High Risk

by G. K. Parks

  “Fine.” I gave the dog a final pat and stood up. He looked disappointed until he heard the sound of the cabinet opening. His ears perked up, and he happily followed me into the kitchen and waited for a treat. I gave him one, left my gun, cuffs, and badge on the counter, washed my hands, and set the table. “Oh, the firefighter you were eye-fucking, I asked Brad about him. He was in the calendar.”

  “I wasn’t eye-fucking him,” Emma said dramatically. “But you don’t want to know the things he was doing to me in my mind. He definitely earned his place as third baseman.”

  “Eww, Emma.” I cringed. “You’re right. I don’t want to know about your dirty daydreams.”

  “Speak for yourself.” She grinned evilly. “But yeah, I figured that out after you left. He was July, right?”

  “Wasn’t it August?”

  She nodded a few times. “Any idea which station he’s assigned?”

  “No, but it was our precinct, so all the firefighters there had to have been from the same house. It should have been on the scoreboard or something.”

  “Oh yeah.” Emma smacked herself on the forehead. “Blonde moment.”

  “You’d think ER nurses wouldn’t be allowed to have those, especially when you’re not blonde.”

  “Neither should cops, but you’ve had plenty yourself.” She flicked a strand of hair over my shoulder. “It’s the highlights. You were smarter when you were a full-fledged brunette.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I put my forearms on the counter and stretched back. “If that’s the problem, we should dye my hair back to its natural color tonight so I can solve this case.”

  “What’s it about?” Emma grabbed a bag of baby carrots from the fridge and popped one into her mouth. Gunnie looked up at her and whined, so she gave him one. He trotted into the other room, rolled it across the floor, and tossed it in the air.

  “Armored truck heist, maybe. Yesterday, a dry cleaner’s was knocked over, and a security guard was killed. Then today, we found out uniforms were stolen from the dry cleaner’s and worn in today’s crime spree.”

  “Didn’t I see something about that on the news?”

  “Probably.”

  “No wonder you look like that.” She took the glass dish out of the microwave, stirred the stew, and put it back in to finish reheating. “Shouldn’t you be out at a bar somewhere?”

  “Brad has that covered.” Or so I imagined. He declined when I asked if he wanted to come over and help me housesit. “We might have found a potential lead.” I told her about the CBD oil and menthol mixed with the grease.

  “If you send me the complete workup, I can have someone in the hospital pharmacy look at it. They might recognize it. Then again, do we know which parts are the muscle rub and which are industrial grease?”

  “I hoped that would be obvious.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, you’d think so.”

  We sat down to eat, but I couldn’t get the deaths I’d seen today out of my head. There had to be more I could do to stop these bastards from striking again. “If you wanted to steal millions of dollars, where would you go?”

  “The bank.”

  “No. They don’t have that much, and even if they did, it’d be too hard to get in and out. It wouldn’t matter what security uniform you stole.”

  “What about robbing another armored truck?”

  “That’s what I figured. We beefed up patrols and assigned each truck an escort.” I pushed my plate away. “Where else?”

  “Considering the number of ODs that come into the ER, I’d say a pharmacy, but that would require a few extra steps.”

  “No, I don’t think so. It has to be somewhere LockBox goes. One of the locations Lindsey Rook knew about.” But we had the list. We had units keeping watch on every possible target. We’d catch them in the act and stop them. No one else would have to die. Officers were sent in undercover to secure the most likely locations. But what if we were wrong?

  “You’re worried,” Emma said.

  “Yeah.”

  She stared at her plate. We’d had this argument before. She, like my mom, thought being a cop was too dangerous. However, it was my decision. And she couldn’t fault me for wanting to make a difference. After all, that’s why she became a nurse.

  “Why don’t you take off?” Emma suggested. “I planned on sleeping over anyway. So I’ll take Gunnie out for his final walk of the night and crash in my old bedroom. Unless you want to stay too. We can dye your hair, paint our nails, and talk about boys. Have you heard? I have a crush on a firefighter.”

