Deadly Pursuit (SCVC Taskforce) (20 page)

A bone snapped. Celina clamped her lips together, refusing to cry out at the pain. But her hand opened and the gun fell to the floor.

Emilio pushed her against the wall with full body contact, his face in hers, his breath warm on her cheeks as he spit angry words at her. She couldn’t understand them against the backdrop of the fire alarm, but their meaning wasn’t lost in the noise. Struggling, she pushed at him, but drew in a sharp breath when her right hand registered pain at the force. She tried to bring her knee up, but he’d spread her legs outside of his when he’d pushed her and the knee could do no damage.

Emilio grabbed her face with both hands and slammed her head into the wall twice with such force his dark image swam in front of her. She closed her eyes and forced her knees not to buckle. At the same time, she swung her good arm and landed a fisted blow to his stomach. She stomped on the top of his foot with hers.

The punch seemed to do little, the heel stomp even less, since she was barefoot and he wore thick leather boots. In the next second, the cold metal of a knife bit her at the base of her throat.

Although she was already pinned against the wall, she instinctively flattened herself farther, trying to become one with the paint. The tip of the knife slid down and opened a cut across her collarbone.

The fire alarm stopped. In the sudden silence, its echo vibrated in her ears along with her breathing. Emilio was a bulky presence against her, the knife a cutting one. Her head throbbed and her vision blurred as she took another swing at him. This one he blocked, catching her wrist with his free hand and chuckling low in his throat. “You are paying for what you did. One by one, they will continue to fall, until you have no one and nothing left to live for. Then I will slit your throat.”

In the hallway, men yelled. Feet pounded outside the door. “Try it. I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

She head-butted him, but Emilio didn’t seem to care. He smacked her upside the head. “Live in fear,” he murmured in her ear. And then he licked her collarbone where his knife had drawn blood.

Celina slapped his face, her pain morphing into rage.

The door opened with a swift bang. Emilio let go of her, running for the patio door.

“Halt!” a man yelled.

He didn’t stop. As he grabbed the railing, the security agent fired, but Emilio was over the railing in a heartbeat, the shot sailing over his head.

Celina’s security agents rushed the room to the patio doors, guns ready. Pushing herself off the wall, she hobbled past the desk and followed them. Emilio had survived the fall and was running across the courtyard, but the security team pulled up without firing a shot. The courtyard was full of people.

A moment later Emilio disappeared behind an incoming fire truck.

Chapter Twenty

Red and blue lights cut through the night as Cooper shot past fire engines and drove into the hotel parking lot. A police officer stopped him, but a flash of the badge hanging around his neck got him through the barricade. He swerved around people and vehicles into a No Parking zone and parked.

The SWAT team and the taskforce had descended on The Palomino Apartment building en masse and came up empty-handed. While they’d been at the apartment Emilio Londano had rented, Emilio was at the hotel terrorizing Celina.

Cooper was so mad he was ready to spit nails.

Too late. Too goddamn late again.

Thomas, next to him, kept flashing his badge until they found a Carlsbad PD lieutenant that recognized the tight expression on Cooper’s face and understood it. “Agent Davenport took a bit of a beating,” Sam Pressfield told him as he led both men toward an ambulance with its doors open wide. Sam and Cooper went back to Cooper’s days on the beat. “But she’ll be okay.”

Cooper heard the words but didn’t believe them. Wouldn’t believe them until he saw Celina in person. Did his own evaluation. “How’d he get to her?” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“No forced entry. We think he scored a key card. Used that.”

“What about Forester?” Thomas asked. “Was he injured?”

“Agent Davenport’s security detail can’t find him.” Pressfield pointed toward two men flanking the sides of the ambulance. Agents Simmons and McCain nodded a dour greeting.

Cooper and Thomas exchanged a glance, knew what the other was thinking. Thomas shook hands with one of the agents and Cooper took a look inside the ambulance. Celina sat on the gurney with her head between her knees. An EMT was wrapping her gun hand with white tape. “How is she?” Cooper asked.

