Red Flags (28 page)

Chapter Fifty-four

“Get up.” Elizabeth moved her hand in the pocket of her oversized, loose jacket. Something in the pocket was pointed at me.

“Elizabeth. What? What's going on? I just—”
Figured out you're a killer from way back. Coleman didn't kill Billy,
you
did.
I tried to work moisture into my parched throat.

“Get. Up.” She snarled. “Meddling bitch.”

I was tired of insults, but I stood, slowly, warily, glancing around to see how I might get help.

She plucked my cell phone out of my hand and slipped it in her left pocket. Then she stepped forward and linked her left arm through my right, pulling her right hand in her jacket pocket around her. I went numb with fear as she jabbed me in the side.

“We're going to take a walk.” She tightened her arm to bring me closer. “Two girlfriends. And my weapon. Don't try anything stupid.”

I needed two attempts before the words came out. “Why are you doing this? Why did you kill Billy?”

She turned to face me. I marveled at her calm. Only a flicker of excitement in her eyes hinted at any emotion. She smiled. “Billy was going to ruin my life. He was going to keep me from what I want, and he was so happy about it. You understand, Kate. I did you a favor also, getting rid of him. He wanted only people he deemed worthy to succeed. The rest of us, you and me, he wanted to destroy.” She shrugged. “Unlike you, I wasn't going to stand for it. I remove obstacles to my success and happiness.”

I'm not like you. I'm no killer!
I took a breath and tried to understand. “Is that what happened with your mother and sister?”

“Foster sister,” she snapped. “Come on, let's move.” She tugged me forward.

“You had to learn to stand up for yourself early on. I wish you hadn't gone through that.”

Elizabeth pulled me along the sidewalk, moving toward the plaza and the racetrack. “Gee, thanks. It's a shame I grew up with a mother who beat me and whored me out. A shame I went into the foster care system and was subjected to another bully who abused me and wanted to keep me down.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. “But it made me. I know how to get what I want.”

I felt no sympathy. “You want Holden?” I walked as slowly as possible, trying to prolong the time we were out in public. I looked around, trying to figure out how to get away.

“I'm going to have Holden. All that lovely money and power. Not to mention his stamina in bed. Mmmmm.”

That was an image I didn't need. Focus!
“Billy would have stopped you?”

“Slow tonight, aren't you? The mighty investigator.” She laughed and jerked me forward. “Billy threatened to expose me, disclose my former identity. He said I'd marry his cousin over his dead body.” She giggled. “Now, I will.”

“Where are you taking me?” I couldn't make my mouth form the question I really wanted to know: what she would do with me once there.

“I thought returning to the parking structure would be nice symmetry.”

“You won't get away with it.”

She snugged me up against her and put her mouth to my ear, as if we were best friends sharing a confidence. “I'll find your body after you tragically take your own life, distraught over the mess you made. Unable to cope with your own failure.”

“No one will believe it.” I lied. Most people wouldn't believe it. Some would.

She lifted a shoulder. “We'll see.”

Time slowed down, as if I were behind the wheel.
If I let her lead me to the parking structure, she'll kill me. If I try to get away, I might still die. But I'd have a chance.

I needed to get lucky. We reached the main entrance to the racetrack, the sidewalk right outside the plaza where the concert was taking place. Where the band played their last notes. Within moments, the crowd started streaming out of the outdoor venue.

Right in front of us.

All of a sudden, we were surrounded by sunburned, drunk, half-deaf concertgoers jostling us, pushing each other, and swearing. I'd never seen a more beautiful group of people.

Buffeted by the crowd, Elizabeth jerked my arm and jabbed with her gun. “Stay close.”

Not gonna happen
. My heart pounded in my throat as I watched the movement of the crowd and saw my opportunity. A young family navigated the steps down from the exit to the sidewalk, three paces away. Dad held a toddler by the hand, mom pushed a stroller.
A metal concert with kids?
Two paces away. They stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to adjust something, right in front of us. We pulled up short. Elizabeth was startled and off-balance. I was prepared.

