High Risk

by G. K. Parks

  “It’s organic. Soy and dairy free.” She cocked an eyebrow. “For someone you arrested, he seems to know a lot about you. Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Yes, but that’s what happens when you spend six months undercover to make a bust and it turns out he’s been flipped by the Feds.”

  “So he’s a CI?”

  “I don’t know what he is. But he’s untouchable, at least for now.” I glanced at the basket. He didn’t even sign his name. And since the protection detail accepted the delivery, I couldn’t refuse it. “This better not be construed as a bribe.” I just wondered what deal my partner had made with the devil.

  Thirty-eight

  I jerked upright, regretting the movement instantly. My computer had gone into sleep mode, just like I had. I rubbed the grit from my eyes. Falling asleep while researching Diego Eisner’s associates shouldn’t have happened. I glanced at the pill bottle. This was why I wasn’t supposed to operate heavy machinery. Thankfully, my computer only weighed a couple of pounds.

  Closing the lid, I turned my attention to the figure across the room. Brad quietly tapped away at his tablet while updating the notes on our whiteboard. He put the tablet down and puffed out his cheeks while he stared at our progress.

  “Where’s Emma?” I asked.

  He turned, offering me a choir boy smile. “She took Gunnie out for a walk.” He grabbed a gift bag from the floor and held it out to me. “I got you something.”

  “Brad—”

  “Open it.” He moved closer, waiting for me to pull the stuffed animal out of the bag. It was a plush German shepherd, lying on its side, wearing a little police vest and badge. It had a fluffy brown and black tail and a sewn on smile. Top Cop was embroidered on the back of its vest.

  “Gunnie’s going to think this is for him.”

  “Don’t worry. I got him something too.” He pointed to a chew toy on the floor. “It has a hidden compartment to hold a treat. He has to figure out how to get it out. He’s been gnawing on it since I arrived. I thought that’d be better than a squeaky toy.”

  “I’d kill you if you got him a squeaky toy.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Fair warning, I might kill you anyway.” I stared down at the stuffed animal, which Brad had bought just so I wouldn’t be mad at him. “I don’t accept bribes. At least not on purpose.”

  “It’s not a bribe. Last night you complained you couldn’t get comfortable because Gunnie had gone home. I know you were joking, but I thought it might help to elevate your arm and keep some of the pressure off your shoulder and neck. Plus, I’m the only idiot who hasn’t gotten you something since the attack. Winters pointed that out to me last night. As your partner, I should have been first in line. My bad.” Brad took the plush dog out of my hand and placed it on the couch beside me. “See, it’s almost the same size as Gunnie. And he’s a cop, just like you. I thought it was perfect.”

  “It is.” I swallowed. “Thank you. But I’d like to know what happened today. You went to Kincaid, didn’t you?”

  Brad folded the gift bag and placed it flat on the table. “I did what had to be done.”

  “What does that mean? Axel’s a killer. You said so yourself.”

  “It’s never been proven.”

  “You and I watched him shoot someone.”

  “In self-defense,” Brad muttered.

  “That’s not how you interpreted it when it happened.”

  “Things change, Liv.”

  “How? Did you get stupid all of a sudden?” I blinked, regretting my words. “Why would you go to Axel for help? You can’t stand the guy.”

  A dark cloud settled over him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep these bastards from hurting you or anyone else again. Jake found out Diego Eisner used to run with a crew.”

  “They boosted cars.”

  Brad’s gaze flicked to me. “So you know why I went to Axel.”

  “That was almost ten years ago.”

  “True, but Kincaid knows things. The players. The targets. In case you haven’t realized this yet, we don’t have much to go on. If he can point us in the right direction, we can stop this.”

  “Fine, but you’re the one who always tells me we can’t trust him.”

  “This isn’t about trust. I made a promise to you, and I plan to keep it. I’d rather beg Kincaid for help than gamble with your life or anyone else’s.”

  “Does Jake know?”

