Sweet Dreams Boxed Set

by Brenda Novak

  “It’s not just women. You’ve got to let it go, Alex, or you’re going to burn out.”

  It was his tone, not his words. If he hadn’t been so angry, the words could have been kind. Concerned. But he was sneering at her. As if he had no respect for her. Or was she reading something into it because she was so twisted up inside?

  “Right. Well, I didn’t report him, if that’s what you mean. I fucking let it go. Told him to control his temper, not let the dirtbags get to him.” She tossed her hands in the air.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Alex?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “You’ve been so secretive lately. So you’re not screwing Tommy. What are doing?”

  “Fuck you.”

  He grabbed her wrists and stared at her. Maybe he knew. Maybe she talked in her sleep. If Jim found out she was working for the feds he’d be livid. Because cops didn’t do that to each other. She almost said something right then, just to get it off her chest. The lies were killing her.

  “Let. Go.”

  He did. She stepped back. “I need some space. I’m sorry I came home in a shitty mood, but I thought you of all people would understand.” She stomped off to the bedroom and grabbed her gym bag. Stuffed some clothes and toiletries inside.

  “Don’t you dare walk out,” Jim said.

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  God, she sounded like a spoiled brat.

  “You walk out that door, don’t plan on coming back.”

  “Fine. I’ll send my brother to pick up the rest of my stuff.”

  She walked to the door and Jim grabbed her again. She was about to tell him off when he kissed her. It was hard and violent and possessive. When they’d fought in the past, make-up sex had always been hot and heavy. But she was tired of the cycle. Tired of the ups and downs of this emotional roller coaster. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. She was already on edge with the investigation into Tommy, walking on the edge in her own home was no longer an option. She couldn’t do it.

  “Stop,” she said, trying to push him back.

  “No,” he growled. “Alex, don’t leave me.” His voice cracked, and she almost gave in. He kissed her again, her mouth, her neck, touching her in places she liked to be touched. Except he was too rough, too aggressive. He pushed her shirt up and squeezed her tits until they hurt. This was a power play, pure and simple. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

  “Stop!” she pushed him back. “Dammit, Jim!”

  He was breathing heavily. “You leave, it’s over.”

  She left.

  Alex’s phone rang. It was Matt Elliott. Damn, it was 1:30. She was really late to the meeting.

  “I’m sorry, I got sidetracked.”

  “Where are you?”

  “River Road. I’m parked about a half mile away from the address. Tommy used to come here. I never went inside, but there was something else going on there other than boat repair.”

  Matt said, “Jim Perry graduated from Rio Americano High School with Sergei Rykov.”

  She froze. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. I verified it with the school.”

  She didn’t say anything. But puzzle pieces suddenly started fitting together.

  Jim. The arguments. The fighting. The suspicion. He knew that Cordell was working for Rykov because he was working for Rykov. Did he know that she was spying? Or did he suspect she was? Or was he worried that she would learn what Cordell was doing? Is that why he started dating her in the first place?

  She was angry. Furious at being used like that. Yet ... she was also embarrassed that she hadn’t figured it out. She should have, dammit.

  “Alex?”

  She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know.”

  “Of course not, but you need to get out of there. The building is owned by Travis Hart. It’s managed by a property company with connections to Rykov. We don’t know exactly what’s going on, but Dean’s on the phone with D.C. working on getting a warrant.”

  “Jim’s at the boathouse now.”

  “Then what the hell are you still doing there?”

  “Thinking. Don’t get your panties in a wad, I didn’t knock on the door or slow down. I didn’t expect him to be there.”

  “Dean and I are on our way.”

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  “There’s a small grocery store on the east side of the river, right when you cross the bridge,” Matt said. “Meet us there.”

  “I know it. I’m about ten minutes away.”

  “So are we, we’re just merging onto I-5 south now. Be careful.”

  “Always.”

  She hung up and for a split second considered going back and confronting Jim. But she wasn’t an idiot.