I shoved her, leaning my right shoulder in and heaving. I ripped myself away, and I ran. To my left was a crowd waiting for the walk light to cross Ocean.
Sidewalk crowded, go wide.
I dodged into the street as cries went up from every direction.

People near Elizabeth thought she was my victim. They helped her up, yelling after me. People near me shouted at me to stop, angry I was cutting in front of them or warning me to stay out of the street. I didn't care. Movement was vital.

I glanced left. Traffic, but moving slowly. I darted into lanes, meaning to put a six-lane street between myself and Elizabeth's gun. Tires squealed and horns honked.
Déjà vu, but at least this time I'm on my feet.

Police whistles. More shouting.

“Stop her, get her back here.”

“Thief!”

I made it through two lanes of traffic, but had a close call in the third, when a driver took issue with me in his space and didn't slow down. I lunged for the median, and as I landed, I felt my ankle wobble under me. Hands reached to help me up, and I looked up to see the walk sign.

Relief trickled through me until the hands that lifted me up refused to let me go. I was marched, limping, back across the street, where I saw Elizabeth pointing at me and explaining something to a group of people.

We got close, and I heard what she was saying. “My cousin, just let out. She's confused and off her meds.”

I shook my head. “She's lying. She's the criminal. We need the police.” I saw officers fifty yards away, in the direction we'd come from. I shook off the people holding me and jog-hopped toward them as quickly as I could.

Cries went up behind me. “Stop her! Police! Don't let her get away!”

The four cops closed the distance between us and one of them grabbed me. “Hold on.”

I nodded. Babbled. “Help me. She's trying to kill me like she killed Billy.” I turned to identify Elizabeth and saw her weaving through the crowd, trying to escape.

Oh, hell no!
“Stop her!” I pointed and ran after her, my ankle improving with every step.

Two of the police officers grabbed me, and two went after Elizabeth. A minute later, both of us sat on the steps leading to the plaza, cuffed with enormous zip ties. My heart still pounded, but I finally felt safe. Even while cuffed.

One of the officers loomed over us, his thumbs hooked in his equipment belt. “Now, what's this all about?”

“She's trying to kill me. She killed Billy Reilly-Stinson here last week—” I found myself on the verge of tears. I labored to breathe, realizing how hysterical I sounded.

Elizabeth spoke. Calmly. “Officer, I'm so sorry. My cousin has been off her meds for a week, and I'm trying to get her back home.” She sighed. “She's delusional, poor thing. Thinks we're all trying to kill her.”

I was almost impressed with her for trying to brazen the situation out. I cleared my throat. “Officer?” I said, proud of my even tone of voice. I took another deep breath as the cop turned to me, looking skeptical. “Check her right jacket pocket for a gun.”

He took me seriously, even if he still thought I might be crazy. I breathed deeply again, ready to be vindicated. He straightened and held up a six-inch, metal tube. “No gun.”

Elizabeth gloated, while I thought unprintable words.

I regrouped. “She told me it was a gun. What is it?”

The cop flicked his wrist and the tube snapped out to its full length. “Expandable baton. Illegal in this state. Can be lethal. But not a gun.”

Key word: lethal.
I met Elizabeth's eyes and slowly smiled. “Officer, call Detective Barnes about the murder here last week. You might be holding the murder weapon.”

Elizabeth seemed to collapse in on herself. I focused on the cop. “Please, call Detective Barnes. You've caught a murderer for him. He'll remember me. I'm Kate Reilly, a driver here for the Grand Prix. I identified the victim's body. I'm not crazy.”

He frowned but nodded at a second officer standing next to us, who pulled out a phone.

“Also,” I spoke again, “if you check her other jacket pocket, you'll find my cell phone.”

As the second officer turned away, speaking quietly into his phone, the cavalry appeared, in the form of my father. Between him vouching for my identity and sanity, and Detective Barnes on the phone, everyone finally believed my story. They still kept a close eye on me and put me in a car to take me to the police station, but they cut me free of the zip ties and treated me like a witness instead of a suspect.

