High Risk

by G. K. Parks

  And while Carter wrote everything down, Voletek convinced Diego Eisner to give up the same information in the next room. Tarelli planned to hit the LockBox armored truck when it arrived at metro plaza and escape on the subway.

  “Do you think he’ll go through with it without a crew?” Voletek asked once we reassembled in the conference room.

  “He has everything he needs,” Lisco said. “He won’t be able to haul off as much, but he won’t have to share it either.”

  “All right, let’s get tactical on that truck, snipers in the area, and plainclothes officers covering every shop, exit, and entrance. This guy isn’t killing anyone else, and he sure as hell isn’t getting away.” Winston dismissed the room, leaving Brad and me to see ourselves out.

  Brad sighed. “I guess that’s that. Are you ready to go home?”

  “They’re wrong.”

  Brad studied my expression. “The uniforms,” he said. “Tarelli has the wrong uniform, unless this has been his plan all along. Maybe he figures he’ll be able to slip in and out without anyone noticing if he’s dressed like a cop.”

  “No, he didn’t count on his team getting caught. And he didn’t steal the police uniforms in order to rob a LockBox truck. He already had LockBox uniforms, and he left those behind. He has something else in mind.” I reached for the copy of Carter Moore’s statement and confession. “He said Tarelli wanted to hit the armored transport, not truck.”

  “He could have misspoken.”

  I peered into the bullpen, but everyone was already moving on this. “We better make sure.”

  Forty-one

  “What kind of armored transports do we have in the area?” I asked. “What about prison transfers?”

  Brad shook his head. “Nothing close to us.”

  I looked at Brandon Tarelli’s prison record. From what I gathered, he didn’t make many friends in prison, aside from Diego. Okay, so this wasn’t a prison break. “Federal?”

  “I don’t know. The Reserve does transport a lot of old money to get destroyed.”

  “It also delivers new money to get distributed.” I thought for a moment. “It’s not uncommon to have uniforms assist in securing the area.”

  “That’s a possibility. I’ll make some calls.”

  While my partner did that, I tried to come up with other possible targets. The bastard took my badge, either as a trophy or an access card. So what could I access that would be worth stealing?

  “Hey, did they put an alert out if someone uses my badge number?” I asked Brad.

  “That’s the first thing they should have done, but since I’ve been with you, I’m not sure.”

  “All right, I’ll check with Mac and then head down to forensics and see if maybe there’s some evidence we haven’t considered. It’s possible they found something else in the motel room that Winston failed to share with us.”

  “Okay.” He watched me climb out of the chair. “Are you sure you should be moving around so much?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll let you know when I’m not, or you’ll find me curled up on the floor or napping in the stairwell.”

  My first stop was to see Mac. The department had alerts set up to find my badge and Officer Cruz’s. So far, no one had tried to impersonate either one of us, and if they had, the civilians hadn’t reported it, not that they would know to do that.

  “Winston has a strike team on standby, I thought we were just waiting to scoop up the guy,” Mac said.

  “We are, but something doesn’t feel right.”

  “Armored transport and armored truck are synonymous.”

  “Yeah, but he left the LockBox uniforms behind at the motel.”

  “How did he even know officers were coming to get him?” Mac asked.

  “I’m guessing Diego sent him a message when he spotted a patrol car in the rearview mirror.”

  “Possibly. We didn’t get a ping on his registered phone, but he might have had a burner he tossed before he got pulled over.”

  “That’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

  “So if Tarelli had time to grab the police uniforms, he should have had time to grab the LockBox uniforms too.” She drummed her fingers on the desk while she thought. “I don’t know. It could be anything.”

  “That’s why I’m on my way to the lab. Cross your fingers that they have something useful to tell me.”

  On my way, I passed a few unis and fellow detectives. I just reached for the door handle to the lab when a gravelly voice sounded from the other end of the hallway. “Sure, no problem.”

