New Moon Rising Page 7

  Mr. Lennox greets us in the foyer, still walking with the help of a cane. He’s a month short of fifty but outwardly appears in reasonable shape. His wife, a thin blonde with wisps of gray, rushes over and hugs Danny as though he’d resurrected Vincent from the dead. It doesn’t take her long to sob into a tissue and thank him over and over again for keeping her husband out of jail. I shoot a sideways glance at Danny who winks at me. The woman’s confusing lawsuits with criminal proceedings, but I don’t think it would be worth splitting that hair.

  Jeff Rodriguez, Danny’s law firm partner, is already in the dining hall with the two paralegals, Nate Summers, an athletic man in his younger twenties with a short flat-top afro, and Hollie Andrews, who I believe is still in college but working as an intern. The girl’s on the short side; she looks like an eighteen-year-old with twenty-grand of silicone in her chest. Okay, that’s unfair. I guess the truth is more like twenty, five-foot-even, and movie-star pretty. And she’s around Danny all day long. She’s the vision of the typical blonde blue-eyed bimbo, but as soon as she opens her mouth, that goes straight out the window. She’s sharp, smart, and dangerous. At least, to wives.

  Nate’s no slouch either, and exceedingly polite. He’s totally at ease in these surroundings, in this society. I feel like the black sheep here, having grown up with hippie parents who didn’t really care if any of their kids bothered with clothing before the age of ten―or if we caught a contact high from all the weed in the air. It’s a bit of a culture shock for me. Heck, being a normal suburban mom feels like I’ve ‘moved on up.’ So, I sit there, with the Jeffersons theme rattling around in my head, mostly quiet while Danny, Jeff, and the paralegals chat about the case with Mr. Lennox.

  Evidently, a prosecutor did sniff around at potential charges, and sat in on the lawsuit. Danny had the attending physician, who treated Mr. Lennox upon his arrival at the hospital, testify about the heart attack that rendered him unconscious. The man joked that he supposed Mr. Lennox might have studied some ancient martial art that gave him the power to self-inflict a heart attack on command so he could target the elderly couple for assassination.

  Much to my delight, the legal talk only lasts for about twenty minutes and ends along with the salad course. My eyes bug out most of the night at all the fancy dishes. It feels like we’re in an expensive restaurant, complete with private servers. In fact, Mr. Lennox appears to employ a small group of live-ins, judging by their familiarity with the place, who deal with the cooking and cleaning. I wonder if they do the four-course thing all the time or if this is a special occasion.

  Our host becomes enamored with the paralegals, sounding a bit like a doting grandfather as he asks them about their plans. Hollie’s working to become a lawyer, while Nate wants to remain a paralegal for the foreseeable future since he feels he doesn’t have the right sort of personality to get up in front of a courtroom and make arguments. I tend to agree with him; he’s far too nice.

  The dinner is pleasant, as is the time spent in a sitting room sipping wine afterward. That’s the moment Mr. Lennox is close enough to me to strike up a conversation. He’s astonished I’m a federal agent and in between remarking about my looks, asks me about my work. I seem to have captivated him to an awkward degree, and I can’t tell if he’s feeling me out for a potential affair or if he really believes I’m as beautiful as he keeps commenting on. He’s not creepy, but right as I start feeling like a unicorn he wants to stuff and mount in his gallery so he can admire it, Danny swoops in and adds himself to the conversation. Mr. Lennox pivots his attention to my husband and remarks that we’re a lovely couple.

  Close to ten, we exchange polite farewells and the same valet fetches Danny’s BMW. As soon as my ass hits seat cushion, I kick off my high heels and let my head loll back.

  “Tired?” asks Danny.

  “Either that or the wine is hitting me hard. Yeah. I think I’m going to put the kids to bed and crawl in right after them.”

  “Mr. Lennox is an interesting guy. He never had children, so he’s fascinated by young people. I think he wants to adopt my paralegals.”

  I chuckle. “And me. Does that mean he thinks I’m young?”

  “Younger than him. For a rich guy, he’s led a pretty boring life. Probably likes to get a vicarious thrill hearing about all the interesting things people do that he’s too old for.”

