by Rob Cornell
Carrie shook her head as if she could ward off the possibility of any such thing by pure denial alone. “They won’t do that to me. I’ve done everything they asked since they promoted me. All that forensic evidence you mentioned will be cleaned out. They’ll fix this.”
“Then why haven’t they?”
“Because…” Her eyes went to my gun again.
“Don’t,” I said. “You are not faster than a bullet.”
Her eyes swelled with tears. Knowing that she could start them flowing on-demand weakened their effect. “Ridley, you can’t do this to me.”
“I can’t bring a cold killer to justice? Someone willing to murder her friends and sleep with their fathers to get information—”
“It wasn’t like that,” she shouted, face blazing almost as red as her hair.
“Don’t bullshit me. That’s how you got the promotion in the first place. You slept with Peter because they wanted to know if he really had The Book, and what else he might know about upper tier operations.”
A sudden calm fell over Carrie. She took a step forward into the bathroom. The color started to drain from her face. It was like she could change her emotions with a dial. She put a hand to her throat, played with the highest fastened button on her shirt. “Can’t we work something out? We’ll leave CYAN out of this. We can work this out, just the two of us.” She unbuttoned that top button and immediately started working on the next.
“Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but that kind of thing doesn’t work on me anymore. I learned my lesson the hard way.”
“So what then?” Another step closer. “You shoot me?”
I held my aim. “I call the cops and they come take you away.”
“Gonna be hard to dial with a gun in your hand.”
She thought she knew me. She thought I was a hero, a guy out to save the hurt, the lost, and the weary. In her mind, I was little more than a comic book. But she didn’t know anything about what I’ve been through. Hell, I’d love to save the world. Sometimes, though, that meant not being so nice.
“Back out of the bathroom or I will hurt you.”
She challenged me with a half-step forward instead.
Any closer and I wouldn’t have room to take a good shot. I had to turn this around, put myself in control. So I pulled up my leg and thrust my foot into her belly.
The kick doubled her over and sent her back on her heels. She caught herself on the door jamb and hung there, leaning in the doorway, gasping and coughing. She glared at me, her eyes bulged, jaw locked.
I had a feeling she was going to make a run at me. I was prepared when she did. She launched herself forward and I spun out of the way and gave her a shove as she passed me.
She barreled into the wall face first. The crunch of cartilage accompanied the sound of cracking drywall. The whole room seemed to shake on her impact with the wall, similar to the regular tremors I had to get used to living in Southern California.
She fell onto her back at my feet, blood spurting from her nose, the nose itself bent sideways. It would never look the same again, that was for sure.
Carrie kicked her feet and screamed as if possessed by a mad demon. Maybe CYAN could hire an exorcist, though I doubted it would do much good. Carrie was not possessed. Carrie was the demon.
I knelt at her side and pressed the barrel of my gun against her cheek. “Calm down,” I said, “or I’ll knock you unconscious to keep you under control until the cops get here.”
“Fuck you,” she said and continued her tantrum. Her knee caught me in one of my kidneys.
Pain jabbed deep across my back and into my gut. I dug the barrel into her face. “Last chance,” I said.
She spit in my face.
I raised my gun over my head and brought the butt down on Carrie’s head.
She went instantly still and limp.
Her blood was smeared all over her face. I had some of it on my shirt somehow. Grunting, I sat down and leaned against the cabinets under the counter. I set my gun on the floor long enough to pull out my phone and dial Palmer. Then I grabbed the pistol in my free hand and waited for Palmer to pick up.
Chapter 26
I begged Palmer to come alone at first. When he found me in the bathroom with Carrie unconscious and bloody, even his horn-rimmed glasses could hide the shock in his eyes.
Palmer made sure to get me out of there before the circus began, and boy did it. News of the four deaths broke loose from the leash Palmer and his crew tried to keep it on in less than a few hours. How they were connected came shortly after.
Then they started reporting on CYAN.
After the legion of questions I had to answer at the scene, Palmer informed me of the press breech. “Some of CYAN’s dirty laundry is out now,” he said. “Thanks to you.”
The “thanks” sounded facetious to me, but Palmer insisted he felt it a good thing to have the group out in the open and know for its corruption. At least until the next news du jour came along and made everyone forget about the mob cult, which is what me and Palmer started referring to it as.
“You want me to get you a ride home?” he asked while we stood in the hall outside of Rachel’s apartment.
“Why? You worried about me?”
“They know you now, Rid. Just like we know them. They’ll want someone’s head for this clusterfuck.”
“You really think they’ll come after me?”
“Let’s play pretend,” he said and adjusted his glasses. “Let’s pretend you, Ridley Brone, sit at the top of a massive criminal organization that succeeds because it’s full of religious fanatics.”
