I pulled to the curb near the Ashwood Studios lot, which took up half the block, but was set back in, away from the road. There was a wrought-iron gate out front that looked in need of repair, an empty guard booth with cracked glass, and enough trees surrounding the place (probably brought in by the original owners for privacy), to serve as a stark reminder of what I'd been through yesterday.
There was a defaced sign out front. Someone had spray-painted a red s over the h in Ashwood. This was no doubt in reference to the half dozen porno flicks that were shot there shortly before it closed its doors. This tidbit of information had come from Elmo, who, for reasons I couldn't grasp, seemed quite proud of the fact that he lived only a few blocks north.
It was just past five a.m. but was still dark out, and despite Wilky's coffee I was starting to feel the effects of no sleep and that pinball trip through the trees. I felt sluggish, achy, and half alert, kept upright only by a slender thread of adrenalin that wasn't likely to last much longer.
I cut the engine. "I don't know. This place looks pretty dead. What if we're too late—or they were never here?"
"We'll just have to take that chance," Parker said. "Are you ready for this?"
"Why do you ask? You afraid I'm too green?"
Wilky's remarks were lingering like a bad cold. He wasn't wrong about my inexperience, but I hadn't enjoyed hearing it. It was just another reminder of the mistakes I'd made and how much I had to learn.
"That's not what I'm saying. But you've been through a lot and you look tired. And that jerk's life isn't worth you getting hurt."
"I'm not waiting in this car, if that's what you're suggesting."
Parker was wise enough to know when to back off. Those shower buddy privileges could disappear right quick.
"Fair enough," he said. "Those trees should give us plenty of cover. Let's head for the rear of the place. Maybe we can get a better look from there."
"Works for me," Elmo said, then cracked open his door.
But before we got out, Parker took his cuffs from his back pocket and slapped one of Wilky's wrist.
"What the hell you doin', son?"
Parker hooked the other cuff around the handle of Wilky's door and snapped it shut. "Making sure you stay put. I don't want to be stumbling all over you, and I sure as hell don't want you loose."
"And to think I used to consider you a friend."
Parker eyed him coldly. "That ended when you put Kelsey on that plane."
TWENTY-SEVEN
The trees weren't quite as dense as they'd been in the forest, but, along with the darkness, they gave us enough cover to work our way around toward the rear of the lot without being spotted.
Assuming there was anyone here to spot us.
The parking lot was as empty as an Iraqi minefield and it didn't look as if anyone had been near the place in close to a decade.
I had begun to believe we had made the wrong choice when Elmo, in the lead, stopped and crouched and pointed.
"There," he said.
Parker and I crouched beside him and looked. Beyond the expanse of parking lot, where a huge, barn-like sound stage stood, we saw a sleek limo, a black SUV and a Ford F-150 parked close to the building, half hidden by shadow.
"Thank God," I whispered.
"Don't be thanking him just yet," Elmo told me. "We still have to figure a way in."
Parker looked at him. "You having second thoughts?"
"Hell no. Guilty or innocent, I don't like to see a man get hurt for no good reason. I used to work for Wilky, but that doesn't mean I think the way he does."
"Used to?"
"Did I forget to announce my resignation?"
Parker grinned. "No wonder you let me cuff him to my car. I've always liked you, Mo."
"I know, I know. I'm not much in the looks department, but I'm pretty irresistible."
"Before you boys start exchanging valentines," I said, "can we maybe figure out a game plan? The clock is ticking."
Elmo smiled. "Is she always this demanding?"
"You don't know the half of it," Parker said.
•
For a big guy, Elmo moved fast and quiet. We reached the back of the lot moments later, now only a few dozen yards from the sound stage.
We were doing our best to remain silent, and to no one's surprise, found a couple of thugs with weapons patrolling the area, watching the trees. I recognized them as two of the hunters, and figured the third—their leader—was patrolling in a different location. The rear of the lot, being closest to the sound stage, was the most likely point of entry for any interlopers, which was why they had doubled up back here.
If the count was the same as before, that meant three men outside and Scaffe and his partner inside with Olivia Brandon and Ethan—assuming Ethan was still alive. But I didn't think they'd be here if he wasn't.
Parker, Elmo and I took cover behind a cluster of bushes and watched them, trying to figure how to make our move.
"We can't try a direct assault," Parker whispered. "They're bound to start firing on us and that'll alert the others."
"We need a distraction," Elmo said, then pointed to our left. "I can head that way and start making noise."
Parker shook his head. "That'll only draw one of them and may give us the same result."
"You have a better idea?"
"Let me think a minute."
While Parker was thinking, I reached down, grabbed a handful of dirt and started rubbing it on my face.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Creating a distraction."
Once my face was sufficiently dirty, I unbuttoned my shirt and to their surprise, slipped it off.
Elmo gaped at me and Parker said, "A distraction for us? What the hell are you up to?"
"I know men, and the easiest way to get their attention is to start showing off your body parts." I nodded. "Just look at Elmo."
Elmo realized he was staring at my chest and looked away.
I unzipped my jeans, pushed them off past my running shoes, and crouched there in bra and panties. "I'm guessing these guys aren't likely to start shooting at a half-naked woman."
