Killer Physique

by G. A. McKevett

  And now, after their amazing and glamorous night out, they were all on their way home.

  Savannah and Dirk had insisted that Dora and Richard ride in the Bentley with John and Ryan, while the other four piled into Dirk’s Buick.

  Sitting in the front passenger seat, Savannah was being careful to look only ahead, just in case her brother might be trying to make a move on Tammy in the backseat.

  But romance seemed to be the farthest thing from Tammy the Super Sleuth’s mind.

  “Tell us again,” she said, “about how mad that old Fabio guy got when you told him you knew all about the fight he and Jason had.”

  Savannah giggled. “At first he went sorta white, then red, then purple. His face was kinda like one of those mood rings we used to wear, constantly changing color.”

  “We figured Jason and the gym were on the outs,” Waycross said, “with Jason quittin’ them like that, but how’d you know their fight was about Fabio selling dangerous drugs?”

  “We didn’t,” Dirk told him. “Savannah’s bluff was so good that Fabio thought we already knew all about it. He spilled the beans on himself when he was arguing with us.”

  “Awesome,” Tammy said. “So are you going to bust him for selling that stuff?”

  “Maybe, after we close this case,” Dirk replied. “But I told him I was definitely gonna. When we left he was one highly disgruntled gym owner.”

  “Yeap, we ruined his day,” Savannah said, “and that was enough for me. That and finding out that he had a major motive to kill Jason. If Jason was about to blow the whistle on him, old Fabio’s reputation as the trainer to the stars would have been out the window.”

  “We’ve got our work cut out for us tomorrow,” Dirk said. “That’s for sure. We’ll have to ask Thomas and Alanna if they know anything more about the Jason-Fabio squabble.”

  “That’s tomorrow,” Savannah told him, placing her hand on his thigh. “For the rest of tonight, let’s forget about the case and just savor the moment.”

  He put his hand over hers, squeezed, and said, “You got it, babe.”

  They had reached the foothill road that provided a nice, scenic shortcut from downtown San Carmelita and Antoine’s to Savannah’s house in midtown. Rounding one curve after another, they could see over the roofs of the houses and through the black silhouettes of the palms, down to the ocean below. The waters sparkled in the light of a full moon, like deep indigo velvet sprinkled with flakes of silver.

  As they passed some orange groves, Savannah rolled down her window to let the smell of the dew-damp blossoms into the car.

  And with that intoxicating perfume came another lovely scent that she seldom got to enjoy in Southern California—the smell of rain on its way. She breathed in the sweet fragrance and let it take her back to her childhood and walking to and from school on dusty Georgia roads.

  Yes, it was a beautiful night, and all was well with the world.

  Except for those glaring headlights behind them that were lighting up the interior of the car and ruining the whole moonlight-ambiance thing for Savannah.

  She turned around to look and was nearly blinded by the searing, white beams.

  “Is that Ryan and John back there?” she asked.

  Dirk grunted. “No. This jerk cut them off a ways back and got between us and the Bentley. Now he’s riding my tail.”

  Waycross turned to look. “Boy, howdy! Any minute now, he’s gonna hitch onto your bumper and take a free ride.”

  “Tailgating is so dangerous,” Tammy said. “Why do people—”

  Slam!

  Everyone in the car gasped as the vehicle behind them rammed into the rear of the Buick. The collision wasn’t enough to run them off the road, but it gave them all a hard jolt and set their pulses racing.

  “What the hell?” Dirk yelled, looking into his rearview mirror. “I think he did that deliber—”

  Another slam! Then a third, much harder one!

  Savannah’s brain whirled, trying to make sense of what was happening. An accident was bad enough. But the driver of the giant SUV behind them was trying to run them off the road.

  And with trees, telephone poles, and deep ditches on either side, this wasn’t a road where anybody wanted to lose control.

  “Hang on,” Dirk yelled. “Everybody hang on.”

  He didn’t need to tell them. Savannah was sure that her fingernails were buried deep into his upholstery.