  Ice ran through my veins. I knew that voice. It had haunted my dreams these last few days. I peered down the hallway, but I couldn’t pinpoint the source. Too many other officers were in the way. Some were standing around talking. Others were headed somewhere. He has a bad knee, I reminded myself. But I didn’t see anyone with a limp.

  Grabbing my phone, I dialed my partner. “I think he’s here.”

  “Who?” Brad asked.

  “Tarelli. I swear I just heard his voice.”

  “Where are you?”

  I told him while I slipped my hand into my bag and headed toward where I thought the voice had originated.

  “All right, Liv. I’ll get the building locked down, and we’ll do a sweep. I’ll have the emergency notification system text every cop in the building to be on alert for Tarelli. Just don’t do anything stupid. I mean it.”

  But I couldn’t let this bastard get away. I moved down the corridor, passing doors as I went. Why would he come to the police station? What could we possibly have here that would be worth stealing? Or did he just come to kill as many cops as he could? If that were the case, he would have opened fire already. So he must have had a goal in mind. I checked the evidence room, but everything was locked up tight.

  “Did someone just come in here or leave?” I asked.

  “No,” the officer behind the counter said.

  “Thanks.” I stepped away from the counter and went back out the door. Evidence could be valuable, but that wasn’t Tarelli’s target. So what was? My phone let out two quick beeps, signifying the alert. My partner was on top of this, but now Tarelli had to scramble. And I knew he was armed.

  At the end of the hallway was a stairwell that led downstairs to the parking garage. Since it was the only place I hadn’t looked, I took a breath and headed down to the main parking level. Parked near the elevator was a police transport. The armored exterior shined beneath the fluorescent lights.

  It was so obvious, we missed it. The transport came like clockwork to take the evidence from our lockup and move it to the evidence warehouse for safe keeping. Anything could be inside, from drugs to guns to stacks of money and jewels. Whatever we found at a crime scene was confiscated and held until it was cleared and released or destroyed. This must be the payday he was waiting for.

  I crept around the truck, finding it empty. The rear door was open, and I peeked in, but no one was inside. The officers must be on their way to collect the evidence. From there, they’d bring it down to the garage and load the truck. Tarelli must be lying in wait for them. If he was smart, he wouldn’t make his move until they loaded the truck. Then he’d probably take them out and drive away. The officer at the gate would see the police uniform and think nothing of raising the gate and letting him out. Tarelli would walk away with a major score and leave a few dead cops in his wake. It was everything he wanted and more, but I wasn’t going to let him get it.

  I texted Brad an update on the situation and moved to the freight elevator. They’d have to use the elevator to move the pallets down from evidence, so Tarelli might be inside or he could still be upstairs, assisting the police in wheeling down his prize.

  The doors opened, but the elevator was empty. Letting out a sigh, I turned around just in time to see a police baton swinging toward my face. I threw myself to the ground and rolled out of the way of a second swing. I removed my gun from my bag as I fought to gain my footing and get up. The ad
renaline surge kept the dizziness away.

  Surprise etched the asshole’s face. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Guess you were wrong.” I aimed at him. He wore a standard patrol uniform, complete with hat and sunglasses. The brim concealed most of his features. He was clean-cut and fresh-faced. But his voice gave him away. “It’s over, Tarelli. Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head.”

  He lowered the baton slowly to the ground, but he looked from side to side. Rows of vehicles divided up the parking garage. “Are you going to cuff me again?”

  Thoughts of that night raced through my mind. Movement at the periphery caught my eye, and I glanced in that direction, expecting someone to jump out at me. But it was just the elevator doors closing.

  However, in that split second, Tarelli broke to the side and darted between two parked cars. Now I couldn’t see him.

  “Give up. You’re just making this worse for yourself,” I warned.

  He laughed, that awful sound I had heard while I lay in utter agony inside the liquor store. And then shots rang out. I dove to the side, sliding beneath a guardrail and rolling onto my knees beside a parked car. It might have been the captain’s car. I wasn’t sure, nor did I care. I steadied my aim on the hood of the vehicle and waited. The moment Brandon Tarelli’s head popped into sight I fired.

