Double Down (Raven McShane Mysteries Book 4)

by Stephanie Caffrey

  “The harsh part was that they not only threatened to kill me if they didn’t get the ransom, they threatened to get my wife, too. So the bank paid them off, and now we have insurance for that kind of thing. Anyway, when that ordeal was over, my wife hired the most expensive contractor in the county to install this room. I guess it’s finally paying off.”

  “We’ll see,” I said. “Pretty impressive, though,” I mused.

  “What, the room?” he asked.

  “No. I mean to be kidnapped. That’s big stuff. I don’t think most people are worthy of being kidnapped.”

  He smiled at my lame attempt to lighten the mood.

  The knock at the door surprised us. “Police!” a voice yelled, though the sound was muffled. “All clear!”

  We looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. It had only been about three minutes since we’d called 9-1-1. Could the cops really have arrived that quickly?

  “What’s your name, officer?” Alex asked, raising his voice enough to pierce the five-inch door.

  There was a pause, ever so slight. “Jackson,” the voice said firmly as though trying to convince itself that it was true.

  I was shaking my head at Alex. It didn’t add up. I went back to the phone and called 9-1-1 again. The dispatcher was very confused about why I wanted to know the names of the officers being sent to the scene. After she finally understood what I wanted, I gave her the number printed on the phone and told her to call back when she found out.

  In the meantime, Alex had asked the voice what his badge number was. He had rattled off five numbers, and I cursed myself that I didn’t know how many numbers the LVPD used.

  It was Alex’s turn to shake his head. “My problem is that it’s just one guy,” he said. “If he was actually a cop, there’d be more than one of them.”

  “All clear,” the voice repeated. “You can come out now.”

  I had a momentary flash of inspiration. “We can’t!” I yelled.

  Alex looked at me funny, but I held up a finger to silence him.

  “Why not?”

  “We’ve lost the code,” I explained.

  I explained to Alex that I didn’t want the guy to think we were too suspicious or else he might get away. “The longer he lingers out there, the greater chance the cops can get him.”

  “Or your bouncer friend,” Alex added, nodding along.

  The voice had gone silent, apparently pondering the unexpected news about the missing code. It didn’t make a lot of sense that there’d be a code to get out of a panic room, but I was betting that he’d never had any experience with one. And he had to be nervous, which meant he probably wasn’t thinking straight.

  “Can you look it up?” he finally asked.

  I looked at Alex, who shrugged at me. Apparently, this was my show now. “That’s what I’m doing now,” I yelled.

  “Maybe that will buy us another minute or two,” I said to Alex, using a whisper that was unnecessary.

  “I like your idea, though,” Alex said softly. “Keeping him outside the panic room is smart. Otherwise, he gets away and tries this again sometime.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “That’s the idea, anyway. If I’m him, though, I’m going to get real squeamish pretty soon. He should suspect something is up, that we’re not buying his story about being a cop.”

  The phone inside rang. Alex and I looked at each other.

  I answered, and the dispatcher on the other end told us two squad cars were sent to the house containing officers named Krawcheck, Sloane, Manterelli, and Rodriguez. I thanked her and relayed the information that someone posing as an Officer Jackson was lingering outside the panic room.

  “How far away was your friend?” Alex asked.

  “Not that far,” I answered. “And Carlos drives fast.”

  The voice from outside piped up again. “The grounds are secure,” it said. “We found evidence of an intruder, who is being taken into custody. We need your help in identifying her,” he explained.

  “He’s upping the ante,” I said. “But he doesn’t know we know the names of the real officers.”

  Alex nodded. “Information asymmetry,” he said, smiling, and then he began pacing again. He was scratching his chin plaintively, probably wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. It wasn’t hard to imagine his thought process. I go out with a stripper one time, and I wind up in a panic room with two squad cars on the way.

  Just then, we heard a thud and something that sounded like a scuffle. It was impossible to make anything out given the thickness of the door, but my mind’s eye pictured Carlos sneaking up on the guy and putting him into a chokehold, his massive biceps pressing against the guy’s face. But then a shot rang out and then another. And then there was silence.

  Alex and I looked at each other, our faces mirroring looks of concern.

  “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” I asked.

  “We’re the only ones with a safe room,” he said. “I think we stay here until we have more information.”

  “But…” I trailed off, my mind drifting to Carlos. The silence was oppressive, gnawing away at me. “If Carlos had shot the guy, he’d let us know. But instead, there’s nothing.”

  Alex nodded hesitantly. I could sense in him a reluctance to stick his neck out for a stranger. Our only trump card was the panic room, and if we opened the door, we’d have nothing. It was a very sensible approach.

  “What was that sound?” I yelled through the door.

  There was no answer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Are you still out there?” I yelled again. “Officer Jackson?” It seemed silly to continue the ruse, but I did it anyway.

  Again, there was no response.

  “Do you think he’s trying to bait us out there?” Alex asked. “Playing on our curiosity?”

  I shrugged, annoyed by the fact that neither of us had any idea what had taken place directly outside the room only a few feet away from us. If I ever built a panic room, I thought, I’d put a camera outside.