  I snickered. “I heard, but I don’t want to hear any more about it. I just want to go home and shower. Are you sure you got this? At least let me help with the dishes.”

  “You worked all day, and you spent last night with a lawyer. But tomorrow, after I get off work, I’m going to be tired and bitchy, so you can do all this fun stuff instead. Deal?”

  “That’s only fair.”

  “Be careful,” Emma said.

  “Yep.” I grabbed my gear off the counter, gave Emma a hug, and slipped Gunnie another treat before leaving my parents’ house.

  On the way home, I tried calling my dad, but it went straight to voicemail. I hadn’t spoken to my parents since they left the country and figured they must not have updated their phone plans for use outside the US, or Mom forgot to pack the wall adapters, or they were just having too much fun. I couldn’t remember the last time my parents went on vacation.

  But a part of me wanted to hear my dad’s voice. Decorated police captain Vince DeMarco would know what to do with a case like this. Too bad I hadn’t inherited his experience, along with his drive and instincts.

  After arriving at home, I ran a couple of miles on the treadmill, did an evening yoga practice, and showered. But even the moving meditation hadn’t brought me inner tranquility. I crawled into bed, unsatisfied with myself and the recent turn of events.

  The ghosts of the dead haunted me. I couldn’t shake Richard Golden breaking down into tears at the news of his best friend’s death. And the men and woman who died today would be equally missed. The station agent had a teenaged son. What would happen to him?

  I couldn’t just lay here. I had to do something. No one else could lose a parent or child because of these bastards. So I reached for my laptop and brought up a city map.

  “Where are you hiding?” I had memorized all of the relevant locations. But they were scattered over the map.

  When this didn’t get me anywhere, I called Brad. “Pick up,” I mumbled, but after five rings, it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. I thought you might be up, but I guess not. Don’t worry, it’s nothing pressing. I couldn’t sleep and figured we could brainstorm. Anyway, get some rest. One of us has to. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Restless and determined, I decided to take a drive. As I meandered through the city, sticking to the neighborhoods and areas where the killers had been, I wondered how they knew so much about the traffic cameras to park in the blind spots.

  At the next red light, I dialed dispatch. “This is Detective DeMarco.” I rattled off my credentials. “I’m curious about something. Who has access to the city’s traffic cam grid besides the police?” I listened to the answer, but the options were limited. “Any chance it was hacked?”

  “No, Detective. We have safeties in place that would identify a breach.”

  “So, this isn’t the Italian Job.”

  The dispatcher laughed. “No, ma’am.”

  I fell silent, hoping to come up with something that would lead to the killers. “Do you know who the city contracted to install the cameras?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “All right.”

  “Anything else I can help you with, DeMarco?”

  “No, I guess not.” I disconnected, again wondering about Moonlight Security’s connection. Gardner had been assigned as night watchman at the dispensary and Star Cleaners. According to both Gardner’s roommate and boss, he’d worked several diffe
rent gigs in the last month. What other locations did he protect?

  I called the precinct, but units had been assigned to sit on those places too. I should have been relieved. We were doing everything in our power to save lives, but it didn’t feel like enough.

  Something Brad had said came to mind. The killers knew that liquor store. Or at least one of them did. The owner hadn’t exactly been forthcoming during our previous chat, but maybe he’d be more willing to talk to me now. After all, it was the middle of the night. I wasn’t on shift, and with the rising body count, he had more incentive to share what he knew. Perhaps, I could use my charms to persuade him to give up a name or description. So I turned the car around and drove to 24/7 Spirits.

  Twenty-four

  Aside from the neon sign out front, the liquor store looked dark, just like most other businesses in the area. Was it possible they weren’t open twenty-four hours a day? I got out of the car and surveyed my surroundings. Something didn’t feel right.

  A dark SUV idled near the end of the block. I eyed it, watching a puff of exhaust bloom from the tailpipe. I slid my jacket to the side and rested my hand on the butt of my gun as I made my way down the sidewalk. It could be anything. But it wasn’t normal for someone to be sitting around at this time of night.

