by Misha Crews
"Here," Caleb said. "Take mine." He handed it over, then pulled a second weapon from his ankle holster. Then he turned to Blake, his eyes full of anguish.
She knew that look. Caleb had been so determined to keep her safe, but now he was afraid he wouldn't be able to do it. She wanted to speak, to tell him again that this wasn't his fault, but she couldn't find her voice. There were men outside. Men with guns, who wanted to kill them. Steve had called the police, but Blake knew that Rube was right: it would take them at least three more minutes to get here, and by then they could all be dead. She met Caleb's gaze, then her eyes drifted to Rube. "What do we do?"
Caleb seemed to shake himself. He spoke quickly. "If the men outside are well trained, they'll scout the place out. This house has an open floor plan, which means there are fewer places to hide. The game room will offer the most protection, so that's where we're headed."
They moved quickly, with a minimum of conversation. Inside the game room, they slid the double doors closed, turned the flimsy lock, and slid the sofa in front of them. Even Blake could tell that it wouldn't keep out anyone who was determined to get in. But it would definitely slow them down, and hopefully that would be enough.
The room had only one window, a smallish one that faced the front of the house. They propped the cue rack in front of it, then pushed the remaining furniture around the billiard table, effectively barricading themselves behind the table. After that there was nothing to do but wait. Blake found herself counting the seconds, waiting for the first shot to be fired. The air seemed deathly quiet. Then everything exploded at once.
A hollow popping sound was the starting bell for a barrage of bullets. The windows behind them exploded, and Blake ducked, stifling a scream.
"They won't come through the window," Caleb said in her ear. "They're just rattling us. When they come, it will be through the doors. Stay focused, and stay behind me." To the men he added, "Aim carefully, and conserve your ammunition. Remember, we only have to hold out until the cops get here."
Rube nodded, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes from Blake's face. He watched the interaction between her and Caleb intently, his expression inscrutable.
Outside, the shooting continued, but Blake took Caleb's words to heart and was able to tune it out. She thought she heard the sound of the patio doors shattering, and she pictured men slithering inside like snakes on two legs.
It didn't take them long to find the billiard room. Gun butts were used to hammer through the paneled wood. The doors were torn aside, and the gunmen ducked down behind the sofa.
"Dammit!" Caleb spit out the word. The couch was supposed to slow their entry, but it had turned into the perfect cover for them.
Shots were fired, splintering the wood behind them. Steve, Caleb and Rube returned the fire, peppering the couch with bullets.
Peering over the table, Blake watched as one of the gunmen tried to climb through the opening. Beside her, Rube took careful aim and fired. The gunman's body tumbled to the ground. A second man, this one more clever, aimed above their heads at the antique light fixture that hung from the ceiling.
That was the moment when Blake felt time slow down. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The light came crashing down, hitting the billiard table square in the center. Glass flew in every direction. The four of them hiding behind the table ducked their heads, shielding their eyes. The man who had fired, seeing his opportunity, vaulted the sofa and crossed the room. He took aim, pointing his gun directly at Blake. Her blood ran cold as she looked into the black, frozen face of death. She watched the man squeeze the trigger.
The next thing she knew, Caleb was pushing her to the ground, covering her body with his. She heard the shot, felt Caleb flinch. Her heart screamed as she pictured the bullet entering Caleb's body, imagined his blood gushing from an open wound.
Caleb rolled off of her, and she sat up. Her mind went numb with relief when she saw that he was unharmed. It was a second later that her eyes found Rube, slumped and bleeding from the shoulder. She stretched out her hands toward him, but he motioned her to stay away.
When Caleb saw that Rube had moved in front of him, even as he had moved in front of Blake, his face went taut with rage. He stood and fired his last three bullets, straight into the chest of the man who'd tried to shoot Blake.
As his last shot rang out, there was a moment of thunderous silence, followed by the wail of police sirens. Red lights flashed outside, and a megaphone squawked to life. Blake could have wept as a tinny voice announced the arrival of the LAPD, and ordered all those within to come out with hands clasped behind their heads.
The ordeal was over, as quickly as it had started.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The beach house was now a crime scene. Blake sat on the back of an open ambulance, a blanket wrapped around her. Every once in a while someone would come by and check on her – touch her face, look into her eyes, take her pulse. She tried to wave them away; sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn't. Rube had already been hustled away in another ambulance. Blake had tried to go with him, to ride along and make sure that he would be okay, but she hadn't been allowed. Of course there had been reassurances: his wounds weren't fatal, he was in good hands, etc. That was all well and good, but she didn't want to hear that he would probably be okay; she wanted to know that he was. And as the minutes slipped by and threatened to become hours, her fear for him began to boil into anger.
There were people everywhere; the flashing lights of emergency vehicles made their hurried movements seem jerky and unnatural. From where she sat she could see Caleb and Steve talking to a police detective. They gestured and pointed to various parts of the house, describing for the umpteenth time what exactly had happened tonight. The detective would want to question her, too, of that Blake was sure. But Caleb and Steve were currently bearing the brunt of the investigation.
