MYSTERY THRILLER DOUBLE PLAY BOX SET (Two full-length novels)

by Osborne, Jon

  Blankenship creased his face at the question, puzzled. “What the fuck do you mean by that? Who in the hell else would it be?”

  Wexler shrugged. “I don’t know. Just thinking out loud, I guess. Forget I said it.” She paused. “Anyway, as much as I’m enjoying this lovely shooting lesson and your unending patience with me, Blankenship, could I please use your cellphone real quick? I need to make a call and have my neighbor check on my dogs. Poor little things have been alone for more than twelve hours now. They’re probably going crazy.”

  “Where’s your cellphone?”

  “Forgot it back at the office.”

  Blankenship patted at the front pocket of his pants, which were blissfully blood-free thanks to Madison. Despite the ridiculous hour, his lovely wife had delivered a fresh set of clothes to him to replace the bloodstained ones he’d been wearing earlier. With no babysitter available at the time, Madison had needed to bring the twins along for the ride, so it looked to him as though he’d be buying her some more jewelry soon. The good stuff, too. He didn’t mind, though. Hell, it was the least she deserved.

  Blankenship dug out the cellphone. Only, when he looked down at it, it wasn’t his cellphone. It was Bill Krugman’s.

  Blankenship shook his head and recovered quickly from the momentary shock. He’d almost forgotten that he’d removed the Director’s phone from the old man’s inside jacket pocket the previous night. Switching it on, he studied the screen and frowned. “Hold on a sec,” he said, holding up a finger to Wexler. “I forgot I had this thing on me.”

  Wexler screwed up her pretty face. “What the hell are you frowning at, Blankenship? You look like a goddamn Gloomy Gus right now. Did your wife just dump you via text message or something? Trouble in paradise?”

  Blankenship held up the phone so that Wexler could see the screen. “This is Krugman’s cellphone,” he said. “I hacked into it last night. Wanted to see if he might have left us anything interesting to follow up on. Something we might use to catch Jack Yuntz.”

  Wexler looked interested by that. “So, did you find anything interesting?”

  Blankenship shook his head. “Nope. Not really. I found out that Krugman belonged to an online site that matches up chatters by similar interests, but that’s about it. Sort of like that Chat Roulette thing, only without all the masturbation.”

  “What the hell is Chat Roulette?”

  Blankenship shook his head. “It’s a friendship site.”

  “So, what’s the big deal then?”

  Blankenship hit the login to FriendFinder. Thankfully, Krugman’s username and password had been saved into the system, which made this particular hacking job a piece of cake. “No big deal at all,” he said to Wexler. “Just thought that it was a little bit weird.”

  Wexler shivered. “Well, it is weird. And not just a little bit, either. Downright creepy, if you ask me. Don’t all the drooling pedophiles hang out on those kind of sites?”

  Blankenship ignored her and studied the menu as the main page of the site loaded. Seemed to take forever with the weak Internet signal from Verizon. “Probably pretty hard to find people to talk to when you’re the top dog,” he said. “Anyway, it’s probably nothing. Krugman probably just…”

  Blankenship stopped suddenly when a high-pitched chime sounded from Krugman’s phone and an electronic grid popped up on the small screen, accompanied by a flashing notification:

  FRIEND NEARBY

  Blankenship frowned. “What the fuck is this?” he said, staring down at the moving icon blipping across the screen:

  bullets4justice

  He deepened his frown. According the GPS-tracked coordinates, Krugman’s online friend was directly outside the shooting range right now.

  Blankenship’s ears rang. His heart thudded in his chest. Then the pieces of the puzzle snapped into place inside his mind.

  ‘What is it?’ Wexler asked, taking in the stunned look on his face. “What’s going on?”

  Blankenship was already moving toward the entrance to the shooting range with his Glock at the ready. Wexler followed close behind. “What is it?” she asked again, more forcefully this time.

  “Hey, put that goddamn gun down!” A deep male voice thundered out from Blankenship’s left side. He cut his stare over to it. The Cleveland uniform at the front desk had risen to his feet, looking pissed. “You can’t have your loaded weapon out unless you’re in a booth!” the man yelled.

  Blankenship glared at the guy. “Official business,” he snapped. “Don’t get in my way unless you want to be brought up on federal charges.”

  The uniform sat back down sheepishly.

  Blankenship turned to Wexler. “C’mon,” he said. “Jack Yuntz is outside.”

  Wexler wrinkled up her face in confusion. This time it was her turn to be stunned. “How the fuck do you know that?”

  Blankenship banged out of the shooting range as a dizzying rush of adrenalin pumped hot through his veins. No time to explain things to Wexler now. He could bring her up to speed on his masterful investigative techniques later on. Twenty yards away to his right, Jack Yuntz was just turning the corner of the building, slipping a sharp butcher’s knife into the inside pocket of his trench coat as he went. “Let’s go!” Blankenship shouted, feeling his heart rev up in his chest even more. “We’re not letting the little bastard get away this time.”

  Blissfully, Wexler seemed to be all out of questions now. Racing sixty feet down to the corner of the building, Blankenship turned it and saw that Yuntz was in a dead sprint now, headed for his motorcycle twenty yards away with the tails of his long black trench coat flapping wildly behind him in the stiff breeze. Taking one last deep breath through his flared nostrils, he lifted his gun and skidded to a halt.

  Momentarily, at least.