  I cleared two car lengths before the SUV turned on its lights and slowly pulled away from the spot. It drove a few feet to the stop sign, waited five seconds, and then proceeded on its path. I watched it disappear into the darkness, mentally repeating the license plate number a few times.

  Just to be on the safe side, I ran the plates. When nothing came back on them, I asked if a patrol unit could drive by when they got a chance. Then I locked my car and walked across the street to the liquor store.

  The bell above the door chimed, and the owner looked up at me from where he’d been setting up a display of Kahlua bottles. “You again?” His tone didn’t sound friendly.

  “So you remember me?”

  “How could I forget?” He reached for another bottle and glanced around the side of the aisle. Two women in their mid-twenties whispered and giggled as they perused the racks of pre-mixed drinks. A couple were arguing next to the refrigerators about the difference between beer and lager. And a man at the back corner of the store carefully examined the various bottles of scotch. “I don’t have what you want. You should try back another day.” He met my eyes and flicked his gaze pointedly toward the door. “As you can see, I’m pretty busy. Maybe you should come back when you have your friends with you.”

  “What?” I gave him an odd look. “Are you sure you don’t have me confused with someone else, I’m—”

  He cut me off. “I know who you are.” The girls went to the counter with their arms full of margarita, mudslide, and pina colada mixes. “You should go. I’ll give you a call when I have time to look for what you wanted. I might have it in the back.” He placed the final bottle of Kahlua on the top of the display and slipped behind the counter to work the register. He handed them the bags, made a point to card them, and wished them a good night. He scribbled something on the receipt and tried to hand it to the woman, but she said she didn’t need it.

  The owner stuffed the receipt into his pocket and went back to the display, ripping open another box. “Are you hard of hearing? I said you should come back another day.”

  “Sir, I think you must have me confused with someone else.”

  He picked up the empty cardboard box. “Fine. Follow me. I’ll show you what we have in the back.”

  “Sir,” I tried again, but he didn’t wait for my protest. Instead, he grabbed the empty box and went down the aisle.

  “You guys almost ready to check out?” he asked the couple.

  “Yeah,” the guy said.

  “Oh, what about a shandy?” the woman asked her boyfriend.

  The clerk didn’t even slow. “Just take it to the register. I’ll be right there.” He paused briefly in the opposite corner of the store and called to the man examining the scotch, “I’ll be out in one sec. I just gotta help this lady find something first.”

  “Make it quick,” the guy grunted, his back to us.

  The owner entered the storage room and waited for me in the doorway. I eyed the gruff customer, but he didn’t appear to have any interest in anything other than the scotch bottles in front of him. Cautiously, I stepped into the dimly lit storeroom, unsure why the owner was acting so strangely.

  “Sir,” I said, watching as he broke down the box and added it to a large stack of cardboard, “I’m Detective DeMarco.”

  “Shh.” He held a finger to his lips and edged toward the open door. “That’s the guy. The one who came in here the other morning and bought the bottle of Jack.”

  “You’re positive?”

  The owner nodded. “He has a gun. I saw it beneath his jacket.”

  “How long has he been here?”

  “For almost an hour. He came in when the store was empty. He told me he was waiting for something and if I cooperated, there wouldn’t be any trouble. He also said his friend is out front, and if I make a run for it, he’d kill me.”

  “Do you know what he wants?”

  “I figured he wanted to rob the place, but that’s not it. He’s waiting for something. Every time the door chimes, he looks up at the mirror along the back, and he keeps checking his watch.”

  “Okay.”

  “He told me to carry on like nothing was wrong, and if I didn’t...” The store owner swallowed and drew a finger horizontally across his neck. “So that’s what I’ve been trying to do. I thought you’d get the point. Are you seriously that dense?”

  “How many other people have stopped by since he’s been here?” I took half a step back and peered in his direction, but I couldn’t see him.

