CHAPTER SEVEN

The room emptied in Avery’s mind; it turned black, and all she could see were the five men, and feel Ramirez next to her, and see Desoto’s fist moving closer to her face. She called it the fog, a place where she’d often been during her running days – another world, separate from her physical existence. Her jujitsu instructor had called it “the ultimate awareness,” a place where focus became selective, so the senses were more heightened around specific targets.

She spun into Desoto’s arm and gripped his wrist. At the same time, her hip popped back into his body for leverage, and she used his own momentum to throw him into the basement door. Wood cracked and the giant man crashed hard.

Without breaking her stride, Avery spun and kicked an attacker in the stomach. After that, everything moved in slow motion. Each of the five men was targeted for maximum damage with minimal aggression. A jab to the throat made one fall to the ground. A kick to the groin followed by a hard back-spin and another man crashed on the broken table. She lost Desoto’s little brother for a second. She turned to see him about to punch her with a pair of brass knuckles; Ramirez jumped in and tackled him to the ground.

Desoto roared and grabbed Avery in a bear hug from behind.

The massive weight of his body was like a cement block. Avery couldn’t break his hold. She kicked at the air. He lifted her up and threw her into a wall.

Avery slammed into a shelving system and the entire unit fell on her head when she dropped to the ground. Desoto kicked her in the stomach; the blow was so powerful it lifted her up. Another kick and her neck snapped back. Desoto lowered down. Thick arms clutched her neck in a dangerous choke. A quick lift and she was up – feet dangling.

“I could snap your neck,” he whispered, “like a twig.”

Groggy.

Her mind was groggy from the blows. Air was hard to take in.

Focus, she commanded. Or you’re dead.

She tried to flip over his body, or break the hold with his arms. An iron grip held her fast. Something slammed into Desoto’s back. He lowered Avery’s feet to the ground and looked behind him to see Ramirez with a chair.

“That didn’t hurt you?” Ramirez asked.

Desoto growled.

Avery collected herself, lifted her foot, and stomped her heel into his toes.

“Ah!” Desoto howled.

He wore a white button-down T-shirt, tan shorts, and flip-flops; Avery’s heel had cracked two bones. Instinctively, he let go, and by the time he was ready to grip her again, Avery was in stance. One quick punch to his throat was followed by a jab to his solar plexus.

An iron bat was on the ground.

She picked it up and swatted him in the head.

Desoto instantly went limp.

Two of his men were already down, including the little brother. A third – who’d been watching her battle with Desoto – widened his eyes in surprise. He drew his gun. Avery swatted his hand with the bat, spun with the momentum, and clocked him in the face. He crashed into a wall unit.

The last two men had overtaken Ramirez.

Avery swung the bat into the back of one man’s knees. He flipped up. She brought the steel down on his chest and kicked him hard in the face. The other man punched her in the jaw and followed with a screaming tackle onto the poker table.

They crashed down together.

The man was on top and rained down blows. Avery finally caught a wrist and rolled. He fell off and she was able to spin and trap his arm in a submission hold. Avery lay perpendicular to his body. Her legs were over his belly and his arm was straight and hyper-extended.

“Let go! Let go!” he cried out.

She lifted a leg and kicked him in the face until he passed out.

“Fuck you!” she yelled.

The room was silent. All five men, including Desoto, were out cold.

Ramirez groaned and got to his hands and knees.

“Jesus…” he whispered.

Avery spotted a gun on the floor. She grabbed it and pointed it at the basement door. No sooner had she aimed than Tito appeared.

“Don’t you lift that gun!” Avery howled. “You hear me!? Don’t you do it.”

Tito glanced at the gun in his hand.

“You lift that gun and I shoot.”

The scene in the room was impossible for Tito to believe; his mouth practically fell open when he saw Desoto.

“You do all this?” he asked seriously.

“Drop the gun!”

Tito aimed at her.

Avery fired two shots into his chest and sent him flying back into the staircase.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Outside the coffee shop, Avery held a bag of ice over her eye. Two nasty bruises were throbbing beneath it, and her cheek was swollen. It was also hard to breathe, which made her think she’d fractured a rib, and her neck was still sore and red from the tight squeeze of Desoto.

Despite the abuse, Avery felt good. Better than good. She’d successfully defended herself against a giant killer and five other men.

You did it, she thought.

She’d spent years learning to fight, countless years and hours when she was the only one in the dojo, just sparring with herself. She’d been in other fights before, but none against five men, and certainly none against someone as powerful as Desoto.

Ramirez sat on the curb. He’d been on the verge of collapse ever since the basement. Compared to Avery, he was in bad shape: face riddled with cuts and swollen spots and constant dizzy spells.

“You were an animal down there,” he muttered. “An animal…”

“Thanks?” she said.

Desoto’s diner was in the heart of A7, so Avery had felt obligated to call in Simms for backup. An ambulance was on the scene, along with numerous A7 cops to take Desoto and his men in for assault, weapons possession, and other small infractions. Tito’s body – wrapped in a black bag – was brought up first and loaded into the back of the emergency vehicle.

Simms appeared and shook his head.