  “No. The brass wants this intel locked down tight. The stores in the plaza have been warned to watch out for suspicious activity and to look out for men matching the descriptions we have. LockBox is the only other entity that knows the extent of what’s going on, and even they only know about the potential risk.”

  “If Axel blabs, what will that do to your career?”

  “It’s a calculated risk. And one I have no problem taking.” Brad rubbed his face. “But he won’t blab.”

  “Probably not, but he might blackmail you.”

  “So be it.”

  I pointed to the fancy gift basket. “In that case, that’s your bribe. Not mine.”

  “Come on, don’t be like that.”

  I sat up, resting my elbows on my knees and holding my head in my hands. “I never thought I’d see the day where you went to Kincaid for help.”

  “He’s helped us in the past. This isn’t any different.”

  But after our last encounter, Brad’s already negative opinion of the car thief turned club owner had decreased further. I just wondered how many lines my partner would cross or the compromises he’d make to nail these bastards. “Don’t lose who you are or what you stand for. I don’t want to lose you.”

  He stared into my eyes. “You know me, Liv. You might be the only person who does. I know where the line is. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  “At least tell me Axel gave you something solid.”

  “He’s going to ask around and see what he can find out. In the meantime,” Brad returned to the whiteboard, “Jake thinks he’s on to something. We went over the prison records. Three weeks ago, Diego’s cellmate was released from prison. He has a record of violence. Everything from assault and battery to voluntary manslaughter. The prosecutor pursued murder charges, but the jury didn’t go for it. They convicted under the lesser sentence.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Brandon Tarelli.” Fennel handed me the tablet. “While you were getting your beauty rest, I was digging into him. He’s a former military contractor, who went to work for a security firm before he let his anger issues get out of line.”

  “Not regular military?”

  “No, but that would explain the training and his knowledge of disarming security systems. Jake’s hoping to get his hands on a recording for you to listen to.”

  “That would help.” I eyed Tarelli’s mugshot. He was older than I imagined, but he’d been in prison for quite some time.

  “He had his hip and knee replaced in prison after a fight broke out and an overzealous guard went a little crazy with the baton.”

  “That fits the bill.” I stared at Tarelli’s mugshot and tried to imagine what he’d look like wearing a plastic Halloween mask. “But I’m not sure.”

  “Well, it’s a mugshot. Not even a good one. The guy looks like a madman with frizzed out hair and gnarly teeth.”

  “Do we know where he is now?”

  “We went by his last known address, but it’s been boarded up.”

  “Has he checked in with his parole officer. He could be in a halfway house or something.”

  “No dice. Tarelli doesn’t have a PO. He didn’t get an early release. He ran out the clock.”

  “So he served a full term.”

  “What do you expect with that kind of behavior?”

  I skimmed the page. He fought often with other inmates, had been found with contraband, and had generally done whatever it took to make his stay even less pleasant. “I’m surprised they didn’t tack more time on to his sen
tence.”

  “Me too, but I’m guessing after the beating he took, the state didn’t want to accidentally open a can of worms.”

  “What about before his arrest?”

  “Jake’s checking with Tarelli’s ex-wife and whatever family he’s got left to see if anyone has seen or heard from him. According to prison records, the only person who ever visited was his lawyer, and that stopped once his appeal was denied.”

  “Does Axel know him?”

  “No, according to Mr. Fancy Pants, he wouldn’t associate with anyone like that.”

  I read Tarelli’s record again. “I doubt they ever traveled in the same circles. This guy’s nothing but a bully and a barroom brawler.” One glaringly obvious omission struck me. “He’s not a thief.”

  “Kincaid?”

  “No, he’s definitely a thief. But Tarelli’s not.” I held out the tablet for Brad to reread.

  “That would explain why so many people have gotten killed. Tarelli’s out, and now he wants revenge.”

  Brad didn’t say it, but I knew what he was thinking. A guy like Tarelli would have no qualms about writing a threatening message in a slain cop’s blood. And I couldn’t argue with that kind of logic.