My father wanted to come with me in the patrol car, but I insisted he go back to the party to find Holly and meet me at the station instead.

As we watched the officers exchange the plastic cuffs on Elizabeth's wrists for metal ones, my father still wore a stunned expression. “I'd never have guessed she killed Billy.”

“Me either.” I let out a long breath. “I'm glad you got here when you did. She was pretty convincing that I was the crazy one.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. I would have been, but Coleman stopped me, trying to explain himself, condemning you. Holden was complaining, making excuses.” He ran a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristic, nervous gesture. “I stood there, listening to him and ignoring the voice inside telling me to go find my daughter.”

“I guess you managed both.”

“I walked out on him mid-sentence. Realized I don't care what he has to say. Tonight needed to be about you.”

“Thank you.” I hugged him, initiating the gesture for the first time.

“We'll be there right away.” He choked up. “Sure you don't want a lawyer?”

I stepped back and looked at Elizabeth, restrained and scowling in the back of a squad car. “I don't think I'll need one.”

When I walked out of an interview room three hours later, well after midnight, my father was still there. Holly, I'd expected to see. But I hadn't thought to find her curled up in a chair next to my father, showing him something on her phone and making him laugh. They saw me at the same time and both stood up to hug me.

“I'm fine,” I replied to their anxious questions. “They don't need anything more from me, at least tonight. Let's get out of here.”

Holly eyed me. “After all, Detective Kate still has a race tomorrow.”

Chapter Fifty-five

Twelve hours and a lot of coffee later, I sat on the Beermeier Racing pit box, watching their star driver, Mick Poirier, suit up for Sunday's main event, the IndyCar race. I enjoyed the minutes of quiet, figurative and literal, after the activity of the day so far.

Despite little sleep the night before, I'd turned in a respectable performance in the Indy Lights race that morning, grateful it wasn't a twenty-four-hour endurance competition. A one-hour sprint had been exhausting enough. Still, I'd pulled myself together, banished thoughts of cops and killers, and hit my goal of a seventh-place finish. That was three positions lower than Sofia Montalvo, but I couldn't have everything. The team was ecstatic, and the press, attentive.

After cleaning up at my hotel, I'd made my way back through the crowds to the pits. I looked forward to watching the IndyCar race, glad there was one event on the weekend schedule I had no responsibilities for. I was worn out from it all, though my reputation and standing as a professional driver had improved significantly over the course of the weekend. I'd caught the attention of the IndyCar paddock, which meant I wouldn't be laughed off the track when I lined up for a race. And meant a number of teams might discuss fielding a car for me at the Indy 500.

If I had the funding.

I still had no idea what the repercussions would be from falsely accusing Coleman of murdering his own nephew. I winced at the memory. Even though the rest of the charges I'd hurled at him were true, I was afraid he'd brush them off. Maybe I underestimated my father, who'd promised me a long, serious talk about Coleman and the rest of my father's family. I hoped my father would listen and take some action. I didn't want to be ashamed of my sponsor.

If Frame Savings is still my sponsor.

I stopped thinking about my future and instead tried to figure out how I'd missed the signs pointing to Elizabeth as a killer. How I'd missed the fact she didn't even
like
me. When I'd wrapped up with Detective Barnes at the end of the night, he'd told me Elizabeth admitted planting my hero card and phone number on Billy's body to draw me into the murder investigation and implicate me as a suspect. “To mess with me,” she'd reportedly said.

I heard my name above the noise of IndyCar's pre-race ceremonies, and I turned to see Tug Brehan, Elizabeth's boss at the SCC, standing in the narrow walkway behind the Beermeier pit space. I climbed down from the pit box and walked with him to a quieter spot nearby.

Tug was wide-eyed. “I've been trying to catch you all day. No one could believe when the news hit the party last night that Elizabeth had killed Billy—and that you figured it out and caught her for the cops.”

I suppressed a wince. “That's not exactly how it went.”

“What I don't understand is why she did it. Someone said you knew.”

