Liver Let Die (28 page)

Jordan stared incredulously, her hope of seeing another day fading fast with the newfound revelation Trevelli hadn’t killed Derrick in the heat of the moment. The man had a calculated plan. “You killed J. T.?”

“Had to. Somehow he found out about me and Derrick throwing the Division II championship game.” He paused, a slight grin tipping the corner of his lips. “I made twenty-five big ones on that game. Got me out of the doghouse with Dozerly. At least until my luck went south again at the track.” His face hardened again. “Anyway, the loser must have told his teenybopper girlfriend before he used her to practice his right hook. I can only assume she told J. T., and he’d threatened to go to the newspaper and expose all of us if Derrick didn’t stay away from the girl.”

Jordan lowered her head. So that was the reason J. T. wanted to see her that night. He knew she was a reporter, and he was coming to tell her about the point-fixing scam. She wondered if he’d even suspected diamond smuggling was going on right under his nose at the restaurant.

“So you killed him for money?”

Trevelli slammed the gun against the side of the locker closest to him, and Jordan flinched before catapulting to her feet and backpedaling.

“Only one way out of here, Jordan, but you can quit worrying. I have no intentions of shooting you, at least not with a Saturday night special I bought on the street after Dozerly’s goons worked me over. That would be kind of hard to explain to the cops.” He sneered. “You and me are going to take a little walk up the back stairway to the press box. Unfortunately, you, being clumsy, are going to have a really bad fall running from me when I confront you about killing Derrick. Poor girl! You’ll probably break your neck when you land on the hard surface behind the bleachers.”

He cocked the gun and jerked it toward the door. “No more talking. It’s showtime.”

Reluctantly, Jordan stepped toward him, her mind racing for something, anything, to stay alive. Slowly as possible, she made her way to the door, feeling the unmistakable pressure of the gun barrel pressed into the small of her back.

For the second time in two days, she looked to the sky for help, hoping the Big Guy up there believed she was worth saving.

Just one more time.

Skidding into the parking lot balanced on two wheels, the car nearly tipped over after Alex jerked the wheel, spotting Jordan’s car. He regained control enough to screech to a halt and jump out of the vehicle, leaving the motor running and bounding from the front seat to race to the Camry.

He looked inside, his gut grumbling like a volcano on the verge of rupturing.

It was empty!

Alarm sent his pulse into overdrive, and he rushed back to his own car. He turned off the engine and reached inside the glove compartment for the Glock he kept stashed there. The uneasy feeling inside him snowballing, he galloped to the stadium entrance.

What possible reason could Jordan have for being here?

Touching the weapon now tucked into his waistband, he pushed open the door.

“Move,” Trevelli growled, jabbing her harder with the gun. “The cops will be here soon, assuming you really do have friends out there. I can’t take that chance.”

Jordan scanned both walls of the empty corridor for something to use to defend herself as she reluctantly stepped up the pace Trevelli demanded.

Seeing the stairs ahead tucked into a hidden nook away from the hallway, she slowed her steps, tempering her voice. “You don’t have to do this, Coach. Everyone thinks Roger Mason killed J. T. and I’ll say whatever you want about Derrick—that he attacked me and I had to kill him in self-defense.” Trying to reason with him was the only weapon she possessed.

Trevelli snorted. “And you expect me to believe that line of crap? I bet the minute the cops get here, assuming they’re really on the way, you’d give me up before they even asked.” He shoved her forward. “Go, Jordan. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will. I can always say the gun is yours and went off when I tried to take it away from you.”

Panic like she’d never known before clogged her throat. She could hardly breathe, but she had to think of something to distract him long enough to make a run for it. If he got her all the way up to the press box, perched above the top row of bleachers, there was no way she’d survive a fall to the asphalt.

At the top of the stairs, they stopped in front of a door marked PRESS ONLY. Jordan felt a stab of irony that her lifelong dream had always been to sit in a press box like this one and report on anything athletic. Now she’d finally made it, and it was about to kill her.

CHAPTER 23

“It should be open,” Trevelli said, his voice tight with tension. “I unlocked it earlier.” He shoved again, nearly knocking her over. “Hurry up.”

Jordan turned, trying once more to reason with him, this time using a more personal touch. “Larry . . .”

He slammed the butt of his gun against her temple, totally catching her off guard, and she groaned. Pitching forward, she fought to stay conscious, as the room began spinning in a vortex.

“Get up,” he screamed.

Trevelli’s voice was distant, echoing in her ears. Disoriented and sick to her stomach from the pain in her head, she tried to stand but teetered, falling back before finally lifting to her feet. Stunned, she saw him twirl his gun then motion for her to move toward the other side of the room. Praying for the strength to make it there, she headed in that direction.

“This way,” he said gruffly, when her knees buckled and she reached for a nearby chair to steady herself. When they made it to the opposite door of the press box, he reached around and flung it open.

Stepping out onto the top row of bleachers, she noticed right off how beautiful the sun looked making its descent toward the horizon. For some unexplained reason, the beautiful orange ball gave her hope. A whiff of fresh air, heavy with the smell of newly cut grass, reached her nostrils, and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

“Jordan!”

When she recognized Victor’s voice, her eyes snapped open. “Up here,” she shouted.

Trevelli stopped in his tracks. “What the—”

Victor stood on the bottom row of the bleachers with Lola and Rosie close behind him. With the distraction, Jordan spun halfway around and karate-chopped her fist against Trevelli’s wrist, the one holding the gun. The weapon flew out of his hand and clattered across the aluminum bleachers. She completed the turn to face him and took aim.

