The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set

by Danielle Girard

  “If only I worked for you, Ms. Vail,” Shirley said.

  Jamie checked her phone for updates on Marchek or word from Tony. Nothing. Not ready to leave, Jamie dialed Priestley’s number and immediately heard the recording of his voice. After the tone, she said, “This is Jamie Vail. I’m an inspector in the Sexual Assault Unit. I have reason to believe you were on my property at 129 Payne in San Rafael last Saturday night with Officer Scott Scanlan. I’d like to speak with you about that evening. I don’t believe you were committing a crime, and I’m confident we can straighten this out if you call me directly.”

  She left her cell phone number, paused, and added, “If you decide not to call me back, you’ll be treated as an accessory in any investigation I conduct.”

  The threat sounded full of wind.

  It was.

  She wouldn’t be conducting any investigation. It wasn’t in her jurisdiction. Also, she didn’t do that kind of investigation.

  That would be someone like Bruce Daniels, if the deputy chief didn’t nip it in the bud.

  But since Dave was a new cop, with family pressure, he might just call and come clean. It was worth a try, anyway.

  Worst case, she’d get scolded by Captain Jules and she’d have to bring Zephenaya into it.

  She drove home slowly, smoked. She blew the breath out into the dark, clear sky and listened to classic rock on KFOG. Sang out loud. The sense of redemption at nailing Marchek was almost as intoxicating as a drink of scotch. She sang along with Mick and Sheryl Crow and Norah Jones until she reached her driveway.

  A patrol car sat in front of her house. There was one at Mackenzie’s house and Hailey’s as well. They weren’t going to take any more chances, Jules had told her.

  A little late.

  Jamie rolled her window down and waved. The officer waved back.

  The house dark, Jamie opened the garage door and pulled inside. The light clicked on and she scanned the garage for signs of anything strange. Saw nothing. She punched the button to close the door behind her.

  As she started to get out of the car, her cell phone rang. “Chip, what have we got?”

  “Marchek’s been spotted,” he said.

  Jamie felt the rush of relief.

  “Owner of a hobby shop called it in. Patrol’s en route.”

  “Thank God.” This would be it. She finally had enough to hold the son of a bitch. He was a flight risk. They’d never offer a bail option. He’d sit in jail. They’d get a conviction.

  This was a good moment.

  Rare.

  She picked up her phone to call Hailey. Where would she be right now? With her family? With Bruce? Jamie hesitated.

  Instead, she sent a text. Marchek’s been spotted. Patrol’s en route.

  She sent it to Mackenzie too.

  They could call if they wanted to talk. At least, they might sleep better.

  She would.

  The light on the garage door opener clicked off. Tonight would have been a good night for a celebratory drink. She hoped there was chocolate in the house. She could sit on the couch and watch Game of Thrones. She would actually relax.

  She swung her holster over her shoulder, scooped up her laptop and the notes she had planned to work on. Her holster caught on the emergency brake. She shifted her computer and notes to the other arm, let the holster fall from her shoulder onto the passenger seat. Then, she dropped her notes on the seat beside the gun. No work tonight.

  She wished Z and Tony were home. They could have a movie night—make popcorn on the stove the way Pat used to for Tony and Mick and her. Watch one of those old movies that she used to love. Was Z too young for Back to the Future? Or maybe something like the Jungle Book. She had loved that as a kid.

  She maneuvered her way through the dark to the back door, flipped the light switch with her elbow.

  Nothing happened. The bulb had blown. “Damn it.”

  She stepped toward the door, heard a crunch beneath her feet. Broken glass.

  Her heart stopped. She dropped the laptop, which clattered to the ground.

  Her gun. She dove for her car. Too late.

  Heavy hands snatched her from behind, gripping her shoulders like steel vises. He rammed her, headfirst, into the door. She heard a sharp crack—wood, or maybe her skull. She saw red in the blackness. Her hands swam in front of her, struggled to make contact with something she could use for support. It was all air.

