Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 1 - Combust the Sun Read online

  Callie whispered, "Oh my God!" and clutched Elmo to her.

  I was shaking horribly now, the barrel of the gun moving back and forth like a psychotic metronome. Six bullets, two men. Maybe. They obviously have guns, but they might not realize we do too. I slithered down in the seat to rest the gun barrel on the window ledge to steady my shaking hand and got my head down as close to the gun as possible, telling Callie to lie still. I wanted them to get very close. Close was my only hope.

  The two men loped toward the car abreast of one another. Barrel-chested, linebacker-looking men. They were no more than twenty strides from us. I knew I had to pull the trigger. Suddenly, from up above, a shrill whistle pierced the air. The men stopped in their tracks. A man on the hilltop frantically waved his arms in the air as if directing a jetliner into its berth. The men below turned and, without a sound, scrambled back up the hillside. Three car doors slammed. Tires squealed onto the highway. Thirty seconds later a highway patrol car, its red light on, whizzed past us up above, having apparently scared them into moving on. I yelled up to the patrol car and hit my car horn, which made no sound.

  "Omigod, this is a nightmare! I told you it was a bad idea for you to come on this trip, and now I've almost gotten you killed!"

  "It's okay, Teague. It was just a very close call, but we pushed them back with our energy and the white light," Callie said.

  "The guy whistled. That's why they went back," I said sarcastically.

  "We put the protective energy out there, and it merely manifested itself as the guy whistling them back," Callie said. I couldn't respond because she had hold of my jaw. "I think you bit your tongue," she said, crawling into the backseat and opening an ice chest, taking out a few cubes and wrapping them in a handkerchief. "Hold this against your tongue." As she tried to help me, she could barely use her arm and I worried out loud that it was broken. She insisted it wasn't but said I could take a look at it for her when we got to the motel room. I didn't want to tell her that I wasn't sure if that would be tonight or two days from now. We were out of sight of the highway. It was pitch dark, I had no idea if the tires were flat or the gas tank leaking, or if the car would even run. Callie pulled herself slowly out of the car, circled it, looked under it, and reported that she thought we just needed to find a trail that would get us back up on the road.

  "The top of this car is completely bashed in. My cosmetic mirror would be in the suitcase on top of the car. I hope it's not broken," she said seriously.

  "Oh, me too," I smirked.

  I found Elmo's "Bute" painkiller before cranking over the engine and forced a pill down him. My legs were Jello like from fear, and my body felt like I'd been pummeled with a large meat-tenderizing mallet. Callie pulled on Elmo's shoulder only slightly and then rested her hands on him. Her touch made him release a huge sigh, and he stopped sobbing.

  We drove slowly over the sand and sagebrush, not having any idea whether we were about to run into barbed wire or Black Angus. Fifteen minutes later, it appeared that the distance between the highway above us and our battered Jeep had narrowed. It was now or never. I prayed the men weren't waiting for us up above and told Callie this was the point in time where we'd find out if the TV commercials lied. The Jeep's wheels spun, then locked onto the earth and slowly pulled us to the top. When the front tires hit asphalt, Callie and I executed a pitiful and painful high-five!

  Why in the goddamned hell are we being chased by these guys? I wondered.

  As if Callie could read my mind, she said, "You have something they want, Teague. Think. What could it be?"

  Chapter Eight

  I drove, Elmo whimpered, and Callie dug through the first aid kit, putting Neosporin on all three of us. She had scraped legs and a cut across her arm. I had a deep gouge in my leg by the knee. Elmo had a sprained shoulder. All in all, we were very lucky.

  "Who do you think they were?" I asked Callie through the darkness.

  "I don't know, but there's definitely a connection between what happened to your friend Barrett and what happened to Frank Anthony," Callie replied. "Tell me everything from the beginning."

  I began with the phone call from Barrett inviting me to lunch, explaining that I went hoping for a writing assignment from Marathon. Callie looked interested when I mentioned the studio. I told her Barrett had begun discussing a barter system at the studio that involved everything from drugs to prostitution and she was experiencing fear, and maybe a little guilt, about her part in it. Before we could finish the conversation, the Latin man had kissed her and Barrett had collapsed.