Celina looked up and Cooper’s stomach heaved. Blood covered the front of her T-shirt under a very white gauze pad taped to her collarbone. He looked away, looked back. Forced himself not to go ape-shit.

The EMT glanced up, went back to wrapping. “Broken bone in her wrist. Possible mild concussion. Superficial knife wound that requires stitches. We’ll be transporting her as soon as she cooperates.”

Celina smiled weakly. “I’m fine and I wanted to talk to you. Matt Simmons told me you were on your way.” Her voice sounded weary and tired. “I made them wait.”

Climbing in, he sat on the gurney beside her and realized with the cramped quarters, his leg had nowhere to go except against hers. He stared at the faded denim of his jeans against the soft black stretch pants she was wearing and tried to ignore the metallic smell of her blood. “What happened, Celina?”

She told him the story, all of it; from her frustration with Forester and his shirtlessness right up to the false fire alarm and the sight of Emilio disappearing into the night. “It wasn’t Emilio.”

Cooper shifted on the gurney to look at her more carefully. One of Emilio’s neighbors had told Thomas there were two men living in the apartment they’d raided. “Who was it?”

She shook her head. “The man who attacked me…” She stopped, started again. “He was familiar, but not like Emilio. About the same size and build, but…well—” She gave him a grim half smile… “You’re not going to like this.”

“Enrique’s still in jail. It can’t be him.”

“Not Enrique. Petero Valquis.”

“Val’s dead.” As soon as he said it, he slapped his hands on his thighs. “As dead as Enrique. Shit.”

“Yeah,” Celina said. “My thoughts exactly.” She looked back down at the bucket. “I thought it was him when I saw the tape of the safe house, but I didn’t say anything. It was too crazy, even for me to believe.”

The Mexican officials had kept Valquis’ body in Mexico. DNA results had verified his identity, but anyone could be bought off. Or blackmailed. Threaten a person with physical torture or the death of a loved one and they’d do and say whatever you wanted. “What about his voice?”

“Fire alarm was going off so most of what he said I couldn’t make out.” She winced as the EMT cut the end of the tape around the splint and gave a little tug. “When the alarm stopped, he said something like, ‘you are paying for what you did. One by one they will all fall until you have nothing and no one left. Then I will slit your throat.’” She shuddered. “The last thing he said was, ‘live in fear.’”

The EMT looked over his handiwork and released her hand. Celina dropped her head between her knees again and drew in a deep breath. “Every time I think about it, I want to throw up,” she said, bringing her injured hand in close to her body.

“She should be lying down.” The EMT gave her a look of reprimand and then shifted the look to Cooper. “She’s lost blood and could be going into shock. She should be at the hospital with a heavy dose of pain killers in her system and a dozen stitches in that wound.”

“I don’t want to lie down,” she said to the floor. “And I don’t want any pain killers. As soon as the nausea passes, a Diet Mountain Dew, some M&M’s, and a clean shirt will do the trick.”

Cooper felt queasy himself every time he looked at the blood covering her shirt and thought about Valquis touching her. He was going to hunt the bastard down and pound his fist into his face and pull his balls out through his nose and—

“They’ll put you in a gown when you get to the hospital,” the EMT said, ripping open a bag that held an IV drip. “You don’t need clothes.”

“Have they found Chief Forester?” Celina’s head was back up but she was dangerously pale.

Cooper shook his head, wondering just how much longer she could remain upright.

Her eyes went back to the floor. “Oh, god. He’s probably dead, too.” Her voice broke. “This is my fault.”

He shushed her. “Thomas is getting an update. I’ll let you know as soon as we find out anything. In the meantime,” he patted her leg, his fingers lingering a moment on the soft fabric, “you need to get to the hospital, get your wrist x-rayed, and get stitched up. I can’t have you bleeding out before I can get you back on the SCVC team.”