“It’s a mess down there,” he said. “Thanks for the extra paperwork.”

“Would you have rather I called my own people?”

“No,” he admitted, “I guess not. We’ve got three different departments all trying to pin something on Desoto, so at the very least this can help shake the tree. I don’t know what you were thinking going into that place without backup, but nice work. How did you take all six of them on your own?”

“I had help,” Avery said with a nod to Ramirez.

Ramirez raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“What about the yacht murder?” Simms asked. “Any connection?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Two of his men robbed the store twice. Desoto was surprised about it, and pissed. If the two other clerks corroborate the story, I think they’re in the clear. They wanted money, not a dead store owner.”

Another cop appeared and waved at Simms.

Simms gave a light tap on Avery’s shoulder.

“You might want to get out of here,” he said. “They’re bringing them up now.”

“No,” Avery said. “I’d like to see him.”

Desoto was so large he had to dip out of the front door. Two cops were on either side of him, and one was at his back. Compared to everyone else, he looked like a giant. His men were brought up behind him. All of them were led toward a police van. As he drew close to Avery, Desoto paused and turned; none of the cops could make him move.

“Black,” he called.

“Yeah?” she said.

“You know that target you were talking about?”

“Yeah?”

“Click, click, boom,” he said with a wink.

He stared at her for another second before he allowed police to load him in the van.

Idle threats were part of the job. Avery had learned that a long time ago, but someone like Desoto was the real thing. Outwardly, she stood her ground and stared back at him until he was gone, but on the inside, she was barely keeping it together.

“I need a drink,” she said.

“No way,” Ramirez muttered. “I feel like shit.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Any bar you want. Your choice.”

He instantly perked up.

“Really?”

Avery had never offered to go out to a bar that Ramirez wanted. When he went out, he drank with the squad, while Avery chose quiet, low-key bars around her own neighborhood. Ever since they’d been a sort-of item, Avery had never once accompanied him out, or had a drink with anyone else in the department.

Ramirez stood up too fast, swooned, and caught himself.

“I got just the place,” he said.

CHAPTER NINE

“Fuckin’ A!” Finley roared in a drunken stupor. “You just took out six members of the Chelsea Death Squad, including Juan Desoto? I don’t believe it. I don’t fuckin’ believe it. Desoto is supposed to be a monster. Some people don’t even believe he exists.”

“She did it,” Ramirez swore. “I was right there, man. I’m telling you, she did it. Girl is like a kung-fu master or something. You should have seen her. As fast as lightning. I’d never seen anything like it. How did you learn to fight like that?”

“A lot of hours in the gym,” Avery said. “No life. No friends. Just me, a bag, and a lot of sweat and tears.”

“You’ve got to teach me some of those moves,” he pleaded.

“You were doing pretty well there yourself,” Avery said. “You saved me twice, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s true. I did do that,” he agreed so that everyone could hear.

They were in Joe’s Pub on Canal Street, a cop bar only a few blocks away from the A1 police station. At the large wooden table was everyone who’d been on Avery’s previous Homicide Squad: Finley, Ramirez, Thompson, and Jones, along with two other beat cops that were friends with Finley. Homicide supervisor for the A1, Dylan Connelly, was at another table not far away, having a drink with some men that worked in his unit. Every so often, he glanced up seemingly to catch Avery’s eye; she never noticed.

Thompson was the largest person in the entire the bar. Practically albino, he had extremely light-colored skin, with fine blond hair, full lips, and light-colored eyes. A drunken gaze turned sour at Avery.

“I could take you,” he declared.

“I could take her,” Finley snapped. “She’s a girl. Girls can’t fight. Everyone knows that. This must have been a fluke. Desoto was sick and his men were all suddenly blinded by chick-beauty. No way she beats them cold. No way.”

Jones, a lean, older Jamaican, leaned forward with incredible interest.

“How you take Desoto?” he wondered. “Seriously. No gym shit. I be in the gym too and look at me. I barely gain a pound.”

“I got lucky,” Avery said.

“Yeah, but, how?” he truly wanted to know.

“Jujitsu,” she said. “I used to be a runner, back when I was in law, but after that whole scandal, jogging around the city wasn’t really my thing anymore. I enrolled in a jujitsu class and spent hours there every day. I think I was trying to purge my soul or something. I liked it. A lot. So much so that the instructor gave me keys to the gym and said I could go whenever I wanted.”

“Fuckin’ jujitsu,” Finley said like it was a bad word. “I don’t need no karate. I just call my crew and they go pop-pop-pop!” he cried and pretended to fire a machine gun. “They’ll blow everybody away!”

A round of shots were ordered to commemorate the event.

Avery played pool, threw darts, and by ten o’clock, she was hammered. This was the first time she’d ever actually hung out with her squad, and it gave her a true sense of community. In a rare, extremely vulnerable moment, she put her arm around the much shorter Finley at the pool table. “You’re all right by me,” she said.

Finley, seemingly bedazzled by her touch and the fact that a tall blond goddess stood next to him, was momentarily speechless.

Ramirez remained slumped over at the bar and sitting alone, where he’d been all night. A walk over nearly landed Avery face down on the floor. She put her arm around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

“Does that feel better?” she asked.

