Witness on the Run. Hope White
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Swiping her card, she ducked into the break room, flipped the lights off and crouched low to keep out of sight. She’d hide in here and call the police. Her phone, where was it?
The door beeped, and her heart jumped into her throat. The shooter had a passkey? She dropped to the floor, crawling through the darkened break room away from the killer.
Killer. She’d just seen a man murdered. In cold blood.
“No use running,” a male voice called out.
Robin took a slow deep breath and continued her crawl toward the exit. Think! Pull the fire alarm. That would bring help. But they wouldn’t show up fast enough to save Robin from this monster.
“I like the dark, too,” he taunted.
In the window’s reflection she spied the guy pointing his gun under tables, ready to pop off another round.
Into her.
She whipped open the door at the other end of the room, lunged into the hallway and pulled the fire alarm. Water sprayed from the ceiling as she scrambled to the stairs and hurled herself toward the ground level.
Pfft!
A bullet ricocheted off the wall mere inches from her head. Focus, girl!
“Get back here!” the man called. “A witness is on her way down. North stairs,” he said in a calm voice. “Take her out.”
Hoping to throw him off, Robin flew down three flights, whipped open the door and raced to the south stairwell. She couldn’t die tonight. There were a thousand people depending on her to run the cancer walk Sunday.
Strange, the odd things that rush through your brain when you’re being chased by a killer.
She practically tumbled down the last two flights of stairs to the street level and threw open the door. Now that she was outside, she couldn’t get to her car in the basement garage.
“Hey!” a tall, broad-shouldered man called, crossing the street.
“Take her out,” the killer had ordered.
She spun around and sprinted in the opposite direction, braced for the bullet that would surely hit her square in the back.
But he didn’t shoot her. She sensed he chased her, but she was fast, fueled by adrenaline.
For Kyle, Robin had said, as she’d placed her medal on her brother’s trophy. His one trophy. He hadn’t had time to win more.
“Stop!” the man called out.
Closer. He sounded too close.
She glanced over her shoulder—
A car horn snapped her attention to an SUV careening toward her, brakes screeching. Before she could react, it hit her, slamming her to the pavement and knocking the wind out of her lungs. As she struggled to breathe, all she could think about was how disappointed Mom would be. After all, it was Robin’s job to make her parents doubly proud in order to ease the pain of losing a child.
Robin glanced up at the dark sky, hoping her brother would be the one to take her to heaven. Suddenly, her view was blocked by a man’s blue-green, intense eyes.
“Don’t move,” he said. “Everything will be okay.”
She closed her eyes, and a tear trailed down her cheek. I’m coming, Kyle, I’m coming.
Jake Walters paced the emergency room like a man waiting on the birth of his first child—only the woman he worried about was a complete stranger.
He couldn’t shake the terrified look he’d seen in her eyes.
Or the look of surrender before she’d closed them.
He’d thought for sure she was dead, killed running away from him and into the path of a moving vehicle.
But he’d meant her no harm. He’d been on a stakeout for his cop buddy Ethan Beck when he’d seen the petite woman flee the building as if she’d just seen a ghost.
Or a murder.
Minutes after the ambulance arrived at the scene, Ethan, a detective with the Seattle P.D., had called Jake to let him know a report of shots fired at the Chambers Building had been called in by a cleaning crew, and Ethan was on his way with backup.
Jake had told Ethan about the woman fleeing the building, and Ethan had asked Jake to stay with her until the ambulance arrived. Yeah, like anything could have ripped Jake away from the woman’s side? He’d felt responsible for her condition.
Now, an hour later at the hospital, Jake paced the E.R. waiting area and fisted his hand. The brunette was a stranger, and Jake had no legitimate reason to be here, but he’d stay close until he knew she was okay.
He leaned against the wall next to the E.R. doors and waited. He’d done his share of waiting with Mom as she’d fought the cancer that had taken her life.
Waiting drove him nuts.
“Jake?” Ethan said, walking toward him. Two of his men trailed close behind. “Hey, man, thanks for hanging around.”
They shook hands. Ethan and Jake had grown up together, fought off bullies in their Seattle neighborhood together, and joined the army together. Although they’d been split up in Iraq, they’d reconnected after they’d shipped home and had ended up in similar fields: Ethan, a detective for the Seattle P.D., and Jake, a Homeland Security agent, recently turned private investigator.
“How is she?” Ethan asked.
“They’re not telling me anything. I’m not family.”
Realization colored Ethan’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to hang around a hospital. Go on. Take off.”
“I’d rather stay, thanks. I feel responsible for this woman.”
“Yeah?”
“She was running from me when she got hit.”
Ethan eyed him. “Was she running from you or someone else?”
“She tore out of the building like it was on fire.”
“I’ll bet she witnessed it,” Ethan said, his voice low. “Detective Cole Edwards was shot and killed tonight.”
“Man, I’m sorry.”
“Did she say anything, give you any indication she saw what happened?” Ethan pressed.
“She whispered a name—Kyle, I think—then fell unconscious.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Ethan slapped Jake’s shoulder. “I’ll take it from here.”
“I don’t think she’s in any shape to talk to you.”
“Oh, she’ll talk.”
Ethan nodded to his men to stay in the hall and pushed open the E.R. door.
“E,” Jake called after him, but Ethan had disappeared. Jake didn’t like that Ethan might plan to pressure a fragile woman.
Robin Strand. Jake had looked at her ID in her wallet so he’d be able to give the hospital a name to go with that adorable face. There, he’d admitted it. The woman was adorable with her round face and subtle freckles dotting her nose. He glanced at the E.R. door. He hoped Ethan was being gentle with her, but considering a cop had been murdered, Jake wouldn’t be surprised if Ethan had a hard time being sensitive to her condition.
“You’re Beck’s army buddy?” asked a tall cop with a crew cut. He had a scar running across his right eyebrow.
“Actually, we’ve been friends since grade school.”
“Long time.”
“Yep.”
“I’m Detective Henry Monroe.” They