Killer Physique (A Savannah Reid Mystery) (29 page)

Dirk got the message and gave him his best You-Wanna-Piece-of-Me? glare. Dirk had perfected that look over the years, practicing it in front of Savannah’s hal way mirror, storefront windows, and occasional y at the breakfast table, where he could see his image in the stainless steel toaster.

With al that rehearsal, he was pretty good at it and enjoyed a reputation for striking terror in the hearts of lesser males.

And, apparently, Fabio Garzone must have been one of those lesser dudes, because he quickly glanced away and returned his attention to his hapless employee. “I mean it, Nico,” he told the guy, who looked like a mob enforcer who ate steroids for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. “You put that blender away dirty one more time, and you’l be polishing every piece of steel in this place.” His position as alpha male reestablished, he turned back to Dirk. “Yeah?” he barked. “You need somethin’—like maybe a workout regimen?” He grinned widely, showing less than a ful set of yel owed teeth.

Dirk walked up to him, put one elbow on the bar, and leaned far into his personal space. Pul ing out his badge, Dirk shoved it under his nose.

“Naw, I don’t need no workout regimen. I get al the exercise I need bustin’ morons who can’t figure out how to stay out of the system.” Dirk gave him a grim smile as he stuck his badge back into his pocket. “And speaking of . . . Have you and I ever met? Your face looks familiar.

Oh yeah, I recently saw it on a mug shot.”

Fabio had his poker face firmly in place. But Savannah saw the guy he had cal ed Nico wince and move a couple of steps away, farther down the bar.

Something told her that Nico’s craggy features might have graced a mug shot or two during his career as a protein shake barista. And he had probably been arrested for a more serious transgression then just putting away a dirty blender.

“What are you cops doing here?” Fabio said, as he leaned back on his stool, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and Dirk. “I finished my parole with no violations. You got no reason to be harassing me.”

“Who’s harassing you?” Richard said. “We’re just here to check out your facility.” Not wanting the boys to have al the fun, Savannah figuratively stepped into the ring, too. “Yeah, we hear that you’re the trainer to the stars, and I’ve got an audition to play Red Sonja coming up in a week. You got some iron I can pump, some machines I can work?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Some il egal steroid cocktails I could take?”

She nodded toward the big guy behind the counter. “I betcha Nico back there could blend me up a nice concoction of human growth hormone, a diuretic, a laxative, and a big ol’ scoop of that stuff that they feed to race horses to make ’em run fast. I hear that crap’s real popular now, here in y’al ’s neck o’ the woods.”

Fabio gave Savannah one of the up-and-down looks that she loved so much and said, “It’d take way more than a week to get you in Red Sonja shape,” he told her. “It’d take a couple of years, and by then you’d be way too old for the part.” Dirk threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Oh, man,” he said, “you are taking your life in your hands saying something like that to her.

You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

Savannah took a step closer and locked eyes with Fabio. “That’s okay,” she said with deadly calm. “We’re gonna let that one pass—for now. At the moment we’ve got bigger fish to fry, like that formal complaint that Jason Tyrone was about to file against this place.” It was a stab in the dark, of course. They had no solid proof that Jason even had a complaint against Garzone’s Extreme Fitness Center, let alone that he was getting ready to file anything with anyone anywhere.

But she’d had a hunch, and she was glad she had played it. Because the look on Fabio’s and Nico’s faces said it al . Oh, yes, there had been a feud of some sort between Jason Tyrone and his gym. No doubt about it.

Fabio’s otherwise swarthy complexion had just faded at least two shades, and Nico looked like he might swoon at any moment, like a Southern bel e at a cotil ion whose corset was too tight.

Yes, Savannah was quite sure of one thing.

That fight of theirs, whatever it had been about—it must have been a doozy.

Considering how badly the day had begun, Savannah was quickly deciding that it had ended wel . Of course, it hadn’t hurt one bit that the whole crew—she and Dirk, Tammy and Waycross, and Dora and Richard—had been wined and dined by Ryan and John at Antoine’s, Savannah’s favorite French restaurant.

From the first time she had eaten there, Savannah had decided that if she was ever on death row and had to choose a last meal, she would just ask for three courses of Antoine’s Chocolate Soufflé. She was pretty sure that she could then just float straight up and into heaven.