Eventually the men deigned to come out of the house to talk to her. She lifted her chin and prepared to give them the full force of her displeasure of having been left alone for so long, not knowing what had happened to Rube, not really sure if this whole thing was over, or if there were still miles to go before she could sleep.
But the sight of Caleb's bruised and weary face deflated her fury like air seeping from a balloon. How long had it been since he'd had a full night's sleep? Two days? Three? At least she'd been able to sleep most of the day. His eyes were dark and hollowed, his gait was heavy and uneven. As he got closer, she couldn't help but lift up a hand to touch his arm. Suddenly, she was too exhausted to be angry. Only one thing really mattered to her right now.
She licked her dry lips and spoke. "Rube?"
If Caleb was hurt that her first words were not for him, he gave no sign. "He's doing fine; the lieutenant here just talked to the hospital."
Relief was a cool wind washing over her. She sagged from the weight of the release. "Thank God."
Caleb's eyes focused in the distance, as if he were trying figure something out. "Rube saved my life. I didn't count on something like that happening."
"I told you he was a good guy." Blake tried to keep the tone of mild rebuke from her voice, but failed miserably.
Steve spoke up. "I don't know about that. For such a good guy, he's been into some very bad things." He caught Caleb's look and apparently decided not to press the point. Instead, he turned to the third man standing with them. "This is Lieutenant Holmes. He wants to ask you a few questions."
Despite her exhaustion, Blake had to resist the urge to say, "Elementary, my dear Watson." With a name like Holmes, this guy must get that all the time. She shifted slightly, feeling the heaviness of the wool blanket sitting uncomfortably on her shoulders. "How can I help?" she asked.
Holmes was as precise an image of an LAPD detective as Blake could have summoned. Of middling age and middling weight, his suit was wrinkled and his face was world-weary. But when he spoke, his voice was patient, competent, and official. The man was in charge. "The first thing I want you
to know is that the man who Mr. McKenna and Mr. Peterson referred to as 'Pinkshirt' is dead. His real name was Marvin Alford, and he was not a nice man. His wife and her children are fine – they're in police custody for the moment, but they'll be released soon. The second thing is that although Greg Betch is currently at large, we have a line on him and he should be arrested within twenty-four hours. Now, are there any questions you need answered here?"
"About a million," Blake said. "But I'm too tired to think of them right now."
Holmes nodded. "I understand that, and I won't keep you any longer than necessary. I'd like to get you down to the station to make a full statement tomorrow, but there are a few points which I think should be cleared up right away. You told Mr. McKenna here that you'd seen a man named Jake being interrogated by Rube Jeffries and Greg Betch on the night before Rube disappeared. Can you tell me about that in detail?"
Blake would have thought that telling the story again would be tedious, but it turned out to be a relief. The Lieutenant asked all the right questions, helping draw out more details than she'd known she could remember, waiting patiently when her voice started to shake with emotion. When she had finished talking, he nodded knowingly.
"We've had our eye on Rube's operation for awhile, and we've known for some time that Betch was trying to take over. Unfortunately we didn't realize that things would play out exactly the way that they did, but at least the casualties were kept to a minimum." He turned and surveyed the house behind him: the glass blown out, the once-beautiful hardwood pockmarked with bullet holes. "Things could have been a lot worse, that's for sure."
He turned back to Blake, fishing a business card out of his pocket and handing it to her. "Here's my contact information if you remember any of those questions you wanted to ask. Do you know where you'll be staying in case I need to reach you?"
Steve stepped forward. His voice held an unexpected protective edge. "You can contact Ms. Sera through my office, Lieutenant."
"You'll come down tomorrow and make a statement?" Holmes asked Blake.
She looked at Steve, and he nodded. "Of course," she said.
Holmes gave her a reserved smile. "Thank you. Get some rest." His glance wandered upward to include Caleb and Steve in that last admonition. Then he turned and walked away.
With his departure, memories of a thousand different police dramas flooded Blake's head. "Am I going to need a lawyer when I give my statement?"
Steve and Caleb exchanged a look. "You haven't done anything illegal, but it's never a bad idea to have an attorney present when talking to the police," Steve said. "I can recommend someone for you if you like."
Blake felt her lips stretch grimly. "This is LA, Steve. Lawyers lurk on every street corner. I can find my own representation."
Steve shrugged and looked at Caleb. "You'll call me first thing tomorrow?"
"First thing," Caleb answered.
Steve tipped his head. "Then I guess this is good night."
"Wait." Blake spoke the word impulsively, watching with something like chagrin as he turned back around to face her. Some part of her was insisting that she thank him for what he had done tonight. The words were sitting sourly in her mouth, waiting to be spoken. But a larger part of her stubbornly resisted the impulse. Would she have even been in this mess if it hadn't been for him? Who could say? Maybe she would be dead, or maybe she would be heading up to San Francisco with Mira, beautifully oblivious and untouched by the drama playing itself out around her. But regardless of how she looked at it, she just couldn't bring herself to speak the words that hovered on the tip of her tongue.
So she cleared her throat, and instead she asked, "Do you know when I'll be able to see Rube?"
"Call me tomorrow, I'll see what I can set up."