  “Fifty’s not ancient. He’s got plenty of life left.”

  Danny chuckles. “Yeah, but his body’s not up for it. Even before the accident. Worse now. Poor guy’ll be on that cane for the rest of his life.”

  “That’s sad.” I close my eyes and drift in and out on the ride home.

  ***

  A loud bang knocks me awake as the car lurches to the left. I grab on to the roof handle; tires squeal; Danny shouts, “Shit! Shit! Shit!” The BMW slides to a stop on the side of a dark, curving road by a patch of trees.

  “Gunshot!” I yell, my brain on autopilot. I flick off the seatbelt, yank my duty weapon from my purse, and jump out of the car, taking cover behind the fender. I catch a fleeting shadow running off among the trees.

  “Stop!” I shout. “Federal agent!” Forgetting I’m barefoot, I dart around the nose of the car and charge up the hill into the trees, hiking my dress up enough to sprint.

  Grr. Why do they always run!?

  The indistinct figure weaves among the trees, leaving me behind with ease. Great. I get shot at by a damn Olympic runner. It’s like the laws of gravity and physics don’t even apply to this dude. A rock or two underfoot cause me to stumble and curse at the pain. After a minute, I’ve lost the guy, so I slow to a stagger and eventual stop by a large boulder. Panting for breath, I spin around my little rocky clearing, scanning the trees for any sign of motion.

  Nothing.

  I’m out here in the woods at night with only a red dress to stop any bullets coming my way. Fortunately, the full moon throws off enough light for me to see. Hillcrest Park has what passes for trees around here, but they’re not that thick. There really is something wrong with me, running out here alone like that. At a faint rustle in the underbrush behind me, I whip around, staring into the darkness, my gun up. Getting back to the car starts to feel like an awesome idea. Next, a shift in light at the corner of my eye makes me jump and swivel to the right.

  I can’t see anything, but I’m sure there’s someone stalking me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s impossible for anyone to be as close as the snaps and crunches in the brush suggest, yet it sounds like he’s circling me so fast I can’t catch sight of him while spinning in place. And dammit, I’m completely turned around… I have no idea which way the street is, nor can I see headlights anymore.

  “Damn it. I can’t be that far from the road.” I draw in a breath to shout for Danny, but a chill falls over me before I can make a sound.

  The thump-thump-thump of rapid footfalls passes behind me. I whirl to the rear, raising my weapon, but there’s no one there―only a wavering branch. A surge of wind whispers in the trees overhead while an unseen woodpecker’s hammering becomes strangely loud. Since when did woodpeckers peck at night? Crickets and other bugs add in, drowning out the heartbeat thudding in my skull, and I swear the heavy rasp of a man’s breathing comes from right beyond the edge of my sight.

  “Sam?” calls Danny.

  Oh, fuck this.

  I orient on my husband’s voice and take off running again. A dark, tangible presence rushes up behind me. With a yelp, I spin to my left, lashing out with an elbow at head level and bringing my Glock up again, but there’s nothing there. Nothing, except for a patch of concentrated darkness among the trees about fifteen feet away, an area the moonlight refuses to touch.

  And the shadow is staring at me.

  That thin line between fear and terror snaps. Too terrified to scream, I bolt. Trees blur into a haze of whipping green leaves and brown smears. Danny yells again, but I can’t even make out words, desperate to get away from whatever darkness i
s nipping at my heels. The sound of his voice pulls me onward, running until my legs burn.

  “Sam?” Danny comes out of nowhere and catches me, but I’m sprinting so fast we go down in a heap, both screaming in surprise.

  Gasping for breath, I scramble over him and sit up, aiming the gun back the way I came.

  “Ouch.” Danny stands and reaches to help me up. “Sam, what the hell is going on?”

  “There’s someone there,” I mutter. “Took a shot at us.”

  Danny crouches and puts a hand on my shoulder. “No, Sam… I ran over something and the tire exploded.”

  I peel my gaze from the forest and stare up into his eyes. “Blowout?”

  He exhales. “Yeah. Come on. Let’s go home.”

