Hit and Run (7 page)

“She’s going.”

“Like hell I am.”

“Hospital or jail. Your call.”

“I haven’t done anything!”

“I don’t know that yet. I don’t know anything except you kept information from me in a police investigation, and don’t you dare try to hide behind your family connections.”

She fumed. “I’m
not
. I tracked Jason down. I’ve been looking for him since you left Leah’s house last night. I called you and told you we were coming in.”

He hesitated, just a bit, but Scarlet knew that she had him on that. She pushed a bit harder. “You must have heard the gun shots before I lost the call.”

He didn’t respond.

She said, “You have to keep Jason in protective custody. Someone tried to kill him, and there’s at least one cop involved.”

“Stop.”

“No!”

He looked at the paramedic. “Give us a minute.”

The woman walked away, over to her colleague who was working on Jason.

“I looked up your record, Moreno.”

She thought he would, but she didn’t know what he thought about it—or even what was accessible in the files. But she wasn’t backing down on this. “Jason will tell you the truth. He didn’t kill Gina.”

“The gun found in his abandoned car matches preliminary ballistics to the bullets that killed his partner.”

“It was planted.”

“Oh, please, Moreno. You’re not that stupid.”

“Fuck you, Richardson. You looked up my record? Great. Then you know I was a decorated cop, a detective who closed cases up until I was ambushed and hung out to dry. I walked away because I knew there was no way I’d find out who was behind it before they killed me. Don’t believe everything you hear.” She shouldn’t argue with him, shouldn’t make him angrier. But she’d always had trouble controlling her temper, especially around people who didn’t listen.

She took a deep breath, then another. “Kyle,” she said softly, “I’ve known Jason since I was a kid. His brother is a decorated Army officer. His sister is a sweet flight attendant. His dad died when he was a teenager and he became the head of the house because Josh was stationed overseas. Jason took care of everything for his mom, who found herself going back to work while her two youngest were teenagers. He’s a good man. Please listen to him, believe him. Find a way to prove he didn’t kill Perez. Something else is going on here. I feel it in my gut.”

The detective stared at her, then looked at Jason. A minute later he turned back to her. “You must have lived through hell to think that I wouldn’t want the truth. That’s all I want. Guilty or innocent, I’m going to find out what happened.”

“That’s all I’ve asked for.”

“You have to stand down, Scarlet.”

“As long as I know you’re on top of this, I will.”

He almost smirked, but then grew serious and said in a low voice, “Armor Plus is a private security company. They handle mostly corporate security, public events, things like that. Half of them are former cops. Not always retired.” He hesitated, then said, even softer, “I’ll deny saying this, but some of the former cops working for Armor left under a cloud. It’s one of those things we all know but don’t talk about.”

He assessed her, then continued. “You killed one of their people. You said there were two or three people shooting at you, meaning no matter how quiet I keep this, they’ll know it was you. I can’t sweep it under the rug. I have to file a report. You’ll still have to give a statement and have the shooting reviewed. I’m certain they’ve already come up with a damage control plan. They’ll know what we know. They’ll make their story work with the facts. But you’ve put yourself on their radar. That’s not a good place to be.”

“I’ll lay low.”

“Laying low might not be good enough.”

“What are you doing with Jason?”

“I’m bringing him in for questioning. He’ll have his union rep there. He’ll probably want a lawyer. He’s not under arrest—yet. I’ll make sure he spends the next twenty-four under guard at the hospital. At least there he should be safe while we sort through the evidence.”

“Thank you. I don’t suppose I can have my gun back.”

He didn’t even answer the question. Fortunately, she had two back-ups at her apartment.

“You’re not going to the hospital, are you?” he said.

“No. I’ve had worse.”

He touched her shoulder blade. She’d forgotten that the bullet scars from the ambush could be seen when she wore a tank top. “You were shot in the back.”

“Yes, I was. Make sure it doesn’t happen to Jason.”

~ ~ ~

When she signed all the paperwork refusing the advice of the paramedic to go to the hospital, and when Richardson and the Topanga cops finally let her go, Scarlet drove straight to Krista’s house in Huntington Beach. She didn’t have a phone—hers or Krista’s. Both had burned in the fire. She’d called Krista from Richardson’s phone to let her know that she was okay, but she hadn’t filled her in on the details.

