BITCH (A Romantic Suspense Novel) (11 page)

Twenty-Two

Erin slipped back into the Jeep. What the hell was he talking about? She was there to get what off his back? Something told her that she already could guess. He knew, in fact was intimately acquainted with the fact, that she was a police officer.

Which meant that he was letting her think that she was getting away with something. Why? The only reason that made sense was that he also knew why she was getting acquainted with him. The pieces fit into place better than she liked.

He was just going to go up the line of the previous killers and introduce her to them, was that how it worked? The entire idea seemed strange. But more than that, it made no sense. Why? What was he trying to protect by driving her attention towards them?

A few serial killers in their midst would eventually drop the law hammer on them. So maybe that was it. She was the release valve for the guys who were drawing too much heat. Well, if that was all it was—was that a bad thing?

Why not just tell her straight out? Informants weren't unheard of. Even the ones that just came in and said "hey, I'm part of such-and-such gang."

But instead they'd gone for the long game, some sort of big charade where he pretended not to know anyone in a gang and slowly introduced her to all these men. His brothers, he'd said.  Then what was the speech he'd given her the other day? A bunch of bullshit?

Craig Hutchinson seemed at all times like the kind of guy who would bullshit her. Yet, in that moment, he'd seemed more serious than anything. As if for the first time she was getting a look behind the curtain.

He said he wouldn't let anything happen to his brothers, and she believed him. Even after she'd heard him tell someone that she was there specifically to bring his brothers in.

Which meant there was something more to it. Something that he was leaving out, either with the others in that little club he'd been talking to, or leaving something out with her.

She had heard them talked about before, and it wasn't unheard-of for motorcycle gangs to call their other members brothers. They might be his family, too, in that sense. But none of it made sense, not really. She needed to get someone else's eyes on this.

Her fingers were shaking enough to make it hard to dial Roy's number. He answered quickly. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, holding the phone up in front of her face with the speakerphone on. "But I've got some information for you."

"Shoot."

"Hutchinson. He knows who's been doing your murders. But I think there's something else going on."

"That's absurd, Erin. What could possibly be bigger than repeated serial murders?"

"For you? Probably nothing. Probably you'd be willing to overlook whatever it is, once you get the killers. But he's definitely made me. Made me from the beginning."

"Are you in danger?"

"Not sure."

"So what comes next?"

She paused a minute before answering. "Not sure. I don't like being used."

"I wouldn't either."

"If he thinks that I'm going to go in and just do whatever he says, then—"

"Then what?"

"Then I guess I'll let him."

"What?"

"It's my sister. I don't like being played. But if his play is to give me my sister's killer on a silver platter, then I accept."

"You sure there's nothing else to it? No trap?"

"I don't know anything but what I told you. I met one of your guys. Hold off until we get more info, but he was calling himself 'Ryan' this time. I think he was the second guy, the one who did the Maine job."

"We have him down as a… 'Spencer Gold.'"

"Well, you always knew those names were fake, right?"

"Nothing else to call him until now. 'Ryan,' huh? Got a last name?"

"I couldn't push him any harder for it without being suspicious."

"Alright. I understand. I think you've earned yourself dinner tonight, know anyplace good?"

"Sure. I'll pick this time."

"Good choice."

Erin wasn't in any sort of mood for dinner. Not yet. It was early, though, and a few hours would do a hell of a lot for her mood after the morning she'd had. A few hours, a nap, and some idea of what the hell was going on around her.

Ryan was one of the brothers that the guy had been talking about, right? It was the only thing that made any sense. But why? He'd been real defensive about his name, too. He was trying to keep a low profile, far as she could tell, and tattoos had turned that all around.

The monkey on their back…

She pulled onto her street. Only a four-mile shot down the road now, and she'd be able to go lay down and maybe try to sort this shit out.

There were too many questions to be sure what the right answers were. The important ones were all the most questionable.

Why her? There are a thousand cops in this city. Ten thousand maybe. There's no reason to go straight to her, not when they could have gone to any of them. Maybe Craig didn't get word that he was involved in the murder plot until it was too late, and now he was using her to clean up the mess because it was convenient.

But that didn't sit right. He had been pulling the strings since the beginning. Waiting for her to message him, and he'd answered in minutes. Like he knew it was going to come.

The threat of reprisal was very real, as well. It was all well and good to sell your family up the river, but it didn't sit that well with them after the fact. Maybe his whole plan was to get her to move, and then get revenge right after he got what he wanted. It would tie the whole package up nice and tidy, and he'd already demonstrated that he could get into her place any time he liked.

She shut her eyes. That meant they were playing a dangerous game. She needed to be more careful with her moves. Before, she'd thought that she was the cat, and he was the mouse. Now it seemed more like they were both playing games with the other. Now that she saw that it wasn't a one-sided game, it changed things.

Was this how Craig had seen everything from the beginning? She shuddered. That wasn't good. How much had he known would happen, and how much was just rolling with the punches?

Erin forced herself not to ask too many questions like that. There was no reason to do it, and it was just going to upset her. No reason to get herself riled up just yet.

Not when she had plenty of time left to look into all those questions. This wasn't about a race, and it wasn't about a finish line. Now she understood it more like a dance. In the end, she was going to get what she wanted. The only question was the state she got there in.

So she slipped into her bed and shut her eyes. It was easier to think after she slept. It was a damn shame that she hadn't had enough time to do much of it before. But now she needed to be at the top of her game, because when he made his move, there wasn't going to be any backup.

Twenty-Three

Erin woke up to the sound of something at her door. A scratching noise. Her hand reached automatically for the gun by her bedside. She clicked the safety off as she stepped up. If she was someone's pawn, then that meant that there was an opponent. As soon as they noticed what was happening, they were going to come after her.

