EDGE OF SUSPENSE: Thrilling Tales of Mystery & Murder (3 page)

"I've got your back, man," Javier Whitman
said into his cell phone while motoring down the busy freeway in a
BMW.

"You'd damn well better have it!" the man
shouted back. "If I go down, we all go down. Understand?"

"Yeah, I hear you." Javier tried to hide his
uneasiness at the mere prospect. "Don't worry. They don't have a
case. It's nothing but hot air. You ask me, the D.A.'s gonna drop
it any time now and we can all get back to business."

"I don't think so," the man said. "They
won't stop till they nail my ass. Unless I beat them at their own
game."

Javier tensed. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm sure as hell not gonna sit back
and wait for them to throw the book at me!"

Javier realized it was too late to stop the
wheels that were already in motion. "What did you have in
mind?"

"Probably better if you don't know."

Javier felt perspiration clinging to his
armpits as he took the exit to Lenwood Street. He wondered if his
cover had been blown. Impossible. He'd been extra careful as
always.

That did little to ease his discomfort.
"Well, look, I've gotta take care of some business—our business—so
I'll be in touch."

"Yeah, you do that," the man said
gruffly.

"Later."

Javier put the phone in his shirt pocket. He
was having second thoughts about being an informant. He was doing
his part to help get drug dealers off the streets in Portland. Or
at least one very big dealer. But was the price too high? If he
screwed up, he was a dead man. Just like his kid sister, who OD'd
on heroin last year.

Javier convinced himself that everything
would be all right. Once the drug kingpin's head was chopped off,
his arms and legs would cease functioning too.

That gave Javier hope he could get his life
back in order and try an honest and safer way to make a living.

Javier pulled into the underground parking
garage. He was fifteen minutes late for his appointment, and they
didn't tolerate tardiness. But he couldn't help it if he'd had to
make a couple of runs for the boss this morning and then got stuck
in rush hour traffic. He nervously ran a hand through his hair,
sucked in a deep breath, and was about to get out of the car.

That was when he noticed a shadowy figure
creeping swiftly toward his car.

Instinctively Javier went for his .357
Magnum. He'd never used it, but never left home without it, keenly
aware of the dangers he faced in the drug business.

* * *

The assassin, dressed in black, stood
outside the mark's window aiming a gun directly at Javier's face.
Before Javier could get off a shot with his own weapon, the
assassin fired three rounds pointblank through the window,
shattering it. Each bullet landed in Javier's head, causing blood
and brain matter to explode everywhere.

The assassin shot the snitch two more times
for good measure and one after that just for the hell of it.

Reaching through what was left of the
window, the assassin grabbed the dead man's wallet.

One down, one to go.

* * *

Lydia Muldaur fidgeted in her cold cell. At
least she was alone, which was about the only thing she had to
smile about. She hated the food, didn't dare drink the water, and
felt dirty. For now she was willing to be in jail, considering the
price for getting out.

She had refused to reveal the name of her
source for the article she'd written for the Rose City Daily about
reputed drug kingpin Antonio Escobero. She had also signed with a
major publisher to write a book on Escobero and his illicit drug
empire in Portland.

But then the man had gotten himself arrested
and charged with a host of crimes and Lydia was subpoenaed to
testify for the prosecution. Yes, Escobero was the worst kind of
scum and she would be happy if they put him away for the rest of
his miserable life. Only not as a result of her crossing that
principled line as a journalist and disclosing the name of the man
who was her pipeline to the inner workings of the city's drug
trade. Aside from endangering her source, Lydia would be
jeopardizing the career she had worked so hard to achieve.

Was it worth her job and reputation? She
didn't think so.

But Judge Barnard Nishida III didn't see it
that way. He ordered her to reveal her source or be held in
contempt of court. Lydia hoped she might get off with a stern
admonition and be given the right to protect her sources like any
good journalist.

Didn't happen.

The judge put her in jail and seemed
unaffected by his decision. As he put it, "Once you spend a little
time in hell, maybe you'll be ready to do your civic and
professional duty, Ms. Muldaur."

