Liver Let Die

by Liz Lipperman

  “Holy crapola!” Rosie exclaimed before Lola shushed her.

  “Let Jordan finish before we jump to any conclusions.”

  “Thank you, Lola. Anyway, one of the waiters at Longhorn Prime Rib told me Derrick came to the restaurant the night J. T. was killed and caused a big ruckus. Apparently, J. T. found out about the abuse and threatened to tell Brittney’s parents or something. The waiter wasn’t sure exactly what the commotion was about, but he said it involved the girl.”

  “Oh, good grief! Tell me you’re not planning to meet a football player who beats up on women without having about six squad cars nearby?” Victor slammed the steering wheel with his flattened hand before glancing her way. “Jordan?”

  She looked away, ready to fold under his scrutiny. If he was this riled up over Derrick beating up his girlfriend, he’d pop a cork knowing she suspected the man might be much more than a bully. She decided to keep that thought to herself for the moment.

  “Think about it, Victor. He called because he’s on his way out of town, and he thinks I need to hear something. He has no possible reason to hurt me.”

  Unless I get him to admit he killed J. T.

  “It’s Sunday. The place will be deserted. No way you’re walking into that locker room without us,” Lola proclaimed.

  Jordan snorted. “Yeah, a lot of protection that would be. An adorable psychic, a chic fiftyish jewelry maker, and an antiques dealer dressed like …” Jordan smiled. “Trust me, my friends, I ran track in college. I can get out of there in a hurry if the interview goes south.” She blew out a long breath, trying to make herself believe her own words. The truth was, despite her long legs, even she couldn’t outrun a bullet.

  After a few minutes of silence that made Jordan wonder if everyone else was thinking the same thing, Lola leaned forward, touching her forehead to the back of Jordan’s headrest. “So, do we have a plan? I may be old but I can still do some damage to the crotch area if the situation calls for it.” She chuckled. “Ask my self-defense instructor. He found out the hard way.”

  Jordan turned slightly and kissed her forehead. “Here’s what I’d like to do.” She took her phone out of her shirt pocket. “Right before I go down under the bleachers to the locker room, I’ll call you, Victor, and leave my phone on. That way you guys can hear every word we say. If things start to get ugly, call the cops.”

  Victor shrugged. “I still don’t like it, but I know there’s no talking you out of something when you’ve set your mind to it.”

  “Thataboy! Think of us as Charlie’s Angels.” Rosie slapped Victor on the back, nearly causing him to swerve. “Although with that outfit, darling, I’m not sure which one you’d be.”

  “Another freakin’ comedian!” Victor pulled into the lot at the stadium and parked up close. “Call me, Jordan, so we can be sure it will work.”

  Convinced the connection was good, Jordan got out of the car, waving back at her friends as she walked toward the entrance. Although she no longer heard the how-stupidare-you music in her head, she couldn’t ignore the niggling thought that she was making a terrible mistake.

  She shook off the feeling, hesitating in front of the door one last time. She wanted to turn back, but she had to do this for J. T. If he had been coming to her apartment to warn her about Mason, she owed him.

  “What’s the matter?” Victor’s voice boomed loud enough to be heard even though the phone was in her hand.

  She turned and waved again, pasting a fake smile on her face. “Everything’s cool. I’m going in.”

  Blowing out a breath and secretly making the sign of the cross, a carry-over from her Catholic school days, Jordan entered the stadium, going directly to the area under the bleachers.

  Walking down the same hallway the players used on game day, Jordan felt the chill sweep across her body, not so much because of the temperature in the concrete hallway, but because it was so eerily quiet with only the sound of her footsteps echoing in the tunnel. She darted her eyes back and forth, turning 180 degrees to see behind her, half expecting a vampire or something just as sinister to materialize.

  Sheesh! She had to stop watching so much TV.

  Spotting the door with COUGARS PERSONNEL ONLY etched in big black letters, she knocked, touching the phone in her shirt pocket one more time to make sure it was still there. If she could hear Victor while she held the phone in her hand, surely, she’d hear him from her pocket.