  Thirty-nine

  The police are on the way. Get out now. Tarelli read the text one more time. This wasn’t good. It’s not what he planned. But this unexpected turn of events could work in his favor. He intended to kill Carter anyway. This would save him the trouble and hopefully lead the police on a wild goose chase. Then he could enact his actual plan. By the time anyone figured out what was really happening, it’d be too late. He smiled. This would be fun.

  “I’m gonna grab a burger. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Hey, can you get me a soda?” Carter asked. “My stomach’s not feeling so good.”

  “Really, I hadn’t noticed.” Tarelli rolled his eyes.

  “Dude, I can’t help it. You make me nervous. This,” Carter waved his hand around the room, “makes me nervous. Diego too. That’s why he went on a whiskey run.”

  “I don’t care how nervous you get. You stay here. I mean it. You better be here when I get back or else you’ll have plenty of reasons to toss your cookies.”

  Carter held up his palms. “Where the hell would I even go?”

  “Good.” Tarelli collected a few things, tucked a gun into the holster at the small of his back, and stuck the second one into the opened cardboard box. He picked it up, making sure he had everything he needed for his plan. The subway maps and LockBox uniforms were nothing more than a misdirect, but he knew once the police banged down the doors and found all of this, they’d be convinced. And that’s exactly what he needed. This might be the best thing that had happened since watching the cop writhe on the floor. He found himself smiling.

  “Why are you taking the box? Don’t we need those?”

  “I’m putting it in the trunk. It’ll make it easier for us to grab when it’s go-time. Why are you questioning me?”

  “Whatever, man.” Carter waited for the door to close before adding, “Psycho.” Cautiously, he crossed the room and peered out the curtain. Once the car pulled away, Carter went to the door and turned the knob. If he wanted to escape, now was his chance, but he just couldn’t do it. He knew if he did, Tarelli would hunt him down and kill him. And after seeing how much he enjoyed shooting the night watchman and torturing that poor police detective, Carter didn’t want to know what types of agony he’d face if he fled. So he stayed and waited.

  * * *

  Every time I closed my eyes, I found myself back in the liquor store. The murder in his eyes chilled me to the bone. I shivered uncontrollably, unsure if that was from the blood loss or fear. “Who are you?” I screamed.

  The notepad fell to the floor with a thunk, and I opened my eyes. “Em?” I called.

  “She left three hours ago,” Brad said. “She didn’t want to wake you.” He yawned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Take those away from me. Every time I take one, I pass out.”

  He picked up the bottle and put it on the end table out of my reach. He yawned again and stretched. “So what woke you up?”

  “A nightmare.”

  He nodded, bleary-eyed. “Is that why you don’t want to risk going back to sleep?”

  I hadn’t actually thought about it. I was too determined to reconcile Brandon Tarelli’s mugshot with my memory of the third man to think about my rapidly beating heart or the cold sweat dripping down my back. “I don’t want to sleep when the clock’s ticking. What if we’re wrong about the target?”

  Brad picked up the notebook, piled everything onto the table, and offered me his hand. “Then we’ll figure it out tomorrow. You need to sleep. You haven’t recovered yet, and you won’t unless you get enough rest. Give the bed another try, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll trade. Okay?” He looked exhausted.

  I sighed, knowing he was right. There was nothing we could do. This wasn’t even our show. It was Voletek’s. “Okay.” I picked up the plush toy, laughing to myself. “We’ll see how this works. But I normally don’t sleep with cops.”

  “Unless it’s me,” he teased.

  “That’s because you’re special.”

  “So are you.” A strange look came over his face. “Sweet dreams.”

  I went down the hall and climbed into bed, too tired to change out of my clothes. The moment my head hit the pillow, I was out. And I didn’t wake again until the phone rang.

  From my bedroom, I could hear Brad’s voice. During the course of the night, a patrol unit pulled over a car with expired tags. When they ran the plates, they found it had been reported stolen a few hours earlier. Diego Eisner was behind the wheel.

  “Did they find anything in the car?” Brad asked. “Really? A motel room?” He paused. “Uh-huh.”

