don’t see the threat. That I’m vulnerable.”

  “You are. The event is at the Griffith Observatory. Lots of open space all around, and trees—a sniper can take you out a hundred yards away, or more.”

  “They don’t know that I’ll be there, and Mercer isn’t going to know until I make a scene.” She looked at her watch. “It’s four. The reception is from six-thirty to eight, dinner at eight. Richardson said that Mercer would be there right at eight—they must have his schedule or something. I’ll get there at seven-thirty and stake out the place, wait for him. When I’m done, you should pick me up at the entrance so I don’t give them a target.”

  Scarlet leaned forward and turned Krista’s laptop around so she could pull up a map of the area. She also brought up the invite for the Kids of Cops event. “If you can be—” She looked at the venue map and frowned. “You’ll have to pick me up at the roundabout in front of the observatory. You probably won’t get parking in the main lot.”

  “I’ll get there early and park here.” Krista pointed to a small lot about a hundred yards from the roundabout. “You park down here in the event parking, stick with the crowd and walk in through the main entrance. Go to the ladies' room after you confront him and call me. I’ll drive to the roundabout and pick you up. Take you someplace safe—like your dad’s house.”

  “Dad will have too many questions. And besides, he might be at the event. Alex would be good.”

  “You just want more hot sex.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with sex. Aren’t you getting any from sexy, slimy R.J.?” She blinked innocently.

  Krista opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. “You are impossible.”

  “You love me anyway.” Scarlet became serious again, studied the parking areas and the venue map. “This will work. There are too many people—too many cops—for Mercer or his goons to try anything at the event. But I’ll alert you when I’m entering as well, so you know I’m inside, just in case they try something outside.”

  “What would make it even better is if Mac can wire us up.”

  “You think he can? Last time the ear pieces gave off so much static I was deaf for a week.” It was times like this that Scarlet wished they had the same investigative resources that R.J. Flynn had through the slimeball defense lawyer he worked for.

  “He’s improved communications, amazing considering the budget we gave him.”

  “If you think he can get it done when he gets back from class,” Scarlet said. “I need to go home and change into something more formal.”

  “Do you actually own a dress?” Krista quipped.

  She stuck her tongue out at her friend. But mentally she tried to catalogue what was in her drawers.

  “You think it’s going to be that easy?” Krista asked after Scarlet stood up to leave.

  “No. Nothing ever goes as planned. Do you have a better idea?”

  Krista shook her head. “There’s nothing I hate more than a corrupt cop.”

  Scarlet toasted her with an imaginary flute. “I’m with you one hundred percent.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Scarlet did own a dress. It was black and slinky and shimmered when she walked. She hadn’t worn it in two years—she’d bought it for an assignment where she and Krista had to pose as lesbians to expose a cheating spouse at a retreat. It seemed that infidelity wasn’t exclusive to married, heterosexual couples. But that had been a fun job … why couldn’t they get more like that?

  She even put on some make-up, more than the occasional mascara and lip gloss she slapped on when she had time. Her back-up weapon fit comfortably in a thigh holster. Traffic was going to be miserable, so she left at five and simply expected to be sitting in it for two hours.

  Krista called her at six. “I’m in place,” she said. “I have earpieces. They’re really great little things. No one will be able to see it. I’ll give it to you when you get here.”

  “You still in the rental car?” On their last big case—which ended three weeks ago—Krista’s car had been seriously damaged. The repair shop had been promising it would be fixed "any day" but "any day" had turned into weeks.

  “T
hey said maybe my car will be fixed by Friday.”

  “You should buy a new one.”

  “We need another case.”

  Scarlet cringed. “Shit, I didn’t even think about that—we’re not getting paid for this.”

  “But we’ll have the satisfaction of putting a cop killer in prison.”

  “There is that.”

  “And if we do well, maybe we’ll get some work from Special Operations. John would never do it because of conflict of interest, but your new best friend Kyle Richardson might.”