Her head snapped up and he saw confusion, quickly replaced by a spark of hope, at the idea of rejoining the taskforce. She nodded, a tiny dip of her chin, but then the spark left and she looked away. She bit the inside of her bottom lip and he knew she didn’t want to go. “I’m serious about the clean shirt.” She pulled out some forced bravado from somewhere. “No way am I wearing a hospital gown. Think you could find my bag and bring it to me?”

It was her eyes that gave her away. She’d just been attacked by a psycho who’d licked her blood and broken her wrist. Her two hundred and fifty pound bulldog was missing. Cooper knew what she was really asking him for. “I’ll get the bag and I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

The relief that flooded her eyes and the smile she gave him this time was more enthusiastic.

Standing, he bent at the waist, and gently drew her legs up and onto the gurney. “You lie down and let the EMT take care of you. I’ll meet you at the hospital and I promise I won’t let you out of my sight, okay?”

Celina leaned back and drew another deep breath, still smiling. She closed her eyes and sighed. “How about that Diet Dew?”

Cooper couldn’t stop himself from patting her cheek. “I’ll call ahead and make sure they’ve got a cold one waiting for you.”

Before he could take his hand away, Celina grabbed it with her good hand. It felt small but firm on his. “Thanks, Cooper.”

He gave her a nod as the EMT moved in and started prepping her arm for the IV needle. Jumping out of the ambulance, Cooper took his own deep breath and forced his mind to forget about the blood and her smile and the firm warmness of her hand and focus on what he needed to do.

The first man his attention fell on was Thomas. “Go to Celina’s room and get her bag and bring it back down, fast. We’re following the ambulance.” Thomas took off at a run and Cooper motioned to the security agent Thomas had been talking to. “Simmons, ride up front,” he instructed. “Anybody or anything tries to stop this ambulance, shoot them, got it?”

The man nodded agreement and went to get in the ambulance. Cooper turned to the other man and jerked a thumb at the still open door. “McCain, you ride in back, same instructions.”

As Cooper waited for Thomas to return and the EMTs to close up the ambulance, he scanned the crowd. Catching Lieutenant Pressfield’s eye, he waved the man over. “Anybody see anything?”

The detective flipped through a small tablet. “Perp came in the cook’s entrance, pretended to be a new guy. Left for the bathroom according to one of the busboys and never came back. Probably lifted a key card from a cleaning cart, set off the alarm and went after her. We’ve taken the security camera tapes to confirm all that. Crime scene investigators are already in the room.”

“No sign of the FBI chief?”

Pressfield shook his head. “I requested uniforms at the airport and the train station and we’ve set up roadblocks all over Carlsbad, but the perp’s probably long gone and we don’t know if he’s still on foot or has snagged a car. One of your men said you thought you had this guy a few blocks from here.”

“Call to the hotline came in. Feds have their investigators combing the apartment to see what we can get.”

“You think it was Londano?”

Cooper gave him a nod.

“He working alone?”

Celina had been shocky and her perception of what had happened in the room might have been colored by the intensity of the attack, the noisy fire alarm, and the lack of light. But for all Celina’s inexperience, she was a trained agent with good instincts. Even in the worst circumstances, she would know the difference between Emilio Londano and Petero Valquis.

Even if the asshole perp was Valquis, how did an approximately five-ten, one hundred and eighty pound man move another man the size of Forester without help? It didn’t compute. Forester either left under a gun or Valquis had help. “There may be a second perp.”

Thomas arrived, out of breath, Celina’s bag in his hand. “Got it.”

“Check the dumpsters,” Cooper told Pressfield. “Trunks and cars within a half mile radius of this hotel. We’re going to the hospital. You can get hold of me there. I want to know everything you come up with, and in return, I’ll share everything the DEA has on this guy.”

Pressfield shook his hand and walked back into the crowd.

“You think Forester’s dead,” Thomas said a minute later as Cooper gunned the Tacoma out of the parking lot behind the ambulance.

Cooper stuck his cop light on the top of the SUV and turned on his siren. “You don’t?”