  She grabbed for one of the hands that held her. They were sunken into her flesh like anchors. He yanked her backwards. Her hand struck the doorknob. She stretched for it, seized the cold metal in her fist. She twisted as he shoved her head toward the wood again. The door flew open. She catapulted into the laundry room, the man behind her.

  She spun onto her back, raised her legs to kick. She got only one leg in the air before he came down on top of her. She pinned her foot against his chest. Steely eyes, dark hair. Marchek.

  “Help!” she shouted, trying to straighten her leg to drive him back. The officer could not hear her from the street. Not with the garage door closed. Her effort barely budged Marchek. Too heavy. Panic caught in her throat.

  He grinned, his teeth clenched. His chin mottled with drool. A day’s growth of beard looked like a smear of grease on his chin. “You see my latest?”

  She fought to hold him back.

  “I wanted the cop this morning, waited all night for her,” he said, holding her pinned. “She never came back to that building. I thought I had her until I got that woman into the back. Then, it wasn’t her. I was very disappointed. Could you tell?”

  Her leg began to tremor.

  Marchek bared yellowed teeth. “The other one, she was too sweet for a cop. She’s lucky I didn’t have more time. But, now there’s you, and we’ve got all night.” He spit as he spoke.

  Jamie struggled against muscle fatigue. Fight, damn it.

  “This isn’t my first time out here. I’ve been watching you, waiting for the right time. I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”

  Fear burned through her chest.

  Rape.

  She saw Tony as he had been that day.

  No. She forced Marchek’s words from her head. He would not win. She counted to three, let her leg buckle, then forced it straight with all she had. She shoved him free, moved.

  He descended on her again. A giant hand clamped onto her arm. The other one wrenched her leg beneath her. She tumbled onto her back.

  Tears stung her eyes as her head bounced off the floor.

  She swung her hips right. She didn’t want to be pinned on her back. Couldn’t let him have her.

  She screamed.

  He backhanded her and threw her down like a doll. Before she could shift, he was on top of her. His hips pinned hers.

  Panic descended like water, choking, drowning her. She screamed out. Twisted. Shoved. Used her elbows. Her fingernails. Heard one finger snap like a toothpick in his grip. A rush of pain.

  His left fist burst into her peripheral vision. She flinched as it flew toward her face. She blinked hard, fought off dizziness, nausea. Her hand sought the soft spot between his legs. He began to rock against her.

  She wriggled to reach down enough to hurt him. Felt like she was trapped under a car as she wheezed.

  Rough, sandpaper skin touched her flesh. His hands grazed her stomach. He pinched her nipple, then cupped her breast, kneading it in his fist like bread dough.

  She fought harder. Screamed, flailed beneath him. She twisted left, then right, couldn’t free herself.

  Trapped. She was trapped. Tony was gone. The cop couldn’t hear her. No one was coming. Her weapon was in the car. Barney was with Tony and Z.

  He tugged at the waist of her pants. The button popped off, and Jamie couldn’t breathe.

  She was nauseous and blind. Her vision dulled. She sobbed. It came upon her without her control. She was pinned too hard. She couldn’t reach him. He was winning. He would win. His face moved toward hers. She saw teeth firs
t, like the fangs of a wild cat.

  Breathless, she clawed at the socket of his left eye. The ball was hard, deterring her at first. She jabbed into the soft spot in the corner of his eye, dug at it.

  Marchek howled and moved back, grabbing her hand.

  She snapped it from his grasp, clawed his neck. She jabbed her finger into the small hollow spot at the base of his throat, fought to tear the skin off.

  He dropped her other arm, clutched his neck. She rounded her back, reached for his crotch with her right hand. Seized the soft sack as tight as she could. Gripped her fist tighter.

  Marchek roared, scrambling his hand to snatch hers. She poised her left arm over her face to protect herself, clamped her right hand into a tighter fist. Clenched her teeth to bear down. He shifted back, caught her hand, struggled to loosen her grip. She bent one knee, nailed it hard against her hand.

