The Target (28 page)

Ahead, the vehicle turned right and Dallas spotted a sign for the 805 freeway. Was Decker making a run for the border? That would be stupid. Even an ambulance would have to stop and deal with customs. With her earpiece in, Dallas pressed re-dial. River finally picked up. “What’s the report from the clinic?”

“Decker took Jonas Brickman hostage, and they’re in an ambulance heading south on Picador. I’m about four blocks behind.”

“Good glory. Do you have backup?”

“Some guy in a dark sedan is behind me. I think he’s with the PD.” Dallas swerved around a slow-moving mini-van. She’d taken high-speed driver training, but dealing with real traffic was far more challenging. “Decker threatened to kill Brickman if anyone called the cops, but someone probably did anyway.”

“What kind of weapon does she have?”

“A small handgun and a syringe that she says is deadly.”

River drew in a sharp breath. “It’s bacteria. Maybe she killed Palmer with it too.”

“I think Decker snapped and is unpredictable, but instinct tells me she’ll kill Brickman, then take off on foot. Any idea where she’ll go?” River knew the San Diego area and would have a better guess.

“The border isn’t far, but that area is open with nowhere to hide.”

“Decker is smart, so she might grab another vehicle and go in another direction.”

“Don’t let her out of your sight. We can’t let her drop that syringe into a food or water supply. I’m hanging up now to make some calls.”

Cars kept pulling off the road for the ambulance, then darting back into traffic in front of her rental, creating more distance between her and Decker. Up ahead, she caught sight of the ambulance as it took another left turn. Dallas honked at the car in front of her, hoping it would let her around. The driver flipped her off and slowed down.
Prick.
A glance in the rearview mirror told her the cop was still behind her. She was curious about his presence at the clinic, but couldn’t focus on it.

After she was able to make the next turn, she spotted the ambulance parked on a side street. The driver was still in the cab, and the back doors were open. Decker was not in sight. The crazy woman was either still inside with Brickman or she’d fled on foot.
Damn, damn, damn
.

The traffic in front of her came to a dead stop.
What the hell?
Dallas kept her eyes on the ambulance. Half a block from it, a figure in black disappeared into an alley. Yanking the wheel left, she careened into the corner parking lot and cut across, honking at pedestrians who lumbered into her path. At the perimeter, she slammed the car into park and scurried out. First, she had to check on Brickman. When she approached, the paramedic in the driver’s seat gave her an OK gesture through the window. Brakes screeched, and to her right, the dark sedan went over the curb and blocked the street in front of the ambulance. Dallas ran for the back of the vehicle.

Brickman sat on the floor, his hands still tied. Alive, but breathing hard, as if his oxygen had been cut off for a while. “I need to go to the hospital,” he gasped. “For intravenous antibiotics.”

River had been right. But at least Brickman still had a chance and didn’t have a bullet in the head. “Where did Decker go?”

With bound hands, Brickman pointed across the street, where Dallas had seen the person run into the alley. She sensed someone behind her and spun around. The guy in the suit.

“Detective Cortez,” he shouted. “I need to arrest Jonas Brickman for murder.”

What?
“He needs antibiotics or he’ll probably die.” She started to run toward the alley.

“Wait,” Brickman called. “You have to stop the SlimPro deliveries.” He gulped for air. “The bitch infected the product run. Our customers will get sick.”

Dallas nodded at Cortez. “Call the FBI. Tell Agent Carla River. I have to go after Decker.” She bolted for the alley, ignoring the car coming up the street. It honked but braked. She sprinted down the concrete strip between the back walls of the shops, but didn’t see anyone. Had Decker ducked into a store the way the unsub had the night before? The back doors were all closed, and Dallas figured that Decker had kept moving. The woman had to be looking for transportation. A car to steal. Or a bus to jump on.

The alley opened into another street, then continued on the next block. Dallas slowed and scanned in both directions. A group of teenage girls took up the sidewalk nearby, talking animatedly.

“Hey,” she shouted. “Have you seen a woman in a black dress?”

They ignored her. A moment later, she realized they were speaking Spanish. She repeated her question in their language. Two of the girls turned, startled.

Dallas dropped her gun to her side.