  More pieces of the puzzle slipped into place. Jim’s suspicions about her and Tommy. It wasn’t sex, he knew that Tommy was working for Rykov and wanted to know how much Alex knew. She’d shared with him some things—things that she would have shared even if she wasn’t working for the feds. He said all the right things, until the fight.

  He knew something. What else had happened that day that made him suspicious? Had Tommy called him? Said something about her reaction? She hadn’t over-reacted ... but maybe that was the problem. Maybe she should have reported him. Because if she wasn’t working for the feds, she might have. She would have at least told her supervisor about it. She wouldn’t have said anything about the money, but she would have spoken up about the physical assault. It was over the top and could get the department into serious trouble, especially with the national incidents of police brutality.

  She was reading too much into this. If Jim was involved with Rykov, that didn’t mean that he had been spying on her. Why would he have? She hadn’t even gone to Matt until months after she and Jim started dating. And just because he’d gone to high school with the mob leader didn’t mean that he was on his payroll.

  Then why is he at the boat shop now?

  Selena called just as Alex turned on her ignition. “Yep,” she answered.

  “Just checking in.”

  “I’m fine. I’m heading back.”

  “Find anything?”

  “I didn’t stop.”

  “John had some questions about the gun so went to talk to the ballistics expert and was stopped dead in his tracks when he got to the crime lab.”

  “Who stopped him?”

  “No one. The gun is gone.”

  “It can’t be gone.”

  “It was sent to the state lab from further testing.”

  “That’s bullshit. We never send ballistics test to the state. It’s across the damn street from our own lab.”

  “And they claim they don’t have it,” Selena said. “John isn’t going to let it go, unless he’s told to back off. I’m sorry—I know you need this to be discreet. But you should know that Jim signed the evidence log.”

  Jim was involved with Rykov. If she hadn’t had enough proof before, this was clear as day. “Can you get John to stand down until I can talk to my FBI contact?” Though Jim must already know that John Black was looking into the murders of the prostitutes. Otherwise, why move the gun? How did he know?

  “Yes—but you know John. I can get him to sit on this for a day or so, but not indefinitely.”

  “I don’t need longer,” she said. “Thanks, Selena. And tell John to be careful, this case may blow up on everyone.”

  “John isn’t afraid of pissing people off. You’re the one who needs to be careful, Alex. I’m worried.”

  “I’m meeting Matt in a few minutes. I’ll call you later.” She hung up and pulled onto the road.

  Seconds later, Jim’s truck loomed in her rearview mirror. Before she could react and wonder how he could have surprised her so quickly, he slammed hard into her Honda. She tried to turn with the road, but he slowed and hit her again, this time on the rear driver’s side, effectively pushing her off the road. She slammed on her brakes, but her tires spun in the gravel. Jim hit her again
and her front wheels went over the edge of the embankment.

  The first dead body she’d seen on the job had been pulled from the Sacramento river. An accident, in the rain, a college student had taken one of the river turns too fast and skidded off the edge and into the river. He’d been trapped in his car. He hadn’t died of his injuries; he’d drowned because he’d been unable to escape the submerged vehicle.

  But with the drought, the river current wasn’t as violent and the water levels were low. As long as she could get out of her car she should be okay. It was summer. The water wasn’t too cold and she was a good swimmer. But the plunge would still be dangerous.

  She leaned back in her seat, trying to prevent the car from tipping over the edge. She didn’t want to move for fear of disturbing the delicate balance, but one more hit and she would be rolling down through the shrubs and saplings. They weren’t strong enough to hold back a vehicle.

  But Jim would know all that. He would know her chances of survival were good. He wasn’t going to let her just float away, not when she knew who had rammed her off the road.

  She reached over for her gun and glanced into the rearview mirror. Jim was already out of his car. He had his gun drawn and aimed at her. The passenger door opened. Jim wasn’t alone.