Yes. Friends, newfound family, and amazing food—life didn’t get much better than that.

Even Dora had been on her best behavior. She seemed to be putting out an effort to listen, as wel as talk. And she’d looked very pretty in the simple black dress she had scored at a Hol ywood thrift store that specialized in vintage fashion. It was so nice, in fact, that Savannah was reexamining her stand on mal shopping.

And now, after their amazing and glamorous night out, they were al on their way home.

Savannah and Dirk had insisted that Dora and Richard ride in the Bentley with John and Ryan, while the other four piled into Dirk’s Buick.

Sitting in the front passenger seat, Savannah was being careful to look only ahead, just in case her brother might be trying to make a move on Tammy in the backseat.

But romance seemed to be the farthest thing from Tammy the Super Sleuth’s mind.

“Tel us again,” she said, “about how mad that old Fabio guy got when you told him you knew al about the fight he and Jason had.” Savannah giggled. “At first he went sorta white, then red, then purple. His face was kinda like one of those mood rings we used to wear, constantly changing color.”

“We figured Jason and the gym were on the outs,” Waycross said, “with Jason quittin’ them like that, but how’d you know their fight was about Fabio sel ing dangerous drugs?”

“We didn’t,” Dirk told him. “Savannah’s bluff was so good that Fabio thought we already knew al about it. He spil ed the beans on himself when he was arguing with us.”

“Awesome,” Tammy said. “So are you going to bust him for sel ing that stuff?”

“Maybe, after we close this case,” Dirk replied. “But I told him I was definitely gonna. When we left he was one highly disgruntled gym owner.”

“Yeap, we ruined his day,” Savannah said, “and that was enough for me. That and finding out that he had a major motive to kil Jason. If Jason was about to blow the whistle on him, old Fabio’s reputation as the trainer to the stars would have been out the window.”

“We’ve got our work cut out for us tomorrow,” Dirk said. “That’s for sure. We’l have to ask Thomas and Alanna if they know anything more about the Jason-Fabio squabble.”

“That’s tomorrow,” Savannah told him, placing her hand on his thigh. “For the rest of tonight, let’s forget about the case and just savor the moment.”

He put his hand over hers, squeezed, and said, “You got it, babe.”

They had reached the foothil road that provided a nice, scenic shortcut from downtown San Carmelita and Antoine’s to Savannah’s house in midtown. Rounding one curve after another, they could see over the roofs of the houses and through the black silhouettes of the palms, down to the ocean below. The waters sparkled in the light of a ful moon, like deep indigo velvet sprinkled with flakes of silver.

As they passed some orange groves, Savannah rol ed down her window to let the smel of the dew-damp blossoms into the car.

And with that intoxicating perfume came another lovely scent that she seldom got to enjoy in Southern California—the smel of rain on its way.

She breathed in the sweet fragrance and let it take her back to her childhood and walking to and from school on dusty Georgia roads.

Yes, it was a beautiful night, and al was wel with the world.

Except for those glaring headlights behind them that were lighting up the interior of the car and ruining the whole moonlight-ambiance thing for Savannah.

She turned around to look and was nearly blinded by the searing, white beams.

“Is that Ryan and John back there?” she asked.

Dirk grunted. “No. This jerk cut them off a ways back and got between us and the Bentley. Now he’s riding my tail.” Waycross turned to look. “Boy, howdy! Any minute now, he’s gonna hitch onto your bumper and take a free ride.”

“Tailgating is so dangerous,” Tammy said. “Why do people—”

Slam!

Everyone in the car gasped as the vehicle behind them rammed into the rear of the Buick. The col ision wasn’t enough to run them off the road, but it gave them al a hard jolt and set their pulses racing.

“What the hel ?” Dirk yel ed, looking into his rearview mirror. “I think he did that deliber—” Another slam! Then a third, much harder one!

Savannah’s brain whirled, trying to make sense of what was happening. An accident was bad enough. But the driver of the giant SUV behind them was trying to run them off the road.

And with trees, telephone poles, and deep ditches on either side, this wasn’t a road where anybody wanted to lose control.

“Hang on,” Dirk yel ed. “Everybody hang on.”

He didn’t need to tel them. Savannah was sure that her fingernails were buried deep into his upholstery.