  I stood up and started pacing, and that’s when the faintest sound of sirens made their muffled way into the room.

  “You hear that?” Alex asked.

  I nodded solemnly. “We should have our answer in a minute or two. We told them where the room is, although they might want to check the rest of the property first.”

  He shot me a questioning look.

  “I mean, they have to make sure the entire property is secure,” I said. “As long as we’re safe inside here, they’ll come here last.”

  He nodded distractedly. The two of us sat down on the floor, silently counting the seconds. If Alex was anything like me, his mind was playing out a million scenarios, most of which were not very pleasant. I couldn’t help picturing Carlos lying in a pool of his own blood right outside our door, getting killed simply because I’d asked him to come help me. I had never felt guilty about playing upon his emotions, and particularly his lust, but now things were different.

  I tried to shake myself out of it, tried to convince myself that there were dozens of scenarios that didn’t involve Carlos getting himself shot. I knew that I had a bad habit of jumping to the worst-case scenario, so I tried to laugh it off. Deep breaths. Breathe in, hold, exhale. It wasn’t working.

  The seconds turned into minutes. The sirens were still audible. But were they closer or still off in the distance? It was impossible to tell.

  And then the phone rang again.

  “Hello?” I answered, gingerly.

  It was the dispatcher. She said the police had cleared the scene and that it was safe to come out. I placed the phone back on the receiver and turned around to face Alex.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “That was the all clear.”

  Just as Alex put his hand on the door, a voice rang out from the other side. “You can come out now,” it said. It was authoritative in a way that the other voice hadn’t been. Alex nodded at me, and he turned the handle.


  A whoosh of air broke the seal as he pushed through the door. Following him out, my eyes darted everywhere, scanning the ground for signs of Carlos. The room was empty.

  I exhaled, a sense of relief rushing through me.

  “He’s not here,” I whispered.

  Alex shrugged it off, unaware of the mental anguish I’d been going through for the last five minutes.

  Officer Sloane, a wiry thirtysomething with gray flecks in his bristly short hair, cleared his throat. “We’re sweeping the outside now, trying to see if there are any others. We’ve got one suspect now, though, and he’s out of it. Medical situation.”

  I perked up. “Where is he?”

  Sloane raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am, it’s best if we all stay down here right now.”

  “Is he a Latino man, pretty muscular?” I asked.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Yes, actually. Why do you—”

  I brushed past Officer Sloane and rushed out of the room. A female officer was kneeling next to a body, a muscular, dark-skinned body.

  “He’s not the guy!” I screamed. “He came here to help us,” I said, my voice trailing off. I knelt down to check on Carlos. He was breathing, but it was labored and scratchy. I couldn’t help noticing the blood on the carpet underneath him.

  Officer Sloane and Alex joined us, their faces a mixture of concern and annoyance.

  I shot a look at the female officer who returned it with a stern, cautionary gaze. It wasn’t improving my mood.

  “Where was he shot?” I asked.

  “Looks like somewhere near the lung,” she said. “Paramedics are on the way.”

  “Can you tell them to step on it?” I asked.

  “They always step on it,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.

  “But they think this is the bad guy. If you tell them he’s a good guy…” I trailed off again, knowing I sounded desperate.

  Alex leaned over and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We’ll find whoever did this,” he said, his voice flinty.

  Just then Carlos let out a low moan. His head turned slightly, and he opened one eye. I took it as a good sign. He seemed dazed, which was understandable, and then his one eye seemed to focus in on me. To reassure him, I tried to look like I wasn’t totally freaked out, but I was never much of an actress.

  “He got away,” Carlos wheezed. And then his eyes shut again, a deep breath escaping his lips.

  My eyes got big, and I tugged at Officer Krawcheck’s sleeve. She flashed me a thin smile.

  “He’s just resting,” she said halfheartedly. “He’s still got a pulse.”

  I stood up, and Alex came over to put his arms around me. It was the most physical contact we’d ever had, and I couldn’t help feeling bad for him that it was coming under these circumstances.

  Officers Sloane and Krawcheck huddled together, with Sloane occasionally checking his radio. After about ten minutes of wondering where the ambulance was, we finally heard loud steps shuffling down the stairs. Two stocky men of almost identical build carried a stretcher and some other equipment into the room. They took a quick peek at Carlos, who was still breathing softly, and then began their solemn business.

  “He tried to help us,” I said, my voice cracking.

  The one closer to me just nodded somberly. Wearing rubber gloves, they carefully slid the stretcher under the side of his body, being careful not to jar him too much. One of them began probing Carlos’ back, presumably for an exit wound, but came up empty. When they got him onto the stretcher, they carefully lifted him up using their legs to lift and moved him out of the room. I didn’t want to watch, but I was transfixed.

  In the ambulance, they stuck him with a needle and started an IV. They had been completely silent the whole time, which didn’t give me any confidence.

  “How’s he doing?” I asked.

  The two looked at each other, deciding which one would speak.

  “It depends where the bullet is,” he said. “The surgeon will have to make the final call.”

  “What do you mean, the ‘final call’?” I asked, growing even more concerned.

