Crash and Burn (10 page)

Scarlet rejected her natural inclination to snoop around the property and continued toward the beach. The sun had already dipped into the ocean. The Pacific was calm, the tide rolling out. Families were at dinner or home. Vacationers packing up. The beach technically closed at ten, but locals usually could squeeze in an extra hour if they weren’t having a party. Though the beach was patrolled, the beach police were pretty cool about locals hanging around after hours. Scarlet often sat on the sand half the night, thinking. Or, rather, not thinking.

The bike path went all the way to the end of the peninsula—just under a four-mile round trip from the bar. She could run a mile in seven minutes, but not four seven-minute miles. She paced herself to run a nine-minute mile, and was pleased she ended back at the bar in thirty-three minutes. Hot, sweaty, but energized.

Diego’s was packed, par for the course on a Saturday night. Most of the weekend crowd were tourists. Right now, they only had a live band on country music Wednesdays and rock Saturdays with an occasional local band, but Diego was working on bringing in more local talent, hoping to have live music four nights a week. Scarlet had mixed feelings—the music was nice, and good for Diego’s business, but she also knew it could bring in trouble.

The band had started up at nine, and was going full swing into their first set when Scarlet came in. It was a local band playing popular seventies rock and they always played the second Saturday of the month. She worked her way through the crowd and came up against Detective Alex Bishop.

“Miss me so soon?” she said without skipping a beat.

He looked her up and down. “Run?”

“What gave me away? The running shoes? The sweat?”

“We need to talk. Where it’s quiet.”

“I can’t give you quiet, but I can give you quieter.”

She motioned for him to follow her down the back hall to the narrow staircase. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t up to code,” he mumbled.

She shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “So?”

“Nothing. I work homicide, not building code.”

Then he gave her a cocky half-smile and if she were a weaker woman, she would have swooned. It didn’t help that her endorphins were high from her run—nothing satisfied her more than a great workout followed by great sex.

Don’t even go there.

Damn. She went there.

She turned away and unlocked her door. Bishop followed her in and looked around. He was either disgusted or surprised.

“It’s not much, but the view’s to die for,” she said. She grabbed a bottle of water from her fridge and downed it. “Water? Beer?”

“I can’t stay,” he said.

The music pounded downstairs and Scarlet walked out to her deck. Bishop followed and stared at the last remnants of the sunset over the ocean, a deep orange hue that seemed to float on the water. As they watched, it disappeared. “Yeah, killer view.”

She reclined on a lounge chair. “So, what’s up?”

He sat on a bench. “Tessa Drake turned up at a hospital in Long Beach. I got the call a couple hours ago. She’s in critical condition.”

“What happened?”

“They think a drug overdose. They’re running a bunch of tests. I hope to know more in the morning. I went up there but couldn’t talk to her.”

“Unconscious?”

“According to the nurse, she was barely conscious when she came in. She walked into the emergency room—staggered in—and collapsed early this morning. I’d put the call out on the others in Richie’s group to the usual places, and they finally ID’d her and contacted me. Her parents are on their way from San Francisco.”

“Long Beach isn’t too far, but she didn’t walk there.”

“Hospital security is pulling all the security footage. I’m going back first thing in the morning, but I doubt I’ll be able to talk to her.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“I guess I was thinking Tessa had gone all Thelma and Louise on those boys.”

“I don’t know. Hell, I don’t know
what
to think. Seven people go into a bar, and now two are dead, two are critical, one is a traumatized rape victim, and two are missing.”

“When was Tessa dropped off at emergency?”

“Six-fifteen this morning. And, I have an ID on Skip, the fifth wheel of the bunch. Skip Oliver. He paid for a round of drinks last night. Isaac called me this afternoon with the information. I don’t have anything else on him, and until then, I’m focusing on who dropped Tessa Drake off at the hospital and what they were doing from two, when Juan Robertson was murdered, and four-thirty.”

“What’s the status of Richie Sanders?”

“Still critical. Was in surgery all day. Stable, but the doctor’s don’t know if he’ll survive.”

“Are you thinking one killer or more?”