  “So far, so good,” she said into her shirt, opening the door a few minutes later when no one responded. Derrick had mentioned he was cleaning out his locker, so he probably hadn’t heard her knock.

  “Derrick,” she hollered, making her way through the front office toward the locker room.

  She opened the door and stepped in, and immediately, the lights went out. Turning back toward the door to run, she brushed against someone. The scream bubbled in her throat, hearing the unmistakable click of the door being locked.

  Yanking her shirt up to her mouth, she shouted “Victor, call the cops,” before she took off in a dead run toward the line of lockers. She could barely make them out in the soft red light of the security system keypad on the wall, now blinking furiously to signal a power outage.

  “Victor,” she hollered again. “Did you hear me? Call the cops.”

  She had no idea if she was running into a trap, but she prayed the police would arrive before she found out. Suddenly, she tripped and fell hard on top of something in the middle of the aisle between the two rows of lockers.

  Lifting her body up, she screamed as she touched a human hand. Her terror turned to horror when she realized she was lying on top of a body.

  CHAPTER 22

  Alex closed the receiver on his cell phone and headed out the main entrance of Empire Apartments. He’d been trying to reach Jordan for over an hour. He still had to make a quick stop at the grocery store before rushing home to clean up and throw the lasagna together. Since the casserole had to cook for an hour, it would give them enough time to chill out with the wine he’d picked up in Dallas before he wowed her with his mom’s recipe.

  Assuming he ever reached her to firm up dinner plans.

  The fact that he even wanted to impress her was so out of character for him considering he hadn’t had a real date in over a year. He always figured his life was too complicated, not to mention too busy to toss romance into the mix. What woman wanted to date someone who lived a lie, mingling daily with some of the most heinous criminals on the planet?

  He tried to believe tonight would be nothing more than a farewell dinner with a friend, but it didn’t work. Ever since Jordan had agreed to this date, he’d had a hard time wiping the perpetual smile off his face. If he wasn’t careful, someone might accuse him of having feelings for the girl, beyond his obvious physical attraction to her.

  He glanced one last time at her window, checking for any movement before deciding she must have run out at the last minute to pick up something. He chortled to himself, hoping that something was a sexy new outfit to wear tonight. He’d been teasing when he’d mentioned it earlier, but he wouldn’t be a bit upset if she followed up on the broad hint.

  Heading down Main Street, he tried to focus on the earlier debriefing at central headquarters in downtown Dallas.

  Things had gone well in that respect. Everyone had been pleased with the outcome, especially his partner who had fingered Mason from the start but had been forced to step back when he’d been made. After calling Rocco and updating him about the arrests, Alex had even weaseled a free celebratory steak dinner out of the guy for when he finally made it back to Houston. He knew exactly where he’d take his partner, his mouth watering, remembering the juiciness of the thick steaks, exactly the reason the prices weren’t listed on the menu.

  But that would have to wait. The head of DEA had called his boss and requested undercover assistance with an ongoing drug investigation. Seems a major player was a gang leader also being investigated by the FBI for interstate trafficking, and
both agencies felt a joint effort was the best way to bring him down. Alex was already booked on a morning flight to El Paso, a known entry point where the Mexican cartel war was spilling over the border into Texas. Rocco was flying in from Houston and the two of them planned to infiltrate a local drug operation. If they were able to flush out the big fish and remove them from the picture, it might slow the massive flood of prime-grade heroin crossing the border.

  But knowing he was leaving Ranchero after a successful wrap on his case brought more than a twinge of regret. He would have liked the opportunity to hang around longer to see if his friendship with Jordan might develop into an actual relationship.

  That meant tonight was make-or-break time, and it was small consolation that Dallas was only an hour’s flight from El Paso. He’d liked the way his pulse had quickened when she’d promptly agreed to have dinner with him.