  They could hear the big engine revving behind them. Dirk sped up. They braced.

  Again, it slammed them. Even harder than before.

  The Buick swerved. Dirk fought the wheel, trying to keep the car straight.

  “A dirt road!” he shouted. “Up ahead! I’m gonna try!”

  Savannah could see it, the “Y” veering off about a hundred yards ahead. She told herself, If he hits that dirt going this speed—

  But she didn’t have time to finish her dark thought.

  For just an instant she saw the shiny pavement. A wet spot.

  Rain.

  They passed over it, and the rear of the Buick swung to the right. The car turned. Turned, turned. Spinning around the road, as metal slammed into metal with a sickening, crunching sound.

  Savannah looked behind her and saw the flash of the SUV’s chrome bumper as it came up, up, and over the Buick’s trunk.

  Glass shattered. Passengers screamed.

  Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. And there was nothing. Except . . .

  Deadly silence.

  Darkness.

  And the sweet, sweet smell of orange blossoms kissed by a soft, summer rain.

  Chapter 24

  Savannah lay on her side, her hair covering her face, her ribs on her left side jammed against something terribly hard.

  Her face was wet, and she didn’t know why.

  She was shivering as though she were standing naked in a snowstorm. Her teeth were chattering.

  She couldn’t move her legs, and she wasn’t sure what that was all about either.

  She heard someone groan. It was a man. Dirk.

  Instantly, it all came back to her, and she knew exactly what had happened. The vague haziness vanished, and a desperate urgency took its place.

  She struggled trying to get loose, all the while knowing something was badly amiss. Something kept pulling her to the left side of the car where, in the dark, she could see another figure, struggling as she was.

  “Dirk?”

  “Van? Honey, are you all right?”

  “I’m not sure. You?”

  “I think so.”

  She managed to get her seat belt loose, but the instant she did, she fell, hard, onto Dirk. Then she realized—the Buick was lying on its side.

  But she could move her legs now. She was no longer pinned.

  She tried to twist her body around so that she could see into the backseat. “Waycross?” she cried. “Tammy? You two okay back there?”

  Savannah heard the blessed sound of her little brother’s voice, though it wasn’t much more than a mumbled “I reckon.”

  There was some rustling around in the backseat, and she heard him say, “I’m sorry, sugar, I’m mashin’ you. Here, I’ll put my leg over here. Try to move over that way, darlin’.”

  Savannah felt Dirk’s arms, warm and strong, wrap around her. He was trembling, too.

  “Sorry, babe.” He hugged her close. “I’m so sorry. I tried to—”

  “Sh-h-h.” She buried her face against his chest and felt sharp little shards of glass scrape her cheeks. “It wasn’t your fault. The pavement was wet and that jackass was—”

  As though in unison, they both remembered the nightmare that had preceded their predicament.

  “I’m gonna kill him,” Dirk said in a voice that she had never heard him use before. Harsh, guttural, determined. “When I get my hands on him, he’s dead.”

  As though from far away, Savannah heard the sound of running feet, pounding on the asphalt, racing toward them. />
  Excited, frightened voices cried out their names. A moment later, someone was climbing on top of the overturned car.

  The Buick wobbled as someone jerked the passenger-side door open.

  Thinking of the SUV driver who had nearly killed them, Savannah didn’t know whether to pull away or take the hand of the person who was reaching down for her.

  “Oh, my God, Savannah,” said a deep, familiar, beloved voice. In the moonlight she could see Ryan’s face, his horrified expression. “Are you all right? Is everybody okay?”

  “We think so,” she replied.

  “Then we’ve got to get you out of there, right away.”

  That was when Savannah smelled it—the strong, distinctive odor of gasoline.

  She twisted around to Dirk and said, “Gas.”

  “I smell it,” he said. “Get out.”

  She reached up and grabbed Ryan’s hands. Simultaneously she felt Dirk pushing her upward from below, and Ryan pulling from above. In a moment, she was out and clinging to the side of the car just behind the door.