It was all Lydia could do not to give the
judge a piece of her mind. Common sense had prevailed. No reason to
anger him even more, only to wind up with additional time in a
place she clearly didn't belong.

How long would he keep her locked up like a
common criminal? A month? Two months? A year?

She didn't dare hazard a guess.

Lydia wanted to laugh to keep from crying.
She had already shed enough tears to turn her blue eyes permanently
scarlet.

Maybe this had gone far enough. Was she
supposed to stick to her guns for a lifetime?

Stubbornly, Lydia decided she would do just
that. Otherwise how could she possibly expect to gain the trust of
future sources for investigations if her word was not solid?

Still, a part of Lydia would give almost
anything right now to be relaxing in her Jacuzzi tub, sipping a
glass of red wine.

Almost.

* * *

DEA Special Agent Devlin Carter wasn't
surprised to learn that a member of Antonio Escobero's inner
circle, Javier Whitman, had been murdered. After all, with the drug
lord in custody on a number of serious charges that would likely
put him away for life, it wasn't unexpected that some turmoil would
occur within his organization. It had obviously been a professional
hit.

Carter had been surprised to find Lydia
Muldaur's business card in Whitman's pocket. She was the journalist
in jail for refusing to name her source. He had scrolled through
Whitman's cell phone and saw her number on his speed dial.

It didn't take much for Carter to put the
pieces together. Whitman had been Lydia's informant, supplying her
with insider knowledge of the drug world. And she'd been willing to
go to jail just to protect her source.

Commendable, yes. Smart, no.

Carter doubted Whitman had given her much
information that was credible, knowing he had to walk the line
carefully so he wouldn't tip his hand to those who would rather see
him dead than bring the cartel down.

Unfortunately he hadn't been careful enough
and paid the ultimate price.

Since Carter believed that Lydia Muldaur
might have just enough information to bolster the strong case they
already had against Escobero, he'd gotten the judge to release her.
Now that her source was dead, there was no need to keep her in
jail.

But Carter wanted to make sure his new ace
in the hole stayed alive. At least long enough to testify against
Escobero.

* * *

"You're free to go," the guard said
tonelessly.

"Me?" Lydia's eyes widened.

"Yes, you." The guard sneered. "It's your
lucky day."

Lydia didn't feel lucky, but was thankful
for the judge's apparent change of heart. She stood up and
practically skipped out of the cell before she was locked in
again.

After collecting her belongings, Lydia took
a cab home.

She never wanted to see the inside of a jail
cell again, unless she was interviewing an inmate.

She brushed aside the thought, happy to be
free.

Lydia wondered how Javier Whitman was
holding up. They had spoken yesterday and he sounded nervous, as if
she would betray his trust. She had guaranteed him that would never
happen.

Now she wasn't sure if it was worth getting
anything more from him. She had plenty to work with to write her
book. Maybe it was best to leave well enough alone.

Lydia called her good friend, Suzanne Pratt.
Suzanne had told her several times that she'd gotten way over her
head on this one and that she probably should think about dropping
the whole book idea and give up her source. But Lydia had assured
her it was worth it and she knew what she was doing. In the end,
Suzanne had stood by Lydia's decision to continue to pursue inside
info on Escobero.

"Lydia! It's good to hear your voice,"
Suzanne said.

"Same here," Lydia said. "I'm in a cab on my
way home. I've been released."

"Really? So...you revealed your source
then?"

"Nope. I didn't say a thing. They just told
me I was free to go, and they didn't have to tell me twice."

"Thank goodness for small favors," Suzanne
said. "Maybe sticking to your guns was the best way to handle
this."

"Maybe," Lydia agreed. "Guess I'll just have
to play it by ear and see what happens next."

"Do you want me to come over?" Suzanne
asked.

"Sure, that would be great."

"I'll pick up some sandwiches from the deli
and a bottle of wine to celebrate your freedom."

"Sounds good," Lydia said. "Just give me
about an hour to shower away the jail stench."