  The rage on his face was unlike anything she’d seen before.

  He was going to kill her.

  She released her foot from the brake and pressed the gas while leaning forward as far as she could. The front end of the car dipped, and then she was falling down the embankment, faster than she expected to. She hit a tree and her airbag deployed, hitting her in the face with such a force that she was certain her nose broke. Powder burned her lungs, blood clogged her throat, and she couldn’t see anything. Darkness enveloped her as she felt her whole body tilting to one side.

  No. No. No!

  This was why people died in the river. They got knocked out and drowned. Or tangled with weeds and debris, unable to break free. She fought the pain in her head, fought the dizziness. She didn’t feel the car moving, but suddenly she was wet.

  She opened her eyes and pushed the deflated airbag out of her way. Her car was resting on the driver’s side in the river, only her trunk partly on the riverbank. Through the cracked front windshield she saw that more than half her car was submerged. Sunlight streamed through the passenger half of the window. The only way to escape was through the passenger door.

  Jim was be at the top of the embankment waiting for her to emerge. She would be an easy target for a good shot. Fifty feet? Sixty, maybe. She could stay here, wait it out. But Jim could empty his clip into her car. He could come down the riverbank and shoot her in the head. Waiting really wasn’t a good option.

  If she hadn’t been slowed down by the tree, she would have had enough momentum to take her further into the river, without the broken nose and the pain in her head and lungs. She found her gun, and thank God it wasn’t wet. It could still fire, probably, but no guarantee.

  She undid her seat belt. Her entire left side was wet, but the car couldn’t fill up with water, not when it was partly on the embankment and the passenger side was still exposed. The flowing water was surprisingly loud, but maybe that was her fear. Her car creaked and swayed with the rhythm of the river. If she stayed where she was, she’d be a sitting duck. Matt and Dean would soon start looking for her. She’d said she was ten minutes away—that was ten minutes ago. When would they start looking for her? When she was five minutes late? Fifteen minutes? Could she hide in here for fifteen minutes? When she didn’t show, they would retrace her steps, but there was no guarantee as to how fast, or if they’d wait for back-up, or anything. She needed to be proactive and save her own ass.

  Her phone! She looked around for it. It had been on her charger, and she’d tossed it on the passenger seat. The charger was still in the dashboard. She pulled it up and the phone came with it—wet. She pressed the button. The lock screen came on, but she couldn’t get it to clear. She pressed the emergency call link in the bottom corner. Nothing. She shook the phone. Nothing!

  Shit. She had to move. Now. The dizziness had mostly subsided, but blood still dripped from her nose. That was the least of her concerns.

  She only had one chance to escape. She had to time it right.

  She pulled herself into a crouching position, with her feet on the driver’s door. She looked at the passenger door. If she pushed it open, Jim would see it moving. But the window was up, and it would be harder to climb through the window, anyway. Still, she needed to use her strength to push the door open, which would be fighting gravity.

  She wiped the blood out of her nose and mouth, wincing at the pain in her face. Definitely broken.

  One. Two. Three.

  She held her gun in her left hand and grabbed the handle with her dominant right, then pushed the door up with all her strength. Her arm ached, the stitches in her arm pulling as her muscles tightened, fighting to keep the door from slamming back down on her head.

  She wanted to throw herself over the top of the car, where Jim wouldn’t be able to get as clear a shot. If she could just use the car as a shield ...

  She pulled herself up with her left arm and almost dropped her gun. Her right arm shook as the door wanted to close on her. She didn’t dare look up the embankment, she had to do this fast, clean.

  A gunshot cut through the afternoon.

  She wasn’t hit, and she didn’t dare stop. She slid over the top of her car. She let go of the door and thought she’d cleared it when it slammed down on her ankle.

  She heard her bone crack.

  The pain was worse than the damn bullet two days ago.

