“And he told you to run. Your own client told you to go, to drop it so you would be safe. What more do you need?”
“I was just fine before you, and I don’t need you to save me.” I saw at once the hurt in Solomon’s eyes. Why did I always do this—push away the people who loved me, build myself a wall and defend?
I rushed to tell him that I didn’t need him, but that I wanted him. He stormed away before I could get the words out. What’s wrong with me?
Swearing, I ripped the sheets off my legs and pulled on gym shorts and a tank top. I needed to work out, to blow off some stress and clear my head. My life felt like it was out of control, and I had to keep it from falling apart. If I melted, what would I turn in to then?
SWEAT RAN DOWN MY back and soaked my tank top. I pounded the heavy bag with a knee, front kick, and knee combo. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to forget the world and lose my mind in a flurry of fists and feet.
Ducking as if an attacker was in front of me, I came up with my elbow and hit the bag hard. It was like seeing Hank Williams all over again, fighting for my life. It was like battling the Blondes—my body sucking air, trying not to drown or get shot in the face.
Jab, jab, hook.
I was crying and grinding my teeth as I punished the bag—and myself.
Leaning over, I wretched and threw up in the trashcan in the corner. I was so glad I was the only one in the fitness room because I was a mess, not fit for human viewing.
I felt better after my gut was empty, but I knew there was more in me—more anger and pain. Like something was knotted. How could I ever feel normal?
Solomon. My boyfriend, the man I was falling for—he just had to be the hero. Why did my prince have to be so freakin’ . . . princey? I was not his little girl. Just let me take care of myself. I wanted a lover, not a father. I’d had enough of fathers.
I smashed the bag and let it all out.
Screw you, Hotah, you gutless sack of worthless flesh. Why won’t you face someone your own size? And Yona, you hide like a mouse. You have the power to change things, but instead, you let murder and destruction continue on as you watch. How many more have to die, how many more have to get raped? I wanted to scream at Hotah, at Yona and the lot of them, get them all to wake up, but it wasn’t my job. I got Timothy out. That was my job, and it was done. What more could I do?
Roundhouse, jab, jab, jab.
Now who was the lying rat? I stopped hitting the bag and sank to my knees. It wasn’t Hank, Glenn, or even my parents—I was angry at myself. I was the one hiding in plain sight, keeping people away, and all these things in my life were just a reflection of what I was. I was hiding from myself.
I fought monsters because somewhere in me was one. I hated to see people hurt the ones around them because that’s what I did. By keeping everyone out, I was hurting them. Even my best friend, Mandy, didn’t know the real me. Did anyone know me?
It was time to stop running, stop hiding, and be who I was born to be. Whatever that was, I didn’t know, but I knew I had to find out. If I had to be melted down and reformed into something new, so be it. I was ready.
I CALLED JOSH AS I drove home from the gym.
“Hey, boss.” His voice was a breath of fresh air.
“Hey, partner. Enough of this boss stuff.”
“I like to annoy you, boss.”
“I can see that. I need a favor.”
Josh sighed. “I have a feeling that I am not going to like this favor. I thought we were done with this one.”
“We are. Just trying to put a few things together for myself. Call it closure.”
“Whatever you want, boss.”
“I’m not sure what I want yet. Depends on if we get another case and more money. Oh, Timothy paid us. I saw that it went through this morning. We should have a company meeting and see how we want to spend this money. I vote Skittles. A lifetime supply of Skittles for each of us.”
“Perhaps we should hire a CPA before you touch the money.” He laughed. “Name the time and place and I’ll be there. Now, what do you need?”
“I want you to find out who invested in the casinos back when they first started. Just see what you can dig up.”
“Will do. What are you thinking?”
“Oh, that some of the investors may be connected to organized crime. Wouldn’t they hate to have a press release stating that they’re involved with a casino’s crime ring? E-mail me the info when you’re done.”
