Dead Wrong. Susan Sleeman
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but mostly, mostly she prayed he wouldn’t succeed in killing her, too.
* * *
Detective Mitch Elliot searched the hazy street of the older Portland neighborhood for the correct address. This was not what he wanted to do tonight. Not after a day of dead ends in his latest homicide investigation. He should be home tossing a thick steak on his new gas grill. He could already taste the tenderness of the aged beef that he’d enjoy while listening to cheers of the Trailblazers game. A perfect way to improve a hideous day.
Yet here he was. Chasing down Kat Justice’s wild voice mail.
She didn’t even want him here. She’d called his partner, Tommy. But Tommy had an appointment and they were expecting a call on a case. So he’d forwarded his phone to Mitch. Now he had no way to reach Tommy and it was up to him to check out Kat’s claim that her friend was in danger.
He located the house and killed his lights. No sense in alerting anyone to his presence. He pulled to the curb several houses down and got out to assess the situation. An SUV sat in the driveway. Kat’s? Maybe. Or it could belong to the homeowner. Kat had said the front door was open when she’d arrived, but now it was closed and the house was dark. It had taken him ten minutes to get here so maybe she’d already come and gone.
Easing closer, he listened. Nothing but crickets chirping from the postage stamp of a yard. He couldn’t go rogue and bust in. He wasn’t a private investigator working for the family agency like Kat, but a sworn officer with protocols to follow.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled to Kat’s number. Dialing, he listened at a window. The phone chimed from inside the house.
She was here. It kept ringing.
C’mon, Kat. Pick up.
No answer. Rolling to voice mail. He dialed again. Same response.
Shoot. This was not how he’d planned to spend his night off. He lifted his gun and turned the doorknob. Unlocked. Not good.
“Help!” He heard a woman’s voice. Maybe Kat’s but it was so high and desperate he wasn’t sure. It was enough, though. A cry of distress gave him the right to enter.
He burst inside. “Police.”
The sound of a scuffle to the left took him in that direction. Gun outstretched with flashlight underneath, he turned the corner and directed the beam ahead. A masked man bolted out of the room. Kat shifted on the floor, her arms bound behind her back. Her nose was swollen and bleeding and a woman’s lifeless body lay nearby.
Mitch wanted to rush ahead and check her out, but he stayed in defensive mode and eased slowly forward, noting a syringe on the floor. “Are you okay, Kat?”
“I’m fine,” she said between deep breaths. “Go after him.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. He killed Nancy. Don’t let him get away with it. Go!”
He didn’t wait for more encouragement but leaped over both of them and charged out the back door. Adrenaline flowing, he cautiously moved to the corner of the house and saw the killer jumping into an older model van. Revving the powerful engine, he raced away.
As Mitch ran for his car, he caught a glimpse of the license plate too coated in mud to identify. Still, he noted it was a white, full-size van with a large black circle painted on the hood with red printing. Some sort of logo, but the rain and fog obscured a clear view of the words.
Hitting his lights and siren, he squealed onto the road. He radioed in his pursuit, reported the murder, then turned his full attention to avoiding an accident. They flew down tree-lined streets, houses blurring by until they careened onto a main thoroughfare, narrowly avoiding a collision. Soon the wail of other sirens on the way to help mixed with his. Good. The more officers coming to the party the less likely their suspect would get away.
They headed toward a train crossing with red lights already flashing and a thick wooden gate lowering.
“Gotcha,” Mitch said as he mentally prepared to apprehend the killer.
But the van sped up and crashed through the gate, sending debris flying. He whooshed across the track inches ahead of a train.
Mitch slammed on his brakes, his car fishtailing to a stop seconds before the rumbling train thundered across the tracks. Slamming his fist on the wheel, he radioed the killer’s location. He was out of the chase now. When the train cleared, the killer would be long gone. Mitch could only hope one of the officers on the other side of the tracks would catch him.
Adrenaline ebbing, he backed up and retraced his route to the house at a more sedate speed. No need to race back and risk an accident. He’d been gone long enough for paramedics and patrol officers to have freed Kat from the restraints and tended to her injuries. Now he’d have to take her statement.
If she was willing to talk to him—and that was a big if.
Seven years had passed since she’d declared her rookie crush on him. Though he’d tried to let her down easy by telling her about his policy not to date coworkers, she hadn’t taken the rejection well. Well, hah! She’d taken it badly. Very badly. They’d been able to work in the same department, but man, it was tense every time they’d run into each other before she left the force.
Not knowing what to expect from her, he turned onto the street and spotted Tommy’s car parked near two cruisers and an ambulance, their lights swirling into the fog. Good, this was better than Mitch had hoped. Tommy would take Kat’s statement while Mitch worked the other aspects of the investigation.
Tommy jogged down the front steps as Mitch parked.
“Glad to see you’re here already,” he said, climbing from his car. “How’d you hear about it?”
“I’d barely gotten out of my appointment and stopped my phone from forwarding when a uniform called to tell me what had happened.” Tommy looked at Mitch’s empty backseat. “I see you didn’t apprehend the suspect.”
“A train got in my way, but uniforms are still in pursuit.”
Tommy mumbled something under his breath and tipped his head at Kat who sat on the front porch with a medic ministering to her. “Kat’s friend didn’t make it, and she’s really freaked out.”
“Any idea what’s going on here?”
“It has to do with a case she’s working on, but I couldn’t get the details out of her.”
Odd. Tommy could make even the most noncompliant suspect confess, so why couldn’t he get the woman who’d sat next to him in a patrol car for five years to tell him what was happening? Maybe Kat had completely collapsed—although that would be another oddity, as she was one of the strongest women he’d ever met.
“She too upset to talk?”
“Nah, it’s me. I kinda blew up at her.” No surprise, there. Tommy’s Irish temper often got in the way. “When I saw what the creep did to her, I lectured her about going in without backup.”
“You didn’t.”
“I know. I know.” He held up his hands. “We both would’ve done the same thing, and I had no business yelling at her.” They were taught to protect life at all costs and sometimes that meant risking your own. “But man, he could’ve killed her. And I—” He shrugged.
“You lost it.”
“Yeah, and now she’s upset with me on top of everything else. So can you talk to her? You know, help her deal?”
Not at all what Mitch expected him to say, not with his history with Kat.
“Can’t you call her family to help?”
“Trust me. The last thing Kat would want is for me to call them. She’s too independent for that.”
Mitch knew Tommy was right, but that still didn’t