  A few blocks from his apartment, he dialed the Ranchero Police Station and was transferred to Sheriff Delaney, his contact in the small town. “Just thought I’d check in before I head out of town tomorrow,” he said. “The bureau chief asked me to convey his gratitude for all your help.”

  “I appreciate that, Alex, but I can’t talk right now. I’m right in the middle of a potential problem. Can I call you back?”

  The cop in Alex took over. “Anything I can help with?”

  “It’s probably nothing,” Delaney responded. “A 911 call came in from some guy who says his friend might be in trouble at the college stadium. I sent a couple of uniforms over to check it out. It’s imperative I keep all lines clear in case they need backup.”

  “All right, then, I’ll let you go. Again, thanks for everything.”

  “You said you’re heading out tonight?”

  “Tomorrow morning. You’ll be happy to hear I actually have a date tonight since you’re always giving me grief about that. You remember the girl who had diamonds in her fishbowl?” Alex had no idea why he spilled that information. “Anyway, I’ll keep in touch.”

  The sheriff interrupted, “Jordan McAllister?”

  Alex laughed. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  After a pause, Delaney cleared his throat. “Jordan is the girl who might be in trouble out at the college.”

  Alex didn’t even bother to disconnect. He was only a few miles from the stadium. Slamming on the brakes, he made a U-turn and pressed his foot all the way to the floorboard, racing toward the college.

  Jordan clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened. It would be foolish to give away her position, maybe even deadly.

  She slid off the body and braced her hands on the concrete floor to help push herself up, freaking out when she felt something sticky. The sound of footsteps coming her way then stopping abruptly very close to where she was sprawled across the floor shot her heart rate up another ten points.

  “Derrick, listen to me,” she started. “I can help you. Whoever this is on the floor needs help now.” She bit back tears, searching for something, anything, to say to stay alive.

  She prayed her friends were still listening and picked up on the fact they needed an ambulance. Hearing the footsteps walking away, she forced herself to believe Derrick had gone for help.

  “I’d bet my hard-earned money it’s a mite too late to help him, Jordan.”

  She was confused. The voice was familiar, but it didn’t sound like Derrick’s.

  Suddenly the lights came on, blinding her for an instant before she snapped her focus on the body lying beside her.

  It was Derrick Young.

  Startled, she jerked her head up and stared at the man standing in the center of the room pointing a gun directly at her.

  “You thought you were so smart and had this all figured out, didn’t you?” Larry Trevelli spat out the words, his eyes filled with rage. “So did Derrick.”

  Jordan inched closer to the body and the knife, even though she knew that even if she could reach it, she and a knife didn’t stand a chance against the gun he held. “What happened here, Coach?” she asked, hoping to keep him talking long enough for …

  Oh please! Let someone get here soon.

  “Obviously, you’re not the sharpest pencil in the drawer.” He laughed sarcastically. “A little reporter humor.” He stepped out of the shadow, allowing her to see his face. Despite the smile, his eyes remained hard, hateful.

  Unadulterated fear swept through her. She struggled into a sitting position, staring at the blood covering her hands and the front of her shirt, knowing she had to try to diffuse his ticking bomb.

  “I’m sure it was an accident, Coach. No one would ever believe you’d hurt your star quarterback.” She was desperate to keep him talking as she rubbed her fingers down the side of her jeans to get rid of the sticky feeling.

  Trevelli snorted. “Star quarterback? Let me tell you something, Jordan. I was the one who made him a star. I flew down to San Antonio a number of times to personally recruit him for Grayson County when every other coach in the conference—hell, in the entire state—shunned him like a homeless man with a nasty cough after he put the coach’s daughter in the hospital for two weeks, so badly broken she had to drop out of school for a year. Derrick owed me everything. Did he appreciate it?”

  He shook his head. “Hell, no, and after all I did for him. Even kept his sorry butt out of jail three or four more times after he arrived in Ranchero. Then he turns and betrays me like a damn snake.”

