Page 78 of High Velocity

“We fucking grew up together,” he rambles, shaking his head. “Got through high school together, shared pot and girls, and ran into trouble as a team.”

I have no idea who he’s talking about, but it isn’t me. For one thing, I’d have known about any connections between us when I arrested him all those years ago. From what I recall, he grew up in or around Detroit, and Traverse City has always been home to me. Not to mention, he’s a fair bit older than I am. Our paths wouldn’t have crossed.

But I don’t interrupt. Let him rant; as long as he’s talking, I’m not only learning, I’m buying time.

“Hell, we broke into cars in the hospital parking lot together,” he continues. “We were tight, even after landing on opposite sides of the fence.”

Opposite sides of the fence?

“Who are you talking about?” I can’t help asking.

He swings the gun around and steps close, pressing the barrel against my forehead. Tracy screams.

“Shut up, you dumb cunt,” he barks at her before turning back to me. “And you, don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly who. Where is the money, bitch?”

“I swear, I don’t know anything about any money.”

My eyes find Tracy, who is watching us with tears streaming down her face and her fist shoved in her mouth.

“She doesn’t.”

I snap my head around at the sound of Ben Vallard’s voice, coming from the doorway, and am immediately flooded with relief. Thank God.

“Like hell she doesn’t,” Laine snaps, apparently not at all surprised by Vallard’s sudden appearance. The gun in his hand doesn’t even waver an inch and is still firmly pressed against my head. “She wasn’t just your partner; she was in your goddamn bed. Keeping it all in the family, isn’t that what you said? I knew you’d fucking follow me, and you followed me straight here, didn’t you?”

Wait. Keeping what all in the family?

I watch as Ben’s eyes turn to slits and the corner of his mouth pulls up a fraction.

“You’re making it so easy,” he taunts. “What were you thinking, vandalizing trucks and setting fires? That was you, wasn’t it? What were you trying to accomplish?”

“Drawing you out, you moron,” Laine reacts. “And it ultimately worked, didn’t it? Here you are, and I have a gun to your girlfriend’s head, ready to blow it off unless you give me back what you stole from me.”

“You’re a little behind the times, my friend. She’s not my girlfriend, and frankly, you’d be doing me a service. The fewer witnesses left, the better.”

My heart lodges in my throat.

“Please, no!” Tracy yells.

The last thing I hear is the loud reverberation of a gunshot and I find myself once more with my face pressed against the dirty linoleum, before everything goes dark.

Twenty-Five

Stephanie

It takes every ounce of what little strength I have left to shift the dead weight on top of me.

At this point, I barely even feel my arm anymore, that whole side of my body is going numb, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. At least I’m able to breathe again.

He shot him.

Ben Vallard shot Laine, who had a gun pressed against my head. He didn’t care.

I’m able to raise my left hand to check for damage, but find my forehead intact.

Lucky.

My eyes find Vallard crossing the room toward Tracy, who is softly crying in the corner. Laine’s heavy body still has me pinned and I’m paralyzed as I watch Ben stop a few feet away from her, raise his gun, and shoot her in the head, execution style. I stare in disbelief and swallow a sob as her body hits the ground with a dull thud. A pool of blood slowly spreads under her head like a halo.

---