Detective Barnes had told me not to discuss details of evidence—like the baton that later proved to be the murder weapon—but he hadn't told me not to talk about
why
. “She said Billy was in her way. She killed him to preserve her new life, her job, and her path to future riches and power. That being Holden.”

“Murder seems extreme.”

I laughed, which felt good. “You think?”

“Katie!” I was enveloped in scents, chiffon, and diamonds as Nikki gave me air kisses and a real hug. “You solved it! Who'd have thought, Elizabeth?”

“Not me.”

“But you did it! I have to run, but I owe you. Talk soon! Kiss, kiss!” She tripped off in her skintight white pants and standard five-inch heels. Strangely, she looked almost naked without a dog.

Wide-eyed, Tug watched Nikki's departure, then turned back to me. “If Elizabeth killed Billy to hang onto Holden, that explains why Holden looked so shell-shocked last night.”

“What happened?”

“Your father came in, looking distraught, and went straight to Holly. Then he pulled Holden and Coleman to the side of the room and talked with them briefly. Coleman kept trying to speak, and your father kept cutting him off. Coleman looked upset. But Holden,” Tug paused, shaking his head. “You could tell he was stunned. Shaken to the core.”

“I would think so.”

“I understand how he feels, I mean, I was sure I knew Elizabeth. She isn't who I thought she was.”

“Literally. Her real name was Lucy Rose something. She changed it after she killed her mother, was put in foster care, and probably killed a foster sister.”

Tug's mouth dropped open in shock.

I shrugged. “To be fair, her mother's death was probably self-defense. But I think she killed her foster sister because she stood in Elizabeth's way. Like Billy did.”

“Never would have guessed by looking at her.”

I patted his shoulder. “Tug, if there's one thing I've learned in L.A., it's that people are rarely what they seem.” I remembered Lucas' description of the movie he and Maddie were filming. “You never know how people will react or what they're capable of. Even what we're capable of ourselves.”

Tug went on his way, and I pondered my own words. My behavior the night before was inconsistent with my resolution about how to handle and react to my father's family. I knew I'd have to consciously work on a calm, non-emotional response to them in the future.

I felt my cell phone buzz in my pocket, and I frowned. No doubt a responsible adult wouldn't ignore her messages, as I'd been doing all morning. I thought it might be Holly chastising me for not responding to her texts. Instead, it was a message from Ryan Johnston, standing a hundred yards away on the other side of the pit-lane gatekeepers.

I walked over to him, thinking he could have been a “Hottest in Hollywood” candidate himself with his clean-cut good looks, simple tee-shirt-and-jeans attire, and aviator sunglasses.

He didn't return my smile. “I was glad to hear you weren't hurt last night.”

“You heard about it? How?” Detective Barnes had assured me the Long Beach police wouldn't talk to the press or the racing community for a while. I'd assumed that meant no one would know the details yet.

“I have a friend in the department.” He paused and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Good race this morning. And yesterday. Great pass.”

“You're not going to yell at me for putting myself in danger?”

“You're an adult, and I'm not your keeper.” He finally grinned at me. “Though I'd like to discuss ways you could stay out of trouble the next time. Over dinner tonight?”

The next time? Dinner tonight?
I studied him. “You saw the race yesterday? Were you here?”

“I was. You were too busy to interrupt.” He took one of my hands. “Come on, Kate. Have dinner with me again? Please?”

I felt a fluttering in my chest and the slow spread of pleasure that a nice, sweet—and okay, slightly dangerous—man liked me.

I thought about a text message I'd been avoiding. Lucas Tolani, wanting to hear about my races, to talk about the murder suspect the police had in custody, and to see me. Tonight. Trying to tempt me by suggesting I try Mulholland again with the Lamborghini he had in his garage. Not understanding my thrills came from the racetrack.

This time, I'd heed the warning signs. The problem wasn't the different worlds of racecar driver and movie star. I wasn't interested in his brand of reckless. I didn't want flash and flame-out, I wanted a man who looked good in his tight tee-shirt
and
who understood I had a job to do.

