Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 249

Sherry Petrocelli answered the phone and confirmed that she would pick up Rick Bentz's wife from LAX. She was off duty, but hey, she owed Jonas Hayes a favor or two. Not that she gave a d.a.m.n about Rick Bentz. She didn't know the guy, but she'd heard the rumors, and now that he was back in Los Angeles, all h.e.l.l seemed to be breaking loose.

The truth of the matter was that she wanted to be transferred to RHD, and Jonas was her "in." Her friend and fellow officer Paula Sweet had a.s.sured her that Jonas had the keys to the kingdom; he was well respected in that division, and his input and recommendation would help her land the transfer. She also knew Corrine O'Donnell, who was dating Jonas, and Corrine had agreed that Hayes could help. So if hauling Bentz's wife around was a way to get closer to homicide, so be it.

But first, she was going to dinner. Olivia Bentz's plane was delayed, so Sherry figured it was fine to meet her friend at Bruno's, an Italian spot in Marina del Rey, not too far from the airport.

They split a fried calamari appetizer, then Sherry ordered spaghetti with clam sauce. Throughout the meal, she ducked outside to make a couple of phone calls, checking in with the sitter and tracking the progress of Olivia Bentz's delayed flight. She didn't even have a sip of wine, opting for sparkling water, just to make certain she didn't mess up. If this was a step to improve her career, she was taking no chances.

So it really p.i.s.sed her off when she started to feel sick.

Surely not the clam sauce or the fried squid. She'd never had a reaction to seafood in her life.

But her stomach was acting up, her head a little light.

"Wow," she said. "I feel like c.r.a.p." She drank more of the sparkling water, hoping to settle her stomach.

"Let's get out of here," her friend said, then tossed back the remains of her martini. "Come on. I'll buy." She flashed Sherry a smile and dropped some cash onto the table. "But next time, you're on."

"Okay." When Sherry stood up, her legs were wobbly, her head spinning. Almost as if she were drunk. Which was crazy. And then there was the stomachache. She walked out of the restaurant unaided, but when she reached her car, she knew she couldn't get behind the wheel. "Oh, man, I can't drive," she said, p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l.

"I can take you home."

"But I'm supposed to be at the airport in less than an hour."

"You want me to do it?"

"Oh, G.o.d, no." They were outside and even the fresh air coming off the ocean didn't help. That salty, fishy smell...If anything she felt more nauseated, her legs more unsteady.

"How about if I drive you?" her friend offered.

At first Sherry thought the whole idea was odd. "You would do that?"

"Why not?"

"I don't even know if I'll be able to go in and get her."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Sherry, sweating now, didn't argue as she fell into the pa.s.senger seat. G.o.d, she felt awful. "Maybe you should just take me home." She even thought about a hospital, but that seemed extreme.

"I will, just as soon as we ferry Bentz's wife around." For the first time, Sherry noticed the sound of disgust in her friend's voice as they pulled out of the parking lot and the first real doubts about her friend p.r.i.c.ked at her consciousness.

They headed not in the direction of the airport, but north, away from the city.

"Hey what are you doing?" she demanded and caught an icy glare. Oh G.o.d, this is a setup! Oh G.o.d, this is a setup! Sherry fumbled in her pocket for her cell phone, but it was too late. She couldn't think fast enough to get it; her reactions were already off. "You," she said sluggishly, her tongue thick. "You slipped me a mickey..." Sherry fumbled in her pocket for her cell phone, but it was too late. She couldn't think fast enough to get it; her reactions were already off. "You," she said sluggishly, her tongue thick. "You slipped me a mickey..." Oh, s.h.i.+t Oh, s.h.i.+t. The interior of the car spun.

"More than one, Sherry," her friend said with a calm, nearly serene smile. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white as twilight fell and the dark night rushed past.

In that second Sherry Petrocelli felt a chill as cold as an Arctic wind blow through her soul. Her gun was locked securely in a safe at home, but even if it had been with her, she wouldn't have been able to reach for it, to fire. She was too far gone, her reactions all off.

If there were a way to stop this madness, she would. But it was too late.

