Dead Burn

by Jennifer Chase

  Organization was crucial.

  He popped the small wedge into his mouth and let it sit on his tongue. He tasted the sharp, tangy flavor that filled him with energy. The deli food would sustain him until the show began.

  The thought of the fiery image, flames taking control to devastate everything in its path, changing shades to push through anything that tried to squelch the power, completely energized him. Soon it would be five down and two to go before moving on to the next mission.

  The warrior waited in hiding.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Tuesday 1230 Hours

  Several cop cars swarmed around the assistant district attorney’s home, a few parked precariously, while some police officers chatted with one another waiting for further instructions. A large, heavyset man, assumed to be the detective in charge, lumbered toward the home and up the driveway, gesturing to some of the uniformed officers.

  Upon closer inspection, Emily immediately recognized the detective; it was Detective Bobby Duncan. Her mind catapulted back to two years ago.

  “Looks like the first time that the cops beat us here.” Rick sarcastically stated as they cruised on by the residence.

  No one paid them any attention.

  Emily remembered her conversation with the detective. He was stern, but respectful. She would always remember what he did for her. Jail was the obvious conclusion to the outcome, but he let her go so that she could continue her never-ending undertaking as a phantom investigator.

  A few chills slithered up her spine as she reminisced all of her narrow escapes in the past. Sometimes she woke from a deep sleep frightened by what could happen at any time, but whatever was in store for her remained a secret.

  “Em?”

  Emily quietly answered. “Yeah, I think the cops have it covered. It didn’t look like A.D.A. Richards was home.”

  She watched the neighboring homes and dense trees pass by the passenger window like obscure objects in a repetitive painting. Finally she asked, “Did you check out if the A.D.A. has other homes?”

  “I left the list at home, but I’ll double check again. There might be a corporation name recorded as the owner for tax purposes. I’m sure he has a condo or maybe a summer beach home.” Rick drove to a nearby shopping center and pulled into a parking place.

  Shoppers hurried to their favorite stores unaware that more pressing situations of life and death floated all around them. Emily watched a woman animatedly talk on her cell phone as her red hair blew around her face. She pushed the shopping cart full of groceries, which ended abruptly at the back hatch of a large sports utility vehicle. She still chattered away about trivial topics.

  It amazed Emily that most people were oblivious to what went on around them.

  “This is going to take a few minutes.” Rick worked efficiently with the tiny keyboard on his phone, keeping his attention focused.

  Emily watched him work. He knew exactly how to conduct the most complex investigations. She wondered if he missed working on the job as a police detective.

  A staggering man appeared from around the back of a restaurant. He interrupted her thoughts. He swayed and stumbled every other step, but kept going with absolute determination. The suit he wore looked like something that a salesperson or an office manager would wear.

  The surrounding people paid little attention to the man.

  Emily kept her watchful eye on him, something did not seem right.

  A twenty-something man rode by her car window on a bicycle. It wouldn’t seem strange except the guy made subtle gestures to the staggering man. They were an obvious odd couple, but if you looked closer; they seemed about the same age, build, and just the wardrobe appeared different.

  “Did you hear anything I said?” Rick asked.

  Emily turned and looked at him. “I’m sorry, but there’s something weird going on in the parking lot.”

  Rick averted his attention from the Internet, quickly scanning the parking lot to see Emily’s concern.

  She continued with her suspicion. “I think there’s going to be a robbery or theft.”

  Searching for shopping center security cameras, she only found one at the bank and grocery store. Emily then quickly grabbed a navy hoodie from the back seat. “I’m going to slow them down or at least make them move on.”

  “What a minute Em. You can’t do that.”

  “Funny, I feel the same about them.” She zipped up her sweatshirt and pulled up the hood. With one hand on the handle release, she said. “Get a photo of them to email to the burglary division for ID.”

  Before Rick could respond, Emily jumped out of the SUV causally heading toward the men.

  Emily carefully watched where other shoppers meandered. At the moment people seemed to be inside the stores and not wandering around the parking lot. She was relieved that it was a Tuesday instead of a weekend.

  The man who had staggered into the parking lot gazed into various cars for a quick inventory. Emily watched as he made a casual gesture with his left hand to the person on the bike.

  Tricky communication techniques, but she was prepared to stop them. There was another type of criminal that she hated; it was the opportunist who gave grief to the average person.

  Not today, she thought.

  The man in the suit pressed up against a small sedan, peered into the windows, and then turned to lean on the car. Obviously, he checked to see if the alarm remained engaged or not.

  Emily thought she would play her own game.

  “Excuse me? Hello? Sir?” She quickened her steps. “Have you seen a small dog run by here?” It was difficult for her not to laugh by the startled look on his face, eyes wide and face paled. She continued as she walked toward the man, “He’s a really sweet, small, brown and black puppy with a leather collar.” She realized that the man was no more than eighteen.

  He turned and ran.