I hung up and cursed the red light as I wound through downtown. I hit all green when I wasn’t in a hurry, but today, all reds. It was time to take care of Hotah. I needed a record of him confessing to show to Watters. But more than that—he needed justice for what he’d done. I wasn’t about to let him get away this easily. For a second, I was tempted to take him out to the desert and try every means of making him talk that I’d ever fantasized about. But even as the thought ran through my head, I knew that wasn’t me—and it would change me in a way I could never recover from.
He needed justice—public justice. I not only wanted to out him in front of the law, but to shame him on his own turf. An idea flickered in my mind, and I smiled. If it worked, Hotah would be paid back in a very public way.
But first, I needed to do some research on him. I made it home and felt like I needed to go back to the gym after the stressful drive. Logging on to Google, I began my own version of research. I wouldn’t dive into this unprepared.
After pulling up all Hotah’s public records, I discovered that his dad had abandoned him when he was little, and his mother had been convicted of prostitution six times. She’d died from a drug overdose when Hotah was twelve, and he’d gone to live with his grandparents. His grandfather was a wife beater. She’d died under suspicious causes, but no one had ever been convicted. It was a trend in that county, it seemed. Then he’d gone in and out of friends’ homes until he turned eighteen. He started working at the show when he was fourteen, and had received international acclaim for his archery skills. He bought a little cabin when he turned eighteen and an apartment when he was twenty. I was shocked to find out that he was only twenty-four. How had things gone so wrong for him? He had a tough life and I felt for him, but that was no excuse—he was a murderer.
I packed a backpack. I pulled my hair back in a cap, put gloves in my pocket, and laced on hiking boots. Then I opened my safe and packed my gun in my holster, which fit in the small of my back. I didn’t intend to use it, but lots of things in life happen that you don’t plan on. It was time for me to go hunting.
I called Mika. She sounded surprised to hear from me. “Figured you’d be long gone by now,” she said.
“You can’t get rid of me that easy. Has Hotah come into the casino yet today?”
“No, I haven’t seen him, and from what I hear, he’s banned from talking to me and Skah.”
I told her part of my plan, and she gave me a few numbers for local doctors. She said she’d have the women’s clinic open for me just in case. Perfect.
“Now all I have to do is get you a patient.”
“Good luck!”
After that, I texted Mandy and Solomon, and my weekend of rest was underway. Don’t bother me. I’m going to stay in bed and watch dumb action flicks and eat ice cream.
Getting in my car, I picked up a few items from the outdoor gear store. The usual—Coleman’s oil, black powder, fire extinguisher, and zip ties. I grabbed a bag of Skittles, too. A good deed deserves its reward.
It felt so good to finally be free of the constraints I’d put on myself—I was thinking without walls, without rules. I couldn’t stop grinning. “I’m coming for you, Hotah. This is your last show and there is going to be a surprise ending.”
HE WATCHED HER PULL out of her apartment parking garage and followed at a safe distance. She was prettier than he was told, but that meant nothing, really. Picking up his cell, he punched in a number and hit send.
After three rings, a woman answered. “What is it?”
> The man spoke slow, deliberate. “I have her. She’s going back.”
“You have your orders. Follow her and take care of it.”
“Done.”
The man hit end and terminated the call. He had been bored the last few days and he was glad to get some action—or at least a distraction. There was nothing like a little chase to get the blood flowing.
He was a careful man, detailed, and he prided himself on being the best. It was not always easy being the best, but there were a few ways to ensure that his competition remained a distant second.
Training. He spent hours upon countless hours at the gun range, pushing his mind and body in the gym and sparring with the local MMA guys. He was fit, quick, intelligent, and deadly. But sometimes, pure psychical and mental conditioning was not enough. He ran across some who were bound to be a thorn in his side, so he hunted them and made sure they took an early retirement so he could remain at the top of the food chain.
So far he was the highest paid and most sought-after hit man in the lower 48. But he had plans to travel … maybe Dubai, or Shanghai.
