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On the drive to Denver, Lance had run numerous scenarios through his head as to what he would say to Brook when he arrived at her house. Her and her husband’s house, he reminded himself. He had finally decided that he’d just tell her the truth. He had come to take her home. Then he’d see what happened.
Now, at last, he was at the entrance to the gated community where Brook lived. He made the turn into the drive and his instincts went on full alert.
The gates were wide open.
The guard shack was dark.
Something was wrong. Way wrong.
Lance pulled up next to the small building that housed the guards and glided slowly to a stop. He stepped cautiously from the truck and approached the half-open door. “Hello? Is anyone in there?”
Receiving no answer, Lance pushed the door the rest of the way open. His eyes took in the interior in a flash; a television sat on a counter with a popular sitcom airing, wires hung from the desk console with a phone receiver dangling uselessly from its cord, and a man lay on the floor bleeding.
Flipping on the light, Lance knelt beside the hurt man, and administered first aid as best as he could. He did a quick survey and discovered the only injury seemed to be a wound to the torso, through which wheezed a bloody froth. The victim’s pulse was weak but steady and Lance didn’t think there was much chance of him dying anytime soon; at least he hoped that was the case. He slipped off his own jacket and applied pressure to the injury, laying the man’s arm over the dressing to keep it in place. Even though the man was unconscious, Lance still spoke to him. “You’re going to be okay. Someone will be here soon. Someone will help you.”
Feeling inadequate, Lance scanned the housing map on the wall, backed from the building, and jumped into his vehicle. He laid six feet of rubber as he made for Brook's house.
Soon after Lance passed through the open gates of the secured community, Detectives Conroy and Vicente pulled in. They too knew something was wrong. Marco jumped from the car before it had completely stopped and entered the guard shack with weapon drawn. He quickly holstered his gun and yelled to his partner to call for an ambulance and backup.
Randi placed the calls and moved to look into the interior as Marco knelt beside the injured man. “Shit,” Randi spat. “Those sons-of-bitches have found Brook already.”
“Go,” Marco said. “I’ll wait here."
“You got it.” Randi jumped into her car and followed the tracks towards Brook’s house.
Chapter 65
"Found her!" Pete called, as his eyes met and held Brook's gaze. He walked toward her and rounded the foot of the bed. "You're trapped," he taunted. His eyes were red from crying over Benny and he didn't notice the gun in time.
Brook pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed through Pete’s femoral artery and lodged in the bone. Blood spurted in a wide arch as he cried out and clutched his thigh. He fell on his side at Brook's feet.
"What the fuck was that?" Jase hollered from downstairs.
"She fucking shot me!” Pete screamed as he rolled back and forth on the floor. "She fucking shot me, Jase! Oh God. It fucking hurts."
Brook backed further against the bedside table. Her hands shook and she nearly dropped the gun. Blood spread out on the carpet. "Oh god, oh god," she whimpered.
Pete looked up at her in agony, his eyes filled with a childlike bewilderment. "Why'd you do that?" he sobbed. "Don't you know I was the only one who stuck up for you? The only one." He reached out and grasped Brook's ankle. "Help me."
“Go to hell.” Brook yanked her foot from Pete’s grasp. His hand was slick with blood and she easily kicked it away before crawling onto the bed and scuttling across the mattress to the other side. She lowered herself quietly to the floor and tiptoed to the door on shaky legs. Where is Jase? She strained her ears but could hear nothing over Pete's anguished groans. Clutching the gun in both hands, she tried to calm her breathing.
"Jase!" Pete mustered the strength to call out. "I'm fucking bleeding to death! Help me!" His wails gradually faded to soft moans.
Heart pounding in her chest, Brook crept to the door and peered toward the front staircase, then turned her head to scan the hallway. She edged into the hall, keeping her back to the wall and inched towards the head of the stairs. She craned her neck to peer down, ready to duck back if she saw any sign of Jase.
At the bottom of the stairs lay Benny, his form still and bloody. But no Jase. She looked quickly the other direction, expecting him to sneak up behind her by using the servants’ stairs. The long hall stretched out, empty of life. Still, he could be behind any of the doors. Or waiting for her downstairs in the kitchen, or just about anywhere. He might be taking aim on her from behind the drapes or some other hiding place. She was frozen with indecision.
In the bedroom, Pete suddenly fell silent. Brook heard a faint rustling noise but couldn’t pinpoint its location. She whipped her head from side to side and shrank back against the wall.
"It's a standoff. You've got a gun. I've got a gun." The voice came from somewhere below. It could have been the living room. It could have been under the staircase near the den. Or even behind the bar. Brook couldn't tell.
"I'll make a deal with you," Jase continued. "At this point, I'm ready to cut my losses and get the hell out. Sound good to you?"
Brook said nothing.
"I won't shoot you, if you won't shoot me." Jase's tone was conciliatory.
Brook eased down the hallway toward the back stairs. If she could get to the kitchen, she might be able to duck out the door to the garage and make a run for a neighbor’s house. She’d call the police and wait in safety.