  “It’s not too late, Coach. I’ll say he was trying to hurt you.”

  “He did hurt me.” He touched his knee, still covered with the brace from the mugging.

  “He did that to you?” For some reason, she felt a little satisfaction knowing her original suspicion that Derrick had beaten up his coach was true.

  “Might as well have. All I ever asked of him was to throw a game once in a while. Except for the division championship last year, it never really affected our win–loss record. How hard was that? He was so good, and it was only a couple of times.

  “The boy owed me, and what did I get in return? A visit from a couple of Quincy Dozerly’s tough guys who roughed me up pretty good and came close to ruining my career forever.” He raked his free hand across his chin before he zeroed in on Jordan with the gun.

  Instinctively, she reached for the knife beside Derrick’s body, cutting her fingertip on the razor-sharp blade.

  Trevelli’s sadistic laugh caught her off guard, and she jerked her head up. “Like I said, not the sharpest pencil. Now your blood as well as your fingerprints are all over the murder weapon.”

  She held the knife in front of her, knowing it was asinine to think she had a chance against a bullet. “And what possible reason would I have for killing Derrick?”

  “Never play with the big boys, Jordan. You’re out of your league here. With your prints on that knife, I can say I was forced to kill you after you attacked Derrick, then came after me.”

  “Again, why would I attack him?”

  Trevelli stepped closer, stooping down to backhand her. “Because he beat you up just like he did every other woman he’s ever known who was unfortunate enough to fall for his charm.”

  Thankfully, Jordan was still on her knees and took the blow without falling backward. Stunned, she reached up to touch the area that burned down her entire left cheek, the spot already sensitive from the manhandling Mason had given her the night before.

  “Perfect!” Trevelli exclaimed. “Now you’ve got his blood on your face as well.” He moved quickly and kicked the knife out of her hand, sending it flying across the room. The sound of metal against metal as it slammed into the locker caused Jordan’s entire body to convulse with fear.

  “My friends are out in the parking lot listening to every word you’ve said. The cops are on their way.”

  This time Trevelli threw his head back and laughed out loud, a sick, evil cackle that made Jordan wish Mason was here instead of the coach. She understood his kind of evil, but not this man’s.
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br />   “Checked that phone lately, smart lady? This building is solid concrete. I guarantee not even a cell tower in the parking lot could pick up a signal down here.”

  Jordan inhaled sharply, tempted to pull the phone out of her pocket to check but able to restrain herself. She realized way too late he was probably right.

  Why hadn’t she thought of that? She had to come up with another strategy and quickly. Although she prayed her friends were already looking for her, she couldn’t let them walk into a trap set by this madman.

  “Why did Derrick kill J. T.?” She knew the answer to that one, but hoped it would distract him from thinking about the others coming for her.

  “Wrong again. Derrick didn’t kill J. T., you ignoramus. He was a coward who only picked on young girls. I followed Derrick that night, saw him have a meltdown at the restaurant, and knew I had to talk some sense into the waiter before he ruined everything I’d worked for. I only grabbed the knife from the table to scare him.”

  Jordan stared incredulously, her hope of seeing another day fading fast with the newfound revelation Trevelli hadn’t killed Derrick in the heat of the moment. The man had a calculated plan. “You killed J. T.?”

  “Had to. Somehow he found out about me and Derrick throwing the Division II championship game.” He paused, a slight grin tipping the corner of his lips. “I made twenty-five big ones on that game. Got me out of the doghouse with Dozerly. At least until my luck went south again at the track.” His face hardened again. “Anyway, the loser must have told his teenybopper girlfriend before he used her to practice his right hook. I can only assume she told J. T., and he’d threatened to go to the newspaper and expose all of us if Derrick didn’t stay away from the girl.”

  Jordan lowered her head. So that was the reason J. T. wanted to see her that night. He knew she was a reporter, and he was coming to tell her about the point-fixing scam. She wondered if he’d even suspected diamond smuggling was going on right under his nose at the restaurant.