  Something inside Emily snapped. She felt increasingly angry and wanted to unleash her rage onto someone else, anyone else, her teeth clenched, jaw tightened, and every muscle constricted to the breaking point. The frustration of the arson case and the feelings of uneasiness about Bishop and Red didn’t mix well together. She felt out of control. The two thieves were no big deal, but she wanted to make them pay for their stupid decision to rip off property from others.

  Emily moved with purpose.

  When she reached the back of the buildings, no one was around. There were several garbage dumpsters surrounded by areas of cement and a straggly patch of yellow green grass. She walked around the dumpsters expecting to see a hiding perp, but no one waited. He was obviously more cunning than she had first realized. He must have had an escape route, and was no doubt long gone.

  Emily’s guard lowered as she turned the corner in between two large dumpsters. The guy from the bike materialized, he took a step forward and shoved her backward. She lost her balance and tried desperately to regain her footing to no avail; instead, she fell against one of the dumpsters smacking the back of her head as she went down. A dull ring radiated around in her brain. A searing pain telescoped down her spine.

  Calming her breath along with her rapidly beating heart, she tried to gain her balance. Emily watched for her attacker to make another move. She saw his face, intense, full of hatred, and there wasn’t anything redeeming about his demeanor.

  The perp stood over her, leering, and ready for any counter attack. He didn’t seem surprised that she was a woman under the hoodie, instead he moved with a slight swagger as if he was proud and was going to make her pay.

  Emily took the few extra seconds to catch her breath, even the ringing in her head subsided. She knew that the criminal thought she was a weak opponent. As if hearing what she thought, he lunged forward and roughly stood her up.

  He finally spoke a few words, “You think you’re so tough bitch? Maybe I need to see how tough you really are…”

  Emily stared him in the eye. She sensed some hesitation in his approach of attack by her unwaverin
g attitude, or maybe it was something about her driving courage that spooked him. He was about her height. It would make it easier for her to fight back and keep him at her level.

  She laughed.

  It felt good to let go, the happy utterance was a release that felt better than crying. All of her cases from the past, and the new ones she hadn’t studied yet, merged into a monster that she could fight. Now the monster was a petty thief that stood in front of her.

  Disbelief shadowed the young man’s face.

  The surge of adrenaline pumped through Emily. She used that moment for her attack. She handled an effective uppercut boxing move, and made a direct hit to the attacker’s groin. He instantly went down to his knees in agony.

  “Never, ever, judge anyone by how they look…” Emily kicked the guy on the right side of the head; he flopped down to the ground semi-conscious.

  She readied herself in an attacker’s stance. Taking her left foot back, she prepared herself for another frontal assault.

  “Hey!”

  Emily looked up expecting to see the partner in crime.

  “Stop!” Rick yelled as he confronted Emily. He used his body to block her.

  He leaned down and helped up the stunned man. “Get out of here!” The man limped away, still with a look of horror on his face.

  Emily walked past Rick without a word. She wasn’t sure how she felt, but she didn’t want to be psychologized now by anyone.

  “Em…” Rick jogged up to her with a look of concern on his face. With his voice even and soft, he said. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. He jumped me and I had to defend myself.”

  “You were going to kick that guy’s face in.”

  “Maybe now he’ll just get a job.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Did you have any luck with more addresses?” Emily quickly changed the subject. Her mind was already back to catching the arsonist.

  Slowly, Rick answered. “I found a house up north.”

  “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Tuesday 0130 Hours

  The Cessna taxied down the runway, gained speed, and eased into flight with the grace of a large predator bird. The aircraft glided easily into the west and then made a sharp turn southward along the picturesque coastline.

  The spectacular views enthralled the senses. The clear crisp day lent to the sparkling waters below and the pristine visibility. Only approaching clouds in the distant west muddled the vista.

  The plane lowered its altitude and set the cruising speed to a comfortable pace.

  It was one of Red’s tasks to fly Bishop to special engagements and meetings. He automatically checked all gauges, estimating that it would take sixty-seven minutes to fly into the Los Angeles area.

  Under normal conditions, it would be a perfect day for Red’s plan. Precision and efficiency was crucial. Nevertheless, it was not ideal, which in turn left his stomach in an acrid stupor. He had meticulously planned for this day and nothing could have darkened the outcome or his mood, except for an additional passenger.

  He hated changes in well thought out plans – it boiled his nerves. The anger continued to build as it seethed beneath his cool demeanor, causing his stomach to flip flop. He noticed that his left hand wavered slightly from stress. It was the first time that the normal pressure of the job began to push his limits. He drove his personal health issues from his mind and concentrated on his next task.

  The man that sat next to Bishop was tall and beefy with his shirt buttoned up too tight for his meaty neck. The guy wasn’t the smartest thug in the litter, but he was heavily armed. Only known as Rush, it was one of Bishop’s occasional bodyguards. Bishop rarely had a need for one of his henchmen to accompany him on a short trip because Red usually pulled double-duty as pilot and bodyguard.

  It was never a problem – until now.

  If Red was going to execute his plan, he only had nine minutes to make up his mind. He heard Bishop’s voice prattling on about something with his usual high-minded attitude.