Scared out of her mind, with no way out, she thought of her seven-year-old son, Hank, and her husband, Jerry, a goofball she'd loved for fifteen of her thirty-two years. Jerry and Sherry; they'd thought their rhyming names were so funny, so corny. Who would take care of them if she were gone? Who would raise her boy? Love silly Jerry?

"Please," she said, suddenly desperate, but it was far too late. Her mind was swimming away from reality.

"Please, what?" asked her friend, and the woman had the audacity to laugh at her. "Good night, Sherry," she said, sounding so pleased.

Sherry felt a tear slide down her cheek. Oh, Jerry, I'm sooo sorry. Oh, Jerry, I'm sooo sorry.

In the next second, Sherry Petrocelli's heart quit beating.

CHAPTER 30.

Once the jet touched down at LAX, Olivia couldn't get off the plane fast enough. The flight had been delayed by nearly two hours, making everyone onboard nervous while they repaired some kind of temperature gauge. Then the ride had been b.u.mpy and loud. As the minutes had ticked away, she'd experienced a steadily increasing feeling of dread.

What if Bentz had already left Los Angeles?

What if he'd connected with this person posing as Jennifer?

What if another friend of his ex-wife's had been killed?

She pulled her carry-on from the overhead bin and shuffled her way behind the mother and toddler along the narrow aisle of the 737. Things didn't move much faster along the jetway, but by the time she reached the gate she'd dug out her cell phone, turned it on, and was listening to a bevy of messages, one of which was from Bentz. He was the most recent caller and his message confirmed Hayes's offer of a ride to the police station, telling her to look for an officer who would be waiting for her with a sign at baggage claim.

A little odd, she thought, trying not to press the panic b.u.t.ton. No one had told her why she was being escorted by an officer rather than renting a car or taking a taxi herself. Or, since Bentz knew her flight number and arrival time, why wasn't he picking her up himself? Why meet at the police station?

Because there's trouble. Serious trouble.

She tried Bentz's cell and wanted to scream in frustration when he didn't pick up. Then she dialed Hayes's phone and again was sent directly to voice mail.

So much for the convenience of cell phones, of always being in touch. She slammed hers back into her purse and pulled her roller bag behind her as she followed the signs to baggage claim. Something felt off about this and if she hadn't heard her husband's request herself, she would have rented a car. She slammed hers back into her purse and pulled her roller bag behind her as she followed the signs to baggage claim. Something felt off about this and if she hadn't heard her husband's request herself, she would have rented a car.

And gone where? He already checked out of the So-Cal Inn, right? You probably would have met him at the station anyway. Just be thankful that he's still in L.A. You'll see him soon. Less than an hour, probably.

Good!

Her cell phone rang and she saw it was Bentz's number. Thank G.o.d! "Hi."

"G.o.d, it's good to hear your voice. I was worried."

Her heart squeezed. "Yeah, I know." She felt tears against the back of her eyes and ridiculously her throat thickened. "The, uh, the flight was delayed, a mechanical problem that took a couple of hours to fix. But I finally made it."

"Good."

She could barely hear him with the sounds of the airport filling her ears, announcements for flights over the loudspeakers, the squeak of wheels on roller bags, and the excited hum of conversation as throngs of people moved through the wide concourse.

"Why are we meeting at the station house? I thought you would pick me up."

"Yeah, I wish, but I've got to make a statement. Some loose ends to tie up."

"Oh, G.o.d, someone else died," she said, knowing it was true. She stopped dead in her tracks and a woman pus.h.i.+ng a stroller nearly ran into her.

"Sorry," the woman said, diverting around Olivia, who moved to the side of the wide hallway to stop by a T-s.h.i.+rt shop. "Am I right?" she asked, her heart drumming with dread. "Was someone else killed?"

"I think so. It's the person who impersonated Jennifer." He sounded weary and distracted. "It's a long story, but I saw her jump from an observation platform into the ocean, a good thirty or forty feet below."

"She jumped?"

"She was running away from me."

