Page 62 of Lethal Seduction

I look at Joe, hoping the name will ring a bell to him, but he simply shrugs.

“Dante, does the name mean anything to you? I don’t remember seeing that name anywhere in our investigation.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. I can hear him typing into the computer and shuffling through some paperwork. “Here it is,” Dante says. “Dickerson’s alias is Jake Bloom.”

Jake Bloom. Now that’s a name I’m familiar with.

“Do you have an address?” I stand and grab my jacket.

“Right here.”

“Let’s roll.”

We’re out the door in a flash. Speeding through the streets of Los Angeles is dangerous, but I can’t shake the thought that time is of the essence here.

I push the accelerator to the floor with a burst of speed.

It doesn’t take long before we reach Jake Bloom’s street. I roll to a stop in front of the house, not wanting to let our presence be known yet. Joe and I look at each other and nod. It’s go time. Without a spoken word between us, I know he’s thinking all the same horrible things I am. We have to get inside that house.

Scanning the block, I spot Patrick’s car, and my stomach does flip-flops. All signs are pointing to bad news, and I can’t bear the idea of something happening to him. I fight down the rising emotions and struggle to control my breathing. I need to be on my A-game to keep me, Joe, and Patrick safe against this madman.

As we approach the house, I point around back, and Joe heads right there with nothing more than a nod. I take the stepsto the front door with as much finesse as I can in case Jake has a dog—don’t want to give away I’m here just yet.

Once on the porch, I duck low and peek through the windows, trying to get an idea of who is home and where they are. Unfortunately, the blinds are down on all the windows except one. I peer through the one, trying to keep low and to the corner so I won’t be as obvious. The room is a mess, the sofa overturned, lamps on the floor, and even the television is face down on the ground.

Definitely a struggle.

I reach for my gun and hold it out in front of me with both hands, prepared to enter the home. Knowing I’ll have very little time to react to the unknown once I’m inside, my heart begins to race with the adrenaline dumping into my bloodstream.

Standing tall, I lean my back against the side of the house, my right shoulder along the front doorframe. The law requires I announce my entry into the home, and I’m prepared to do so when I hear Joe yell out, “Los Angeles Police, put your hands up!”

A crash of splintered wood and broken glass signals he’s made entry. I kick in the front door. A gunshot rings out, and I hit the floor, unsure of where it came from. The sound of a body hitting the ground makes me flinch. Is that Joe? I can’t call out and give away my position in case Jake has the upper hand. I’m behind the sofa in the living room when I stand and rush to the wall to protect my back. The corner is within arm's length, and I creep closer, gun in both hands.

I have to make my move.

Stepping around the corner, in the direction the gunshot came from, I hold my gun in front of me, prepared to shoot. Joe’s body lies spread out on the floor, blood oozing from his shoulder. Just as I take a step forward, something heavy comes down on both my arms and rips the gun from my hands.

My service weapon skitters across the floor into the kitchen. I make my move to rush for it when Jake seemingly comes out of nowhere, colliding with my side, sending me sprawling across the floor.

He jumps on top of me, his forearm across my neck and his gun pointed directly at my face. “Don’t move, motherfucker,” he says. “Or you’re dead.”

I nod and do my best to take in my surroundings. Joe lies still in a pool of blood to my right, my gun to my left, but where is Patrick? A moan sounds in front of me, and I crane my neck to see.

Patrick. He’s still alive. He’s tied up and gagged against the far wall in the living room.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jake says.

I nod.

“I never wanted any of this to happen,” Jake continues. “But you all just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Who gives a shit if these old, rich, assholes die? They’re abusive and cruel. They don’t even look at poor people like me as human. Fuck that.” The venomous words spray out like an attacking snake. Jake is sick, mentally ill, and doesn’t care who gets hurt along the way.

“But what about the young guy you killed? Why did he have to die?” My voice comes out raspy and tears fill my eyes.

Jake sneers at me, his gaze absolutely wicked. “He’s part of the problem. Plus, I couldn’t have any witnesses. No loose ends.” He moves closer to me. “You understand?”

What the hell am I going to do now?

My best bet is to comply until he tries to move me. I relax and take deep calming breaths. Playing along is never my forte, but I don’t have any other options.

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