Killian (Hope City #8) - Kris Michaels Page 0,74
up the trailer and came after me. Can you check on my dog, please?”
“Yeah, man, we’ll do that. You said you left your girlfriend with her father?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s that?”
“I don’t know the address.” He might have recalled it if his side wasn’t cussing at him. “But you should.” He looked at the cop. “Police Commissioner King.”
“Son of a bitch. Dispatch, this is 5-Delta-23. Patch me through to the sergeant.”
Killian grunted. He’d heard that song and dance before.
“Hey, you can’t come over here. The police department has jurisdiction.”
“Dude, shut up and move.”
Killian recognized Blay’s voice and turned slightly to look at him. “Killian, shit.” Blay dropped beside him and pushed down his jeans and winced. Killian looked down. Yeah, the flesh over his hip was hamburger meat. He activated the mic attached to his turnout gear and spoke, “Captain, send the EMTs in. We have a bullet wound.”
Blay grabbed Killian’s hand and pushed it against his injured side. “Hold it there, it will slow the bleeding.”
Killian nodded. “Duke?”
“He’s going to be okay. We found him when we were clearing the trailer area looking for hot spots. What happened?”
“Sir, he’s a suspect and in custody,” the cop standing behind him interrupted.
Blay looked up at him. “Dude, what the hell are you arresting him for?”
“That man might not make it?”
Blay looked around and shook his head. “So, now it’s a crime to defend yourself?”
“We don’t need your help and we don’t have the entire story.”
“Right. Hold on.” Blay stood up, and after some difficulty pulled a cell phone from the uniform under his turnout gear.
Killian closed his eyes. He was fucking tired. Bekki was safe, he’d stopped Zamparelli. Hell, he couldn’t even muster up enough remorse to feel bad about beating the shit out of the man. Blay spoke to someone and hung up. He also gave a sharp whistle. Killian forced his eyes open at the sound and watched as Blay waved at someone. A wave of exhaustion drenched him. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.
Chapter 17
Bekki tugged at her skirt, which was tighter than usual, probably because she was sitting behind the remote anchor desk instead of standing in front of the camera on location. Landon had worked up the graphics, had footage of every person involved, and he would intersperse their images over her shoulder as she unfolded her report. He’d convinced the network to run the story on his word that it did not make the Mayor look bad. Well, it didn’t. It made the Lieutenant Governor, county commissioners, and two of the city council look like the criminals they were. Landon was producing the segment and was in the production booth, so no one was going to flip a switch and stop her broadcast. But, as Landon said, when this hit the streets, they were either going to be heroes or zeros. If they got fired, they’d be unemployed together.
The lights to the remote desk intensified and she drew a deep breath. The teleprompter was ready and so was she. The stage crew behind the camera quieted as she heard Lawson Riddle start the broadcast.
The production assistant counted her down silently.
“Good evening, Hope City. Tonight, I have a story to tell you. A story of graft and corruption. A story that is tied to the Russian Mafia, and one that could be connected to at least three murders. My story starts many months ago…”
She read the story she’d memorized. She laid out facts and followed the money from the company that was a known front for the Russian Mafia to the payments made to local officials and even to the Lieutenant Governor. She set out the method for obtaining city property without proper announcements or competition. The murders of three people who had no connection except property they didn’t want to sell. She’d cleared using that information with her father before she put it into the newscast. Everything made perfect sense.
Everything. But there was one niggling worry she couldn’t stop going back to and examining. The motive. True, the land was worth a fortune if it was developed, but why would the Russian Mob go to the lengths that they did just to legitimately develop the land? Her father agreed, there had to be more, but as he put it, ‘Let the police do their job. You’ve done yours.’ And for once, she was willing to let that happen.
“… this is Bekki King for Channel Two News. Good night.”
The lights on the remote desk dimmed and she