When she arrived, it was four in the afternoon. She glared at the black Porsche in the driveway. Really. He was here? She wanted to throttle R.J. Flynn just because she was in a shitty mood. But … he might be able to help. It pained her that she thought he could be useful, because asking for his knowledge about Armor Plus might, de facto, give him the impression that she approved of him pursuing a relationship with her best friend. Which she didn’t. Not now, not ever. Unless he crawled across a hot bed of coals, naked, dragging that prick defense attorney Drake Walker behind him.

The image made her smile.

She knocked on the door and Krista immediately answered. “God, Scarlet, are you okay?”

“Peachy,” she said.

R.J. appeared in the foyer behind Krista. “I’m leaving,” he said. “Thanks for the help, Krista.”

Scarlet wanted to ask what was going on because this didn’t look like a date. They were working together on something? He asked Krista for advice? But that was going to have to be a conversation for another time. She said,
“Actually, can you stay a minute, R.J.?”

Her comment surprised both of them.

Scarlet walked in and shut the door behind her. “I need some information about a private security company. If you don’t want to help, I totally understand.”

R.J. looked at Krista. The silent exchange was clear. It was up to Krista as to whether R.J. helped.

“Forget it,” Scarlet said. “I don’t want you holding this over our heads. Good-bye.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but that was his only reaction.

Spencer, Krista’s annoying macaw, squawked. “Good-bye good-bye! Good-bye good-bye!”

“I’m going to get a beer,” Scarlet said. She went to the kitchen, leaving Krista and R.J. to work it out themselves. First, she drained a water bottle completely. The paramedic had given her several, which she’d also drank. She didn’t think she’d ever feel hydrated again. Then she grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and opened it. She also found a box of pita chips on the counter. She grabbed that, too, then went back into the living room. R.J. was still there. They’d moved away from the door, so he was inclined to help.

Scarlet sat down, and Krista and R.J. sat on opposite chairs. Maybe Krista hadn’t been lying when she said there was nothing going on between them.

Yet
, Scarlet couldn’t help but think.

Without asking again, Scarlet told them everything that had happened. She left out some of the borderline illegal things she’d done—she didn’t trust R.J. and she wouldn’t give him information that he could use against her or Krista.

“We searched the guy I shot. Eric Peterson, Armor Plus. Richardson says it’s a private security company full of former cops. Peterson wasn’t a cop, or if he was, it wasn’t LAPD. But there were at least two other guys with him who escaped.”

Krista stared at her. “They shot at you and nearly burned you alive. Why are you here? Why aren’t you at the hospital?”

“Because I’m fine. I wasn’t shot, and I have no burns. The worse was some cuts from flying wood and glass, scrapes, smoke inhalation. Richardson is taking this seriously, and considering he didn’t arrest me, he believes me. He knew about Armor Plus, and though he didn’t expressly say it, their involvement made him nervous.”

“It should,” R.J. said. “They’re dangerous.”

“What do they do?” Krista asked him.

“Anything and everything. Hostage rescue. Corporate security. Intimidation. Say you’re the CEO of a major company and your rival is about to introduce a competing product. Maybe a better product. Armor boys will dig up dirt and make sure that product stays buried.”

It was clear that R.J. had come up against these people, but Scarlet didn’t ask when or why. “Blackmail,” she said.

“Of a fashion.” He paused, looked from Krista to Scarlet. “They’re rough, even ruthless. There’s been talk about arson for hire, corporate espionage, blackmail—but I’ve never heard of them killing anyone.”

“They went overboard on this one, and even with the fire destroying much of the evidence, there were plenty of shell casings to support my statement. They didn’t police their brass, which makes me think it’s clean.” She paused, considered. “Who runs Armor Plus?”

“I don’t know,” R.J. admitted. “I can find out. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“You mean, am I sure I want to find out who tried to kill me and Jason?”

R.J. nodded. “I’ll see what I can get.” He rose and Krista walked him to the door. They whispered, but Scarlet didn’t even try to eavesdrop. She was too sore and tired.

