In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [98]
Gus got to his feet. He backed to the door, the gun pointed at the child. “One move, kid, and you’re both dead,” he said. His accent was thicker than usual because he was so disturbed. This was all wrong. He was a professional hit man, one of the best in the business. Or at least he had been, until this Ed Vincent debacle. What the fuck was he doing, waving a gun at a kid?
“Stay right where you are,” he warned Riley. “I’ll be in the next room. You move, and I’ll kill you both. Got that?”
Her mouth trembled, but she nodded. She kept on watching him, big-eyed, as he backed out the door.
Then he was racing down the street into the car, gunning the engine. And he was gone, looping onto the Santa Monica Freeway, heading to the 405 and Marina del Rey, praying that the kid did as she was told until he had time to get away.
For a minute, Riley stayed frozen in place. She was too terrified even to breathe loudly in case he heard her. She stared anxiously at the unconscious Harriet, and at Lola sprawled next to her, bleeding from the head. She could bear it no longer. Let him shoot her, she had to get help.
Scrambling to her feet, she reached for the phone and dialed 911.
55
Camelia was in his “office,” meaning the small space allotted him at the precinct house, swivel chair tilted, feet propped on his desk, lightly starched white shirtsleeves rolled, a Winston dangling from his lips.
He was trying to break the habit, God knew it wasn’t good for him, but every now and again when things were getting to him, like now for instance, he succumbed. He guessed he was as much an addict as the next man, and he took a final guilty puff before stubbing it out in the scarred green metal ashtray that must have been around for thirty years. By now, he guessed, it probably qualified as a genuine antique.
He shoved aside his brimming wire in-box and began one more time to look through the reports on the Ed Vincent case. They were now more than two weeks into the investigation, and apart from the Ricci tie-in to the property deal, they were getting nowhere.
Ed’s past history had offered nothing, except a clue to the man himself; to his strength of character, and perhaps to the reasons why he was so charitable and took it upon himself to help young people in need.
Absentmindedly, Camelia tapped another cigarette from the pack. He put it to his lips, then remembered. He flung it away, disgusted with himself. He had the willpower of a flea. He couldn’t even cure his addiction to cigarettes, so how could he expect to cure his addiction to Melba Merrydew?
The phone rang and he reached for it. “How’re y’doing?” he said to the detective from the LAPD, wondering what was up. He sat up, though, when he heard what had happened.
He glanced at his computer. “The information’s coming through now,” he replied tersely. “I’ll get back to you in five.”
He stared intently at the report on the machine, detailing the attack against Mel’s daughter and her friend and business partner. Harriet Simons was in USC Medical Center suffering from a concussion. Riley Merrydew was in protective custody. And the dog, Lola, was in the veterinary hospital.
His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. The hit man had been looking for Mel.
The child had given what description she could: a big man, really big, wearing a black woolen mask. And he had a funny accent.
LAPD thought it might be George Artenski, and Camelia had no doubt they were right. His leaden heart ached as he thought again about how the hell he was going to tell Mel.
He adjusted his shirtsleeves and put on his coat. This wasn’t something you could just tell a woman over the phone. He had to go back to the hospital and face her.
First, though, he got back on the phone, told the detective he believed the perp was George Artenski, and said that they were releasing a composite photo ID of the suspect, to be run immediately on national TV.
The hunt was on.
Rick Estevez was sharing the bedside vigil with Mel this morning. He had brought a copy of the Wall Street Journal and was reading the