“That hurt.”

“Aw,” she cooed. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll make it better.”

“Nah,” he mumbled.

“What’s wrong?”

Ramirez was distraught when he turned around.

“You,” he said. “You’re incredible at everything you do. What am I? I feel like I’m your sidekick sometimes. You know? Until you came along, I thought I was a great cop, but whenever we’re together I just see my flaws. This morning – who else could have stopped that guy from shooting that cop? At the dock, who else could have seen what you saw? Who else could have gotten Desoto to let you into his crib and then beaten Desoto? You’re just so good, Avery, it makes me question my own value.”

“Come on,” Avery said and pushed her forehead into his. “You’re a great cop. You saved my life. Again. Desoto would have cracked my neck in two.”

“Anyone could have done that,” he said and wiggled away.

“You’re the best-dressed cop I know,” she offered, “and the most enthusiastic cop, and you always make me smile with your positive attitude.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she pushed. “I get into my head too much. I could stay there for weeks. You force me out of my shell and make me feel like a woman.”

She kissed him on the lips.

Ramirez lowered his head.

“Thanks for that,” he said. “Really. Thanks. That means a lot. I’m OK. Just give me a minute, OK? Let me finish my drink and think about some things.”

“Sure,” she said.

The bar was even more packed than when they’d first arrived. Avery scanned the crowd. Thompson and Jones had left. Finley was playing pool. There were a couple of other officers she recognized from their office, but no one she particularly wanted to meet. Two well-dressed men waved her down and pointed at drinks. She shook her head.

Images flashed through her mind: Desoto’s hands around her neck, and the woman on the boat with her eerie shadow and star.

Avery ordered another drink and found a quiet table near a back corner. To anyone watching, she knew she must have looked crazy: a lone woman with a beaten-up face, hands on the table around a drink, and eyes focused squarely at nothing while she inwardly combed through the events of the day to find connections.

Desoto, dead end.

Parents, dead end.

Friends? Avery realized she needed to follow up with them at some point, probably sooner rather than later.

Why did the killer draw a star? she wondered.

She thought about the apartment where the murder had taken place, the books, the clothing in a hamper, and the missing rug. He’s big, she thought, and strong, and he’s definitely got a chip on his shoulder. Cameras were disabled, which means he’s also stealthy. Military training? Maybe.

She checked off another box.

Definitely personal, she mulled. Go back in Venemeer’s past. Find out who else worked at the shop, or dated her in school. Compile a list. After you have your list, maybe talk with the parents again so they can verify.

Pieces began to form, pieces to a puzzle she had yet to complete.

Ramirez stood right in front of her, watching.

“Hey,” Avery said and covered her face in embarrassment.

“Look at you.” He smiled back. “What are you doing?”

A blush painted her cheeks.

“This is how I work,” she said.

He sat down next to her.

“How?” he asked. “Tell me.”

“I just…go through it in my mind,” she said. “All the facts. All the pieces. Try to mentally look for connections. I create a checklist of leads to pursue so we don’t let anything fall through the cracks. I have to be thorough.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why are you so good at this?”

The image of her father came to her, shotgun in hand, the muzzle pointed at her face. “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!”

Escape, she thought.

That was all Avery had wanted for most of her life: to escape from her past. But escape meant she had to have a plan, and plans always had a way of going awry.

“It was the only way out,” she said.

“Out? Of what?”

Avery faced him, and shared a piece of information she hadn’t said aloud in years.

“I was an orphan. Did you know that?”

Ramirez sat back in awe.

“No!” he cried. “I would have never pegged you as an orphan. I’m a really bad cop.”

“Don’t think that.” She smiled and held his hand.

“Anyway,” she went on, “I was a foster kid for about six years. I went through a lot of homes, was picked up by a few families. House mothers. That’s what they’re called. They get paid to take in young children with nowhere else to go. Everybody’s happy. The state gets to wipe their hands clean of wayward children. Crappy people get to have slaves.”

“Avery. I am so sorry.”

“There was this one house mother – ”

A newspaper was slapped down on the table.

Dylan Connelly stood above them.

“You seen this?” he said. “It’s the late edition. All over the Internet. A copy of the letter was mailed to A7. O’Malley is waiting on us. Wants the entire team in to go over what you’ve discovered so far. It’s from your killer.”

The cover of the paper read: Murder at Marina, and showed a shot of the victim on the bow of a yacht docked to a pier. Lines from the article stood out: “Saliva swab on the letter matches that of the slain woman,” and “Possible bookstore connection.” Avery was mentioned twice by name: once as an investigator from the A1 brought in to help with the case, and once as a possible love interest of captured serial killer Howard Randall.

A smaller caption read: Letter from the Murderer! The picture displayed a zoom-in of words scrawled on paper.

Avery flipped to the page.

The letter was a full side. The killer’s note was written like a poem:

How can you break the cycle?

How can you take advantage of each moment in life?

I have found the key

I can unlock the prize

Come all who dare

I defy you

The first body is set. More will come

Avery set it down, her entire body trembling.

More will come.

She knew, with sudden certainty, that he was right.