  That was a blowout? I blink, shake my head, and don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Guess I’m on edge.” I take his hand and let him pull me upright. Fortunately, the ground is dry so the dress he bought me suffered nothing a trip to the cleaners won’t fix.

  Danny holds me close, his hands around my waist. “You know, you running around in that dress with a gun out is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  After a long, searching gaze at the woods―and nothing coming after me―I turn my head so we’re nose to nose. “Since when are you a gun nut?”

  He grins. “I’m not, but you were like straight out of a Bond movie.”

  My hands shake from adrenaline. I’m far too wound up to even think of feeling sexy at the moment. “Can we go back to the car?”

  Danny shifts from sexy to comforting and guides me back to the car. I flop in the passenger seat, gun in my lap, and cover my face with both hands, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Ten minutes later, he tosses the jack in the trunk, gets in, and resumes driving us to Mary Lou’s to pick up the kids.

  “Sorry. We just raided a big gang operation with hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of drugs. I thought it might’ve been retaliation.”

  He gives me the ‘I really wish you would do something safer’ grimace. “We just had a blowout. When you ran off into the park, I didn’t know what had gotten into you.”

  “You think we should ask Mary Lou to watch the kids overnight? What if they’re following us?” I twist around to look out the back window, but we’re the only car on this stretch of road. I wonder if the shadow I saw was a vagrant that I just scared the shit out of. I honestly don’t know what to make of the shadow… or if it was even there.

  It was there, I think.

  “Well, no one shot us,” says Danny. “I ran over a hunk of metal. Blowouts can be loud.”

  I stash the gun back in my purse. “Apparently…”

  My heart’s still running on overdrive. I lean back and close my eyes, trying to go over what I thought I saw in my head. There’s no explanation for that feeling of something predatory closing in on me, like I had seconds left to live and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

  Like the beach. The beach…

  Ugh. Maybe Danny’s right. Could this be a stress reaction to the shooting? I’ve got a mandatory interview with a government head doctor later this week. Of course, if I tell them I thought a giant shadow monster chased me around the woods, I can probably kiss my career at HUD goodbye. Yeah… that’s not a good idea. I think I’ll chalk tonight up to a glass or two more wine than I should’ve had, plus nerves.

  Chapter Ten

  Undeclared Income

  Tuesday, I’m a groggy mess. It took a long time for me to calm down enough to sleep. In the time between reliving being chased around the woods by something that didn’t exist and when I finally passed out, my brain kept going back to Rosa Melendez. That entire situation bugs me like I’ve missed something glaring.

  Three cups of coffee into my workday the next morning, I’m staring at Rosa’s HUD application on my screen, and I’ve gone over every document I can find related to that property during the time she’s lived there. On an emotional level, I’m inclined to believe her story of what happened. A woman in her situation could easily be too frightened of retaliation from a large gang with connections on both sides of the border to contact the police. Especially when she’s a permanent non-citizen resident hoping to get naturalized, it would’ve been easy for those thugs to convince her the government would think she helped the drug operation and we’d deport her.

  My brain’s like a pit bull refusing to let go, but I can’t find anything documented that looks out of the ordinary. I’m about to start pulling up cross references between Rosa and the gang members the FBI took into custody when Nico appears in the aisle, standing between Chad’s cube and mine, thwapping a small blue folder against his hand.

  “Moon,” says Nico. “How’s your side doing?”

  I look up at him. “Our side is still waiting for equal pay.”

  He shakes his head and points at my ribs with the legal document. “Your side, smartass.”

  “At what level of management do they confiscate sense of humor?” I lean to my right and test my side with two fingers. “Still sore, but as long as I avoid clinging to the hood of a car during a high-speed chase, I should be fine.”

  He chuckles. “Good to hear. Got a present for you.” He hands me the subpoena packet. “Warrant came down for your Trent case.”

  “Nice!” I snag it from his grip. LAPD threw us a heads up a few weeks ago. They thought the guy was dealing out of his girlfriend’s place, and she was one of ours. “About time. Chad, you up for a ride?”