"Okay," she said. Then before she knew it, she added, "Thank you."
Steve smiled slightly, as if he knew what those words had cost her. "You're welcome," he said.
As he walked away, Blake pushed the blanket off of her shoulders in a decisive gesture. "Enough sitting," she said. "This thing is done, yes?"
Caleb looked at her with his most inscrutable expression. "If you mean, is the dangerous part over, then yes: this thing is done. But there's still a lot more to sort out."
She returned his look. "Are you talking about the legal situation with Rube, or about you and me?"
"Both, I suppose."
Blake stood up so she could look him more closely in the eye. She didn't need to feel at a disadvantage at this particular moment. "As for the legal schnozzle, that's got nothing much to do with you. You gave your statement, so that should be that. As for you and me…." She looked away. "Well, I guess there is no you and me anymore."
"'This thing is done'?" Caleb questioned softly.
"Yes."
He stepped forward and put his hand on her arm. She didn't push him away. "So why does it seem like it's not?"
She couldn't answer. Her heartbeat increased as the warm pressure of his hand communicated itself to her nervous system.
He spoke again. "Do you have someplace in mind to stay?"
"I'm going back to the Entwistle Ridge house for tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough to decide about tomorrow."
"Do you want a ride?"
She imagined one last ride with Caleb, on his motorcycle, whizzing through the night with the wind in her face and the warmth of his body leaning into hers.
"Sure," she said.
What else could she say?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Some part of Caleb couldn't help but feel that by offering to drive Blake home, he was taking advantage of her yet again. After all, he could have gotten a black-and-white to drive her. Or he could've called a cab. But the truth was, he desperately wanted to share that last ride with her: through the mountains, feeling her arms wrapped around his waist. When she agreed to let him take her, it was all he could do not to sweep her into his arms then and there.
And it wasn't like he was expecting anything funny to happen when they got back to the house. He was more tired than he could remember ever being, and his body ached in ways he couldn't even name. Since he wasn't exactly in shape for passionate aerobics of any sort, much less good-bye sex, he did not constitute a threat.
As they made their way up Santa Monica Boulevard, heading for the turn-off to the hills, the phrase "good-bye sex" hovered distastefully in his mind. He wished he'd found a more graceful term for what he was thinking. The "good-bye" part was depressing, and the "sex" part – tempting as it was – seemed vaguely disrespectful. After what he and Blake had been through together, they deserved more than some obligatory parting roll in the sack.
Before he knew it, the ride through the hills was over and they were pulling up outside the tall iron gates of the house on Entwistle Ridge Drive. Blake reached over and entered a code on the concealed keypad, and the gates opened obediently. Although he'd only been to this house a few times, the ride up the short drive, with the magnificent sprawling house revealing itself at the end, had the absurd quality of homecoming. There was something soothing about the building's clean, low lines which seemed to him exactly like what a home should be. And then of course there was Blake herself, whose every movement now struck him as both refreshingly new and comfortingly familiar.
Without waiting to be asked, Caleb followed her inside the house. She may be ejecting him from her life, but he wasn't going to leave her without making sure that the place was secure and she was safe. Old habits die hard.
When Blake recognized his intentions, she shrugged wearily. "I'm going to take a shower," was all she said, then she left him alone to do as he pleased. By the time he had finished making his rounds, she was out again. She had donned a pair of baggy silk pajamas that he'd never seen before, and expensive-looking house thongs. Her face was pale and starting to show the effect of her bruises, but still she looked so beautiful he momentarily lost the ability to speak rationally.
"Nice outfit," he commented lamely, winc
ing as he heard the words come out of his mouth. Every ounce of good manners that his mother had ever taught him was urging him to bid the lady farewell, and be on his way. Especially since she'd made it clear that was what she wanted. And it was exactly what he'd planned to do. But now that the time had come, he found himself standing on the edge of a great precipice, looking out into a dark, unknown future.
Was this really the moment when he was supposed to say good-bye? He wasn't ready for that.
Blake laughed slightly, obviously feeling the awkwardness of the moment, and smoothed damp hair away from her face. "Thanks," she said. "But what I could really use is an old flannel robe and some fuzzy slippers. Comfort-wear, you know?"
He nodded. "How about a gin and tonic? It won't put slippers on your feet, but if you make the drink right you'll definitely feel fuzzy."
Her laugh his time was less forced, more honest. "That sounds good." She hesitated before speaking the next sentence. "Do you want to join me?"
Of course he did.
Caleb offered to make the drinks, but Blake said she would do it. The idea of performing a task so steeped in normality seemed to cheer her, so he left her to it, and went outside to the wide veranda that stretched along the back of the house. He rested his elbows against the railing, looking out onto the starlit hills of Hollywood. The air coming off the mountains was cool and dry and surprisingly clean.
"God, I love it here," Caleb whispered, surprising himself. It was only after the words were out that he realized how true that was. He did love it here. His greatest joy was in being with Blake, but he had also grown to love Los Angeles on its own merits: it's scraggly hills, teeming streets and the wide, wide ocean that lay so close at hand.
I've been all over the world, he thought, why did it take me so long to get here?