"Are you crazy?" Parker said, "they'll recognize you."
"Not at first. Not in the dark and with dirt on my face. And that should give you and Elmo enough time to take them down."
"Kelsey, I won't let you do this."
"Consider it another executive decision."
"Are you forgetting how the last one turned out?"
"Hey, when the bad guy's down and I'm still standing, that's a win, remember? Let's concentrate on making that happen."
I gestured for them to start moving, and didn't look back as I got to my feet and headed toward the the edge of the trees. I was wearing more than I'd worn in that alley several months ago, but felt just as self-conscious.
And I won't lie to you. I was scared witless. My mouth was bone dry, my heart thumping in my throat. I had no idea if these guys would fall for something so obvious, but it was worth a try.
As I reached the edge of the trees, I started to moan, loudly, and began to stumble, making a slow, jagged path onto the asphalt, keeping my head down but making sure they got the full frontal view.
"Help me," I said. "Please help me…"
And before I could go three more steps, a flashlight beam shone on me, hitting my dirt caked face, then immediately dropping to my boobs and—yes, I'm going to say it—my pookie, which was not all that well hidden by my sheerer than sheer panties.
I'd have to remember to wear cotton next time.
"Holy shit," a voice said. "Check this bitch out."
A second flashlight beam hit me. I gave them a nice long view, then moaned again and let my knees buckle, falling to the pavement. I hit it harder than I'd intended, a jolt of pain rocketing through me, but I grit my teeth and lay still, hoping their response wouldn't be a bullet to the gut.
I knew very well that these guys weren't good Samaritans. But I was working on the th
eory that the sight of a nearly naked damsel in distress would force even the hardest man to abandon all critical thinking. As long as he believed he'd get some kind of reward in the end—usually involving the aforementioned boobs and pookie.
Through my half-closed eyes I saw the flashlight beams bobbing and weaving and growing brighter as both men ran in my direction, tucking guns into shoulder holsters as they went.
"Jesus Christ," one of them said. "Where the hell did she come from?"
"From one of the houses around here, I guess. Is she high?"
"I don't know, but something's definitely wrong."
A flashlight beam swept across me. "Nothing wrong with her body, I'll tell you that."
One of them crouched beside me and the flashlight shone directly in my face. As he started to reach for my eyelids, he paused and said, "Hey, wait a minute. Wait a minute. Isn't this the bitch who was with—?"
He didn't finish his question. I heard two grunts in quick succession followed by the thud of bodies on pavement, then Parker and Elmo stepped into view, Elmo doing his best not to ogle me.
Parker helped me to my feet. "That was beyond dangerous."
"It worked didn't it?"
He handed me my clothes in a wad, clearly unhappy. "Put these back on and we'll talk about this later."
TWENTY-EIGHT
As I hurriedly pulled my clothes on, Parker and Elmo dragged the two men into the trees and took their guns.
I heard the squawk of a radio and swiveled my head toward the spot where the two thugs had been standing earlier—instantly reminded of that moment in the ranger's shack.
"It's all clear over here, boys. How's it looking on your end?"
I ran toward the source and found a walkie-talkie sitting on a folding metal chair, the surrounding asphalt littered with spent cigarette butts. I scooped it up and hit the transmit button a couple times to let the caller know that someone was on the receiving end.
After a moment, he said, "I missed that. Say again?"
I was about to respond, hoping I'd get away with lowering my voice, but then Parker appeared beside me, took the walkie from my hand and pressed the button.
"All clear," he said in a clipped, no-nonsense tone.
We waited for what seemed an awfully long time, then the radio squawked again. "All right, good. One of you come out front and take over here. I need a bathroom break."
"Roger," Parker said.
Elmo had joined us now. "I'll go find him and see if he needs help holding his pee-pee."
Pee-pee? Pookie?
What were we, three-year-olds?
"Have fun with that," Parker said, then pointed to a door in the wall of the sound stage marked EXIT ONLY. "We'll go in through here. Should we wait for you or meet you inside?"
"I'll find my own way in," Elmo told him. "But don't start shooting without me."
Then he was gone.
"I kinda like that guy," I said.
Parker grunted. "Yeah, I think he likes you, too. And he knows a lot more about you than I'd like."
I rolled my eyes. "It's just a body, Parker. Nothing he hasn't see before."
"Don't sell yourself short. What happened to the girl I met in Hunter City? The one who made men turn around when she got undressed?"
"She grew up and moved south," I said. "Now can we get on with this? The last time we stood around bantering, Scaffe grabbed Ethan."
"Fine, but you've already taken enough risks. Why don't you let me and Elmo handle the rest? This guy isn't worth you getting hurt."
I frowned. "Parker, if you do this every time we work together, this partnership isn't gonna fly. Professionally or personally."
"So… what? You'll dump me because I care about you?"
"No, because I don't like to be coddled. That may work for some women, but it doesn't work for me."
Parker sighed. "All right, but just prepare yourself. Your ex lover boy may not be as pretty as he was a couple hours ago."
"I've been preparing myself since they dragged him into that limousine." I nodded to the door. "Now let's go."