  "Who did Barrett feel was behind it?"

  "She said she didn't know and that for me to know would be dangerous. Maybe it goes right up the chain of command. She answers to Robert Isaacs, who reports to Lee Talbot, who's accountable to the Marathon board of directors."

  Callie stiffened at the mention of their names and looked ashen.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Quick karma, that's all."

  "Well, I can't think of any deeds I've done in this lifetime that would warrant my being stalked and murdered."

  We drove directly to the Albuquerque police station and reported the incident. An officer filled out a vehicle damage report, interviewed us, asked for a description of our pursuers, and said they'd be in touch. Not, I thought.

  I left the LAPD number and asked the New Mexico police officer on duty to let Detective Curtis know about the incident. Since we were headed back to L.A., Curtis was once again my cop du jour.

  We checked into a room at the Holiday Inn, after quickly walking Elmo together. Callie disappeared into the bathroom for half an hour. Her small jeans were tossed across the bed. I could just make out the tag: size 2.

  Size 2! At birth, I had nothing that was a 2. I stared at the label. How can I, the person who finds comfort in women well over 5' 9", ever be insatiably attracted to a 5' 4" size 2!

  Callie returned wearing a long white cotton T-shirt with a plunging neckline and a RL logo on it. I thought it was the sexiest outfit I'd ever seen anyone wear. In fact, I loved it so much I wanted to take it right off her. She crawled into the double bed across from mine.

  "Where are you going?" I asked. "I thought you wanted me to work on your arm."

  "You don't need to," she said, "I know you're in pain."

  "I want to, but it requires that you come over here because I am totally busted." I grimaced as I tried to raise up on one elbow. "Besides, you're in Elmo's bed. He likes pillows." On cue, Elmo left his water bowl, bounded up on the bed, and flopped his loose, damp jowls down on Callie's pillow.

  She bailed out seconds later as I gave Elmo an appreciative wink and made a mental note to buy that dog more cookies. She clambered into bed beside me and slid her hurt arm across my chest. I gently massaged it and her shoulder as she winced in pain. "So you are in pain, but you deny it."

  "If you talk about it, you give it more negative energy. I just see it completely healed," she said.

  I continued to rub her arm and shoulder and down her back, so soft and cool to the touch. She must take cool showers, I thought, or she would be warmer. I lifted the sheet slightly to see the light blond hairs that were barely perceptible on her body. I tried not to think about what else I'd like to massage. She took a small, short breath, sighing like a baby. Callie Rivers was fast asleep across my chest.

  I lay awake all night, the electrical circuitry of our bodies closing in a tight loop that pulsed through me, an erotic charge keeping every nerve ending in my body erect. I cupped my hand over her small buttock. It was breathtakingly soft. I closed my eyes, envisioning my mouth caressing those very cheeks. When I opened my eyes, Elmo was staring at me. He licked his lips as if to say, "Do it and your lips will never touch mine." I chuckled softly.

  At dawn, I groaned in agony as I tried to roll over. Lying still all night had caused all my battered and bruised joints to gel and stiffen. I winced before opening my eyes. Callie's beautiful face was smiling down at me. I smiled broadly i
n return.

  "Good morning," she said sweetly and kissed me on the forehead as one would an irritable child and then handed me a hot cup of coffee.

  "We were protected yesterday and we will be again," Callie said with eternal optimism.

  "I don't call rolling off a highway down a thirty-foot ravine 'being protected' even if I did live to bitch about it. I call that «o«-protected. Protected would be if their guns had misfired and blown up in their hands, killing them instantly. Now that's being protected."

  "That's revenge."

  "I like revenge," I said mildly.

  "You know that's not true," she scolded.

  "It's true for me. My truth may be different than your truth, but thank you so much for the coffee. And that's the truth."