They could hear the big engine revving behind them. Dirk sped up. They braced.

Again, it slammed them. Even harder than before.

The Buick swerved. Dirk fought the wheel, trying to keep the car straight.

“A dirt road!” he shouted. “Up ahead! I’m gonna try!”

Savannah could see it, the “Y” veering off about a hundred yards ahead. She told herself, If he hits that dirt going this speed—

But she didn’t have time to finish her dark thought.

For just an instant she saw the shiny pavement. A wet spot.

Rain.

They passed over it, and the rear of the Buick swung to the right. The car turned. Turned, turned. Spinning around the road, as metal slammed into metal with a sickening, crunching sound.

Savannah looked behind her and saw the flash of the SUV’s chrome bumper as it came up, up, and over the Buick’s trunk.

Glass shattered. Passengers screamed.

Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. And there was nothing. Except . . .

Deadly silence.

Darkness.

And the sweet, sweet smel of orange blossoms kissed by a soft, summer rain.

Chapter 24

Savannah lay on her side, her hair covering her face, her ribs on her left side jammed against something terribly hard.

Her face was wet, and she didn’t know why.

She was shivering as though she were standing naked in a snowstorm. Her teeth were chattering.

She couldn’t move her legs, and she wasn’t sure what that was al about either.

She heard someone groan. It was a man. Dirk.

Instantly, it al came back to her, and she knew exactly what had happened. The vague haziness vanished, and a desperate urgency took its place.

She struggled trying to get loose, al the while knowing something was badly amiss. Something kept pul ing her to the left side of the car where, in the dark, she could see another figure, struggling as she was.

“Dirk?”

“Van? Honey, are you al right?”

“I’m not sure. You?”

“I think so.”

She managed to get her seat belt loose, but the instant she did, she fel , hard, onto Dirk. Then she realized—the Buick was lying on its side.

But she could move her legs now. She was no longer pinned.

She tried to twist her body around so that she could see into the backseat. “Waycross?” she cried. “Tammy? You two okay back there?” Savannah heard the blessed sound of her little brother’s voice, though it wasn’t much more than a mumbled “I reckon.” There was some rustling around in the backseat, and she heard him say, “I’m sorry, sugar, I’m mashin’ you. Here, I’l put my leg over here. Try to move over that way, darlin’.”

Savannah felt Dirk’s arms, warm and strong, wrap around her. He was trembling, too.

“Sorry, babe.” He hugged her close. “I’m so sorry. I tried to—”

“Sh-h-h.” She buried her face against his chest and felt sharp little shards of glass scrape her cheeks. “It wasn’t your fault. The pavement was wet and that jackass was—”

As though in unison, they both remembered the nightmare that had preceded their predicament.

“I’m gonna kil him,” Dirk said in a voice that she had never heard him use before. Harsh, guttural, determined. “When I get my hands on him, he’s dead.”

As though from far away, Savannah heard the sound of running feet, pounding on the asphalt, racing toward them.

Excited, frightened voices cried out their names. A moment later, someone was climbing on top of the overturned car.

The Buick wobbled as someone jerked the passenger-side door open.

Thinking of the SUV driver who had nearly kil ed them, Savannah didn’t know whether to pul away or take the hand of the person who was reaching down for her.

“Oh, my God, Savannah,” said a deep, familiar, beloved voice. In the moonlight she could see Ryan’s face, his horrified expression. “Are you al right? Is everybody okay?”

“We think so,” she replied.

“Then we’ve got to get you out of there, right away.”

That was when Savannah smel ed it—the strong, distinctive odor of gasoline.

She twisted around to Dirk and said, “Gas.”

“I smel it,” he said. “Get out.”

She reached up and grabbed Ryan’s hands. Simultaneously she felt Dirk pushing her upward from below, and Ryan pul ing from above. In a moment, she was out and clinging to the side of the car just behind the door.

She saw John scrambling to get up there with them. He stood to the front of the door and held it open as she and Ryan reached inside and grabbed Dirk by the arms.

In a few seconds they had pul ed him out, as wel .

“Waycross, Tammy,” Savannah shouted. “You’re next. Come on! Quick!”

“You first, darlin’,” she heard Waycross say. “I’l help you.”