TWENTY-NINE
Parker and Elmo had searched the thugs' pockets and found no keys, so Parker used his lock picking skills—and a set of picks from his wallet—to get the door open. Then we slid inside, a round chambered in each Glock, and braced ourselves for the possibility that someone might spot us.
And shoot us.
Fortunately, no one did.
In fact, the feat would have been next to impossible, considering the lighting back here and number of stage flats parked near the door. The giant rolling backdrops were stacked side by side, forming narrow, make-shift hallways at the rear of the sound stage.
The light was dim, but I could see that the flats held green screens and blue screens and matte paintings of deserts and cities and moonscapes, some of them badly faded, as if they'd been sitting here gathering dust for half a century.
We heard voices coming from the other side, toward the center of the sound stage.
And sobbing.
A man sobbing.
I recognized the sound immediately, thinking back to Ethan's father's suicide and the night he'd sobbed in my arms. There was so much pain in those tears—then and now—but this time it was different. This was physical pain. And I didn't want to think about what might be causing it.
Then I heard a power drill start to whine, and in a high, shrill voice, Ethan cried out, "No—don't, don't, don't—Jesus, man, I'm telling you the truth. I don't have them. I never had them. I—"
Then the whine increased and the sobs turned into screams and I stumbled toward Parker and fell against him, burying my head in his chest, closing my eyes, and wanting to close my ears, too, against the horror that was assaulting them.
I won't bother telling you what it sounded like. Use your imagination. I wish that's all I had to do. No human being should ever treat another like that, no matter what he may have done—and especially not for a handful of jewels and some stolen diamonds.
"I warned you," Parker whispered.
And yes he had, hadn't he? But I'd made my choice and we were here and we needed to stop this insanity.
But it didn't stop. The drill kept whining and Ethan's screams filled the space around us and if I heard any more, I'd have to scream myself.
"I can't let them do this," I said, then pulled away from Parker, brought my Glock up with both hands and started moving, funneling through one of the makeshift hallways. Parker knew he couldn't stop me—not when I was like this—so he fell in behind me and followed.
Seconds later, I emerged from the flats to find Ethan sitting in a chair in the middle of the massive room as Scaffe held him from behind, a couple of old Klieg lights shining down on them. Ethan's feet were pulpy crimson, blood pooling on the stage floor beneath them, and I felt Wilky's coffee lurch inside me—it was the only thing in there and it wanted out.
The whine finally stopped and the person crouched in front of Ethan stood up, smiling, a cordless power drill in hand, its bit dripping blood. And I was shocked to see that it wasn't Scaffe's partner administering this torture.
It was none other than Olivia Brandon herself, sweating profusely, face and blouse spattered red, a look of pure glee in her eyes.
And I thought, what the hell is going on in this world?
When did the females of our species become so vicious?
Despite my own violent tendencies of late, I couldn't believe a person who shared my gonosomal genes could be so fucking barbaric.
But that glee in Olivia Brandon's eyes was unmistakable. She was taking revenge on Ethan for his betrayal and enjoying every second of it. And even if he never told them where to find those jewels, I had a feeling this was more than enough to satisfy her.
The old saying hell hath no fury like a woman scorned had never been more true. And I couldn't quite believe what I was witnessing.
Ethan's head was slumped forward as he quietly whimpered now, mumbling something
I couldn't hear. The Cat Eater—Scaffe—was leaning toward him, listening intently to every word—or whatever was coming out of Ethan's mouth. It didn't sound quite human.
Scaffe's partner stood with his back to the spectacle, obviously not a man who shared his friend's indifference or Olivia Brandon's blood lust.
"Hold him tight," Brandon said to Scaffe, positioning the drill for another round. "I want this prick to call me mommy before I—"
"Put it down!" I shouted, pointing my Glock at the back of her bleached blonde head. "Put it down or I swear to God you'll be sucking a bullet."
This had probably come from one of my old movies, but I didn't care. I was prepared to blow a hole through this sadistic bitch.
Brandon and Scaffe froze at the sound of my voice, but Scaffe's partner spun around, an automatic weapon in hand. Parker—who stood beside me now—squeezed off a shot, nailed him in the leg, and the guy yelped and went down, writhing in pain on the floor.
"Put. It. Down," I said to Brandon.
She looked at Scaffe. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
He released Ethan and took a step back. "What do you suggest?"
"I don't know!" she screeched. "Just do whatever it is you do! I'm paying you good money!"
"Diamonds. You're paying me in diamonds. And we don't quite have them yet, do we?" He looked at his partner writhing on the floor. "And what I do, Ms. Brandon, is cut my losses when I don't have a play."
He turned and faced us directly now, showing us his hands were empty.
"I'm impressed," he said. "I figured you two were lightweights. I really thought we'd seen the last of you at the bowling alley."
"We have a knack for surprising people," Parker said. "Now get those hands a little higher and spread them farther apart."
Scaffe did what he was told, but took another step back. "Just remember, I could've killed you but I let you go. What do you say you give me the same courtesy and let me head on out of here?"
Present Tense (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 2) Page 10