Christmas Cover-Up. Lynette Eason
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A woman stumbled from the three-car wreck, holding her bleeding head. “He stole my car!” Katie bolted over. She gripped the young woman by her upper arms and led her away from the vehicles. “He had a gun and he hit me with it.”
The woman’s tears flowed while Jordan called back to let them know the vehicle was stolen. “I need CSU here, too.”
Kate settled the distraught woman on the curb. She looked to be in her early twenties. Petite and soft. Defenseless. An easy target. “What’s your name?” Katie asked.
“Miranda.”
“Did you get a good look at him, Miranda?”
“No. He came from behind and pulled me out. I never saw his face. But he had a rifle strapped to his back and a pistol in his right hand. I saw those real clear.”
“Stay here.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. Jordan left Katie with Miranda and went to see who else needed help. He asked a young woman with a toddler strapped into a car seat in the back of her minivan, “Are you all right? Your child?”
Oh, Lord, please, not a child.
But the woman nodded as she unbuckled the crying little one, her scared, pinched features doubling his determination to catch the person who’d caused this.
An older gentleman in a gray Taurus held his neck. Jordan jogged over to him. “Sir? Don’t move, help’s on the way.”
“I’m all right. Did you see that idiot? Pulled right out of the parking lot and wrecked his car, then stole another one.”
“You saw him?”
“Clear as day.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bobby Young.”
“We’ll get you checked out and then I’ll need to get a statement from you, all right? We’ll want you to meet with a sketch artist, too.”
“Sure, sure. Whatever I can do to help catch that maniac.”
Four police cruisers pulled into the area, blue lights flashing. Two officers made their way to him, and Jordan flashed his badge then gave them a rundown on what he’d done.
“We’ll take it from here. Thanks.”
Three ambulances arrived, and the paramedics got to work.
Jordan found Katie taking statements and keeping people clear of the wreck. She glanced at him. “CSU on the way?”
“Yes, along with everyone else.”
Three fire trucks screamed onto the scene. Katie nodded. “Good.”
Jordan knew he might be overstepping his bounds. Technically, while he was employed with the FBI, the FBI didn’t handle car wrecks or local shootings, but he figured since one of those bullets came mighty close to having his name on it, he’d just work as though he belonged there. At least until someone told him otherwise.
Katie grabbed his arm to get his attention in all the chaos. She held up her phone. “Just got a call. He got away. They can’t find any sign of him anywhere.”
Jordan nodded. He wasn’t surprised.
The crime scene unit van pulled into the diner parking lot. Jordan followed Katie and waited as the vehicle parked on the edge of the lot.
* * *
Katie watched Faith Nelson climb from the van. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“What happened?”
Katie filled her in as the woman grabbed her gear from the back of the van. To help process the scene, Faith had brought three of her team. Two headed for the diner; Faith and her other coworker started in the parking lot. “Where was he parked?”
“I’m not sure.” She pointed to the street where Jordan directed traffic around the crunched vehicles. “But he ended up in that wreck before he stole another car that wasn’t involved in the accident.”
Faith delegated assignments to her team and headed over to the shooter’s vehicle. Katie followed. Jordan tucked his phone in his pocket and looked at her. “The car’s stolen.”
“Naturally.”
Faith shrugged. “I’ll do the best I can do here. Will be able to do more once we get it to the lab.” She glanced at Katie. “I’ll have Mariah work on it.”
Katie nodded. “Thanks.”
The crime scene photographer had his work cut out for him between the wreck and the diner. She noticed he had someone with him to help. For the next two hours, Katie worked the scene and listened as Jordan offered his opinion and expertise. He kept a low profile and didn’t try to take over, although he might have wanted to. That bullet had come awfully close to his head. If she hadn’t dropped her napkin—
“You ready to get out of here?”
Jordan’s low voice cut into her thoughts.
“I’m ready.”
Katie looked back at where the wreck had been. Broken bits of glass that had escaped the sweep-up were the only sign of the chaos from just a few hours earlier. The diner was another matter—crime scene tape and broken windows were evidence of the reality of what had happened.
She climbed into Jordan’s truck and put on her seat belt. He said, “The car that the shooter was driving was the one that slowed down right before we went in the diner.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure. Same color, make and model. A red Toyota Camry.”
“So you think he followed us, let us go in and then came back to shoot the place up?”
“Yes.”
She mentally chewed on that for a minute. “If you hadn’t ducked, that bullet would have hit you in the back of the head.”
He grimaced and reached up to rub the back of his neck, as though he needed reassurance it was still in one piece. “We’re making someone uncomfortable. Someone who knows we’re investigating your sister’s kidnapping.”
For the first time in a long time, hope sprouted. “If we’re making someone uncomfortable in regards to Lucy’s kidnapping, we must be onto something.”
“I think that diner was a huge clue.”
“So why wasn’t it in the report?”
“That’s a question for Detective Miller.” He gave her a grim smile. “Plus we have an eyewitness. Bobby Young said he saw the man clear as day.”
“Is he on his way to the precinct to work with the sketch artist?”
“He is.”
Katie pulled out her phone and dialed the number she hadn’t used in a year. He answered on the third ring. “Miller here.”
“Hi, Frank. It’s Katie Randall.” Silence greeted her. “Lucy Randall’s sister.”
“I know who you are. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you’d have some time to discuss my sister’s case with me.”
He grunted. “You’re back on that, are you?”
She didn’t let his gruffness deter her. “I am.”
“You working with that guy from Finding the Lost?”
“Yes.”
He huffed a sigh. “All right. Sure. I don’t know what else you think I can tell you that I didn’t tell him, but how about four o’clock tomorrow afternoon here at the station?”
“I’ll be there.”