Wicked Release (25 page)

41

S
am raced back to the precinct from Burt Horowitz's office, busting through the front doors as he arrived. Donnelly jumped from behind the front desk as Sam slid his ID card and got on the elevator, going straight up to Straimer's office.

He didn't bother knocking as he slammed open the door. It flew back, hitting the wall behind it with a bang. A woman screamed and jumped, spilling a few drops of water down her blouse. “McCloskey! What the hell's your problem?” Straimer shouted.

Sam nodded at Rose, the captain's wife, as she clutched her scrubs. “Sorry, Rose,” Sam said. “Straimer, I need to talk to you.”

“Sam,” she said, moving toward him. “Word around the hospital was that you hit your head pretty hard. How's it feeling?”

“Word around the hospital? What the hell happened to patient confidentiality?”

“That's for outsiders. Of course we know what goes on within the hospital. The scrub nurses get all the good gossip first.” She winked and nudged him with her elbow. “I was just leaving, anyway. I need to get back. I have to work late tonight,” she said, speaking to her husband. “I'll make that pot roast tomorrow, though, okay?”

Straimer nodded, but his lips pulled taut against his teeth in the way they always did when he was pissed. “Sounds perfect. I'll see you back home, babe.” He kissed her gently on the lips.

“Relax, Sam,” she said as she passed by him. “Your blood pressure is probably through the roof with how hard you're always working.” She squeezed his arm and slipped out as Sam shut the door as calmly as he could manage.

“What in the hell is so damn important that you had to kick my wife out, Sam?”

Sam's voice was raspy and his stomach growled. It was almost dinnertime and he had already blown through lunch after going to visit Burt earlier. But despite the fact he hadn't eaten anything all day, he was only hungry for answers. “Twelve years ago, you hired a lawyer to investigate the Walterses' deaths. Why?”

“Sam, what are you talking abou—”

“Twelve years ago!” Sam repeated, this time raising his voice in frustration. “You hired a Burt Horowitz to investigate Nicholas and Renee's deaths. Why!? I need to know.”

“Okay, okay, calm down, Sam.” Straimer took a deep breath, falling into his seat. A weariness seemed to settle over him. “You knew we were all friends, right? Nick, Renee, and I?” Sam nodded, saying nothing, but taking the seat across from his captain. “Well, nothing about the case seemed to be making sense. A hit-and-run, no witnesses. It just didn't smell right. But I was ordered to leave it alone and that some of the higher-up detectives were handling it.”

“But you couldn't?”

“I was young and sad. Mourning the death of my two best friends. If Matt was killed in a mysterious hit-and-run, could you? What if it was Jess in that car with him?”

“Yeah, but Jess is the love of my life. Renee was just your frie—” And then it slammed into him so hard and fast, it was like a sledgehammer bashing the thought into his brain. “Oh my God. You loved her. You were in love with Jess's mother?”

Straimer avoided Sam's eyes. “But she chose Nick,” he said. Sam inhaled deeply, still smelling traces of Rose's perfume in the air.

“Does Rose know?”

“No, of course not. But I've always felt guilty. Even though I moved on and I love Rose so much—”

“There's always a piece of your heart that will belong to Renee,” Sam finished for him. He knew just how Straimer felt. If Jess moved on without him, he could never fully get over that loss. “So you hired a lawyer?”

Straimer nodded. “I thought that maybe there was something in the medical records to indicate some sort of clue. It just made no sense. I was on the scene of the wreck—Renee was in bad shape, but I heard they got her vitals stabilized in the ambulance on the way there. It was Nick who was in the worst shape. So when we got to the hospital, I stayed with him. Rose was working that night and she went with Renee. I knew I should have called the girls sooner. Gotten them to the hospital to say good-bye, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't call them with that news.”

There was a long pause as Straimer stared at his desk. Sam waited silently. He knew better than to push for more information in a moment like this. After a couple of minutes, Straimer took a deep breath and continued. “It wasn't long after Nick died that Renee crashed and they rushed her into surgery. It just all happened so fast. And so I hired the lawyer out of my own pocket to see what he could find. But there was nothing
to
find. I was just trying to make sense out of senseless death.”