  Callie placed her hand on my forehead, breathed deeply, and then pulled some invisible something out of my head and threw it into the air, as if removing a restless spirit from me. In the blink of an eye, I felt better, even optimistic.

  "What did you just do?" I asked.

  "Just cleansing your third eye."

  "Had I known I had a spare, I would have rested one of my other ones."

  "Ah-ah, don't make fun," she warned, determined not to let me denigrate her belief system and clearly bent on enlightening me.

  We merged onto I-40 looking over our shoulders, afraid someone would shoot us, run us off the road, or even talk to us, for that matter, but no one bothered. Elmo's shoulder was better. He hung his head in between the split front seats and rested his large jowls on the storage console separating Callie's seat from mine, so he could press his nose up against her arm. She continually massaged the big white milk-bone design on the top of his caramel-colored head. Victims of a near disaster, they had apparently bonded with one another.

  "I brought your birth chart. Pisces, Virgo rising. So that's why you're so grounded, but yet creative."

  "I know all about Pisces, Virgo rising." And off her shocked look, I said, "There's a song about Pisces, Virgo rising, being a good sign, and if the song's accurate, then I am, in addition, strong and kind."

  "Do you know that you have Mercury in Aries?"

  "Hum a few bars and I'll tell you," I replied.

  "It means you're verbally quick, sometimes maybe too quick, perhaps even cutting," she said without judgment.

  "Never heard that," I lied.

  We drove into the San Fernando Valley about eight p.m., down the 5 and onto the 134 exiting in Studio City. Down a pretty side street, I punched the automatic gate opener above the visor and the iron gates in my driveway swung open, allowing us to drive safely in before clanging shut behind us. I was happy to come home to a fortress.

  When I put my key in the lock, I stood stock still, every nerve ending on edge.

  "What's the matter?" Callie leaned in near me.

  "Dead bolt's off." I signaled her to back away from the house and get into the car. I followed her and retrieved the gun that I now kept lodged between my front seat and the storage compartment. Once I had it in my hand, I felt more secure and a great surge of anger welled up inside me.

  "You stay in the car with Elmo," I whispered.

  "No, we both need to drive away and call the police." Her voice was urgent.

  "In L.A. we'd be on a walker before they show up. Just stay here."

  I went back to the rear door of the house, leaned up against the wall to get my breath, then kicked the door open and flicked the lights on to my right, sweeping the gun from left to right.

  "Hands above your head!" I shouted at no one. I glanced at the floor strewn with dishes and silverware, a wall with pictures askew, and a closet erupting its contents onto the floor. I moved into the living room, where DVDs and books were randomly scattered, and then into the office, where every file I owned was on the floor.

  "They're looking for something," the voice said behind me.

  I whirled and pointed the gun at Callie, then quickly pointed it away.

  "That's a damned good way to get yourself killed! I told you to stay outside."

  "Stop giving orders. Let's see what they were after," Callie said practically.

  I dialed Detective Curtis's direct line. "Did the New Mexico police call you?" I asked. He said they hadn't, so I told him about the men who ran us off the highway.

  "I think it's all the same guys harassing you," Curtis said. "We've got a break in the case. An informant in a gang here in L.A. who seems to know your guy with the spider tattoo. The gang mostly deals in drugs. Don't know why they targeted you or your friend, but we intend to make an arrest. When we do, I'll want you down at the station to ID him."

  I told him I would be delighted, but in the meantime, I'd been burglarized, and I described the condition of my home. Curtis had the attention span of a gnat when it came to burglaries in which household items were rearranged but not stolen. He asked me to get some digital shots, take an inventory, and call the LAPD's main number. They'd send an officer who'd make a report for my insurance company. All of which will be put in my file and presumably read by an interested human only in the event of my death, I thought.

  "LAPD," I snorted. "If this were the TPD they'd be here already!"

  A short ring and then a fax glided off the machine. Its anonymous and cryptic message said, "Welcome Home."

  Callie stared at it. "This was sent by whomever the Latins work for."

  "And who's that?"

  "A white man, not a very powerful man, really, but a man who wants to be powerful. He disguises himself."