The door came open a little way before encountering the chain. Erin crouched down in the little hall that the apartment tried to pass off as a kitchen and trained her weapon on the door. When the chain shattered under the weight of someone putting their shoulder into it, she waited half an instant to see who it was before she fired.

The explosion in her hand was loud enough to make her head dance around and her vision go wonky for half a second. Her ears rang. She took another shot and the guy tripped over his own feet. Erin turned him over. Poor Ryan, the guy never saw it coming. Erin didn't feel particularly bad about it.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Roy first.

"I've got a situation here."

"What's wrong?"

"There's a dead body in my kitchen."

"Are you okay?"

"Our friend Ryan tried to break in. I defended myself."

Roy paused on the other end of the line a minute before answering. "Okay, we can take care of this. You called 9-1-1 yet?"

"Not yet, no."

"Okay. I'll communicate it to your people."

"Good. Make sure you communicate that I'm going to leave my firearm on the floor and move away. I'm going to be dis-armed and waiting for them."

"Good. Will-do."

Roy showed up at the apartment flanked on both sides by L.A.P.D. They all huffed over the body on her floor for a minute. She understood the position that she was in. She could have killed someone. On the other hand, it was still her right to defend herself from someone who meant to harm her. That she was a cop also meant that certain things would be understood, and one of them was that she knew what she was doing.

None of that made the body go away, or stopped the blood from staining her kitchen tile.

Roy spoke first. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I heard him coming in. The chain latch was shut. He broke it getting in, and I took steps to defend myself."

"Good."

They turned the body over. There was a pistol in a shoulder-holster. She didn't recognize either of the uniforms, but then again she rarely did. They got on the radio and called in a medical team. The guy was sure as hell dead, but that didn't mean they could leave him on the floor.

The two of them took their sweet time getting to her, which she didn't mind. Erin's skin was starting to crawl at the feeling of having used her gun. They were as safe as anything, she knew. She'd used them every week at the range. Shooting paper had taught her that they didn't just go off willy-nilly.

Accidents happened, sure. But they didn't happen when you were careful and smart about what you were doing. Now, though—she had been careful. She might have been smarter, but with a .38, the odds of blowing straight through and hurting a civilian were slim.

She'd decided to kill the guy, and there he was. Dead on the floor. Roy was saying something to her, but she wasn't listening. The instant she'd pulled the trigger kept playing through her head in slow motion. Maybe she would have been fine. Maybe he was just there to talk. Did she have the right to shoot a man for breaking in, not knowing what he would do?

If she had waited, and she hadn't been safe, wouldn't she have been able to deal with that when the need arose? Maybe not. Erin knew the odds of beating someone in a quick-draw weren't good. Even if you had the gun already in your hands, you still had to worry about aiming in a high-stress situation. It wasn't a situation she would have wanted to put herself in.

But that didn't mean she had the right to kill the guy, not even if he was a murdering son of a bitch.

More than that, though, the only play she'd made, the only information she had outside of what Craig had chosen to give her, was gone now. Ryan something-or-other, suspected in the murder of a young twenty-something with dark hair from Maine under a false name, was the only link that she'd been able to make on her own.

Well, now they weren't going to be able to question him, were they?

She heard the uniform asking her a question and asked him to repeat it. "Is this firearm registered?"

"Yes."

"Good." He ejected the magazine and counted off the ammunition. Five shots left out of seven. She watched him with a detached interest. The mechanical actions made sense to her. It was what she would have done. If a detective were to show up, which they might not waste one on, then the guy would tell him.

The detective probably would believe him, but it wouldn't stop him from checking. The uniform slid the magazine back into the gun and put it back where he'd found it close enough.

"You going to be okay, Detective Russo?"

She nodded absently. Too much was going on. Too many questions that she didn't have answers to, too many things she didn't want to think or worry about.

Roy crouched down in front of her, forced her to look him in the eyes. "Russo. You're fine. We'll pull this guy's prints, and get them going in a database. We'll be able to have his full name before long."

"Good," she said, but she didn't feel up to it. Why were they still talking about this? What in the hell was she doing here? Shouldn't they have taken her into the station?

"You'll need to stay in a hotel a few days."

"Okay."

The place exploded with activity as the EMTs arrived. They weren't in any sort of hurry, knowing that the guy was dead and all, but it didn't stop the place from being far too small for six people walking around it.

"You're fine. I know this isn't going to count for much, Erin, but you didn't do anything wrong, okay? If you need to talk to anyone, you have my number. I'll follow you to your hotel, and then I have to get back to work. Don't you hesitate to call if something happens. We still on for tonight?"

She didn't know. She was too tired and too scared to make decisions like that. Her head hurt and all she wanted was to sleep. But she was afraid that going back to sleep would just show her images of what had just happened. She didn't say any of that.

Instead, she nodded.

Roy gave her one last long, uncertain look before he put a hand on her knee and stood up.

"You're going to be alright, Erin. Trust me. You're going to be just fine, okay? Don't worry about anything. We'll look into this guy, and we'll find out who he works for. Who he works for, and any other information we can get ahold of."

"Thank you," she said softly. She wasn't sure it was right to be thanking him for any of this. Was he taking it easy on her because of what had happened between them?

"Don't mention it."

She took a deep breath and let herself sit back a second before getting up to follow him down to her Jeep. She didn't feel up to driving, right now. But sometimes you had to do things you didn't want to do.

She'd learned that a long time ago, and had it hammered home almost every morning for years. Now it was little more than automatic.