  “Missed.” He used the parked cars as protection while I fired another three rounds straight at him. “Try again.”

  But I resisted the urge to fire. He wanted me to expel my entire clip, but I didn’t have a good angle or a clear shot. My cell phone had fallen to the ground beside the elevator, along with the rest of the spilled items from my purse, so calling for backup was out of the question.

  A metallic thud sounded somewhere deep in the garage. Was he alone? I didn’t know. And I couldn’t see him. Was he planning on sneaking up behind me again?

  Suddenly the lights went out, replaced by the red emergency lighting. Not again, I thought.

  Going against every bit of training that had been programmed into me, I calculated the distance to the stairwell, slid beneath the guardrail, and ran as fast as I could for the door. “Hurry,” I screamed. “Tarelli’s down here.”

  Before I made it up the steps, he was on me. He grabbed my hair and pulled me backward. I stumbled, twisting out of his grip and tripping on the steps. Turning, I squeezed the trigger again, grazing him. He howled, pinning my arm and banging it against the wall until my gun clattered to the floor.

  “You fucking bitch.” He pressed his palm into his shoulder, pulling his hand away to find it red with blood. “I’m gonna paint the walls with you.” He removed the Glock from his police-issued holster and aimed.

  I kicked him, knocking the gun from his hand. He stumbled backward down the steps and collided with the doorframe. He reached for my fallen gun, and I launched myself at him. We landed hard on the ground, rolling back into the parking garage. My injured shoulder collided with the concrete, and the sudden onslaught made me release him.

  He climbed to his feet, scooping up the baton he’d been forced to discard. “I’m gonna make this hurt, just like they hurt me.”

  “Who hurt you?” I slid backward along the floor, desperate to get to my weapon.

  “The guards. Officers. Men with their pathetic uniforms. They thought they were so much better. But they were just scared. You get one alone, and he’d practically piss himself.” He gave me an ugly smile. “Just like you, right now. Scared. Alone. Afraid. You know I’m going to kill you. That you’re going to die. That’s why you want to hurt me. But I’m going to hurt you first. Show you what it’s like.”

  The clang of the baton echoed through the garage.

  “It won’t matter. We know who you are. You can’t hide. You’re going back. You might as well smile pretty for the camera. It’s right behind you.”

  Automatically, he glanced over his shoulder, and I kicked him in the sternum, sending him sprawling backward. I raced toward my gun, but he grabbed my ankle. I hit the ground hard.

  White-hot pain went through me, sending a cascade of fire through my neck and shoulder. For a moment, I thought I’d black out. My instincts took over, and I kicked my free leg backward, forcing him to let go. I flipped over to face him, but I couldn’t find my footing to get off the ground so I scrambled backward, digging my heels into the concrete and pushing off to put as much distance between us as possible. I had to get to the stairwell and get my gun.

  He laughed, lifting the baton and moving toward me. He cleared the distance between us in no time. At that moment, I reached my gun, aimed, and fired. Tarelli’s eyes went wide, and he looked down, watching the blood blossom across his chest. Another shot rang out from above me, followed by two more from behind. All four bullets hit him center mass, and then Brad stepped between me and my fallen attacker. He held his gun in both hands and stared down at the man.

  “Liv, are you okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” I climbed to my feet, still aiming at the killer.

  Half a dozen police officers barreled down the stairs while another four stepped out of the freight elevator. Officer Roberts gave me a look. “Didn’t I tell you to be more careful, DeMarco?”

  While officers secured the scene, cuffed Tarelli, and attended to him while we waited for the paramedics to arrive, Brad took the gun from my shaking hand, passed it off to an officer, and hugged me tightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He pulled away, eyeing my neck. “Sit down.” He made sure the stairwell was clear and peeled the bandage away from my skin. “I think you ripped a stitch.” He hollered into the parking garage, “Someone get me a first aid kit.”