  Cops often referred people to private investigators, especially for civil cases where they couldn’t do anything to help the wronged. “Then I’m going to go above and beyond.”

  “Be safe.”

  “You too.” She hung up and right after John called.

  “Are you okay with this?”

  “Yes. Are you?”

  “No. But you’re my sister. I worry.”

  “I worry about you, too, little brother.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Is everything set on your end?”

  “Yes. FBI SWAT is covering the facility, undercover. We have Mercer already under surveillance, and a tag team of two cars ready to follow—Richardson and a Fed, and me and a Fed. Park at the main lot at the bottom of the hill. They have shuttles going to the Observatory. Someone will have their eye on you from the minute you’re on the property. Remember that.”

  “I trust you.” He sounded worried. “You know I can take care of myself.”

  “Always have, Sissy.”

  “You know, John—if IAG is really involved in this, that means they could have tainted my accusations three years ago.”

  “Don’t. Don’t go there, not now.”

  “You know I’m right.”

  “We can’t talk about this. When we get Mercer and whoever killed Perez, we’ll talk to Richardson about it. Fair?”

  “Fair enough. Thanks, John.”

  The knowledge that she might have someone willing to go to bat for her and uncover the truth about what happened three years ago made her happy. She planned on doing the best job on this case so Kyle Richardson would be willing to dig into her own ambush. She was almost relieved. She wanted to put that chapter of her life behind her, finally … so she could have a future.

  Her phone rang again. It was Alex. Wow, she was popular today!

  “Hello, Bishop. I thought you might still be mad at me.”

  “I am. But I miss you.”

  She relaxed. It was his tone more than anything. He might be upset with her and how she left, but he wasn’t mad. She was so relieved that she began to question herself as to why. Why did she care what he thought? She had never cared what her past boyfriends thought about her and her attitude.

  “Can I come over tonight?” she asked.

  “Of course. I have the next two days off.”

  “Will you cook for me?”

  “I might start charging you for my culinary services.”

  “I’ll pay anything.”

  “You shouldn’t have said that. I’m going to hold you to that anything.”

  Her stomach fluttered at the drop in his voice. She was absolutely in lust with him.

  She wasn’t willing to think beyond lust at this point. But lust was okay, right?

  “I have to go,” she said.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m working with Richardson and John on something. I can’t tell you everything yet. Tonight.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Alex?”

  “It’s going to be dangerous, isn’t it?”

  “Do I question your job?”

  “I’m not questioning you. Just—dammit, Scarlet. Just watch your ass, okay?”

  “I will. And Krista is backing me up. Plus John. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m holding you to that.” He hung up.

  He was upset, or angry, or whatever he was that Scarlet had a hard time deciphering. But he still wanted her to come over, and that relieved her. She wanted to be with him. In the past, she would have just wanted to be with someone. But she specifically wanted to be with Alex. No one else would do.

  She sped up during a break in traffic. It was seven-fifteen when she got off the freeway and hit Observatory Road. About fucking time. With all the road construction and all the money poured into the roads you’d think that traffic would get better ... instead it was worse each and every day.

  The event was well attended, and security had everyone parking at a lot at the base of the mountain with shuttle buses taking them to the observatory. She called Krista and said, “I’m taking the shuttle up. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Copy that.”

  She slipped out of her Jeep, grateful she’d decided to stick with low, one-inch heels. It really wasn’t like she had much of a choice—it was these or flip-flops.

  A black SUV pulled into a space right in front of her, almost hitting her. Asshole. She stepped back as the rear passenger door opened.

  All at once, she remembered the black SUV that Gina’s neighbor Leo had seen. But black SUVs weren’t uncommon in L.A. Except ... Her instincts told her to back off. Something was wrong.

  A man jumped out of the SUV and he had a gun.

  Thomas Laurens. She’d recognize Mr. Leather Jacket anywhere.

  She backed up another step, glancing around for anyone in the area. This was a cop event, there would be cop guests. Someone had to see that there was a man with a gun on her.