One scowled. “Tomó mi coche. Quiso comprarlo, luego señaló un arma.”

Decker had stolen a car from her. “What color? What make?”

The young girl pointed up the one-way street. “Toyota plata.”

The most common car on the road. “Gracias.”

Dallas ran in the direction of the traffic and tried to guess what Decker would do. She needed a main artery to get out of town. That meant circling the block and heading back to the street they’d been on before. Dallas spun around and charged down the alley on the next block. With any luck, she’d hit the street before Decker drove by. Her earpiece was still in and her phone was in her pocket. She tried to call River using voice commands, but she was breathing too hard.

Bursting out of the alley, she spotted the silver Toyota coming up the street. Decker was driving, and seemed to have both hands on the wheel. Where was her gun? Dallas raised her weapon and aimed at the vehicle.

A family with young kids came out of the sporting goods store across the street, and other pedestrians stopped and stared. Afraid of hitting a bystander, Dallas wouldn’t take the shot. What now? The Toyota was about to pass by. On impulse, she charged at the oncoming car. At the last moment, she leapt and threw herself on the hood, landing on her belly. “FBI! Stop the vehicle!”

Decker’s mouth dropped open in shock.

Dallas pounded the windshield with the butt of her gun, hoping to rattle Decker enough to make her pull over.

The engine roared under her belly, and the car sped forward. Gripping a wiper with her free hand, Dallas pounded the windshield again. In the distance, she heard a siren. “FBI! We have you surrounded. Stop the car and get on the ground.”

Decker hit the brakes. Dallas slid off the hood, scraping her stomach on the way. She landed on her feet and aimed her weapon at the driver. Decker shut off the car, then fumbled with something in her lap. The crazy woman closed her eyes for a moment, then climbed out with her hands up. “Don’t shoot me. I want to see my daughter again.” Her voice held a trembling fatality, a woman resigned to a dead-end future.

Dallas rounded the car and shouted, “Get on the ground!” She didn’t have handcuffs with her, but backup would arrive any moment.

Decker sunk to her knees. “I did more good than harm,” she said softly.

Dallas stepped toward the open door of the car, looking to secure Decker’s gun. It lay on the passenger’s seat. Next to it was an empty syringe. Brickman had been right to call for a trip to the hospital. The siren got louder, then a black-and-white patrol car careered around the corner and stopped. Dallas stepped back, waiting for help.

She glanced at Decker, wanting to say something, but couldn’t find words. A drop of red on the scientist’s bare white arm caught her eye. Blood. From a pinprick. Decker had injected herself with the bacteria too.

Cortez followed the ambulance carrying Brickman to the Sharp Medical Center. Apparently, his suspect had been infected with deadly bacteria and might die. Cortez didn’t care about the man personally, but he wanted closure for James Avery. He just needed a few minutes with Brickman. Confronted with the fingerprint evidence—‌and his own mortality—‌Brickman might confess. Or at least reveal enough information for Cortez to have a sense of resolution.

His phone rang, and he pressed his earpiece. The call could be critical to this case or to the tainted products on the trucks. “Detective Cortez.”

“This is Rollin Fisher, attorney for James Avery.” His voice was pleasant, but clipped. “Sorry for the delay in calling. I was out of town with my own family crisis, then had to deal with James’ family when I learned of his death.”

Finally.
“This isn’t a good time to talk, but I’d like to set up a meeting with you.”

“What is this about?”

“Avery’s will.” Now that he knew Brickman was the killer, Avery’s estate no longer seemed important. But he still had some unanswered questions, particularly about finances and motive.

“His death is devastating.” A little catch in the lawyer’s voice. “Especially since James had made an appointment to change his will and testament, then was killed and couldn’t keep it.”

Was that why he was murdered? “Do you know what change he planned to make?” Cortez saw the ambulance change lanes and followed.

“James wanted to re-instate his estranged daughter and leave her a reasonable share. He’d cut her out years ago, but that was before I worked with him.”

Avery had a daughter? “What’s her name? And why didn’t his wife mention her?”

“Cheryl Decker. She’s president of TecLife.” A pause. “As for Avery’s wife, I don’t know her motive, but my understanding is that she’s not fond of either of James’ children.”