  She felt wiggle room, a tiny bit of air, and twisted as hard as she could. He fell off. Pulse frantic, she scrambled to her feet. Shoved open the door into the garage. He latched on to her foot. She pitched forward, landing on her hands. She smashed her chin on the cement floor, felt the hot sear of her tooth tear through her lip.

  She didn’t stop. Kicked. She gasped, kicked again. She scrambled to her feet, grappled for the handle of the car door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he said, his voice a menacing growl.

  She yanked the car door open, climbed halfway in.

  He shoved the door closed on her. Air streamed from her lungs. Metal gouged her ribs. Her breath blistered in her chest. The pain let up slightly as he opened the door. Sobbing, she crawled farther into the car.

  Her fingers made contact with her holster as he tugged on her leg. She fought to kick free, but the grip was too tight. She caught his leg with one kick. He cursed. She clambered toward the gun, caught the leather holster in her fist.

  She felt his whole weight on her. Agony ripped through her as he punched into the small of her back.

  She collapsed, smashing her chest on the emergency brake. She let herself go still. Struggled to inhale. Clung to her weapon. Every move was torture as she struggled to free the gun from the holster. She gasped for air, fought against the pain—in her ribs, in her chest, in the small of her back. Her eyes teared up. She blinked to clear her vision. Felt them tear again.

  Finally, the gun snapped free.

  She gasped, cradled it to her chest. Cried harder.

  Marchek yanked her from the car by her legs. Letting herself be pulled, she slid across the seat until her knees touched the cold cement of the garage. The gun was cradled to her chest.

  He growled in anger, clutched a fistful of her hair. He wrenched her head back. She heard the shearing whisper of hair ripping from her scalp, the pain like scalding water.

  She cried out.

  Marchek laughed. “Why don’t we do it right here in the garage, then, copper? As good a spot as any.”

  He jerked her back. Still clasping her hair, he shoved her toward the floor. When he let go of her hair to push her down, she dropped flat to the floor, rolled onto her back.

  Panting, aching, she held the gun straight out above her. Chambered a round.

  Marchek halted. His mouth formed a small O as he lifted his hands into the air.

  Jamie pushed herself up slowly, using her free hand to scale the garage shelves until she was sitting. Her heart pounded in her ears as she watched the rise and fall of Marchek’s chest, his own breathing labored. His last breaths.

  “You can’t shoot an unarmed man,” he said, taking a step backwards. “Officer.”

  Jamie stared. Tried to clear her mind, to think. But the rush of anger and pain clouded her brain. Like the sky of a burning sunset, red was all she saw.

  Marchek took another step backwards.

  Jamie blinked quickly, aimed with two hands. She pulled the trigger.

  The first shot hit the zipper of his pants, where he kept the weapon he’d used to rape those women.

  Then, she fired again left, at the heart, then right to be sure. Unlike in the movies, there was no change in Marchek’s expression. He didn’t look down at the wounds or stagger around. There was only the brief flash of his legs giving way as he dropped to the ground before the blood began to pool.

  She didn’t move for several seconds—maybe it was more. The gun out in front of her, she gripped it as her arms began to shake.

  “You weren’t unarmed, Marchek. Not now, not ever.”

  The police outside pounded on the garage door. They must have heard the gunshots. “Inspector Vail! Vail.”

  Slowly, shivering, she crawled toward the house to open the garage door.

  Chapter 36

  Jamie walked out of the hospital the next morning through the same door she usually entered to interview victims of people like Marchek. And now she was the victim—almost. Not quite. Marchek hadn’t gotten her—at least not in the way his victims typically suffered.

  And yet she realized with sudden clarity that the act of rape began far before penetration.

  Rape.

  She could have gone home last night. She hadn’t broken anything major.

  She was bruised—everything was bruised. But there were no cracks in her ribs. Even slamming the door on her, that bastard hadn’t broken anything, except for one finger.