  She pulled her foot out, tears burning her eyes, and fell into the water, the roof blocking her from the embankment. Her right foot burned in pain, and she was standing nearly waist-deep in the river. Her left foot was sinking into the muddy bottom.

  She peered over the back of her car. The glare from the sun distorted her vision—or maybe that was from the airbag. Maybe she had a concussion. Two men stood on the shoulder of River Road. The taller man was Jim.

  And she recognized the other man, standing to the right of Jim.

  Sergei Rykov.

  Both of them held a gun.

  ***

  “Something’s wrong,” Matt said. “Her phone is going straight to voice mail.” He looked at his watch. “She was supposed to be here five minutes ago. Something happened.”

  Dean was on the phone. “This is Hooper. I need a location on an asset. Her number is 916-555-3436.” He said to Matt, “Give me two minutes.”

  Matt didn’t want to wait two minutes, but he didn’t have a choice.

  He heard a distant gunshot.

  Dean heard it too. He jumped back into the car and Matt into the passenger seat.

  It’s not Alex. Please, it can’t be Alex.

  Dean pealed out of the small gravel parking lot and made an illegal turn onto the narrow bridge.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jim wanted to shoot his long-time friend. “I told you, don’t shoot her!”

  “She needs to die.”

  “We have to find out what the feds know. Idiot!”

  “You heard everything I did. What more do we need? You aren’t in love with that bitch?”

  “No,” he said through clenched teeth. “But we’re burned, Sergei.”

  “You’re burned, Jimmy. Sorry, buddy, but they have nothing on me—if she dies. You have to clean up your own mess.”

  “My mess? I told you not to get into business with Hart. He’s volatile and stupid.”

  “He had something I wanted.”

  Sometimes, there was no reasoning with Sergei. “We have ten minutes, tops.” Probably less.

  “Then get down there and kill her.”

  Jim wished there was another way.

  Dammit, Alex. Why’d you have to do this?

  “Get out of town, Sergei. Go south on River Road, get to the safe house and stay put until
you hear from me. If the feds were close enough to hear the shot, we now have eight minutes.”

  Jim didn’t know what other option he had. Alex had somehow figured out he was involved with Sergei’s operation. She knew far too much for him to talk his way out. He could have explained away the schooling he shared with Sergei—but if Alex had John Black and his bitch sister looking deeper into the dead whores, there was no way he’d get out of this unscathed. He would definitely lose his job. But prison? Hell no.

  He had something far more valuable that the feds would want.

  “Sergei, do as I say. I’ve protected you since we were kids. I have never let you down. Trust me.”

  Sergei stared at him, then nodded. “You’re the only one I do trust.”

  “Run to the boathouse. Grab a clean car from the garage, drive south—do not come back this way. Go directly to the safe house. Do not call anyone. If you don’t hear from me in twenty-four hours, you know what to do.”

  “What about you? I’m not leaving you to take the rap.”

  “I said to trust me.”

  He clapped Jim on the back. “Thank you, my friend.” Then he turned and ran down the road.

  Jim sighed and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t have a choice. Sergei was far too impulsive ... without Jim to protect him, he’d be in prison—or dead—before the end of the year. But that wasn’t going to be on Jim.

  For twenty-five years, Jim and Sergei had been inseparable. It started the first day of high school. Sergei was an American citizen, but his parents spoke no English and he had a thick accent. Kids teased him, reminding Jim of when he was in elementary school and stuttered. Sergei was scrawny as well, and after a group of football players beat him up and left him with a broken nose and cracked rib, Jim had taken responsibility for the small, shrewd Russian kid. He’d planned and executed retribution on the football team—because they all deserved to be punished for their crime.

  Sergei had dreams; he was going to take over the criminal enterprise of his uncle. And he did—with Jim’s help. Jim had dreams, and that was to always end up on top. He became a cop because having someone on the inside helped keep their illegal business safe. It was a perfect set up, everything had worked beautifully, until Sergei blackmailed Travis Hart.