2nd Chance - James Patterson [74]
“This is a murder investigation,” I said to the men around me. “Frank Coombs is wanted in connection with four killings, including two cops. You don’t want a piece of that.”
Coombs continued to grin. “You’re wasting your breath if you think that bullshit carries any weight here. I heard you talked to Weiscz. Neat guy, huh? Friend of mine.”
I forced myself into a sitting position. How the hell did he know I’d been to Pelican Bay? “People know I’m here.”
Suddenly, Coombs’s fist flashed out. He caught me flush on the jaw. I felt a warm ooze fill my mouth, my own blood. My mind flickered for some way to escape.
Coombs continued to smile down at me. “I’m gonna do what you bastards did to me. Take something precious from you. Take something you can never have back. You don’t understand anything yet.”
“I understand enough. You killed four innocent people.”
Coombs laughed again. His coarse hand stroked my cheek. The venom in his stare, the coldness of his touch nearly made me retch.
I heard the gunshot, loud and close by, only it was Coombs who howled and grabbed his shoulder.
The others scattered. There was chaos in the darkness, and I was as confused as anyone. Another bullet whined through the air.
A skinny thug with tattoos yelped and grabbed his thigh. Two more shots thudded into the garage wall.
“What the fuck is going on?” Coombs yelled. “Who’s shooting?”
More shots rang out. They were coming from the shadows at the end of the driveway. I got up and ran in a crouch away from the house. No one stopped me.
“Here,” I heard someone shout up ahead. I churned my legs toward the sound. The shooter was crouched behind the mustard-colored Bonneville.
“Let’s go,” he hollered.
Then all at once I saw, but I couldn’t believe my eyes.
I reached out and fell into the arms of my father.
Chapter 90
WE SPED AWAY from the house, getting most of the way to San Francisco before we could even speak. Finally, my father pulled his car into the busy parking lot of a 7-Eleven. I faced him, still breathing, my heart pounding.
“Are you okay?” he asked in the softest voice I could imagine.
I nodded, not quite sure, taking an inventory of where it hurt. My jaw… the back of my head… my pride.
Slowly, the questions that needed to be answered crept through the daze.
“What were you doing there?” I asked.
“I’ve been worried about you. Especially after somebody came after your friend Claire.”
The next thought hit me hard. “You’ve been following me?”
He dabbed the corner of my mouth with his thumb to wipe away a trickle of blood. “I was a cop for twenty years. I followed you after you left work tonight. Okay?”
My head rung in disbelief, but somehow it didn’t matter. Then, as I stared at my father, something else flashed in my mind. Something that wasn’t adding up. I remembered Coombs leering over me. “He knew who I was.”
“Of course he knew. You met him face-to-face. You’re in charge of his case.”
“I don’t mean from the case,” I said. “He knew about you.”
My father’s eyes looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“That I was your daughter. He knew. He called me Marty Boxer’s little girl.”
A light was blinking from a beer sign in the 7-Eleven window. It illuminated my father’s face.
“I already told you,” he said, “Coombs and I were familiar. Everybody knew me back then.”
“That wasn’t what he meant.” I shook my head. “He called me Marty Boxer’s little girl. It was about you.”
I had a flash of my face-to-face with Coombs that morning at the hotel. I’d had the same fleeting sensation then. That he knew me. That there was something between him and me.
I pulled away, my voice straining. “Why were you following me? I need to hear everything.”
“To protect you. I swear. To do the right thing for once.”
“I’m a cop, Dad, not your little Buttercup. You’re holding something back. You’re involved in this somehow. You want to do the right thing for once, this is the time to start.”
My father leaned his head back, eyes fixed straight ahead. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Coombs