  I got out of bed, grabbed some clothes, and went into the bathroom. Through the wall I could still hear him.

  “What about the other one?” Brad waited for a response. “But you found Carter?” Another pause. “Okay, I’ll tell Liv.”

  By the time Brad hung up, I had finished in the bathroom. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Patrol made a stop last night. They arrested Diego Eisner leaving a liquor store and they found a motel key in his wallet which led to Carter Moore. They didn’t get eyes on the third man, but the motel clerk recognized Tarelli’s mugshot. He’s been renting the room for the last three weeks.”

  “Since his release.”

  “It looks that way. Tarelli paid up for the rest of the month in cash the same day he robbed Star Cleaners.”

  “He probably used the money from the drawer.”

  “Voletek and Lisco found the LockBox uniforms and the empty cash boxes from the dispensary in the motel room. They didn’t find any cash though, except whatever Diego and Carter had in their wallets, which didn’t sound like much. Voletek thinks Tarelli must have everything with him. He might not trust his accomplices.”

  “Did they find anything else?”

  “Not really.”

  “Guns?” I asked.

  “No. Tarelli must have those too, unless Diego and Carter ditched them when they spotted the patrol unit. Voletek thinks Tarelli still plans to go through with this even though we have his crew in custody.” Brad stepped past me and toward the bathroom. “Grab some breakfast and get ready to go. Lt. Winston wants to conduct a lineup to cover his ass. So every witness we have is being brought in to point out whoever they recognize, and the LT wants you to make an ID too.”

  “I never saw them.”

  “I know, but you heard their voices. You already know who they are. So all you have to do is ID them.”

  Blowing out a breath, I went into the kitchen, dumped some fruits and veggies into the blender and made us breakfast to go. Then I filled our travel mugs and took a seat at the table and stared into the living room. The profiles on the board stared back at me. Why wasn’t Tarelli there? Was he
tipped off?

  “Ready?” Brad asked.

  “Just one sec.” I went into my bedroom and grabbed my backup piece from my nightstand drawer, checked the safety, and tucked it into my purse. “I guess.”

  “Expecting trouble?”

  “Yeah, from Winston.”

  Brad laughed. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

  I followed my partner out to his car. The protection detail would escort us to the precinct and await orders there. I hated having them babysit me, but there was nothing I could do about it. Not while Brandon Tarelli remained at large.

  When I walked through the doors to homicide, several sets of eyes turned to me, quickly followed by several “welcome back”s and “how are you feeling”s. During the commotion, Lt. Winston appeared in the conference room doorway with his arms folded over his chest.

  “Everyone, get back to work. We have a killer to find.” Winston waved me over. “DeMarco, glad to see you up and about. Now get in here.” He glared at my partner. “You too, Fennel.”

  “He’s mad at you,” I whispered.

  “He’s mad at both of us,” Brad replied. “It’s a good thing I have you to protect me.”

  I fought to conceal my grin. “Shut up.”

  Winston paced near the table, his attention split between the files and the data on the board. “Close the door.” He didn’t even bother to look up at us. “I take it you’re aware of what’s been going on, DeMarco.”

  “Just bits and pieces, sir.”

  “You’re recovering from a life-threatening injury sustained while on the job. You shouldn’t be aware of any of this, but given the circumstances, I understand you have a vested interest. No one who wears a uniform could fault you for wanting to know the men responsible have been taken into custody. However, you are prohibited from working on this case. You aren’t a detective. You’re a victim. And right now, I need you to be a witness. Only five people have survived their encounters with these men, and you’re one of them.”

  “Sir?”

  “Normally, I would have let them sweat it out in holding before moving forward. But in case you haven’t heard,” he scowled at Voletek, who pretended not to notice, “we’re on a time crunch. We believe the killer plans to strike again in less than twelve hours. We need as much information as we can get on what he plans to rob and who he might want to kill. So we’re moving quickly on this. I know you haven’t been cleared for duty. But I’m not asking you to be a cop.”