  "Literally disguises himself?"

  "No. You would never know the power connections he has by looking at him. That kind of disguise."

  "Be more specific."

  "Sorry, I can't, but right now I'm feeling you should call Barrett."

  I dialed Barrett's home number, hoping she'd been released from the hospital. When Barrett answered, I admit I was happy to hear her voice and to know that she was up and around. I told her I'd just returned from Oklahoma and had been thinking about her ever since our lunch at Orca's. In fact, I'd called the hospital long distance to ask how she was. Barrett interrupted me to say she was fine and very busy. I tried to book a lunch with her.

  "Unavailable, Teague. In fact, I'm booked all week. Got several screenings to attend," Barrett said. When I suggested the following week, she added, "Sorry, still maxed. I'll be in New York."

  By the time I hung up, it was clear to me that someone had gotten to Barrett and given her the choice of getting back on the team or getting buried. She'd obviously chosen the former.

  "She's involved in the Anthony murder," Callie said flatly.

  "That would be a big coincidence," I remarked.

  "Coincidence is a word people use to keep themselves from being frightened by the truth." Callie stared at me with those ethereal blue eyes, and I knew she was a woman who knew the truth.

  Late that night, I checked myself out in the mirror and then plopped down in a chair. I'd lost ten pounds, and I had circles under my eyes that made me look like a raccoon. I was still nervous about the ransacking of my house. Elmo inexplicably paced and moaned and fretted as I pulled all the blinds shut, put the alarm on, and called the LAPD to ask for the occasional drive-by patrol car, just to keep an eye on things. But that wasn't all that was worrying me. Being with Callie, and not being able to have Callie, was taking its toll. I don't want her getting the idea that we're just roommates. The mere thought is making me gaunt and thin! By the time she gives in, if she gives in, I'll undoubtedly be too weak to take advantage of my good fortune, I thought, only half in jest. Callie must have read my mind.

  "What's the matter?" She came up behind me and put her delightfully small hand on the back of my neck. "You feel hot."

  "Aside from the usual things—mayhem and murder—I'm attracted to someone who isn't showing any interest in me at all," I said.

  Callie spun my swivel chair around to face her and straddled me with her legs spread wide across mine, her face inc
hes from my own. "This is a very sad story," she said feigning sympathy.

  "Don't tease me," I said, "I'm not kidding."

  "Okay." She looked at me closely to make sure I was serious.

  "So the truth is..." I began, but she silenced me with her fingers over my lips. I immediately took her fingers into my mouth. They smelled of her perfume.

  "The truth is, I want you as much as you want me." And with that Callie Rivers gave me the most deliciously erotic kiss and allowed me to slip my hand inside the leg of her loose shorts, where to my delight, she was wearing nothing but the moist heat created by our kissing. She rocked slowly forward on me only once, and I moaned at how good she felt. She pushed against me, snuggling into my neck, when suddenly our chair moved side to side at a ninety degree angle. Moments later, the chair took three forward bounces, and both of us were thrust back into reality. I looked up and the furniture was moving. I pulled Callie under the Parsons table that rested against the wall as the interior doors slammed open and shut and dishes broke and alarms went off.

  "It's an earthquake," I whispered, panting from a mix of too many adrenaline-rush activities. "Elmo! Stay!" I could see him hunkered down next to the couch. He wasn't moving, protected by the large rolled arms above him.

  "We should have read the signs. Elmo has been nervous and pacing," Callie said.

  I reached above my head for the small portable radio resting on the table and punched the On button. An announcer interrupted programming. "If you're listening in the Valley, we have reports coming in of an earthquake in that area. Magnitude not official yet, but we 're hearing from listeners that they believe it to be in the range of a 5.9 to 6.2."

  Callie tried to crawl out of our hiding place, but I pulled her back. "Let's hang out here a minute. There could be aftershocks, or worst case, this could be the foreshock to a bigger one." I could feel her tense up, and I pulled her body toward mine. "I can now say that when we even begin to make love, the earth moves," I grinned.