Stepping from his car, he left the door open to draw the eye of anyone who might walk by and smoothly walked to Sarah’s car. Dropping to a knee, he placed the tracking device under the right end of the fender. It was amazing how few people checked their cars for such devices or ever even thought to walk to the passenger side of their vehicle to inspect it before driving. He never failed to do so. He was no fool, and he banked on others being just that.
Standing, he turned and got back into his car and drove out of the parking garage. A sense of power washed over him, a knowing that he was not only in control, but he was the master of life and death.
Turning up toward Capital Boulevard, he made his way into the alley, parking in what the locals called “Freak Alley”. Paintings, art, and other such nonsense cluttered the walls of the buildings in what to him looked like graffiti. One man’s art was another man’s defacement of public property.
Pulling up his GPS app, he saw that her car was still in the garage. Closing out the app, he opened another one—one he had made for him special—and it opened a live camera feed. She was in her living room on her laptop. He licked his lips and allowed himself a moment of preemptive pleasure.
Time to die, Sarah Steele.
“A LITTLE BIRD TOLD me that you let Hotah bite you.” Watters sucked in on a cigar and blew smoke into Chaska’s face.
“He is your creation, not mine.” Chaska held his bandaged hand and grimaced.
“I had nothing to do with him. Everyone knows he’s insane and I’m wondering how he got so close to you. Are you lost in his ways of seduction or something?” He said it with a mocking air.
Chaska growled something unintelligible.
“Fix it,” Watters said.
Chaska cursed. “What am I supposed to do?”
Watters glared at him, and his eyes betrayed a hunger for blood that Chaska could feel in his bones. For a moment, he feared that Watters was going to kill him right then and there, but instead, Watters said, “Kill him—make him disappear. I don’t care. Just take care of it.”
Chaska turned in his chair, trying to break the tension in the room. No wonder things were a total disaster. Like his favorite comic strip Dilbert, he was surrounded by morons. He stood and poured himself a glass of Cardhu 12 year and threw himself into his overstuffed chair and closed his eyes.
Watters set his glass down and left without a word. Chaska could feel the stress crawl up his spine and wrap around his neck. He was caught in a web of his own making, and it was falling apart.
“Chaska…” The soft voice jarred him and his eyes shot open. Yona stood in the doorway with her hands folded in front of her. She peered up at him, and he felt his heart tighten.
“Yona. What brings you here?”
“We need to talk.”
He hated when women said things like that. It was never a good thing—why couldn’t they “need to talk” when it was good?
“Sit.” He motioned to the plush chair in the corner. “Can I get you anything?”
Yona shook her head.
“What are you going to do about Hotah? He’s killed three girls now, maybe more, and you almost hung an innocent man for something he didn’t do.”
Chaska gritted his teeth and held in his growing anger. “Your love, the reporter? There is no proof that Hotah had anything to do with that girl’s death. As to the other thing—well, it is being taken care of.”
Yona’s face turned red. “Taken care of? That means it’s being swept under the rug, It means you’re going to keep pretending that everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”
“Yona, you overstep.”
“No.” There was a brightness to her eyes that he hadn’t seen in years. “What happened to the man I once loved? The man of honor, the Chaska who was a proud chief of a proud people? Look at you. You’re a cover-up man for a gang of thugs. This is nothing more than a mob.”
“Enough.” Chaska stood up and pointed to the door. “It’s time for you to go.”
Yona left and slammed the door so hard that the glass window in the top half shattered. Chaska raked his hand across his desk, sending the contents across the room.
Fumbling for his cell phone, he found Hotah’s number and hit send. When the crazy kid answered, Chaska growled out his orders.
Hotah laughed. “It must be Christmas, because this is like ripping open the best present ever.”
Chaska hated Hotah more than anyone he had ever met, but he was done playing games. “Just do it. Make it look like an accident.”
“Will do, boss. I’ll finish her after my next show.”
ONCE AT THE GOLDEN NUGGET, I pulled around to the delivery entrance, where food trucks were busy unloading. It was an overcast day, with the smell of a storm in the air. My hair stood on end and I took a deep breath. Time to start the chase.