“One. Early ballistics has the same caliber bullet in Robertson and Sanders.”

“Then why stab Cresson?” Scarlet wondered, almost to herself.

“Sound. A knife isn’t noisy. He lived in a townhouse.”

“The houses on Oceanfront are close together.”

“Crime of opportunity?”

“He must have known his attacker. He turned his back on him. No obvious defensive wounds.”

Bishop leaned forward. “How do you know that? You said you didn’t go in his house.”

“I saw the body from the doorway and made an educated guess. Why are you telling me all this? You don’t have to.”

“I thought if I told you that your boyfriend was the lowest man on the suspect list, you’d back off.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Dunn.”

She laughed. “Not even close.”

Bishop rose from the bench and towered over her as she looked up from her recliner. He held out his hand, but he wasn’t smiling.

“What?” she asked.

He took her hand and yanked her up. She stumbled and grabbed his bicep.

His blue eyes didn’t waver. “Good.” Then he kissed her.

Scarlet was so stunned by his lips on hers that she froze. Then his hands were on her back, pushing her into him, and her hands were clutching his arms, not knowing whether to push him away or pull him closer. And her body, her damn body, betrayed her by rubbing against him in such a feral way he probably guessed she hadn’t had sex in months.

He stepped back and she didn’t want him to, but she didn’t stop him. He stared at her. She couldn’t read his expression, but his breathing raced just like hers. He said, “Okay?”

“Okay… what? Good kiss? It’s a start.” She smiled, expecting more flirting, but he stepped back again. She lost her humor. “Take too many steps back and you’ll fall off my deck.”

“I need to go.”

She froze. “Then go.” Why was she so defensive?
He’d
kissed
her
and by his body’s hard reaction and the way his heart beat, he’d enjoyed it—
wanted
it—just as much as she did.

“If you promise to stay away from this investigation, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

He didn’t have to do that. But that the offer followed the kiss irritated her. As if she were so weak-willed she’d let some big, hot macho cop tell her what to do. But it saddened her, too. She was really beginning to like Bishop.

Slowly, she shook her head. “My agreement from this afternoon stands.” She remembered what he said earlier, about her being a disgraced cop, and that made the kiss that much more upsetting. She hated games, and she hated mixed signals, and she was just as much to blame as he was.

“Scarlet—”

“Besides,” she added with an undercurrent of venom that she couldn’t keep from her voice, “you’d better stay away, or you’ll be just as tainted—just as
disgraced
—as me.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. “I didn’t know—”

“And you still don’t.” She brushed past him and went to her bathroom—the only room she could lock herself in. She turned on her shower, but waited until she heard Bishop leave before she stripped and stood under the cool water.

She hated feeling this way, twisted and hurt. But she was.

Get over it, Moreno. You’re a big girl, act like it.

Easier said than done.

Chapter Ten

Scarlet woke to her ringing cell phone. She didn’t check the number before answering.

“Moreno.”

Her voice was raspy. After her shower, she’d gone down to the bar to listen to music and drink, half hoping Bishop would be there, and praying he wasn’t. He’d left for good, and maybe that was the best for all concerned. Her life wasn’t prepared to have romantic entanglements. She’d been in and out of relationships until she met her fiancé (ex-fiancé), and after Matt, she wasn’t seeking any long-term anything.

“Hello?” she repeated into the phone.

“Scarlet?”

The voice was female but Scarlet didn’t immediate place her. She glanced at the number and didn’t recognize it.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Valerie. You came by yesterday and told me to call you. I haven’t been able to sleep much, and when I did, I had an awful dream, and I don’t know if it was real or not, but I’m scared.”

“I’ll be right there.”

She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and dressed. She didn’t want to call Bishop, but she’d promised if she learned anything, she’d tell him. And if Valerie had remembered anything, it would be best if he were there to take her statement.

Damn, damn, damn.

She punched in the number of his cell phone. Four rings later, his voice mail picked up.

“Bishop, it’s Scarlet. Valerie called me. She’s scared about something, a memory or a dream, probably nothing, but I’m heading to her apartment. You should be there.”