  She saw John scrambling to get up there with them. He stood to the front of the door and held it open as she and Ryan reached inside and grabbed Dirk by the arms.

  In a few seconds they had pulled him out, as well.

  “Waycross, Tammy,” Savannah shouted. “You’re next. Come on! Quick!”

  “You first, darlin’,” she heard Waycross say. “I’ll help you.”

  Then there was a long, awful silence.

  The smell of gas was so strong that Savannah gagged—and it reminded her of the urgency of the situation.

  She shouted down into the dark interior, “Waycross, y’all gotta get out of there, now! Tammy, crawl over that seat and take our hands! Move!”

  Suddenly, there was a light. Savannah turned and saw Dora shining the beam of a strong, LED flashlight through the empty space where the rear window had been.

  Looking down into the backseat area, Savannah saw Tammy lying white-faced and still, amid the tangle of wreckage that had once been the side of Dirk’s car.

  Her eyes were closed. Her beautiful blonde hair was covered with blood and broken glass.

  Savannah wouldn’t realize until much later that she had screamed. Or that Dirk had leaped back into the car. Or that Waycross had begun to sob uncontrollably.

  And whatever Ryan or John did . . . that was all just part of the awful blur that the memory would forever be for her.

  But she would always, vividly remember Dora Jones, in her new-old dress, climbing through that narrow space where the rear window had been, getting into the car and pushing Waycross and Dirk aside so that she could examine the still, pale girl crumpled in an unspeakably tight crunch of metal, upholstery, and glass.

  She yelled, “Be quiet!” and everyone fell silent. Instantly.

  She put her face down to Tammy’s. She listened and said, “She’s breathing.”

  Placing her fingers against the side of the girl’s neck, she announced, “She has a pulse.”

  Savannah wanted to utter a prayer of thanksgiving, but she didn’t dare breathe.

  With the light, confident touch of an expert, Dora checked Tammy’s skull and the back of her neck. Then she ran her hands up and down her arms, around her ribs, her abdomen, pelvis, and each leg.

  “No obvious fractures,” she said.

  Dirk leaned close to Dora and said gently, but firmly, “We have to get her out of here. Now.”

  “No. You can’t move her. She could have spinal injuries and—”

  “We have no choice. The gas. Smell it?”

  The nurse stared at the cop for what seemed like forever, but it was truly only a couple of seconds. Then she nodded curtly. “You,” she said to the weeping Waycross. “Take off that tee-shirt and rip off some strips for me.” She turned to Savannah, John, and Ryan, who were watching in horror from outside. “I need a board. Something flat to bind her to.”

  “We’ve got a boogie board in the trunk of the Bentley.”

  “Get it.”

  Ryan jumped off the Buick, disappeared for a moment, then came running back with the board under his arm.

  He passed it to Dora through the back window space.

  “I’m going to hold her head and stabilize her spine,” Dora told Waycross and Dirk, “while you two slip this down behind her head and back. Fast, but easy. Got it?”

  They worked as best they could within the tight confines, while Savannah held the flashlight.

  Once the board was in place, Dora strapped Tammy’s head to it, using the strips torn from Waycross’s shirt. Finally, she wrapped the rest of the shirt around Tammy’s neck.

  “Okay, now all you guys—as gently as you possibly can—lift her out. Smooth moves! No jerking or yanking.”

  Savannah held the light, and Dora supported Tammy’s head as the four men pulled Tammy and her attached boogie board out of the tiny space where she was wedged. They moved her around and over the front seats, then straight up and out the passenger door.

  The moment they had her out, Dirk shouted, “Everybody away from the car!”

  “Nice and gentle!” Dora told them as Savannah helped her climb out as well. “Slow and easy!”

  The men carried Tammy’s short, makeshift stretcher a safe distance down the road, then carefully laid her down on the grassy shoulder.

  Then Waycross sat on the side of the road nearby and covered his face with his hands. Ryan and John sat beside him and tried to offer the distraught young man some comfort.