Was Decker the woman who’d taken Brickman hostage? “Do you know anything about Jonas Brickman?”

“No. Sorry. Let’s meet Friday at two.”

Cortez agreed, and they hung up. The mystery daughter only added to his confusion about Brickman’s motives. He hoped the man would live long enough to tell him something.

Cortez arrived at the hospital minutes after the ambulance. He pushed through the swinging door into the treatment area and quickly found a group of people in blue scrubs surrounding his suspect, who was still handcuffed to the gurney. He stood back and let them get Brickman hooked up to antibiotics. He would question him as soon as the medical people stepped back.

Moments later, the blond woman came into the treatment center, pulling along the crazy kidnapper in the black dress.
Cheryl Decker?

“I’m Agent Dallas with the FBI,” she shouted. “This woman needs the same antibiotics you’re giving Jonas Brickman.”

An older male doctor rushed from Brickman’s area to the handcuffed woman, and Cortez followed. “Let’s get you into a bed,” the doctor said, reaching for the suspect’s arm.

She jerked away. “I don’t want treatment.”

“Give it to her anyway,” Dallas insisted. “She’s suspected of product tampering. I need to question her.”

Decker vehemently shook her head. “I’ll sue any doctor who lays a hand on me. The fourteenth amendment guarantees my right to refuse treatment.”

Cortez spoke up. “This is about public safety. Tampered products are going out to patients right now. We need information that could save them.”

The doctor shook his head. “I can’t treat her without consent.”

“Goddammit.” Dallas stamped her foot.

A big woman in a dark suit barged into the area. Older than him, she seemed to command authority. “I’m Agent River. This is my case.” She turned to her fellow agent. “What’s the update?”

Dallas gave a brief rundown, then Cortez cut in to introduce himself. “I called you about the product tampering at ProtoCell. What’s the situation?”

“We’re handling it.” River turned back to Dallas. “Let’s get Decker into an interrogation room while we seek a court order for treatment.” She grabbed the kidnapper’s arm and spun her around. Dallas latched onto Decker’s other elbow and they practically carried her down the hall.

“Why did she kidnap Jonas Brickman?” Cortez asked, following them.

“I’ll call you after we’ve questioned her,” River said.

“Just tell me her connection to Brickman.”

“Ex-lover and current competitor.”

That explained a few things. He started to ask another question, but Dallas turned back and said, “Who did Brickman allegedly murder?”

“James Avery. I just found out he’s Cheryl Decker’s father.”

River stopped and turned, her expression both curious and distressed. “Why?”

“I don’t know yet. But Avery snuck into ProtoCell, then Brickman drugged him and beat him, so maybe it was about proprietary information.” Cortez gestured at Decker. “Please ask your suspect and get back to me.”

“I will.” River turned, and they barged through the crowded waiting area and out the door. Cortez headed back to Brickman.

He tried to get the remaining doctor at the bedside to give him a best guess about Brickman’s fate, but she refused, claiming it could go either way. She also tried to discourage him from questioning her patient, but Cortez persisted.

Brickman’s face was pink and damp, and his eyes were worried.

Cortez got right to the heart of it. “Your fingerprint is on James Avery’s steering wheel. You drove his car, and I know you were involved in his death. Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know anything about it.” Brickman sounded weak.

“You’re probably going to die. You’ll feel better if you confess. It’s good for the soul.”

“I have nothing to say.” The infected man closed his eyes.

Cortez wished he’d had more time to confer with River and Dallas, but Brickman was his priority. He owed it to James Avery to get closure.

“I know Cheryl Decker is Avery’s daughter.” He leaned toward his suspect. “Why did she kidnap you? And try to kill you? Because you killed her father?”

Brickman let out a soft laugh. “Cheryl’s crazy.” He grimaced in pain. “Get the doctor please. Something is happening in my intestines.”

Disappointed and conflicted, Cortez went to summon medical help. Brickman had to live long enough to be charged with murder.

River entered the interrogation room at the SD bureau, hoping it was the last time. She wanted to be on a plane headed home Friday morning. Decker was cuffed to the table, looking oddly out of place in her black, cocktail-party dress. But her disheveled hair and tear-stained face were a common combination for people in her situation. The bacteria invading the suspect’s body as they interrogated her would be a first though.