She could see the headline now: INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER MAXINE REVERE FELL TO HER DEATH AFTER UNCOVERING A MARIJUANA FARM.
She pushed the macabre thoughts of dying from her head as she approached the gate that led to the main road. It was closed, which meant he had gone east, or he’d taken the time to lock it behind himself.
She hopped the gate and turned toward the restaurant where she parked her car.
That’s when she saw J. C. Potrero’s motorcycle partly hidden behind a thick tree.
Earlier, cars had passed her intermittently on Skyline Boulevard. Right now, Max saw and heard no one, and a killer was waiting for her.
She looked around, her Taser in hand. There was a house up the road in the other direction, but the chances that someone was home in an area that was mostly weekend cabins was thin. She didn’t want to be trapped, and had to assume that J. C. knew this area better than she did.
She heard a car coming from the north. She didn’t want to endanger anyone else, and she didn’t know how stable J. C. was—would he kill an innocent bystander just to get Max?
She went toward her car. There was another house between the restaurant and the gate, but there were no cars in front and it didn’t look like anyone was home.
“You fucking bitch,” a voice said behind her.
Max slowly turned around. J. C. Potrero had a gun pointed at her. He heard the car as well, and lowered the gun, keeping it in front of him so the driver wouldn’t be able to see.
“The police already know.”
“Like hell they do.”
“Why did you kill Jason Hoffman?”
He stared at her, seemingly baffled. He might be innocent of murder; it had most likely been Rebecca Cross who’d stabbed Dru.
“You know that’s why Dru was meeting with me, to tell me something about Jason Hoffman’s death. I didn’t know about any of this until your girlfriend nearly killed her.”
The car passed and J. C. raised his gun.
Max had her Taser up the sleeve of her windbreaker. She fired as she sidestepped. He didn’t get a round off, but fell to the ground, dropping his gun.
She kicked the gun away and ran to her car. She got in, locked the doors, and pulled out her phone to call Nick Santini.
Only then did she realize she had six missed calls. She’d had her phone on silent.
“What the fuck is going on, Revere?” Santini asked.
“Your suspect is down. Tasered. Don’t know how long he’ll be down.”
“Stay away from him.”
She glanced over to where J. C. was lying on the ground.
“I kicked his gun away and he’s still down.”
“Where are you?”
“Outside the Bella Vista Restaurant on Skyline Boulevard. Nice place. Maybe we can have dinner here when I help you wrap up your case.”
“You’re a piece of work.”
“Thank you,” she said. She was trying to diffuse his anger, but it wasn’t working.
“Stay put. And you might want to call your lawyer, because I’m planning on putting cuffs on you.”
Max swallowed her sexy retort about how she didn’t do threesomes. Now she was pissed. “I broke your case wide open.”
“You screwed my case. Don’t. Move.” He hung up.
She glanced over to where J. C. was lying on the ground. He was trying to get up, but had no balance.
A car was approaching from the south. She got out of her car and flagged them down. “Do you have any rope?” she asked with a smile.
Chapter Sixteen
Max ordered a second glass of wine as the Menlo Grill waiter took her plate away.
The police had taken J. C. Potrero into custody and found Amy Benson still at the house with a truckful of marijuana. The evidence was solid. Rebecca Cross was being interviewed, and the detective in charge—not Santini—said that Amy was talking, and they should know in short order how the entire operation worked.
Not bad for a day’s investigation.
Nick Santini hadn’t spoken more than two words to her when he first arrived. They were, “Explain. Now.” She did. He wrote everything down and walked away. At least she didn’t need to call her lawyer. Arresting a reporter was never a good idea—she would be able to control the public message.
No one—J. C. or Rebecca—had admitted to Jason Hoffman’s murder or the attack on Dru Parker, but it was clear that Rebecca Cross’s car was the one that had nearly hit Max in the parking garage. Max hoped that the multiple jurisdictions didn’t mess with the case—the most important thing, from her point of view, was finding out who killed Jason Hoffman and why.
She hadn’t picked up on much of anything—after taking her statement, Nick and the other cops had stayed away from her—but she overheard Nick tell someone on the phone that Dru Parker was cooperating. Max was pleased—she thought the girl was remorseful and she could use a fresh start. Punish her, but not where it would ruin her life. Her efforts to help catch her attacker and Jason’s killer would go a long way with a jury and judge. Max hoped she had a good attorney. She might be able to help with that. At least get her someone good, who wouldn’t put the girl in debt for the next decade.
She didn’t think that Dru knew or even suspected that J. C. or Rebecca killed Jason until recently. Max liked to believe that Dru would have come forward, even though it was plausible she might have remained silent out of fear. Max certainly hadn’t pushed her hard this morning at the hospital for information, though nearly dying might have had something to do with her willingness to talk.