  Savannah knelt at Tammy’s side, lifted her hand, and kissed it. “You’re going to be all right, sugar,” she told her. “You will be. The boys got you out, and Dora here’s taking good care of you.”

  For a moment Tammy’s eyelids fluttered, and Savannah thought she was going to open them, but she didn’t.

  Dora squatted on Tammy’s other side and looked at the bleeding wound on her scalp. “I need another piece of cloth for this cut,” she said.

  Savannah glanced down and saw the silk scarf she had twisted around her neck right before they had left for the restaurant—a million years ago. She’d thought her outfit needed a bit of color.

  She unwrapped it and handed it to Dora, who folded it several times and then pressed it to the wound.

  “Could . . .” Savannah started to speak but was unable to. Then she tried again. “Could I please do that for her?” Savannah choked on the sobs that were gathering like hard rocks in her throat and strangling her. “I really, really need to do something for her. Anything. I love her.”

  Dora gave her a sweet, infinitely understanding look. “Of course you can. Here.” She handed Savannah back her scarf and said, “The EMTs will be here soon. We called 911 as soon as we saw you’d crashed.”

  “Thank you, Dora. For everything.” Savannah placed the scarf against the awful gash and pressed.

  Then she felt someone’s presence, standing beside her. She looked up and saw Dirk. He was watching her, looking at Tammy—a terrible expression of rage and pain on his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “Hush. She’ll be fine. Just fine,” Dora told him.

  He looked around, as though suddenly remembering something. “Where’s Richard?” he asked. “Where’s my dad?”

  And at that moment, Savannah also realized that she hadn’t seen Richard during this entire emergency. He should be okay. To her knowledge the Bentley hadn’t been involved.

  That was also when she remembered the SUV. She looked around and saw it lying, nose down, in a nearby ditch.

  And, as though in answer to her mind’s next question, they heard footsteps and voices coming out of the darkness down the road toward them.

  Dora chuckled. And it was the first happy sound any of them had heard for what seemed like forever. “If I know my husband,” she said, “he’s been hunting down your bad guy.”

  And sure enough, at that moment—retired thirty-year career cop Richard Jones walked out of the shadows and into t
he moonlight with his prisoner in tow.

  “Nico?” Savannah said with a gasp. “Nico? No way!”

  An instant later, Dirk was on him. He had thrown the giant bodybuilder onto the ground and was astride him, pounding him with his fists and shouting, “You sonuvabitch! Try to kill my family? You’re dead! You are—”

  “Son,” spoke a quiet voice of reason as Richard took Dirk by the shoulder and shook him.

  But Dirk continued to slug and curse with equal vehemence.

  “Stop it, son,” Richard said, shaking harder. “I know how you feel. But the man’s hands are zip-tied behind his back.”

  It took a few more punches for the words to register on Dirk. But when they did, he stopped, shook his head, and climbed off the now deeply repentant muscleman.

  “I was just doing what I was told,” Nico sobbed. “I didn’t wanna, but you don’t say ‘no’ to Fabio.”

  Savannah looked down at her sweet, injured friend, lying on the makeshift stretcher at the side of the road. Maybe she and Dirk shouldn’t have antagonized a career criminal the way they had this afternoon, she thought. Maybe, in some measure, it was partly their fault that this had happened.

  But Savannah pushed the thoughts aside for the moment, to be considered later.

  One crisis at a time.

  And with one of the people she loved most in the world at her feet, hurt—God only knew how badly—this one terrible moment in time was all Savannah’s heart could handle.

  Chapter 25

  Savannah stood beside the hospital bed where Tammy lay, still unconscious. And even though she had held that position for more than five hours and had her own aches and pains from the crash, it never occurred to her to desert her post.

  What bothered her most was seeing that sweet, pretty face so still, so blank. Of all the people Savannah had known over the years, Tammy was the most lively, animated person she had ever met. She was never still. Her face was never blank.

  This person with the frozen nonexpression, the bandaged arm, and the neck brace who was lying motionless on the bed—that wasn’t Savannah’s Tammy.