  “In,” Thomas Laurens said.

  Hell no.

  She couldn’t outrun a gun. And while she could draw fast, he had his gun out. She didn’t want to die here, in the middle of a gravel parking lot.

  She took one more step back and looked around for help.

  The back of the SUV opened and another man, one she’d never seen before, jumped out and before she could run, he grabbed her. She opened her mouth to scream. Mid-scream he hit her on the head and she fell to her knees. He then dragged her into the back of the truck. She kicked and fought and reached for her gun.

  Where was everyone? What was going on? Didn’t John say there would be eyes on her? He meant at the event. She wasn’t at the event. She was here, in the damn parking lot at dusk with poor lighting.

  He grabbed her gun from her hand and hit her again. She groaned involuntarily and looked frantically around as her torso was pulled into the back. She kicked her legs, looking for her brother, for Richardson, for the whole shitload of FBI SWAT agents who were supposed to be there.

  She saw nothing. They might have been there, but her eyesight was darkening. Turning black, with spots popping here and there.

  So that’s what they mean by stars …

  Chapter Twelve

  The SUV was moving rapidly. Scarlet guessed, based on her inner sense of direction and the little she could see out the tinted windows, that they were on the freeway, heading north across the Valley toward Granada Hills. Or maybe northeast into the Tujunga Canyon. Tujunga Canyon was a great place to dump a body.

  They hadn’t blindfolded her and they weren’t wearing masks, which told her murder was definitely in the game plan. They’d disarmed her, so even if she could get out of the zip-ties that now bound her hands, she wouldn’t be able to shoot anyone.

  There were three—Laurens, the driver, and the guy who grabbed her. She didn’t recognize anyone but Laurens, and he was the one questioning her.

  “What did Jones tell you?”

  “I’m not telling you.”

  He slapped her.

  “I’m not asking again.”

  “Good.”

  He slapped her again.

  Ouch.

  “He didn’t tell me anything. He knows nothing. All he knows is that he didn’t kill his girlfriend and I believe him. But you know that, right? Because you killed Gina Perez.”

  This time he hit her and her head hit the back of the window.

  Fuck, that really hurt.<
br />
  He grabbed her by the throat and pulled her close to him. “I know Perez talked to him before she died. What did she say to him?”

  “That Tony Mercer was a corrupt cop and she had the evidence to put him in the slammer for life.”

  He believed her. It’s what he expected to hear, and he believed it.

  “Where is the evidence?”

  “That, I don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You wanted the truth? I told you the truth. We didn’t know exactly what we were looking for. I figured I’d know it when I saw it.”

  “Why were you following me today?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I saw you,” he growled. “At the mission.”

  “I was following Mercer. I was just lucky I saw you, too. Two birds, one stone.”

  “Where is her phone?”

  Phone? Gina’s phone was missing? Wouldn’t the killer have taken it? But if the killer thought the phone had the evidence, and he hadn’t found it, it would reason that he thought Jason had taken it.

  Or maybe Gina hid it. What had Jason said? That Gina hung up on him to check her doors and windows? She could have stayed on the phone. Maybe she hid it before the intruder got in. That’s why she had to hang up. Jason didn’t have her phone; otherwise, he would have gone through it. The killer didn’t have it; otherwise, he wouldn’t be looking for it.

  Good girl, Gina! Now where is it?

  “I asked you a question, Ms. Moreno. Where is the phone?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  He banged her head again and she winced.

  “Knock it off, Laurens,” his partner said. “We need more information.”

  “She doesn’t know anything.”

  “She knows about Mercer. She knows about Sykes. We need to contain this.”

  “Mercer is the fucking problem,” Laurens said. “He’s the one who screwed up.” He focused on Scarlet. “Where is her phone?”

  “I do not know!”

  The driver said, “We’re almost there.”

  Laurens took his gun out and aimed it at her head. His partner batted his hand away. “We’re not done with her! Shit, Tommy, you’ve got to get your head in the game.”