Of course. I wasn’t thinking logically. I’d forgotten Silver’s game. This wasn’t the Key Killer acting alone, in which case Dr. T would never be found. This was Silver pulling the strings, and Dr. T was just bait. Not only would I find her, but I would have to kill another human being to save her.
I pulled away from Liam. I would kill again if it meant Dr. T would live. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it. But I would do it if I had to.
CHAPTER 22
Liam leaned against the hood of Detective Martinez’s unmarked police car while I paced next to it. Martinez sat in his driver’s seat with his door open, silently staring at his computer screen. He held his cell phone like a hand grenade.
If anyone from school saw us right now, they’d think that Liam and I had just been pulled over by an undercover cop. But asking Martinez to meet us outside Starbucks on Main Street was the first plan that crossed my mind. The location was public (which made me feel better), close to the precinct (yet far enough away that I couldn’t be thrown inside a detention cell), and near the Pacific Coast Highway (for a quick getaway to Dr. T). Too bad it was also busy. I could tell that a few people inside the café had recognized me. I turned my back to them and stopped pacing next to Liam.
“The warrant was issued at least forty-five minutes ago,” Martinez grumbled. “Damn it, this shouldn’t take so long.”
Liam and I looked at each other, wordlessly communicating our confusion at his being mad at anyone but us.
Minutes felt like hours while we waited for a shred of hope. It made little sense that Martinez wasn’t pounding me for answers, grilling me on the details. He’d simply taken my word for it that the Key Killer had pounced again and, without blinking, he’d requested the warrant to access the cell phone information. I’d even shown him the key with the messages attached. All he did he was sit there steaming, texting up a storm.
I was about to ask Martinez if there was anything else I could be doing, when the two-way radio in his car rumbled to life with a staticky voice. The only words I caught from a few feet away were “last known ping,” “Pasadena,” and “Rose Bowl Stadium.”
“Ten-four,” Martinez said, staring into the distance. He typed another text into his phone.
“What are you doing? Is everything OK?” I asked. Was there something I’d missed over the radio?
Sweat beads ran down his cheeks despite the cool dusk air. He ignored me and continued texting. I didn’t like it. As I was about to grab the car door, Liam blocked me with his arm, but I shoved him away.
“Detective, what’s going on?” I asked, standing directly next to the open car door. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going alone. I heard Rose Bowl Stadium. I’ll just go—”
“I warned them,” he said sharply. “None of this should’ve happened. None of it!”
“Who? Warned who?”
When Martinez wouldn’t answer, I spun to Liam. “Screw this. Let’s go. I don’t have to wait for a police escort.”
“Wait,” Martinez said, getting out of his car. “Ruby, you’re not going anywhere without me. Do you hear me, young lady?”
I ground my teeth. Young lady was better than sweetie or honey, but not by much.
“Well, I’m not going to sit around here listening to you spout off to yourself about who knows what!” I raised my voice. “Dr. Teresa could be dying right this second.”
“Get in the car,” he ordered. “You, too, Mr. Slater. Now.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. Sirens could only decrease travel time.
As we drove, I wondered when he was going to call for backup. Instead, he drove north with a locked jaw and lead foot, occasionally shaking his head at me in the rearview mirror. Liam squeezed my hand as we slid around the backseat like bobble-head dolls.
I wanted to know how long it was going to take to get there and what we were going to do when we got there. But it was almost like we had an unspoken agreement not to ask questions.
“What do you think it means?” Liam whispered in my ear.
“Think what means?” I asked back. Was he talking about Martinez’s bizarre silence, the new choice of bait, or something else?
“C’mon, the Rose Bowl? You didn’t catch that twisted so-called coincidence?” His hot breath against my skin caused a physiological reaction completely contradictory to my rational one. I was turned on and turned off in one fell swoop—an inconsistency that unfortunately defined my life. Valedictorian contender—or death-penalty candidate? Founder of the Constitution Society—or vigilante lawbreaker? Protector and defender—or vengeful killer?
Whether or not the location was chosen to match my name, the truth was that when we reached the Rose Bowl, the chances of my committing murder again were high. This time, it would probably happen right in front of the detective who’d personally petition for my capital punishment. Why not do it at the Rose Bowl? The press would eat this up.
Instead of answering Liam, I stared out the window at the blurred lights. The billboards and neon signs off the freeway grew distorted and fuzzy as unwelcome tears welled up in my eyes. I hated what Silver had made me do, what I had to do now. And I worried this was it for me—that it would be my last night of freedom. The last time I would be able to hold Liam Slater’s hand, touch his face, or…kiss his lips.
Without thinking it through, I leaned over and kissed him. He recoiled at first, most likely surprised at the timing, location, and the company—Martinez was less than two feet away with a fairly good view. But I didn’t let Liam go. The kiss meant more than a possible good-bye. It was a thank-you, an apology, and a desperate hope for the best. When I pulled away, I saw the understanding in his eyes. “It might be the last time I get to do that,” I said.
“Don’t say that.” He put his arm around me so that my head fell on his chest. “Everything is going to be OK.”
I wanted to believe him as I savored the taste of his lips.
Now, I would be lucky if they let me have a choice between a firing squad and lethal injection. Though in California, they’d probably kill my soul with never-ending bureaucratic appeals, amicus briefs, and rubber knock-off Crocs sandals long before they killed my body. At least the Orange County prison had HBO, a luxury I used to think was preposterous.
I clutched at the key still piercing my hand. There was no hope left for me, but maybe some remained for Dr. T. This was all worth it for her. I would not let her die.
Suddenly, we weren’t on the freeway anymore. Instead, we were in some kind of residential neighborhood. Old houses, apartment buildings, and winding streets.
I couldn’t help myself anymore. “Detective, where are you going?”
Martinez didn’t respond; he only clutched the steering wheel tighter. What was going on with him? What wasn’t he telling me?
“Is this how you get to the Rose Bowl?” I sat forward and put my arms over the back of the passenger headrest. “When are you going to call for more units?”
“Damn it, Ruby!” he roared. “Just sit back and shut up. Trust me when I say that more units won’t help in a situation like this. Or don’t you remember the last time SWAT let you down?” He took a hard turn into an apartment complex.
I sat back, not expecting the aggressive snap or the painful truth. He was right—SWAT had let me down in the worst way possible the day they let my dad die.
He parked against the back wall of the bare parking lot and threw the car into park with too much force. An awful cranking noise escaped from the hood of the car. He flipped open his phone and started that texting crap again.
“Detective,” I began, trying to sound respectful. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”