  “What the hell took you so long?” I teased, gasping and trembling from too much adrenaline.

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “Really? You’re gonna be a ballbuster now? Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid?”

  “Here, Detective,” one of the officers said. He gave us a look. “You both shot that prick. I’m sorry, but you know the rules.”

  “Yeah, just give me a minute to patch up my partner.” Brad handed the waiting cop his firearm and opened the first aid kit. He took out some gauze and pressed it against my neck. “Keep pressure on it.”

  My fingertips brushed against his, and I felt the tremor. “Are you okay?”

  “Right as rain. How ‘bout you?” He withdrew his hand from beneath mine. “Does anything else hurt?”

  “My shoulder.”

  He checked the back of my shirt, finding it damp and sticky. He reached into the first aid kit and pulled out more gauze and some tape. “Liv’s going to need a ride to the hospital.”

  Mac bounded down the steps, having heard the commotion. The entire precinct must be buzzing by now. “I’ll take her,” she volunteered, “unless you want to wait for an ambulance.”

  “No, I’m okay.” I stood, glad that Brad steadied me when the floor suddenly pitched.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Positive.” I let out a breath. “We got him.”

  “Yes. We did.” He nodded to one of the cops who’d fired from the freight elevator.

  “I’m just thankful it’s finally over,” I said.

  “That makes two of us.” Brad brushed my hair out of my face. “Go get stitched up. I’ll meet you at the hospital later.”

  Forty-two

  “How long are you going to be out?” Dad asked. When the cruise ship docked at port, he’d gotten several dozen messages and called me immediately.

  “A couple of weeks, but I’ll be stuck behind a desk for a while. Something about my red blood cell count.”

  “But you’re sure you’re okay, honey?”

  “I’m fine, Dad.” I held the device farther away from my face so he could see more of me. “Just a few stitches. Nothing to worry about. Like I said, everyone overreacted.”

  “For a former UC, you should be better at lying.”

  “I’m fine. Now you sound like Mom.”

  “Your mother want
ed to hop the first flight back. I thought she’d jump ship and swim to you.” She smacked him, and he rubbed his shoulder. “Ouch.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need us to come home, Olive?” Mom asked, leaning closer to my dad so I could see her too.

  “I’m okay. I’m at home, hanging out on the couch and watching TV with Gunnie.”

  “What about food?” Mom asked. “Do you have anything to eat?”

  “She’s an adult, Maria,” my dad scolded.

  “I got it covered. Emma brought over the freezer meals you made, and Brad’s on his way with pizza.”

  “Okay, but if you need anything, you let us know,” Mom repeated for the hundredth time.

  “Yeah, I will. I love you. Enjoy the rest of your trip.” I disconnected and tossed the phone onto the table and sighed. Gunnie turned and looked at me. “Don’t give me that look. They’re your parents too.”

  A few minutes later, Brad let himself in to my apartment, carrying a cauliflower crust pizza. He put the box on the table, grabbed a hard cider from my fridge, and sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

  “So what’s the verdict?” I asked.

  “Investigation’s over. Everyone’s been cleared. Not that we had any doubts. Brandon Tarelli was a piece of work. It turns out he’d launched several abuse claims in prison, but his lawyer never made much progress on them. The injuries Tarelli sustained were thought to be the result of prison fights and necessary force needed to break up the riots he caused. Based on the things he said to you and his two accomplices, I don’t think that’s what happened. I’m not sure if they’ll launch an investigation into the prison and the guards in question, but I think they might.”

  “Prison made him worse.”

  “Perhaps, or it just made him angrier.”

  “What about Carter and Diego?”

  “They’ll both serve time. Diego killed someone, but the DA’s willing to consider the factors involved. They might take a plea for manslaughter. Carter’s an accessory, but there’s mitigating circumstances. I’m sure they’ll both face robbery and conspiracy charges, but other than that, you’d have to ask Logan Winters what the DA wants to do.”