Guilt clawed through Sam's stomach. “Captain . . . I have to confess something to you.” His voice was hoarse and he had to stop and clear his throat. “When I was fifteen and you all interviewed me about where my mom was that night... I lied. I wasn't with her. And she hadn't been home all night. She and her boyfriend had a fight and she stormed off to go for a drive to clear her mind. She was drunk.” He could feel his face heating with anger. Anger at her, at himself, at the loss that Jess and Cass suffered because of his own flesh and blood. “I tried to stop her and—and when she came home, hysterically crying, she begged me to lie for her. For them. Her boyfriend got rid of the car for her and I . . . I lied.” He rested his hand on his badge, and the cool metal felt refreshing against his heated skin. “I should probably turn this in.” He set the badge on Straimer's desk.

“Sam . . . I know. I've known for years. Since before you became a cop. It took me a while, but I found surveillance footage outside of a local shop that showed your mom behind the wheel that night.”

Sam's stomach roiled and he thought he was going to be sick. “Why didn't you do anything? Why didn't you say anything?”

“Because by the time I discovered the truth, your mom had already died. Bringing the truth to light would have only ruined
your
life. And you weren't the guilty party.”

“I was! I am. I lied to the police! I obstructed justice—I went against everything I've taken an oath for—”

“You were also fifteen. And scared. And your mom, who you loved despite her faults, begged for your help. A lot of kids would have done the same thing. Nick and Renee's deaths are not your fault, Sam.”

A lump settled hard in Sam's throat and he ignored that stinging sensation behind his eyes. “You hired me anyway. You pushed me to become a detective.”

“And every day you prove to me that I made the right choice.”

For the first time in years, Sam felt like he had family in Portland again. “Captain, did Rose ever know about your feelings for Renee? They say women have a sense about these things.”

“I suppose. We never really talked about it, but as we got older and she realized she couldn't have children, it became harder and harder for us to be around the Walters. Their family was everything we wanted and I think it just hurt her. So we pulled away from them.”

“I just came from Burt Horowitz's office in Falmouth. He lied to you. He did find something in his research. Someone threatened him to get him to keep his mouth shut. And I think it has something to do with Cass's death, too.”

Like an explosion, Straimer banged his fist against his desk, standing and pacing the room. Sam could feel his anger. Anger mixed with a satisfaction flowing from his captain. A validation of his suspicions from all those years ago.

“I knew it.” Straimer's eyes flickered with rage. “I fucking knew it.”

“What are we gonna do about it?” Sam asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

The captain stopped pacing. “We need a warrant. I need to get a warrant for those medical records.”

“We don't need a warrant. Jess has the records.”

“Did she get them legally?”

Sam pressed his lips together. This was a gray area. The phone on Straimer's desk rang and he picked it up, flopping back into his chair. Sam pulled his own phone out of his back pocket. “Shit. Captain, my phone's dead. Can I use yours?”

But Straimer was saying something into the phone and didn't hear him. After another second, he handed the phone over to Sam. “It's the hospital,” he said. “They said they've been trying to get in touch with you for hours. Something about a CAT scan appointment you missed yesterday.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sam said, and took the phone. “This is Sam,” he said into the receiver.

“Detective, it's Dr. Adams.” The voice didn't seem nearly as friendly as it had earlier in the week when he had called to check in.

“Dr. Adams, yeah, hi . . .”

“We had an agreement for you to stay on active duty.”

Sam rubbed his fingers against his forehead. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm sorry. The appointment completely slipped my mind.”

“If you don't come in now, right this second, I'll be forced to call your captain back and tell him I'm removing you from active duty.”

“No, no . . . don't do that,” Sam answered quickly. “I'm on my way.” He was already standing, gathering his things before he even hung up. He tossed the phone back to Straimer. “I forgot about my doctor's appointment. I'll try to find Jess when I'm done and then we'll come straight back here.”

“Come to my home,” Straimer called as Sam ran out. “I'll be at home. Get Jess and bring her straight there with those medical records. Even if they're not legal, at least we'll know what we're looking for. We'll be safe at my house.”

42

T
he world was rocking as Jess blinked awake. Her head pounded and a low vibration of sound hummed through the room. Jess groaned and rolled to her side, feeling a soft mattress and silky high-thread-count sheets beneath her.

