Chapter 8
The show was a hit.
How could it not be?
The crowd erupted with applause, and Giovanni took a bow, surrounded by a bevy of beauties.
Now it was time for the after-party at Bloom.
The models slipped backstage to get changed, and the crowd drifted toward the exits.
We waited for Cinnamon and Ginger. They looked as good in their slinky black cocktail dresses as they did in lingerie. We escorted them outside, and we were met by a mob of screaming fans and flashing paparazzi.
A sea of limousines lined up to collect models, celebrities, and billionaires. A few uniformed deputies were on duty, and all the models had private security.
Ava Lang emerged with Sebastian. The cameras and crowd swarmed them. A barrage of camera flashes erupted. Reporters shouted questions.
“How do you feel about the show?”
“Do you think this promotes unrealistic beauty standards?”
“When are you two getting married?”
Their security staff hustled them through the crowd and down the red carpet toward a waiting white stretch limousine.
From beyond the velvet rope, a figure squeezed through the bodies, hurdled the barrier, and tossed a cup full of liquid into Ava’s face.
She screeched in agony, clutching her money maker, doubling over.
Was it hot coffee, scalding water, or something worse?
The assailant had already ducked back into the crowd before Ava’s bodyguards could react.
I took off, chasing after the guy as he barreled through the crowd.
Dressed in all black with skinny jeans and sneakers, he wore a baseball cap, dark sunglasses, and a black N95 mask.
“Coconut County!” I shouted, holding my badge high as I plowed through the crowd.
My chest pumped, and my legs drove me forward. Adrenaline surged.
People looked on, stunned, not sure what had happened.
Cameras closed in around Ava to film the tragedy. When she pulled her hands away from her face, her skin was already sizzling. She screamed, "I can't see!"
Jack had called 911.
The perp had thrown some kind of acid in Ava's face. She needed something with a high pH to neutralize it. Alkaline water. Baking soda mixed with water. Something. Anything. The longer it remained on her skin and in her eyes, the more damage it would do.
The perp hit the sidewalk and sprinted as fast as he could. He was quick. I had to give him that.
I chased after him, sucking in breaths of air.
The punk glanced over his shoulder as he rounded the next corner.
I cautiously made the bend and spotted him as he darted into the street.
Cars screeched, and horns honked.
Obscenities were shouted.
The punk made it to the other side, unscathed.
With my badge held high, I dashed into the street and tried to avoid getting splattered as I continued my pursuit.
By the time I got across, the perp had ducked into an alley.
I followed, and he ran down the narrow passage, moving past parked cars and trash bins that backed up to an apartment complex.
At the end of the alleyway, he took another right.
In a suit and dress shoes, I didn't have as much traction as I would have liked.
I rounded the corner and chased after him.
He glanced over his shoulder again. There was still a good distance between us. I hadn't been able to gain much ground. Like I said, he was fast.
An old woman clicked her key fob and was about to climb into her car that was parked on the street.
The punk ran up to her, pushed her to the ground, snatched her keys, and climbed behind the wheel.
By the time I got to him, he had closed the door and started the car up. I drew my pistol from the holster in my waistband and took aim.
The punk stomped the gas. The tires barked, and the engine howled as he sped away.
I could have put a few bullets into him, but thought better of it.
I holstered my weapon and addressed the woman. "Are you okay?”
I knelt down beside her, looking her over for injuries. Her elbows were scuffed and bleeding.
She looked a little flustered. "I don't know. My hand hurts. I tried to brace my fall. I think my wrist is broken.”
It had already started to swell.
I called 911 and had them send an ambulance to the scene. I told the woman help was on the way.
“What about my car? Do you think I’ll get it back?”
“Most likely he’ll ditch it a few blocks from here.“
I called the sheriff, gave him the make and model, along with the plate number, and told him to put a BOLO out on the suspect. Tango One would be in the air in a matter of minutes. It was hard to escape the helicopter. If the perp had any sense at all, he’d dump the car quickly.
I waited with her until the ambulance arrived. EMTs and paramedics treated her. They transferred her to a gurney and loaded her into the back of the ambulance. They advised her to get a full evaluation and an X-ray on the wrist. She didn’t put up a fight.
They took her to the hospital, lights flashing, and I made my way back to the Pavilion.
Ava had been taken to the hospital, and the stunned crowd still lingered.
Several media outlets had captured the attack. I handed out cards and asked them to text me download links to footage once they had it all processed. I didn’t think there would be anything identifiable in the videos, but it was worth a shot.
I talked to Paris for a bit, then we escorted the girls into the limousine and headed to the hospital to check on Ava and talk to her boyfriend.
Jack told the limousine driver to take Cinnamon and Ginger wherever they wanted to go, which was to the after-party.
He'd come back and pick us up after we were done at the hospital.
We stepped inside the bustling emergency room.
It was packed with the walking wounded. Sickly fluorescent lights painted the denizens in the pale glow.
A flatscreen on the wall was tuned to a 24-hour news channel.
There were guys with broken bones, sniffling and sneezing kids, and old folks on oxygen.
The serious cases got treated first. They paid attention to you if you came in with a gunshot wound, chest pain, or suffered an acid attack.
I flashed my badge to the receptionist at the desk and asked about Ava Lang. "I need to talk to her and her boyfriend as soon as possible. It’s part of an ongoing investigation."