His scream when her foot connected with his bad knee was a welcome sound, and she took advantage of his pain to leap down the steps two at a time, nearly pitching forward several times. Before reaching the bottom, she heard another familiar voice call her name, and she looked down to see Alex. He was racing up the steps, his gun pointed directly at Trevelli, who lay sprawled on the upper steps, his face twisted in agony.

“You all right?” he asked, his eyes darting to the side of her head where she knew her hair must be matted with blood.

Tears welled up. Unable to speak, she nodded.

“Who is this guy, Jordan?”

“Football coach,” she whispered before clearing her throat and finding her voice. “He killed J. T.” Then she remembered Derrick. “There’s another body downstairs.”

Alex left her to run up to Trevelli, and she continued down, the sounds of the sirens coming closer to the stadium giving her strength. Reaching her friends, she was immediately cradled in a three-man cocoon. Safe in the warmth of their embrace, she lost the battle with her pent-up emotions. Tears of joy flowed down her bloodstained cheeks.

Victor touched her head gently. “We need to get you to the emergency room. No arguments.”

Jordan barely managed to nod, her head hurt so badly. Glancing up the steps and seeing Alex standing over Trevelli, she attempted a smile. His return stare was filled with so much concern, she forced herself to give him a thumbs-up before he focused back to Trevelli.

Glancing toward the parking lot, she saw the police units blazing across the asphalt, their flashing lights illuminating the area in a weird disco light way. Within minutes, a horde of cops ran past her, one of them radioing for the EMTs and backup as he grabbed her arm. “You need to sit, ma’am. That looks like a nasty cut you have there.”

Exhausted, she slumped in Victor’s arms, and he lowered her to the bleachers.

Rosie plucked a lock of hair that was glued to the blood on her forehead and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “It’s over, sweetie. He can’t hurt you now.”

“We were lucky we didn’t have to shave too much of your hair,” the doctor said, putting the bandage in place over the gash on her head. “You’ll need to stay in the hospital overnight for observation, Ms. McAllister. If all goes well you can leave in the morning. Of course, you’ll still have to take it easy for a week or so until we get these staples out.”

Jordan nodded, already feeling the effects of the painkiller the nurse had given her. “Can my friends come in now?”

“I’ll have the desk clerk call back to the waiting room and give them the okay.”

He washed his hands before disappearing, leaving Jordan alone to reflect on the past two days. She’d nearly died, not once but twice. The nurse had mentioned her mom and brothers were on their way to the metroplex. She expected a full-court press when they arrived, knowing they would play on every one of her emotions to convince her to move back to Amarillo. Being Catholic, guilt would be their trump card.

But Ranchero was no longer a job stop up the career ladder for her. It was her home now. As much as she loved her parents and her siblings, holidays and an occasional vacation day worked fine as a family fix when she needed it. She just didn’t want to live across town from them or, heaven forbid, in the same house.

Her brothers still treated her like she was a teenager, bossing her around and telling her how to live her life.

She thought about Brett’s offer to put in a good word for her at his news station. As tempting as it was to get into sports reporting, it would mean leaving the people she had come to love as much as her biological family.

“I’m gonna kick your cute little butt if you ever try that again, young lady.”

She glanced up to see Ray charge into the room. The concern in his eyes canceled out the gruff in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m holding on to my other seven lives with both hands.”

He bent to kiss her cheek. “What kind of animal does this to a face like yours?” he asked, staring at the bruise under her eye, now a mixture of purple and yellow.

“A coward,” Victor chimed in, squeezing between Ray and Lola to grab Jordan’s hand. “My God, girl, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately, Victor? That outfit alone would stop a healthy heart.” Ray laughed. “What were you thinking when you got up this morning? That you were going to a class reunion . . . for your greatgrandfather?”

Everyone laughed, including Victor. “Some guy came into the store yesterday with a box of old clothes he found in his grandmother’s attic. Thought I could use them in the antiques store. I was trying this on when Jordan knocked at my door insisting we leave immediately for the stadium.”

Ray turned and nailed Jordan with a stare. “Speaking of the college, I saw a picture of the dead kid on TV this morning. He bears an uncanny resemblance to the guy we saw on the surveillance video at your door last night. You know, the guy you swore you didn’t recognize.” He shook his finger at her. “I’m a cop, Jordan. Why didn’t you tell me what you suspected? I would have gone with you.”

“I was planning to tell both you and Alex about him tonight. I thought I was being paranoid.”

“So why didn’t you tell me when he called?”

“I tried, Ray, but you were already on your way to Dallas. Derrick gave me a deadline.”

“So, instead of a retired cop, you took the next best thing—Victor, Lola, and Rosie?” He threw up his hands. “I’ll bet that scared the bejesus out of Trevelli.”

“Hey, watch it, you old codger,” Rosie cautioned, playfully. “I’ll have you know it was because of us Jordan was able to get away from that madman.” She giggled. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Well, since I broke up with Quincy, anyway.”

At the mention of the lawyer’s name, Jordan drew in a breath. “I have something to tell you, Rosie. Trevelli implied Quincy Dozerly was running some kind of gambling ring that was bigger than everyone thought.”

“Oh, he definitely was,” Michael said. “Remember me telling you about the old guy upstairs who made a killing when the Cougars won big their season opener?”

“No, Michael, I mean a really big gambling ring,” Jordan said, suppressing a yawn. “Big like connected to the mob.”

“That’s true.”

They all turned toward the door as Alex came in. “As soon as Trevelli told us about his connection to Dozerly, we got a federal warrant and raided Terlinga’s Laundry. Although Quincy wasn’t a big fish, he had ties to a couple of real sharks. The DA is working out a plea bargain with him as we speak.”