  But when she closed her eyes, she imagined him coming down on top of her. She blinked hard, forced the image away. Wondered how long those images would bombard her.

  Would they ever stop?

  She stopped outside the hospital door, lit a cigarette and sucked it until her lungs could draw no more smoke. She held the breath, the buzz burning away her headache. Let it slowly out. Without moving, she repeated the motion until the cigarette was gone.

  Marchek was dead. She’d finally gotten him. She thought about the reports that would have to be filed. She’d had to turn in her gun. There were tests to be performed, interviews with Internal Affairs. She’d be on administrative leave until she was cleared of any wrongdoing in his death.

  Even the bureaucratic bullshit was worth knowing he would never rape another woman again.

  Jamie shook another cigarette from the pack, noticed her trembling fingers. It worsened as she lifted the lighter, spun the metal wheel with her thumb, and heard the flame flicker.

  As she took the first drag, she saw her beat-up Subaru pull to the curb. The last officer she’d been interviewed by had said someone was coming to get her and take her home. He didn’t say who; she didn’t ask. After three separate interviews and more than two hours of questions, she was done talking. But, she’d hoped it would be Hailey.

  This would be harder.

  She watched Tony step out of her car. He wiped his palms on his pants as if he were picking up a date for the junior prom. She didn’t move toward him. It took all she had not to turn back into the hospital, not to run.

  When he reached her, he touched her cheek, skimming his thumb over one of the nasty bruises from Marchek.

  She flinched.

  He reached his arms around her, pulled her to his chest. “When they called, I thought you were gone,” he whispered and she felt his hands in her hair.

  She let out a moan as he tightened his arms around her chest. He loosened his arms. “Shit. Are you okay?”

  She gripped his arms, wanting to be held. “Don’t let go.”

  “I’m here.”

  Tears flowed. The hate in Marchek’s face, the fear in Tony’s that day. Trying to forget, wanting it to all go away.

  Why hadn’t she done something?

  The feel of Marchek’s grip on her…

  She turned into Tony, buried her face in his chest. “I was so scared, Tony. I was so scared.”

  “I know,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “I ache,” she said. “Everything aches.”

  “God, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  She leaned against him, held tight. Closed her eyes, opened them agai
nst the images that appeared. She didn’t feel okay. How long would it be until she felt okay?

  “Did they give you anything?” he asked.

  “A prescription for Vicodin.”

  “You want to fill it?”

  She shook her head, stepped back. “Too tempting.”

  “I’d be okay.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you.”

  He nodded. “You ready?”

  “Did you see it? What’s it look like?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “The house—the garage?” She pictured the blood everywhere.

  “It’s clean. I cleaned it up. Installed the washer and dryer too.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  The blood would be gone. She’d still see it, of course.

  And him.

  It would all be there for her. “Thank you.”

  They turned to the car.

  There was silence, but she knew what was on both their minds. The subject would come up.

  It was time.

  Tony opened the car door for her, waited while she sat. He reached across to fasten the seatbelt across her chest and moved the chest harness behind her back. The seatbelt was dangerous worn this way, unsafe. She didn’t want it to tighten across her aching ribs.

  Tony drove without a seat belt. She thought about telling him to put it on, but couldn’t find the words.

  She wanted to start, to get it over with. She owed him an apology—they all did.

  Already, she knew that.

  She understood now, more than ever.

  She said nothing for twenty minutes. The car was silent. He’d shut off the radio she’d had playing when she’d driven home the night before—celebrating her victories. Christ, what a lot had changed.

  She knew that was what happened. Things turned upside down so fast. That’s how it had been all those years ago.

  The bright orange pillars of the Golden Gate Bridge emerged in the distance against the brilliant sky.

  She had to speak. The fear boiled in her. “I don’t think anyone realizes how hard it is.”

  He didn’t ask what. He knew. He didn’t look at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have done something back then.”

  She saw the slow tremor in his hands work its way up his arms, but she didn’t stop—couldn’t.