She jolted up, but the blood in her head rushed, slamming against the base of her skull. She groaned and pressed her palm against her moist forehead. Sweat glistened there despite the chill that ran through her body.
Where am I?

Her vision was blurry, but she blinked hard, forcing herself to concentrate, and through her foggy sight, the room started to look familiar.

She swung her legs off the bed, noticing her discarded Jimmy Choos in the corner. Her memory of the afternoon slowly filtered back into her mind. The cooler. Dylan's heart. The medical records.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no . . .
She stood quickly, too quickly, as her stomach flipped and the world rocked again, catapulting her back onto the bed.

Using the bedpost, she pulled herself to her feet, fighting her nausea, and stumbled toward the dresser where her clutch was. Inside were her keys, but her pepper spray had been removed from the key ring. Her credit cards and ID were in her wallet, but no medical records.

“No!” she cried, and threw the purse at the closed door. With what little strength she had, she ran to the door, twisting the knob and pulling. It was locked.

Another surge made the room tilt and she realized it wasn't just her disorientation causing the room rock, but rather the floor instead was tilting. She pressed her back against the door, taking in her surroundings. The walnut furniture. Rope accents. Nautical décor. She knew this room. It was Elliot's master bedroom . . . on his boat.

Jess clamped her eyes shut. No. She couldn't freak out. Not yet. She needed to keep a level head and get out of this alive. It couldn't be Elliot. It couldn't be the one person she had turned away from Sam to trust. Someone had drugged her . . . that much was obvious. But if it wasn't Elliot, then why the hell had they brought her to Elliot's boat?

She launched herself off the door, opening every drawer she could find and rummaging through various folded clothes. She needed a clue, a weapon . . . anything. In the bottom drawer, beneath dozens of folded socks, her hand slipped around something cold and metal. She gripped it, pulling it out. She had a brief reprieve from her fear at the sight of the Swiss Army knife. She looked down at her gown and hissed a frustrated sigh. She had no pockets, no bra, nothing. She lunged for her clutch on the floor, dropping the knife inside. It wasn't ideal, nor exactly easy to grab, but it was better than nothing.

She tucked the clutch under her arm and flung open the closet door. Stacked on the floor were the suitcases of drugs she and Elliot had brought from her house last night. She bent, scooting the suitcases over and feeling around the floor. All the way in the back of the closet was a safe. A very large safe.

Her hands trembled as she turned the closet light on. All of the drugs, all the pills they had transported from her house, were stacked on the shelves in the walk-in closet. But if they were there, then what was in the suitcases that she and Elliot were supposed to dump into international waters tonight?

She hovered over the suitcases, unzipping the top one carefully. Inside, instead of the drugs that they had loaded the suitcase up with, there were bags and bags of candy. She ripped open one of the bags, which was full of breath mints.

Oh, God.
Her blood froze over in her veins, sending chilly vibrations down her body. Elliot was keeping the drugs for himself.

Jess zipped the suitcase shut and backed away from the closet. Her throat burned and felt swollen, but with a steely resolve, she ran for the door, knocking. “Hello? Elliot?!” she called. “Anyone? How—how did I get here? Elliot, come on, open up!”
Dammit.
She pressed her ear to the door. Maybe he wasn't even on the boat. It was faint, but on the other side of the door, she heard footsteps.

She knocked louder. “Master,” she called with another knock. “Sir, may I please come out?”

A key rattled on the other side. “Jess?”

She pulled back from the door as it unlocked and swung open. “Lyle? What are you doing here?”

“I always come to the boat early to set up for his parties beforehand. What's going on, what are you doing in here? Were you locked in?”

Lying had never been her strong suit. But she had no choice . . . this one had to be good. “I don't know.” She put a hand to her head. “I'm really dizzy and—and the last thing I remember was opening my sister's mail this morning. Everything else is kind of hazy.”

“Come here.” Lyle took her hand and guided her to the bed. Running into the en suite bathroom, he filled a glass with water and handed it to her. “Did he . . . did Elliot do something to you?”