Krista returned. “He’ll call me when he finds out. But I’m worried about you.”

“I told you, I’m
fine.
Really.”

“You say that, but I don’t believe it.”

Scarlet sighed, drained her beer and put the bottle on the table. Krista was worried, and Scarlet didn’t want her to worry. She really was okay, at least physically. “I killed a man,” she said. “It sucks. I had no choice, but I feel like shit.”

Krista sat down next to her, put her arm around her shoulder and they just sat there for a few minutes in silence. It was what she needed. The quiet. The friendship. No questions, no admonitions, nothing but unconditional support.

“I love you, Krista.”

“If I didn’t know you were straight, I’d be worried.” She was lightening the mood, which Scarlet desperately needed.

“Tell R.J. that I’m his competition for your affection. See what he does with that.” She smiled. “I gotta go.”

“You can stay here.”

“I appreciate it. But I know what I’m facing now. They’re not going to catch me unaware again. But can you ask Mac to pick up a couple of phones for us? Both of ours were destroyed in the fire.”

“I’m ahead of you.” Krista tossed her a bag that she hadn’t noticed was on the coffee table. Scarlet opened it and found a new phone exactly like her old. “And we have our old numbers back.”

“You’re fabulous.”

“I know.” She grinned. “But you gave Alex Bishop my number when you had my phone, and he left a message several hours ago.” She pulled her own phone out and played the message for Scarlet.

“It’s Alex. I heard about Topanga. You should have called me.”

That was it. Shit.

“He’s mad,” Scarlet said.

“He’s worried. Difference.”

“Not really.” Sometimes she wished she weren’t so independent, that she thought about how she fit into other people’s lives. “I’ll call him.”

Scarlet spontaneously hugged Krista, then left. She turned her phone on. Almost immediately, it beeped repeatedly. She had multiple voice mail messages. Driving to her place, she listened to them. Her brother John.
Call me, Scarlet.
Her father.
Scarlet, it’s your dad. Call me as soon as you can.
Kyle Richardson.
Jones is at St. Joseph’s in Burbank. Be accessible.

Then a second message from Richardson.

I know how they found Jason. Call me.

First, she called Alex. He didn’t answer. She left a message.

“Hey, Alex, it’s Scarlet. I’m fine, lost my new phone or I would have called you back. Now I have a replacement for my old phone. I’ll talk to you later.”

She hung up, but didn’t feel any better. Then she called Richardson.

“It’s Scarlet Moreno.”

“We impounded Jason’s motorcycle. There was a tracking device in the wheel well. Very small, very sophisticated. You might want to search your vehicle.”

“Can you trace it?”

“I don’t know. I turned it over to the techs.”

“What about his other car? The one that was left by the side of the road?”

“It’s in impound as well. They didn’t find anything, but they might not have known what to look for. We’re double checking.”

“Let me know what you find.”

“You know I can’t do that. You’re lucky I’m giving you this heads up.” He hung up and she immediately pulled over and searched her car inside and out. She didn’t find anything that wasn’t supposed to be there.

When had they planted the tracker on Jason? Why on the motorcycle? Did they plant it after Perez was killed or before? When Jason was in the police station giving his statement? Why? That showed a lot of foresight and planning—that
if
he got away when they ran him off the road, they assumed he would go home and bolt. Saw the bike, planted a tracker on it. Why hadn’t they waited in his house? Why hadn’t they found him in Long Beach?

Or maybe they planted the tracker on his bike in Long Beach, but then again why hadn’t they gone after him then?

Maybe they had planned to, but Richardson got there first.

Either way, Armor Plus was working with someone inside LAPD who knew Jason Jones very well.

Scarlet sat in Diego’s bar, ready to take her punishment. Isaac was the weekend bartender, but Diego had made a special trip in. Because of her.

“You used my house and didn’t even ask.”

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble,” she said. She already felt like shit. She hadn’t really thought about what she’d done until after she’d done it, and now she’d caused a major headache for Diego and his family. “I didn’t know anyone could find us.”

“It’s gone. Completely gone.”