  The force of his forward motion – combined with the unseen patch of black ice underneath his feet – kept his body going long after his brain had told it to stop. Much the same way they’d slid out from beneath him in Bill Krugman’s freshly spilled blood the previous night, his dress shoes slid out from beneath him now, turning his world completely upside-down before he landed hard on his back on the pavement with a loud grunt, jarring the breath clean out of his lungs and the Glock out of his hand, clattering the weapon down onto the sidewalk beside him in a rattling of metal.

  Blankenship looked up in horror and tried to draw breath into his lungs. Wasn’t easy. Felt like he was trying to breathe in fire right now. But Jack Yuntz had nearly reached his motorcycle now. Easy breathing could wait for a more convenient time. He looked up at Wexler and choked out the words. “Shoot him!” he wheezed.

  Everything seemed to unfold in slow motion after that. Setting her own feet firmly on a patch of dry sidewalk, Wexler lifted her gun and steadied her right wrist with her left hand. Then she squeezed the trigger, just like Blankenship had advised her to do inside the shooting range just a few minutes earlier.

  A split-second later, Jack Yuntz collapsed in a heap beside his motorcycle fifty yards away, shot once directly in the back of his skull. Blankenship widened his brown eyes in complete and utter shock, unable to believe what he’d just seen.

  It had been an absolutely fucking perfect shot.

  CHAPTER 51

  Blankenship rose slowly to his feet, still shocked beyond words. Finally, he managed speech, however unworthy of being written down for study by future generations his words might be. “What the hell was that?” he asked, trying in vain to control the incessant hammering of his heart inside his badly constricted chest.

  Wexler holstered her weapon, not even breathing hard. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Lucky shot, I guess.”

  Blankenship scowled at her. “Bullshit.”

  Wexler smiled in the bright morning sunlight, her straight white teeth sparkling like a neat row of recently polished pearls and making Blankenship think of a Crest commercial. “Fine, Blankenship,” she said. “You’re right. That was bullshit just now. All of it. I just wasn’t
sure that it was him last night. Didn’t know for sure right now until I got a good look at the little fucker’s face. He got what he deserved, though. That’s all that matters, right? It’s all over for us now. Him, too. We can finally get on with our lives. Move on to the next human trash piles they put in front of us.”

  Blankenship rubbed at his aching elbow where he’d banged it against the pavement. Goddamn thing was throbbing like hell. “So what was that inside the shooting range five minutes ago?” he asked.

  Wexler shrugged again. “Creative license?”

  Blankenship sighed heavily and shook his head in exasperation. “Why do I have the distinct feeling that you enjoy fucking with me, Wexler?”

  Wexler widened her perfect smile. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her look prettier. “Because you’ve got a good gut instinct, Blankenship. You’ve got a goddamn good gut instinct. Now, c’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here and go get some breakfast already. I’m fucking starving. They can find us over at the restaurant.”

  Before he could protest, Wexler was already making her way toward his 4-Runner in the parking lot. Blankenship paused for a long moment before following her. He knew that they shouldn’t be leaving the crime scene like this, would probably receive matching formal reprimands in their files for doing so, but he was much too tired and much too stunned at the moment to fight with her.

  He glanced over at Jack Yuntz’s prone body, which was laid out in the snow beside the motorcycle fifty yards away and surrounded by a bright circle of red. “How do you know he’s dead?” he asked, hurrying to catch up with Wexler. “Shouldn’t we at least check? This seems like the fake ending of a bad horror movie, right before the monster comes back to life.”

  Wexler didn’t turn around. “No need to check,” she said. “He’s dead, all right.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Wexler finally stopped and turned around to face him. “Because I never miss when I’m playing for keeps, Blankenship.”

  Blankenship lifted his eyebrows high on his forehead. Somehow, he knew that she was telling him the truth. The confidence in her voice gave him goose bumps. “Never?” he asked.

  Wexler shook her head. “Never. And for your information, I got a perfect score on my shooting quals at the Academy, you arrogant fucking prick.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Claire turned around again and continued toward Blankenship’s 4-Runner out in the parking lot of the Cleveland Police Department headquarters, allowing herself another small smile as she went. Merry Christmas, world, she thought. And Happy Hanukah, Kwanza and Festivus, too, while we’re at it. Things are going to be a lot different around here from now on.

  Pulling open the passenger-side door of the 4-Runner after several more moments of brisk walking – at the same time being very careful not to slip on the ice beneath her feet like her hopelessly clumsy partner had just done – Claire slid into her seat and pulled on her seatbelt before snapping the metal buckle into place. Thirty seconds later, Bruce Blankenship did the same thing next to her on the driver’s side. “Where do you want to eat?” he asked, slipping the key into the ignition and cranking the engine into life.

  Claire turned to face him more directly as he pulled out of the parking lot of the police HQ and onto Ontario Street, liking what she saw. And why not? Even in his exhausted state right now, Blankenship was cute. Damned cut. Pity he was already taken. A lowdown crying shame, as a matter of fact. “Doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “But I do know one thing.”

  Blankenship gave her a puzzled look. “What’s that?”

  Claire turned her attention back to the road in front of them. “You’re buying.”

  Not surprisingly, Bruce Blankenship didn’t protest. He simply drove her to the nearest McDonald’s and bought her a Number Two: a Sausage McMuffin with Egg and a hash brown, with a diet Coke in place of the coffee.

  Just like she’d told him to.

  Claire smiled to herself. Maybe her new partner wasn’t such a hopeless case, after all. Maybe he was capable of learning.

  She sighed, knowing that only time would tell.

  THE END

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading my book! I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review! I’d also like to take this opportunity to invite you to join me on my Facebook page here. Hope to see you there!