Page 2 of Deadly Attraction
Mitch didn’t need more time off anyway. He was definitely not visiting his mother. “Is this about the wildfires? Dupé already briefed me.”
“That’s on your list too, but finding the prick who started ’em temporarily comes second.”
California was no stranger to wildfires. Less than twenty miles west of where he was, a nasty one had been eating up acres of forest, homes, and businesses. Origination appeared to be in the state park that spanned thousands of acres, and initial reports suggested a lightning strike on the west side of the mountain as the trigger.
In the past twenty-four hours, a new theory had come to light. A homegrown terrorist named Sean Gordon had been caught on security footage entering the forest. The guy had a rap sheet filled with fire-related crimes.
Clearing the gate, Mitch gave the old man a nod and walked to his black Ford truck. “I can be back in San Diego in a couple hours.”
“The assignment’s in northern San Diego County, near the state park. That’s why I’m calling you.”
Mitch slid behind the wheel. As the sun gave up its fight with the approaching night, shadows stole over the graveyard, the perimeter lights flicking on one by one. “What’s involved?”
“Not what,who. A woman named Emma Collins. Dr. Collins. She’s in danger.”
The elite SCVC team handled violent crimes stemming from drug running, gangs, terrorists, and the like. Mitch started the truck. “From whom?”
“Chris Goodsman.”
It took a second for Mitch’s brain to recognize the name. “That actor kid who murdered his fiancée a couple of years ago?”
“That’s the one. He escaped from a transport van that was evacuating prisoners from Aleta Hills today because of the fires. The van was run off the road by a pair of hijackers in a truck and the driver of the van was killed. A second security guard was severely injured and Goodsman escaped with the two in the truck.”
The Hills—a federal prison for the rich and famous who couldn’t be put into a regular prison population without the risk of being killed. “What’s Goodsman got to do with this Dr. Collins?”
“Collins was the forensic psychologist who testified against him during his well-publicized trial. While several experts said the kid had a psychotic break and agreed with the insanity defense, Collins claimed Goodsman was a…” There was a pause and Mitch figured Coop was reading from his notes. “Yeah, here it is, Goodsman is a ‘narcissistic sociopath.’ Collins said he was trying to fool the world into believing he had a temporary schizo break so he wouldn’t be sent to federal prison. She believed he should remain incarcerated for life.”
“But he ended up at the Hills, cushy pillows and all.”
“Over the past two years, his doctors say he was making progress. Showing no signs of delusional episodes or breaks with reality. No violent outbursts or anything else they could label as dangerous, so he was up for parole in three days. Collins strongly advised against his release. She even petitioned the governor.”
Mitch drove out of the cemetery, making a left. Goodsman had been America’s favorite child actor who grew up playing the lead on a cable show spinoff of a popular sci-fi movie franchise. It had earned him a shelf full of awards, but when the series ended, the guy was 21 and had never done another thing. He’d spent several years as a party boy, being fired from one role after another.
With the money he’d made during the ten years the show had run, he probably never needed to work again. Unless, of course, he’d blown all of that money on drugs and other stupidass shit.
“Collins owns a ranch along the valley border of the park. Since you’re heading that way, I need you to check on her. Sending you the coordinates. We believe Goodsman is dangerous and he may be looking for revenge.”
Goodsman’s murder trial had been headline news for months. Each year on the anniversary of the guilty verdict, fans all over the world held vigils and crap. “Guy’s been in for a couple of years, right? Seems like the first thing he’d want to do is grab a bacon cheeseburger, a pack of smokes, and get laid on his way to the border.”
“I’m standing in his cell at the Hills,” Cooper said. “Sending you a picture of what I found under his bed.”
Mitch stopped at a light, waited for the picture to come through his messages. Pulling it up, hair rose on the back of his neck. “Did you call the sheriff? They can get to Collins faster than I can.”
“Cops are busy manning the holiday parade and helping folks north of where she lives with the wildfires. Dupé asked for you to personally haul ass over to Collins’ ranch and get her to a safe house.”
Dupé. The director of the West Coast FBI and the man who’d created the taskforce. A man Holden respected almost as much as he did Cooper Harris.
Mitch slapped his blue light onto the hood of his truck and jetted through the red light. “What’s Dupé’s interest in this?”
“Personal. I’ll fill you in later. Dupé himself is on his way, but it’ll take him two to three hours from L.A.”
He’d be at the address in under thirty minutes. “I’m on it.”
They disconnected and Mitch glanced down at the picture still on his phone.
In a cheery holiday red paint, Chris Goodsman had made his Christmas intentions for the doctor quite clear.
Her fate is death. Her destiny is death.