I squeezed Ryan's hand. “I'll find you after the race.”

As I reentered the pits, I saw my father shading his eyes and looking down the row of teams. The IndyCar drivers were pulling out of their grid positions for pre-race pace laps, and in the roar as they launched, I knew he couldn't hear me. I tapped his shoulder.

He waited until the noise level dropped to speak. “I was looking for you.”

“How are you today?”

He smiled and tugged me out of the way of a crew member laden with tools. “Forget me. How are you? You drove well in the race this morning. That should bode well for the future.”

For the future?!
“Thanks. Were you here?”

“Of course. I never miss an opportunity to see you drive.” He saw my face. “I'm sorry that surprises you.”

“I didn't know before, but now I do. Thank you.” I hugged him and discovered reaching out got easier the more I did it.

His eyes were moist when I pulled away, but I pretended not to notice. “You mentioned the future. Am I—last night…”

“Last night changes nothing about your contract with the bank.”

I nearly wilted from relief. “Thank you. I've been worried.”

“I'm grateful you opened my eyes to what's been going on. I needed to know, and I'm angry with myself for not noticing.” He clenched his fists. “Though I'm much angrier with Coleman. And Edward. Trust me when I tell you there will be plenty of changes at Frame Savings.”

“Really?” I tried to keep my tone neutral.

He started to speak, then stopped himself. “I deserve you questioning me. I know I have something to prove to you—to quite a few people, including myself.”

“What are you going to do?”

He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I'm going to clean up the bank's management. Coleman and Edward will have to go.”

“Can you actually fire them?”

The IndyCar field went by, and my father paused until the last of the cars disappeared down the front straight. “I can sideline them, if not remove them from the organization entirely.” My father grimaced. “Though my sister might want Coleman's head, let alone a divorce and his resignation.”

“I know you're the president of the bank, but I wasn't sure how much power you had to make changes like that.”

“I haven't often exercised it, because it was easier to let more ambitious people take the lead.” He paused. “Of course, that attitude resulted in my brother and my best friend—former best friend—dragging the bank into questionable business circles, betraying their wives and wedding vows, and repeatedly abusing their power. Unforgivably.” He looked sad. “I trusted them because I thought I knew them.”

“People can surprise you.”

“We've found that out, haven't we?” He laughed, a terse, rueful sound.

“Tug Brehan said Holden especially looked shocked about Elizabeth last night. I suppose Holden didn't know anything about her actions?” I'd woken up that morning remembering his quick glance over my shoulder the night before—at Elizabeth, I assumed—when I mentioned Lucy Rose, Lily, and Violet. If Holden had recognized the names, I wondered what else he knew.

My father shook his head. “I saw him again this morning, and he's almost catatonic with shock. Truly shattered. He had no idea what Elizabeth was up to, and he feels responsible now for Billy's death.”

That didn't surprise me. “Will you get rid of him along with Coleman and Edward?”

“I'm not sure.” He hesitated. “I know you're no fan of Holden's, but I think this situation has the potential to change him. Coleman and Edward are unrepentant—both trying to feed me excuses and stories, which I'm no longer listening to. But Holden might be redeemable…if I can get him away from their bad influence. I may give him a chance, but keep him under a strict watch.”

I kept my doubts about Holden to myself as the cars came around again and drowned out conversation. Instead, I thought about my future, which still included sponsorship from Frame Savings. And which no longer included Edward or Coleman.
I have a future in racing, I drove well this weekend, and I never have to think about Billy's murder again. I never have to think about Billy again. Or any of the family I don't want to deal with.

As the car noise died down, I saw my father beaming at me, with an unfamiliar expression I thought was fatherly pride. I took a deep breath. “Thank you for choosing to come after me last night instead of staying with the others. It meant a lot.”

This time he definitely blinked back tears. “You're welcome. Thank you for letting me help. Letting me in. I hope this is a new chapter for us.”

“I'd like that.”

We moved forward together into the pits, and stood there, his arm around my shoulders, watching as the cars thundered down the track to take the green flag.

Next year that could be me.