I pretended.
I didn’t like playing pretend.
I took him up on his offer for a ride in home in a patrol car.
* * *
Two days later, Holden came to my office. I noticed his pin had changed since our first meeting. It looked exactly like Carrie’s. He didn’t say a word as he entered and sat down in front of my desk.
For almost a minute, neither of us spoke to the other. I couldn’t read his face. It hung slack, emotionless.
I decided to break the ice. “Got yourself a promotion, I see.”
“I have a message.” His voice shook, and I realized he wasn’t emotionless, but rather trying to force himself that way. Of the whole group, Holden may have been wrecked the most. One of his best friends had murdered both his girlfriend and another best friend.
Was that why he stuck with CYAN? He had nowhere else to go for friends or emotional support? If his parents were members, too, it sure as hell must have felt that way to him.
“You have a message from the people responsible for wiping out your entire friend circle?” Harsh, but I’d lost patience. Not necessarily with Holden, but with CYAN. They had let me stew for two days while I wondered if someone else was going to show up and try to kill me.
“They didn’t do anything. Carrie just went crazy.”
“That’s the story that’s going to get you through this? That’s what’s going to help you continue working for a group neck-deep in this town’s crime and corruption? That’s what’s going to help you sleep at night?” I leaned back in my chair and cocked my head to one side. “Because if that’s all you’ve got, it’s pretty weak.”
Holden’s blank face looked ready to break. “The message is,” he continued as if we hadn’t strayed from that topic, “you are safe for now. The elders believe you didn’t know any better than to follow Carrie’s flawed scheme to find Peter Brown. Hiring you was her mistake. Not yours.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”
“That’s the message.” Holden stood and started for the door.
“Wait.” I swiveled in my chair until I was lined up with him. I stood. “What about Rachel? Doesn’t she matter to you? Matter enough to—”
“Stop.”
“I’m trying to—”
“Stop.” Holden crossed the rest of the way to the door, put his hand on the knob. “If you make waves, t
hey’ll come after you. They will. You have no idea how much of this city they control. It’s too late for me. Save yourself.”
He opened the door and hurried out.
You have no idea how much of this city they control.
Save yourself.
I didn’t want to save myself. I wanted, as Carrie had insisted, to save the world. Okay, maybe not the whole world. But my piece of it. Wasn’t that why I went back to detective work, even though I had millions in the bank and a bar I had promised to run? It wasn’t about money, or the rush, or the puzzle. It was about making things better for the people around me.
So call me a bleeding heart. Fine.
I can also be a badass when I need to be.
THANK YOU!
Thanks for reading Saving Sasha Brown. I hope you had fun. If you didn’t know already, this is the third book featuring my karaoke bar owner and private eye, Ridley Brone. The first book in the series is Last Call.
You can also check out my website for more info about other books I have available.
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Thanks again for joining me in storyland. See you again soon!
Acknowledgments
Once again, I have to thank my wife. She keeps me up when my sprits are down. Encourages me. Inspires me. The works. My books wouldn’t get done without her help. I’d also like to thank my editor, Lyn Worthen. Her keen eye has definitely made this a better book. Any flubs that remain are purely my doing.
Finally, I want to thank my kids. Playing with them, laughing with them, hugging them against me (or drifting off into a nap with the youngest) feeds me and my imagination. I am a better writer because of them. No doubt.
About the Author
An accidental nomad, Rob Cornell grew up in suburban Detroit, then spent five years living in Los Angeles before moving to Chicago to receive a BA in Fiction Writing from Columbia College. He has traveled full circle, now living in rural southeast Michigan with his wife, three kids, and dog, Kinsey—named after Sue Grafton’s famous detective. In between moving and writing, he’s worked all manner of odd jobs, including lead singer for an acoustic cover band and a three-day stint as assistant to a movie producer after which he quit because the producer was a nut job.
For more information and to contact the author, please visit rob-cornell.com.
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Books by Rob Cornell
The Lockman Chronicles
Darker Things (The Lockman Chronicles #1)
Dark Legion (The Lockman Chronicles #2)
Darkest Hour (The Lockman Chronicles #3)
Darkness Returns (The Lockman Chronicles #4)
Mysteries and Thrillers
Red Run
Last Call (A Ridley Brone Mystery)
The Hustle (A Ridley Brone Mystery)
Saving Sasha Brown (A Ridley Brone Mystery)
Published by Paradox Publications
Copyright © 2014 Rob Cornell
All rights reserved.
Cover Design © 2014 Robert Flumignan
Cover Image © Rainer/Dreamstime
Saving Sasha Brown is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
THANK YOU!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Rob Cornell