Lydia disconnected. She tried Javier's
number, but got his voicemail. They agreed it was best if she never
left a message. She would call him later.

* * *

Antonio Escobero sat in the visitor cubicle
of the correctional facility where he was being held. It was only a
matter of time before he was out of that hellhole and back on the
street where he belonged.

In the meantime, he would plot his revenge
against everyone who double-crossed him.

Escobero ran a hand through his slicked back
hair and studied the person through the glass before grabbing the
phone. "What you got for me?"

"It's done. That snitch Whitman will never
utter another word to anyone!"

Escobero smiled. "That's good to hear."

It was important for his organization to
make examples out of snitches like Javier Whitman, a man he'd
trusted who betrayed him by ratting out to a journalist. Javier had
to die and Escobero hoped he'd suffered.

With Javier out of the way, it would make
things easier for Escobero to beat the rap they were trying to pin
on him. Minus one key witness, the State's case was that much
weaker.

But not weak enough.

His brows stitched. "What about the
journalist?"

"Soon, Antonio. Trust me when I tell you
that her days are numbered."

Escobero grinned, but was impatient. "Good.
The sooner the better."

"I understand."

"I'm counting on that."

"I'll be in touch."

Escobero hung up the phone, satisfied for
now. He stood up and approached the guard so he could go back to
his cell. He was already anticipating his freedom and being back in
full command of his drug empire.

* * *

The cab pulled up to the converted warehouse
turned condo. The developer had done a wonderful job turning an old
furniture warehouse into modern condos in the heart of downtown.
Lydia paid the driver and headed to the entrance. Out of her
periphery, she noticed movement coming toward her.

Always wary, she quickly went into
self-defense mode and whipped out her pepper mace, preparing to
coat the possible assailant's face.

"Wait..." the voice said. "That won't be
necessary."

Lydia eyed a dark-haired man in a blue suit.
She kept the mace in front of her, not sure if he was friend or
foe.

"Lydia Muldaur?"

Lydia had the feeling he knew exactly who
she was, which didn't make her feel any safer.

"Yes."

"Sorry if I scared you." He lifted his ID.
"Devlin Carter, DEA Special Agent. Can we go somewhere private to
talk? Your condo perhaps?"

"Not till you tell me what this is all
about," Lydia said.

"It's about you and Javier Whitman."

Lydia reacted. Javier? If the DEA knew about
their association, did Escobero know too?

Deny. Deny. Deny.

"I'm sorry, but I don't—"

"Whitman was murdered a few hours ago,"
Carter said. "And you might be next on someone's hit list!"

* * *

Lydia reluctantly invited him up to her
condo. She assumed that if he was there to kill her, she would
already be dead. So why did she still have an uneasy feeling about
this?

"Javier is dead?"

"I'm afraid so," Carter said.

They were standing in the living room in
front of a large window that offered a great view of the city.

Lydia held her cat, Muffin. "When? How? I
just—"

"He was gunned down in a parking
garage."

Lydia winced. Is that why she'd been set
free? Had Judge Nishida somehow discovered that Javier Whitman was
her source?

She put Muffin down, watching as she
scurried across the room; thankful that Suzanne had fed the cat
while she was in jail.

"I'm sorry to hear about Jav—Mr. Whitman,"
she told Carter. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"Everything, I'm afraid. We know Whitman was
feeding you information about the Antonio Escobero cartel."

Lydia's eyes widened. "Did he tell you
that?"

"More or less. We found your card in his
pocket and your number was on his speed dial. It was pretty easy to
put two and two together."

She sucked in a deep breath. "And you think
he was killed because he was my source?"

"Whitman was a ticking time bomb just
waiting to go off. Whoever killed him was sending a clear message
that they knew he was a snitch." Carter paused before saying,
"They're coming after anyone he confided in. And that means you,
Ms. Muldaur—"

Lydia shivered at the thought. With Javier
Whitman dead, it freed her of any obligation to maintain his
anonymity. But at what price? Her life?