  The assassin curled his hands into fists and made his decision.

  Securing the autopilot, he emerged from the small cockpit and stepped into the passenger area.

  “All smooth sailing I presume?” Bishop held Red’s stare. A practiced concrete smile he used on so many occasions. It made you know that he had the upper hand at all times.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Red said.

  Rush smirked, turned his head to look out the window, and ignored Red’s intense look with a disrespectful defiance.

  Red quickly looked at his watch.

  Two minutes… thirty-seven seconds…

  “We’re right on time.” Red said.

  Bishop’s eyes narrowed and changed to a murky grey. He scrutinized Red closely with an air of curiosity.

  Two minutes… fifteen seconds…

  Red casually slipped his right hand into his bulky jacket to retrieve a knife. It had a double-edged blade and was seven inches in length. With extreme efficiency and speed, he lunged forward, sunk the blade into the left side of Rush’s neck, and gave it a quarter turn twist.

  Blood gushed profusely and sent fountain spurts spattering the inside window and luxury leather seat. The startled expression of the now bug-eyed bodyguard remained secured on Red. No question imprinted on his face, but rather a peculiar glare.

  The man clasped his thick hands onto Red’s forearms in a death grip as the last bits of air gurgled from his mouth. His hands loosened slowly and fell away. The remaining blood flowed out as the man crumbled forward, falling onto the floor.

  Within a few seconds of the attack, Red stood up and turned to face Bishop with a calm manner.

  His boss, still seated in his seat, remained calm, and showed no reaction to the horrific scene. Several droplets of blood had made its way across the aisle, which left dappled dots on the sleeve of Bishop’s jacket. His darkened gaze fixed on Red.

  Two minutes… five seconds…

  “Bravo.” Bishop bluffed.

  Red stood quiet. The bloody knife felt superb in his hand. It had been a while since he had killed someone with a blade.

  “Is there something we need to discuss?” Bishop casually asked.

  “No.” Red replied.

  Bishop laughed. “I guess I may have underestimated you and your abilities.”

  Red stood his ground. That familiar ache in his hands and shoulders fought for his attention, but he gritted his teeth in response.

  “Am I to presume that you didn’t kill Emily Stone?”

  “I fulfilled the contract.” He flatly lied.

  One minute… forty seconds…

  Red had to move quickly if he was going complete his task.

  Bishop leaned forward and grabbed a hidden pistol with surprising quickness. He aimed the gun directly at Red and fired.

  Trying to anticipate Bishop’s next move, Red hit the floor hard and rolled his body out of immediate firing range.

  The splitting sound of the gunfire pierced the air, rattling around the cabin.

  The bullet managed to blast into his left shoulder, pain radiated immediately, and continued to grow in intensity. He felt his left hand and forearm go numb. Grappling to take cover and hoping that more bullets didn’t puncture the body of the plane, Red’s body rolled again as he retrieved his own gun.

  Bishop squeezed off another round.

  One minute…

  * * * * *

  Jordan fidgeted with his wetsuit before he left the Monterey Bay harbor in the zodiac boat. He loved the water and realized it had been too long since he had been scuba diving, or even body surfing. There was nothing more invigorating than participating in a one-on-one with the ocean.

  The mist of the water lightly sprayed his face as he glided along with increasing speed. The sunny day made it even more inviting if it had been under any other conditions. In the distance, clouds threatened to bring a storm.

/>   He embarked on a secret rendezvous mission. He never dreamed when he woke up that morning he would be partaking in something so dangerous and even a little bit devious. It was the hair-raising activities and dare devil antics that entertained heroes, not an ordinary security person.

  As Jordan thought about what Red had asked of him, it made him yearn for more undercover assignments. The image of Emily’s smiling face flashed through his mind frequently and their undercover investigations together. He would formulate a life plan once everything was over, and when the smoke had cleared – if he lived that long.

  An uneasy feeling crept into Jordan’s mind. It was the same type of eeriness that plagued him when he was on an undercover operation back at the F.B.I. that something could go wrong – and usually did.

  What happened after he fulfilled his obligation with Red? He knew too much. Was it just the case of eliminating the loose ends and Jordan would be the next target?

  Jordan didn’t have a choice. The events had already been set in motion.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to concentrate on the amazing blue water. He shot past two small scuba boats, which marked the divers in the water exploring the breathtaking marine life. As he thought of the great oceanic adventure, envy wormed its way into Jordan’s mindset.

  It did not take long to distance himself from the harbor and the coastline. He read his compass and knew that he was heading northwest into no man’s land. It was the deepest part of the bay with an underwater canyon depth of approximately one mile.

  By Jordan’s estimation and current speed, he would arrive at the location directed by Red in less than ten minutes.

  * * * * *

  The second bullet had grazed his earlobe, but didn’t catch anything meaty on his body like the first round. The trajectory of the slug pinged, bounced behind him, and did not ricochet back. The aircraft still maintained the proper altitude; otherwise, the firearm would have penetrated the shell of the cabin, causing the plane to drop and air pressure to diminish.