Weaving through men carrying boxes and hauling dollies, I made my way to Hotah’s dressing room with my bag of supplies. He wasn’t there. The place was cluttered with cigarette butts and beer cans and trashy magazines. What a fine specimen of humanity he was. I took his costume from the rack and rushed down to the laundry room. After making my adjustments to the pants, I ran back up to his room and returned them to the rack. Then I leaned back in his chair, propped my feet on his makeup table, and closed my eyes. I relaxed entirely, putting everything from my mind.
The door opened behind me, but I didn’t move. I could smell him, though. Day-old sweat and booze. He was finally here, and it gave me a thrill. There was not one doubt in my mind that he deserved what was coming to him. I pressed record on my phone.
Without turning, I said, “Time to confess to the murders, Hotah.”
He grabbed the chair I was sitting in and swiveled it around, getting up in my face. His horrible breath made me lightheaded. “You don’t want to mess with me—not right now and not in my own dressing room.”
I gave him a pert smile. “I don’t mess with people. I finish them.”
His green eyes were creepy—they were wide and intense, like a snake zeroed in on its prey. “I’d like nothing more than to teach you some respect. But I’ve got orders.”
“From who? The president?” I laughed.
He grunted. “I don’t take orders from him.”
“Who’s your daddy, then?” I said in a baby's voice. I was trying to push every button he had. It was more fun for me than it should be, but I couldn’t help it. I lived for this.
“You think I’m stupid?” he shouted.
I stood up and pushed him back. “You don’t want me to answer that.”
He raised his fist and my heart sped up. His reflexes were so slow, I knew I could dodge anything he threw my way and still stay three moves ahead. But he hesitated.
“Get out. I’m not going to talk to you. If you have a problem with me, talk to someone else.”
I got an inch away from his face, gritting
my teeth. He backed up half a step. “You killed those girls.”
“No, I didn’t.” His eyes flitted back and forth. He was lying.
I wouldn’t look away. He shifted his feet under my gaze, angry. “You know what happens to liars?” I said in a low voice.
He sneered at me. “What?”
“They burn,” I whispered.
THE SHOW STARTED IN ITS spectacular array of fireworks, lights, and galloping horses, as usual. The crowd cheered and clapped, “ooo”ing and “ahh”ing at the theatrics. I stood in the shadows behind the entrance where the wagons rumbled out in single file. Mika stood behind me. Her eyes were scared, but determined. I gripped her hand and squeezed, willing her to be strong and stay beside me.
“Here it comes,” I said. “If only it’ll work.”
Hotah galloped out on a gorgeous black horse, shirtless and proud. The bonfire in the middle of the arena flickered and snapped. Smoke trailed up to the ceiling. His arrow was padded with an oil-soaked tip for his fire trick. He gave a war cry that sent shivers down my spine. He reached the middle of the stage and backflipped off the horse as he pulled back the bow. Almost time. Little Annie ran into the arena just as fake pigeons dropped from the ceiling. She shot them all down as the crowd cheered.
Hotah’s turn. “Aiaiaiaiai,” he cried, and then stuck his arrow in the fire.
“Come on,” I whispered. All it needed was a spark.
He shot an arrow at a target and it burst into flame.
“No!” It didn’t work. All of this had been for nothing. “Time for plan B,” I said to Mika.
“Wait,” she said, staring at Hotah.
The crowd whooped and hollered again. Hotah raised his arms in the air, took a step back, and bowed. A spark from the bonfire jumped out and landed on his pants. They burst into flames with a loud whoosh. He screamed like a girl. White-and-yellow flames consumed his legs and smoke covered his body. He sprinted for the exit—our exit—his eyes panicked. As he passed, I grabbed his arm and threw him against the wall. He hunched his shoulders, gasping. Raising the fire extinguisher, I sprayed it at the flames. People surrounded us. Mika barked at them to give us space. White powder filled the hallway.
The Steele Collection Books 1-3: Sarah Steele Legal Thrillers Page 36