"Oh, G.o.d," she whispered, the cacophony of the airport turning into the rush of the sea, the people fading as, in her mind's eye, she witnessed a woman leaping to her death in the water below.

"A few hours later, the Coast Guard found a body."

Olivia leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a second. "So she's dead? The person who's been gaslighting you?" Olivia couldn't believe it.

"Yeah. I think so. I'm going to have to ID the body in the morgue, which is kind of a joke. I mean, I only met her up close once. I don't even know her real name."

"You spoke with her. Had a conversation?"

"Yeah."

"Face-to-face, not one of those midnight prank calls."

"I was with her earlier today," he said. "I caught up with her and she was going to tell me the truth, or so she claimed, but...oh, h.e.l.l...listen, I've got to go."

"No, wait! You met with this 'Jennifer?'"

"Yes. Look, Livvie, I'll tell you everything soon. Once I ID the body, I'll probably have to answer some more questions, but that will be at RHD, at Parker Center, so we'll hook up there. It's not far from the morgue. I'll meet you as soon as I can."

Someone was calling her, a number she didn't recognize, trying to cut in. She ignored the interruption and watched as two parents shepherded their bags and stair-step children wearing Mickey Mouse ears toward the main terminal.

"A police officer is picking you up," Bentz was saying. "Name's Sherry Petrocelli. She's a friend of Hayes's. She'll drive you to Parker Center. That's where the LAPD has their Robbery-Homicide Division."

"I know know that." that."

"Good. I'll meet you. Hayes gave Petrocelli your cell number, so she'll be calling."

"I think she just did," Olivia said.

"Good. I'll see you soon."

"I can't wait. Love you."

"If you only knew."

Those d.a.m.ned hot tears touched her eyes again. Her throat was thick, choked with emotion. She whispered, "Maybe it'll be over now."

There was a pause on the other end of the connection. "I don't know if it will ever be over." And he hung up.

"Rick-" But it was too late. She stood there with the phone in her hand, feeling like an idiot. On the verge of a crying jag again.

That just wouldn't do. Her emotions and hormones be d.a.m.ned. She couldn't function in such an overwrought emotional state, near tears. She was a grown woman, soon to be a mother. Setting her jaw, she started walking again.

For the first time since touching down on California soil, she felt a measure of renewed determination to see this through. She told her self she was up for the challenge, whatever it was.

Bring it on, she thought, slipping her phone into her purse and sliding a pair of sungla.s.ses onto the bridge of her nose. she thought, slipping her phone into her purse and sliding a pair of sungla.s.ses onto the bridge of her nose. I'm ready. I'm ready.

Come on, come on, answer the d.a.m.ned phone.

I watch the pa.s.sengers as they stream into the baggage claim area, hustling, herding, searching for their luggage. Loud and oblivious to me, they corral the children and guard their laptops as they wait for the carousel to spin, delivering their bags to them.

Where is she?

For a second I panic. Maybe she didn't make the flight. Perhaps I got the information wrong.

Or worse yet, I'm a suspect and they're waiting for me. Because Sherry Petrocelli didn't call the office to check in. My heart races at the thought that I could be caught before I'm finished, before I complete my task of utterly destroying Rick Bentz.

But a quick scan of the area a.s.sures me no cops are loitering on the chairs or hiding behind an open newspaper. These business travelers and families are not undercover detectives.

No, the baggage claim area looks clean.

I take a deep breath. I have to remain calm. Appear sincere. Make certain she believes that I'm Petrocelli. With that in mind, I force a smile that feels as false as plastic. But it will have to do.

It's essential that Olivia Bentz trust me, buy into the fact that I'm chauffeuring her to her beloved husband.

G.o.d, that thought makes me want to puke.

I study the entrance to the baggage claim area, eyeing the faces of the travelers, hunting for the one that is forever burned into my brain.

For the love of G.o.d, where is she? I start to pace, then stop. I don't want to attract attention; as it is I've been carefully avoiding the security cameras, keeping my back to them and my face covered. The wig and gla.s.ses help, but I can't take too many chances.

My palms are beginning to sweat.

Where the h.e.l.l is she?