Chapter 19

EXT. to INT. - FREDDY'S BAR - AFTERNOON

Gerri stepped out of the driver's seat into the California sunshine, squinting as she tossed her sunglasses onto the dash before slamming the door. Jackson exited the passenger side, his own mirrored shades still in place. Such a poser as he looked around with his broad jaw set, all Hollywood.

He'd missed his calling, the jackass.

She ignored his grumpiness as she stared across the street at the dive bar on the corner.

"You should have let me drive." He would just not let it go. He bitched about her taking the keys from the moment they hit the garage at the precinct. Whined and complained the entire way over.

"I let you come with me," she said, walking past him, glancing both ways as the traffic slowed to allow her to cross.

"I found the biker guy for you, didn't I?" Jackson said, jogging to catch up, giving an angry driver the finger when the man honked his horn.

Gerri wasn't sure she could handle his company much longer. "Just shut up and let me deal with this." She hated Jackson was right. He'd dug up Oz's real name: Oswald Tyler, a lowlife scumbag who, from what they could tell, left a trail of unsolved crimes back in LA. Jackson's contact in vice told him Oz was a part of the Divinities, a Neo-Nazi skinhead gang who leaned heavily toward dogma and drug sales.

"Maybe I should go in first." Jackson stopped her with his hand on the door. The glass was filthy, covered from the inside with what looked like black-painted cardboard. About as classy as Jackson, so she hesitated before pushing the door open with one shoulder and moving past him.

Like hell. She had this.

Gerri's phone rang as the darkness of the interior engulfed her. A quick glance at the screen told her it was Kinsey. She'd been calling since this morning, but Gerri ignored her much as Kinsey had her own calls last night. Petty. Gerri was over it. Her thumb lifted to press answer when Jackson's nasty whisper interrupted.

"You just take that call," he said. "I'll go have a chat with our friend over there."

Gerri's gaze snapped to the back of the dingy bar, her finger tapping the hang up button instead. "Fuck you, Pierce," she said, focusing on Oz who huddled in a booth, alone. Gerri ignored the filthy floor, the pair of ancient skanks who smelled worse than an old tank of gas, the bartender's dark stare. She didn't let the stink of smoke bother her, the grime coating the tables or the way the handful of bikers in the place followed her stride with predator's eyes.

Oz looked up when Gerri was about half way to his seat. She knew he was going to run. He'd done it twice already. She thought she had it covered. But she didn't count on her stupid ass partner.

Jackson picked up his stride and got in her way. She was already reaching for her gun when Oz burst from the booth's edge and took off a flat-out race for the back of the bar. Jackson turned in response, running into the side of a table, tangling himself in a chair before falling into Gerri.

Fucking dog and pony show. She pushed him off and tore off after Oz, knowing he already had enough of a head start this might not work out the way she hoped.

Damn, she didn't want to have to shoot anyone today.

"Stop, police!" The necessary identification shouted at the top of her considerably loud voice, Gerri's cowboy boots thudded on the filthy floor as she crashed through the doors into the back of the bar. She caught sight of Oz fleeing into sunlight, past the startled cook who shouted at her in German, a language she knew just enough to know he thought she was a guy and her mother was a dog. She ignored him and kept running.

Gerri was already squinting in anticipation of the light change as she slammed open the outside door and leaped out of the dank kitchen into the alley. Her gun whipped around, just in case Oz decided to set an ambush, but the flicker of motion at the other end of the alley had her running again. Wind pounded in and out of her lungs, her long legs pumping, gun swinging in her hand. She loved the chase, loved it so much she was almost laughing by the time she reached the end of the alley and crossed the street, closing the distance between her and Oz.

He looked back over his shoulder, panic on his face, saw her tightening the gap. He took a sharp right, into another alley way, behind a garage. Gerri poured on the speed, blood pumping, all of her focus on the chase, the hunt. This was her element, the rundown, the closing of prey. How many track and field meets had she won, how many rugby touchdowns, all thanks to the push of the tingle in her gut.

She'd take him down and tear him apart with her bare hands.

Gerri skidded around the corner, spotted Oz up ahead, pushed herself harder still. Her stride lengthened out even more, the jarring hit of each step sending sizzles of pleasure through her. Fifteen feet. She smelled his fear. Ten feet. He needed to work out more from the whistling sound his lungs made as he fought for air. Five feet. Her eyes traced the tattoos on the back of his shaved head, spotted the symbol with the curved edges, the pointed bottom.

Gerri hit him hard between the shoulders, throwing herself at him. Oz tripped, landing with an audible thud on the pavement with her on his back, her gun digging into his spine as she recovered quickly, so fast it made her grin.

"I said," she panted, smiled with her teeth bared, "stop. Police."

Oz struggled under her, but she was already grabbing his wrists, her cuffs out, tightening them just that little bit extra to show him how much she cared. Oz finally collapsed, gasping for breath. Gerri holstered her gun and finished cuffing him, glancing back over her shoulder at the sound of swearing and running feet.

Jackson looked about as good as Oz did. He came to a halt, hands on his knees, winded and wasted from just that short run. Pathetic.

"Go get the car," Gerri said, crouching to search Oz's pockets. She ignored the glare her partner shot her.

"Keys?" She chuckled to herself. Looked up. Loved that he had to ask.

She tossed them to him, even as she knew he'd make her pay. But that was okay. She was looking forward to it. For now, she had her captured prey to consider. And he had a whole lot of talking to do.

***