  “The bullet went in near his heart, and it’s still in there,” he explained. “Sometimes, it’s just too close to do anything about. Removing it would sever all kinds of arteries, and somebody could never recover from that. But I’m not a surgeon or anything. I’ve just seen my share of gunshot wounds.”

  I nodded, knowing they had more important things to do than chat about surgery with a half-dressed stripper. They strapped Carlos down and then started closing the doors. I snuck one last look inside. Carlos looked pale.

  The ambulance pulled away. As it turned onto the street, the lights came on. I noticed a few neighbors outside, bundled up against the crisp desert night, seeing what all the hubbub was about. It wasn’t every day that two squad cars and an ambulance pulled into a neighborhood like this.

  Officer Sloane had been waiting behind us, giving us a little space. He cleared his throat, and we turned around to face him.

  “So if your friend wasn’t the guy, obviously we’ve got a problem,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Alex nodded. “You think we should get back inside.”

  “I do,” Sloane said. “It would be crazy for anyone to do anything to you with four of us out here, but why take the chance?” He motioned with his arm to usher us back inside. In the distance, I heard the siren of Carlos’ ambulance fire up as it hit the main street.

  Almost out of habit, we meandered back downstairs to the room next to the panic room. At first, it seemed comforting to be underground, but then I remembered we were in the place that Carlos had been shot. It wasn’t very safe for him.

  Sloane and Krawcheck had accompanied us downstairs, and I gathered that the other two officers were conducting some sort of search on the premises outside. Alex’s lot was probably only a half acre, but someone could be hiding out in the conservancy or even in the desert that stretched up into the hills.

  Sloane got a beep on his radio and listened.

  “They’ve called in the chopper,” he said.

  “Do they have infrared on there?” Alex asked.

  Sloane nodded. “It’s perfect for something like this. Middle of the night, suspect on the loose trying to hide. They’ll see his heat no matter where he is. Especially since it’s only about forty degrees outside right now.”

  We made small talk with Sloane for a few minutes. Officer Krawcheck wasn’t much of a talker, it seemed. She was about my age and had a sweet face, but she kept to herself and stood stiff, taking her role as our protector more seriously than Sloane did.

  Sloane received another message on his radio. As he held it up to his ear, I studied his expression. It didn’t change. Keeping his stony demeanor, he said, “We got him.”

  Alex and I looked at each other and smiled. “That’s a relief,” I said, stating the obvious.

  “Did they say who it was?” Alex asked.

  Sloane nodded. “Only said it was a man, white guy in his forties. We’ll see soon enough, I guess.”

  Sloane and Krawcheck led us back upstairs where we waited outside on Alex’s front porch. Within a minute, the other squad pulled up. Two officers got out, leaving the suspect in the back. I couldn’t see much from where I was standing, so I moved closer.

  “Recognize that guy?” Sloane asked.

  I looked at Alex. “Not really.” The guy in the back of the car had a sour expression on his face, which was understandable. He looked mildly creepy, with a sallow face, puffy cheeks, and thinning black hair.

  The officers chatted for a moment. “Call off the chopper,” Krawcheck said. “No need to wake up any more people than we already have.”

  Alex and I thanked the other two officers, and then they drove away to book the guy.

  Sloane and Krawcheck were getting ready to leave. “He’s denying it, of course,” Sloane said, off-handedly. “They always do.”

  “Denying what?” I asked.
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  “Shooting anyone. But we’ll run the tests. The gunshot residue test doesn’t lie,” he said confidently.

  Alex thanked them again, and they turned and headed to their squad car, which was parked out on the street. I knew they’d spend the rest of their shift filling out paperwork.

  “Well,” I said, “I’ve got to get to the hospital. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Alex shook his head. “I’ll come too,” he said. “Remember, you don’t have a car.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, feeling more than a little stupid.

  We got in Alex’s car, and he sped off to the closest hospital, which was called Wheaton Memorial. It wasn’t a megahospital with a huge trauma center, but it seemed big enough that they would know what they were doing in the emergency room. I was happy to let Alex take charge. He grilled the intake nurse about Carlos, and she finally relented and went personally to find out how he was doing. When she returned, she said he was in surgery. There was nothing that could be done for now, so we should go home and come back the next day. The surgery could take another four to six hours, she said.

  We pondered what to do. Alex politely offered to stay with me, if that’s what I wanted. I was divided. My heart said stay, but the rest of me was opposed. We had been up half the night, and Alex had to work the next morning, of course. And since I didn’t have my car, he was stuck with me. I didn’t feel like dragging him into this any more than I already had done, and there didn’t seem to be much point in staying. I would return the next morning, refreshed by a little sleep. Hopefully.

  Alex and I got back in his car, and he started driving in the direction of his house. My apartment on the Strip was a good twenty minutes away, and his place was only five minutes, so it made some sense. Still, I found it interesting that he didn’t take me back to my house. I was too jacked up with emotions to say anything.

  We pulled into his driveway and then found ourselves in his kitchen. It felt eerie being back there.

  “How are we supposed to get back to sleep?” I asked Alex.

  He shrugged. “Who says we have to?”

  I could tell he didn’t mean the question in a suggestive way, although that’s naturally how my mind interpreted it.