  Chad pulls his earbuds out and leans back in his chair. “What? Did you call me?”

  I wave the envelope. “Got the warrant for the Reed house. Remember TT?”

  “Oh, Tommy Trent?” Chad grins. “I remember you muttering about that.”

  I lock the computer and grab my jacket from the peg on the cube wall. I really look like I belong on Law & Order today… navy skirt suit. Don’t ask me why I went there. Clothing happened before my brain recovered from sleep this morning. At least I can do the shoulder holster thing with this get up.

  Nico walks backward down the aisle, still facing us. “I’ll have some LAPD meet you there.”

  “Thanks. Can you ask them not to roll up onto the front lawn? Don’t want Miss Reed flushing evidence if they beat us there.” I glance at my partner. “Get moving, Heller.”

  Chad inhales his granola bar and slugs the last half-mug of coffee in one gulp. “Jeez Louise, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  I head down the aisle in the opposite direction Nico’s going, while Chad rushes into his jacket and jogs to catch up to me. Maybe wearing my Glock under my arm wasn’t the best idea since it’s sitting almost on top of my bruised ribs. It’s irritating but not quite in the realm of painful. If there is some kind of divine presence responsible for creating humanity, he did a bad job. It takes us just too long to recover from injuries. Well, anyone not named the Wolverine. Lucky bastard.

  Three turns, two corridors, and a door later, I emerge in the official parking lot. All our private cars go on the right side of the building. Here sits a sea of near-identical gray sedans. Ours is easy to pick out due to a darker blob on the trunk where the paint doesn’t quite match―another repaired bullet hole. If someone had died in this car, I might feel a little strange about it, but the poor thing just got shot up.

  Chad goes for the driver’s side. When I hop in without my usual playful grumbles about wanting to drive, he gives me a concerned look.

  “I’m okay. It’s not all the ribs. I’m a little fried today. Not much sleep. Better you drive.”

  He nods and we’re underway. After a few minutes on the road, he looks over. “You’re pretty casual about this warrant.”

  I look up from reading it over. “TT’s ass is still in county jail. I suppose it’s possible Shante moved on already, or some of his friends came by, but the arrest report didn’t mention any firearms―only industrial quantities of meth. In short, I’m not worried about getting shot up again.”

  Chad laughs. “Good. And it o
ughta be obvious if they were cooking it there.”

  “Doubtful, or the cops would’ve ripped the place apart already. I’m thinking his girlfriend was in on it, and if they distributed it out of her home―”

  “Yeah, I know, Sam.” He grins at me. “I do this stuff too.”

  “Right. Sorry. Fried.”

  “What kept you up so late? Kids?”

  “No… had a scare last night. Danny was obligated to attend this dinner for an important client, and brought me along. On the way home, I’m dozing in and out of sleep―thinking about the shooting, and that large, organized gang… and we have a blowout.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah. I thought someone took a potshot at us.” I exhale hard. “Guess I’m a little jumpy after eating a bullet.”

  Chad remains quiet for a while as we sit at a red light.

  “I’m fine,” I say, filling in the silence. “Got an appointment with what’s-his-name tomorrow. Mandatory, you know the drill.”

  “Good. If you ever need anything, I’ll always be here to help.”

  “Thanks, Chad.” I smile at him. “That means a lot.”

  His worry relaxes to a confident grin. For the remainder of the ride, we discuss the recent arrest of Thomas ‘TT’ Trent, a figure of no great importance. Small time drug user and dealer with a long list of priors, but nothing violent. Lots of smash and grabs, pickpocketing, B&E, possession, and so on. He’s been in and out of jail since sixteen. His current status as a guest of the government would probably be shortened if he gave up his chemist’s name, but as far as I know, he hasn’t talked.

  We’re en route to the home of his (possibly ex) girlfriend, Shante Reed, the person who signed the paperwork to receive housing assistance. I more or less expect that having to wait three weeks for the warrant has reduced my chances of finding anything, but we have to at least try. There are too many honest, hardworking people in need of a helping hand to ignore when a person takes advantage of the system. The police got a bad vibe from her and sent us a request to review her case, so… here we are.