High Risk by G.K. Parks (thriller book recommendations txt) 📗

Rows of vehicles divided up the parking garage. “Are you going to cuff me again?”

Thoughts of that night raced through my mind. Movement at the periphery caught my eye, and I glanced in that direction, expecting someone to jump out at me. But it was just the elevator doors closing.

However, in that split second, Tarelli broke to the side and darted between two parked cars. Now I couldn’t see him.

“Give up. You’re just making this worse for yourself,” I warned.

He laughed, that awful sound I had heard while I lay in utter agony inside the liquor store. And then shots rang out. I dove to the side, sliding beneath a guardrail and rolling onto my knees beside a parked car. It might have been the captain’s car. I wasn’t sure, nor did I care. I steadied my aim on the hood of the vehicle and waited. The moment Brandon Tarelli’s head popped into sight I fired.

“Missed.” He used the parked cars as protection while I fired another three rounds straight at him. “Try again.”

But I resisted the urge to fire. He wanted me to expel my entire clip, but I didn’t have a good angle or a clear shot. My cell phone had fallen to the ground beside the elevator, along with the rest of the spilled items from my purse, so calling for backup was out of the question.

A metallic thud sounded somewhere deep in the garage. Was he alone? I didn’t know. And I couldn’t see him. Was he planning on sneaking up behind me again?

Suddenly the lights went out, replaced by the red emergency lighting. Not again, I thought.

Going against every bit of training that had been programmed into me, I calculated the distance to the stairwell, slid beneath the guardrail, and ran as fast as I could for the door. “Hurry,” I screamed. “Tarelli’s down here.”

Before I made it up the steps, he was on me. He grabbed my hair and pulled me backward. I stumbled, twisting out of his grip and tripping on the steps. Turning, I squeezed the trigger again, grazing him. He howled, pinning my arm and banging it against the wall until my gun clattered to the floor.

“You fucking bitch.” He pressed his palm into his shoulder, pulling his hand away to find it red with blood. “I’m gonna paint the walls with you.” He removed the Glock from his police-issued holster and aimed.

I kicked him, knocking the gun from his hand. He stumbled backward down the steps and collided with the doorframe. He reached for my fallen gun, and I launched myself at him. We landed hard on the ground, rolling back into the parking garage. My injured shoulder collided with the concrete, and the sudden onslaught made me release him.

He climbed to his feet, scooping up the baton he’d been forced to discard. “I’m gonna make this hurt, just like they hurt me.”

“Who hurt you?” I slid backward along the floor, desperate to get to my weapon.

“The guards. Officers. Men with their pathetic uniforms. They thought they were so much better. But they were just scared. You get one alone, and he’d practically piss himself.” He gave me an ugly smile. “Just like you, right now. Scared. Alone. Afraid. You know I’m going to kill you. That you’re going to die. That’s why you want to hurt me. But I’m going to hurt you first. Show you what it’s like.”

The clang of the baton echoed through the garage.

“It won’t matter. We know who you are. You can’t hide. You’re going back. You might as well smile pretty for the camera. It’s right behind you.”

Automatically, he glanced over his shoulder, and I kicked him in the sternum, sending him sprawling backward. I raced toward my gun, but he grabbed my ankle. I hit the ground hard.

White-hot pain went through me, sending a cascade of fire through my neck and shoulder. For a moment, I thought I’d black out. My instincts took over, and I kicked my free leg backward, forcing him to let go. I flipped over to face him, but I couldn’t find my footing to get off the ground so I scrambled backward, digging my heels into the concrete and pushing off to put as much distance between us as possible. I had to get to the stairwell and get my gun.

He laughed, lifting the baton and moving toward me. He cleared the distance between us in no time. At that moment, I reached my gun, aimed, and fired. Tarelli’s eyes went wide, and he looked down, watching the blood blossom across his chest. Another shot rang out from above me, followed by two more from behind. All four bullets hit him center mass, and then Brad stepped between me and my fallen attacker. He held his gun in both hands and stared down at the man.

“Liv, are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.” I climbed to my feet, still aiming at the killer.

Half a dozen police officers barreled down the stairs while another four stepped out of the freight elevator. Officer Roberts gave me a look. “Didn’t I tell you to be more careful, DeMarco?”

While officers secured the scene, cuffed Tarelli, and attended to him while we waited for the paramedics to arrive, Brad took the gun from my shaking hand, passed it off to an officer, and hugged me tightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He pulled away, eyeing my neck. “Sit down.” He made sure the stairwell was clear and peeled the bandage away from my skin. “I think you ripped a stitch.” He hollered into the parking garage, “Someone get me a first aid kit.”

“What the hell took you so long?” I teased, gasping and trembling from too much adrenaline.

He gave me a lopsided grin. “Really? You’re gonna be a ballbuster now? Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid?”

“Here, Detective,”