  “Fifteen or twenty. They came in, got what they wanted, and left. I keep trying to get word out.” He showed me the receipt where he’d written, ‘Call 9-1-1, I’m being robbed.’ But no one would take his note. “I don’t know what he’s waiting for. I thought he wanted money, but…”

  “Okay, calm down.”

  “Calm down?” he hissed. “You told me this guy killed somebody.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?” I spotted the man, but he wouldn’t turn away from the shelves. He didn’t want anyone to see him or recognize him. Perhaps he was waiting for a lull so he could kill the owner. After all, the liquor store owner might be the only person alive who could ID him.

  “How? You think I should make the call right in front of him?”

  “Do you have a cell phone?”

  He fished it out of his pocket. “This building is cinderblock on three sides. I can’t get a signal out.”

  I checked my bars, but he was right. “What about a back door?” I pointed to the illuminated exit sign behind him.

  “It has an alarm. The moment I open it, it’ll trigger lockdown. Emergency lights, sirens, the whole shebang. I was afraid to do anything that might set him off. I figured if I waited long enough, he’d just leave. I tried to get someone to go for help, but none of my customers took their receipt. None of them. What is wrong with these people?”

  Removing my gun from my holster, I blew out a breath. I couldn’t leave an armed killer inside a store with civilians. I had to stay here to protect them. “Sir, here’s what I need you to do. Clear out the rest of your customers, then go out the back door, and call 9-1-1. Tell them the situation. Tell them the suspect in today’s murder spree is inside your liquor store. Tell them a plainclothes officer is inside and to send immediate backup. Do you understand?”

  “Murder spree?” He paled. “What are you going to do?”

  “Make sure everyone remains breathing.”

  The bell above the door chimed. Dammit. More people had just entered. I had to prevent this psycho from opening fire. But I couldn’t announce, or that’d be the first thing he’d do. I’d have to subdue him quickly and quietly, but that would be easier once we were alone.
Making a move on him now would only lead to violence and potential casualties.

  “Get rid of them. I need you to stay calm and act like everything is normal. Can you do that for me?” I asked.

  He nodded and went back into the store. I stepped out of the storage room, but the shelves around the rear door were too tall for me to see over. The owner must have done that intentionally to conceal the storeroom and keep customers out, but it didn’t provide any tactical advantages. If anything, it was a detriment. I checked my phone again for a signal.

  I tried calling dispatch, but the call wouldn’t connect. The owner wasn’t kidding about the cinderblock. Dread filled me as another thought crept into my mind. Brad said the killers used a jammer. Was this their next target?

  The liquor store owner handed the brown paper sack to his newest customers, and the two men left in a hurry. I moved toward the cooler doors, hoping to keep an eye on the suspect, but he had moved deeper down the aisle. From here, I could only glimpse his back. Average build and dark hair. He could have been the asshole who shot at me inside the subway station, but I wasn’t positive.

  The couple continued to bicker, and the suspect turned down the next aisle and out of my line of sight. “Why don’t you get one of each? My treat. Tell the clerk to put it on my tab,” I said to them.

  “Seriously?” the guy asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks, lady.” He grabbed two different twelve packs.

  His girlfriend smiled at me. “I thought we’d be here all night.”

  “Come on, Crista.” He headed to the counter, and she followed after him.

  I crossed to the other side of the store, but the man had moved down the next aisle, almost as if he knew to avoid me. Once the couple left, the owner headed toward the back. I moved to intercept the suspect, but the owner grabbed my arm. His eyes showed fear, and I backstepped until we were concealed behind the tall shelves.

  “You need to go. Now.” I didn’t have time to ask how much money the liquor store had on the premises or why the killers would target this store. “Call for help as soon as you’re safe. Don’t stop for anyone.” Since the killer had an accomplice, I didn’t know if he had someone else waiting out back, but I hoped not. As it was, we were on a clock. Since the killer had been staking out the store for nearly an hour, we had to be getting close to go-time, and even if we weren’t, the patrol car I called for would spook them. And when these guys spooked, they got trigger happy, or so I’d learned this morning.