She punched
end
. She’d done due-diligence, but she wasn’t going to keep Valerie waiting while Bishop caught up on his beauty sleep. Or deliberately chose to ignore her.

It was barely seven on a Sunday morning and the streets were empty. It only took her fifteen minutes to drive to Irvine—a good start to the day.

She looked at her phone, no messages or missed calls. She wasn’t going to wait for Bishop to give her the green light—or tell her to stand down. She went up to Valerie’s apartment and knocked on the door.

The girl answered almost immediately, her eyes red from crying. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and said, “Thank you for coming over.”

Scarlet stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“I didn’t know who to call,” Valerie continued. “I’ve been trying Tessa and she hasn’t called me back. Do you think—do you think something happened to her, too?”

Bishop hadn’t told Valerie about her friend, and Scarlet didn’t know if she should say anything at this point. Even though Tessa and Valerie were friends, and Valerie deserved to know what had happened, it wasn’t her place. And Bishop might have had a reason to keep Valerie in the dark.

Instead, she sidestepped the question and said, “I called the detective in charge of the investigation.” She deliberately didn’t say murder because Valerie was too emotionally fragile and Scarlet needed the truth. “I don’t want you to be surprised if he shows up.”

“I don’t know,” Valerie began. She sat cross-legged on the couch and bit her thumbnail. All her nails had been nibbled off.

Scarlet sat on the same scarred coffee table she’s sat on yesterday. “What scared you, Valerie? Did you remember something about Friday night?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I had this awful dream last night. A nightmare.”

Scarlet wasn’t an expert on the aftereffects of date rape drugs, and Bishop had never told her specifically what Valerie had been drugged with. It really depended on the drug and the dosage on what a victim might remember. Some drugs, they remembered everything; others, they completely blacked out. Alcohol was a wild card, but usually worsened the effect of the drugs.

She prompted Valerie to continue. “I’m listening.”

“In my dream, I was crying.” Valerie tilted her head to look out the window and avoid Scarlet’s eyes. “On the beach. Tessa was there, and she was so mad at me, and I didn’t know why. It was like she was shouting at me from a distance. Everything sounded like it was in a tunnel, you know? But it had to have been a dream, it couldn’t have happened…”

“What couldn’t have happened, Valerie?”

“It jumped. You know how in dreams you kind of go from place to place and you don’t know how you got there?”

Scarlet didn’t. She never remembered her dreams. She only woke up with emotions. Pleasure. Anger. Fear. But she nodded to encourage Valerie to continue.

“And I was on the beach, but it was like I was looking outside in. And then I was in a bedroom, and someone tucked me into bed. I thought it was Tessa, but whoever did it kissed me on the mouth and told me to stay put. Chase. It had to be Chase. I know his kiss. And then it jumped and there was all the blood. And Richie. And I was naked.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t remember being raped. Nothing. But I’m sore in places I shouldn’t be, and all I want to do is stand in the shower all day. I hate them. I hate not knowing. I hate thinking that my dreams are nothing… or that they mean something.”

She was crying again, and Scarlet said, “Your mother is coming to stay with you, right?”

“She’ll be here this afternoon to take me home.”

“Good.” Scarlet considered Valerie’s dream—or memories. “I want you to think about the beach.”

“No,” Valerie said. “Something awful happened. I know it.”

Had Bishop not told her about Juan? Maybe hypnosis would work, because she had some memories of Friday night. But the drugs themselves would have distorted what she thought she saw, and Scarlet doubted any of it would be admissible in court.

But it might give Bishop a direction to follow.

“I hit Chase,” she suddenly said. “Over and over. What if he raped me? He’s my boyfriend. We’ve had sex before, maybe it doesn’t count—”

“Valerie, he drugged you. Remember what I said yesterday? It doesn’t matter if you would have had sex with him, if he drugged you against your will, then he doesn’t get a free pass, got it?” Unfortunately, too many of these types of cases never made it to trial. Victims were still vilified by the defense, and the prosecution only wanted clear, easy-to-sell cases for the jury.