Concern reflected in Lyle's shimmering eyes. It didn't take much for Jess to start crying; the tears were already there just waiting to fall. “I don't know. But . . . I think he might have.”

“Oh, God. No . . . not again. I-I can't let this happen again. N-not to you.”

“Let what happen again? Lyle, tell me, please . . . what do you know?”

He froze, rushing to the doorway and looking out into the hallway before shutting the door. “We have to get you out of here, Jess. He did it. He killed Cass. I was there that night and he just . . . he shot her.” Tears spilled down Lyle's cheeks and he pulled at his hair, making the rusty red strands stand straight up to the ceiling.

“Why? Why did he kill her if he loved her?”

Lyle shook his head and wiped the back of his hand under his nose. “He doesn't love anyone. Money is his one true love. He discovered Cass was bringing in this new drug and he got pissed that there was someone trying to smuggle something on his turf. She didn't know it was him, but he sent her all these threatening notes. Bullied her into smuggling the new drug in for him after she wanted to quit. All she wanted was a few pills for a friend, but he had an expensive client willing to pay top dollar for continuous large shipments. And then he found a way to make her his sub—an even better way for him to keep tabs on her.”

“But why? Why kill her then if they had a good thing going?”

“Because,” he said, regret consuming his soft voice. “The police caught her. They recognized her picture or something at border patrol. She was working with them to gather evidence. And the call she made to you . . . it was the last straw for him. The last betrayal.”

Jess gulped, her throat closing. Words were damn near impossible. “You know about that call?”

He nodded. “ ‘You're in the frame'? I don't know what it means, but it seemed like a sister thing. Look,” he said, kneeling in front of her at the foot of the bed. “I didn't pull the trigger. But I'm just as responsible. I can't let it happen again with you. I owe it to your sister.”

Doubt clouded her mind for all of a second. He seemed genuine, but Jess sure as hell wasn't trusting anyone easily these days. Then again, she wasn't really in a position to choose her allies. She needed to get out of there as soon as possible. “What do we do?”

He stood, holding out a hand. “We're going to get you off this boat,” he said.

“How?”

“There's a basement hull. Down there, we can crawl out through a hatch and get into one of the dinghies.”

“Okay,” Jess said, squeezing his hand. Uncertainty still popped down her spine but at this point she really didn't have much choice. She gripped her clutch, hearing the Swiss Army knife rattle around inside as a comforting reminder that she wasn't entirely unarmed.

“Come on,” he said. “We need to hurry.” He tugged her toward the door just as Elliot opened it and walked in.

Elliot looked truly startled, utterly taken aback as though he hadn't expected anyone to be in his bedroom. “Jessica? Lyle? I thought you weren't coming until later?”

Lyle stepped between her and Elliot, using his body as a shield. “Tell her, Mr. Warner,” he said, but even in his bravery, his voice trembled. “She already knows all about the drugs.”

Elliot's face changed rapidly from confused to regretful. “You know?” he asked, looking beyond Lyle to Jess. She couldn't find the words, so she just nodded. “It's true. I started dealing drugs when I was young and just out of community college. It turns out that having a knack for business applies to all businesses—drug dealings included. It got me my start in real estate. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Jessica. The less you knew, the safer you were.”

“Like Cass was safe?” Jess's voice cracked. “You lied to me. You got me to trust you. You got Cass to trust you—and Dane.”

“I felt awful that Cass got involved in everything. You have to believe me. Even I have people I answer to.”

Jess moved so that she and Lyle were standing next to each other. She was feeling stronger and braver by the second. “You killed her. You pretended to love her and you shot her, leaving her for dead in the ocean.”

Elliot jerked back as though she had just struck him. “You think I killed her? Jessica, you have to believe me. Ask your detective—I have an alibi that night. It's airtight. After I left her at the masquerade, I was on a video conference call with a dozen international clients.”

“You . . . what?” Her brain grew fuzzy again, like a static television. “But Lyle said—” Jess turned to look at Elliot's trusted employee a second too late. If only she had looked a moment earlier, maybe she would have seen the gun sticking out from underneath his jacket. Or maybe she could have stopped his hand as he reached for it. But everything happened so quickly, and Lyle grabbed his gun, aimed for Elliot's gut, and pulled the trigger.