Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (232 page)

“I will.”

The funny thing was, the only person Logan didn’t talk to was Elyse. She was still heavily drugged when the ambulance took her and Sein away in Chiang Mai, and Sein told him at the meeting that her husband and Elyse had flown home several days earlier. Logan was actually glad to hear it. It meant he’d accomplished what he set out to do, to see that Elyse got safely home.

Thailand not only paid his flight to LAX, they also threw in the commuter hop from there to San Luis Obispo. When he got off the plane, he thought he’d have to rent a car to get back to Cambria, but waiting for him in the lobby was the entire membership of WAMO.

Logan got handshakes and backslaps and “well dones” all around. When Tooney’s turn came, he shook Logan’s hand first, then threw his arms around him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I was lucky,” Logan said.

“No,
I
was lucky,” Tooney told him. “Lucky your father convince me to trust you.”

“I had a lot of help. So it wasn’t just me.”

“Yes, yes, yes. I know. But you, you make everything happen. You brought her back.”

Logan mumbled a reply, then headed outside with his dad and the others.

It was a beautiful, mild day, the humidity of Thailand suddenly a distant memory.

They were almost to Jerry’s Cadillac when Harp pulled Logan to the left. “Our ride’s over here.”

Parked in the next aisle was Logan’s El Camino, its back end facing them. It took Logan a few seconds before he realized the damage was all gone.

He leaned down for a closer look.

“I figured since you weren’t using it, I’d have the guys over at Floyd’s Body Shop see what they could do. They took care of the front, too.”

It looked good as new to Logan. “Thanks, Dad.”

Harp was silent for a moment. “I owe you at least that much. For what you did for Tooney.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” He hesitated, then said, “I know there’s a lot going on in that head of yours, but you did good. Real good. I couldn’t be more proud.”

Logan had no response for that. There were so many times he’d almost failed since that morning Tooney had been attacked, he wasn’t ready to pat himself on the back.

He dropped his dad off at his home, then headed to his apartment in West Village. It was dark by the time he parked around back. He grabbed his backpack, then walked over to the stairs that led to his front door. But he didn’t go up.

Elyse was sitting in his way.

She stared at him for several seconds, then said, “I just wanted to get a look at you.”

“Um, okay.”

“I hear you saved my life.”

“I was just one of many.”

“That’s not what I was told.”

“Doesn’t really matter. The important thing is that you’re home.”

After several seconds, she said, “I don’t remember most of it. Not well, anyway. After they grabbed me outside Anthony’s place…” She paused. “Grandpa told me you were the one who found him.”

Logan took a breath. “Yes.”

Silence.

“If Anthony didn’t know me, he’d still be alive.”

“You can’t think that way,” he told her.

“But it’s true.”

“It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t your fault. Not even a little.”

“How can I be friends with anyone now? How can I trust the same thing won’t happen to someone else?”

He knew telling her it wasn’t her fault again wouldn’t help, so he said what he thought she really needed to hear. “You’ll find a way.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Then she said, “I…I know I need to thank you, but I don’t know how. Just saying it doesn’t seem like it would be enough.”

“You don’t need to thank me at all.”

“I don’t think I could even if I tried.” She picked up something that was lying on the step behind her. “Here. It’s the best I can do for now.”

What she handed him was a small painting in a dark green wooden frame—a painting of a young girl with wings and a mischievous smile.

“You?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I painted it.”

“No, I mean the girl. Is it you?”

She walked down the steps, stopped in front of him, then raised up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Grandpa says you get free coffee for life.”

She stepped around him, and started walking away.

Did you get her?
Carl asked.

Did you get her?

Logan looked down at the picture, then back at Elyse as she disappeared into the night.

“Yes,” he said. “I got her.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALSO BY BRETT BATTLES

THE JONATHAN QUINN THRILLERS

Novels
BECOMING QUINN
THE CLEANER
THE DECEIVED
SHADOW OF BETRAYAL (U.S.)
/
THE UNWANTED (U.K.)
THE SILENCED
THE DESTROYED
THE COLLECTED
THE ENRAGED
THE DISCARDED

Short Stories
“
Just Another Job”—A Jonathan Quinn Story
“Off the Clock”—A Jonathan Quinn Story
“The Assignment”—An Orlando Story
“Lesson Plan”—A Jonathan Quinn Story (April 2014)
“Quick Study”—An Orlando Story (April 2014)

THE LOGAN HARPER THRILLERS
LITTLE GIRL GONE
EVERY PRECIOUS THING

THE PROJECT EDEN THRILLERS
SICK
EXIT NINE
PALE HORSE
ASHES
EDEN RISING
DREAM SKY

THE ALEXANDRA POE THRILLERS
CO-WRITTEN WITH ROBERT GREGORY BROWNE
POE
TAKEDOWN

STANDALONES

Novels
THE PULL OF GRAVITY
NO RETURN

Short Stories
“Perfect Gentleman”

FOR YOUNGER READERS

THE TROUBLE FAMILY CHRONICLES
HERE COMES MR. TROUBLE

TRIAL JUNKIES:
A TRIAL JUNKIES THRILLER

ROBERT GREGORY BROWNE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Robert Gregory Browne

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.

All rights reserved. Publishing in the United States of America by Braun Haus Media.

Cover design by BHC
Cover photos:
Courthouse: © GOL - Fotolia.com
Military Girl in Handcuffs: © TA Craft Photography - Fotolia.com

PART ONE

Hail, Hail

The Gang's All Here

CHAPTER ONE

THEY FOUND HER body in Dearborn Park.

She had been left to die in a vacant lot on Clark Street, lying in a pool of her own blood, multiple stab wounds to her chest and abdomen, her face slashed, her throat slit ear to ear.

Hutch hadn't seen or spoken to Jenny in nearly ten years, but she had never been far from his mind. And the thought that some mad man had mutilated the woman he had once loved—
still
loved, if you wanted the God's honest truth—sent him rushing to his trailer to relieve himself of the Spanish omelet the craft service had served for breakfast.

Hutch hadn't received any phone calls about this. No old college pals breaking the bad news in a distant, halting voice. Chances were pretty good that most of them would hear about it exactly the way
he
had—a simple, unassuming headline on the opening page of the
Chicago Post
website:

LOCAL ATTORNEY STABBED TO DEATH

Hutch was a Chicago native and surfed the
Post
daily, but this was the kind of story he would usually pass over on his way to the sports page. He was living and working in Hollywood these days and had decided long ago that it was best to ignore such things. He had a pretty good life here and was still selfish enough to want to tune out any outside interference. No point in upsetting the balance he had struggled so hard to regain these last few months.

But then he saw Jenny's photograph and the world tilted sideways. She looked older, but just as beautiful as ever, those clear, intelligent eyes staring up at him as if to say—

Where were you, Ethan?

Why didn't you return my calls?

He was in the make-up chair when he saw it, Christine applying a nasty-looking bruise to the side of his face. He didn't bother to excuse himself. Didn't bother to say
anything
. Just looked into those eyes, tossed his iPad to the counter, then jumped up and bolted across the sound stage toward his trailer.

By the time he staggered out of the bathroom, wiping a sleeve across his mouth, his assistant Sonya was waiting for him, frowning in disapproval.