She spotted the yellow sign with the motorcycle on it and cruised past the closed metal doors of the shop. She knew the owner had a patio in the back of the shop on the alley where bikers gathered sometimes, smoked a little weed and harassed the working girls. Matt’s unofficial office. She knew a lot more about her former foster brother than she’d ever let on to him.
She wheeled the big car around the corner and parked it alongside the curb. Before she got out of the car, she hitched her purse across her body with the gun pouch facing out. She scrambled from the car, ignoring a homeless guy and a couple in the shadows, their heads together with their drug dealer.
She stepped into the alley, her nose twitching at the smell of garbage. She still had her work clothes on, and her heels clicked too loudly on the asphalt.
A yellow light spilled onto the white picket fence that marked the patio behind Mike’s. As she approached, Kyra called out softly. “Matt? Matt, it’s Mimi.”
If she had to deal with any of the guys from the shop, she’d try to scare them off too with the promise of an LAPD cop on his way to wreck their little party.
But there was no party. She saw no heads poking above the fence, and she cursed under her breath. She’d been wrong. Jake could be meeting with Matt right now, and Matt could be telling him all kinds of things...about her.
Her ears picked up a slow moan that made the hair on the back of her neck quiver. She flattened her hand against her gun pouch. “Matt?”
When she reached the fence and peered over, she staggered back. Matt Dugan, her nemesis, lay sprawled on the patio, foam bubbling at the side of his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head. Was he dead?
And then he moaned again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jake rolled down Van Nuys Boulevard just in time to witness the underbelly come alive as the sun sank in a hazy sky.
Dugan had set up their meeting behind his place of work, a motorcycle repair shop that had closed a few hours ago. He’d indicated he conducted all his business from a small patio in the back of the shop. Jake was sure that business could result in several arrests. But he had a different mission.
He parked in front of the business and loped around to the back. A couple veered out of his way by crossing to the other side of the street, the male partner tugging the rim of his baseball cap lower on his face. Maybe they’d just come from doing business with Dugan.
Jake followed the building around the back and spotted an area enclosed by a white picket fence—kind of homey for an alley.
As he peered over the slats, his heart slammed against his chest. The door to the patio stood ajar, sagging on one hinge, and he barreled through it toward the man sprawled on the ground, a woman hovering over him.
Then the woman turned, and Jake almost doubled over from the sock to his belly.
“Kyra, what are you doing here? What’s wrong with him?”
Her blue eyes shimmered like waves in a pool. “I think it’s a drug overdose. He was conscious when I got here, but he’s out now. His pulse is weak. Do you have any Narcan on you?”
“If I were Vice, maybe.” He crouched beside her, nudging her away from the fallen man. He placed his fingers against Dugan’s neck and rolled him onto his side. “Have you called 911?”
“Not yet. I just found him.”
A whisper of...something flitted across the back of his neck.
“C-can you do it? I don’t want to have to explain my presence here.” She pressed her hand against her heart. “I swear, he was like this when I found him. I’ll explain everything to you.”
Jake already had his phone out and was calling 911. Before he even started talking to the 911 operator, Kyra scrambled to her feet and fled from the patio and the dying man—her foster brother.
Jake gave his location to the 911 operator and dropped his phone on the ground. He bent his head, putting his face close to Dugan’s. “Don’t bail on me now, you SOB. Who hired you to plant those cards? Who was it? Give me a name.”
Dugan was fading fast and probably couldn’t even hear him. He kept trying anyway, grabbing on to Dugan’s hand. “Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand for yes.”
A breath that sounded like a death knell rattled in Dugan’s chest.
“Did the killer pay you to leave the cards?”
Dugan’s rough hand lay limply in his own.
Sirens filled the alley and vehicles screeched to a stop, but Jake kept hold of Dugan’s hand.
He tried again. “Was it The Player?”
Dugan sputtered, and he convulsively squeezed Jake’s hand.
“Drug overdose?” The EMTs swarmed onto the patio, and Jake grabbed the slats of the fence to pull himself up and out of their way.
“Looks like it.” Jake flashed his badge. “He’s an informant. We had a meeting, and... I found him like this.”
Jake stepped over the fence while the EMTs started working on Dugan. An officer from the Van Nuys division intercepted him.
“Do you know this man’s identity?”
“Matthew Dugan. He’s a parolee. Works in the shop. We had a meeting. He was going to give me some info on a case I’m working—The Copycat Player.”
“Oh, damn.” The officer shook his head. “I hope you got your information out of him before the dope kicked in.”
“I didn’t, so I’m hoping like hell those guys can save him, but it doesn’t look good. His pulse was weak.”
“They’ll do what they can.” As a small crowd of people gathered in the alley, the cop took some more information from Jake.
Jake stayed until the EMTs loaded Dugan
