Identity Unknown. Terri Reed
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Harrison’s desk. His light brown hair was shorn short, which emphasized the hard lines of his jaw. “Hey, Mike, any idea where the sheriff is?”
“Home, I’d imagine,” the thirtysomething deputy replied without glancing up.
She corralled her irritation. He was one of those who weren’t comfortable having a female on duty. Earning his respect would be nearly as difficult as that of her great-uncle. Infusing goodwill into her voice—it was Christmastime, after all—she said, “If you see him, would you mind letting him know I’m heading to the medical center to check on our John Doe?”
Mike lifted his gray eyes to her. “Why? The guy’s still unconscious. And Gregson’s there.”
She couldn’t explain her driving need to go to the medical center or the need to make sure the man from the beach was safe. So she settled for something the other deputy would understand. “It’s my case.”
She hurried from the sheriff’s station, acknowledging to herself she easily could have called her mom, the primary doctor who was tending to the man they’d rescued on the beach, for an update. But she wanted to see for herself.
Night had fallen several hours ago, and now the world was bathed in the soft glow from the moon and the streetlamps decorated with twinkling lights. A large Christmas tree in the middle of the town park rose high in the air and shimmered with a thousand tiny lights and a brightly lit star.
Normally she enjoyed seeing the tree and the town in the throes of the holiday season, but tonight edginess had her hands gripping the steering wheel in nervous anticipation as she drove.
The news media had picked up the story, reporting an unconscious John Doe found on the beach. The sheriff hadn’t released the man’s photo. Yet. If the man didn’t regain consciousness soon, they’d have to reach out to the public in hopes of identifying the stranger.
No doubt reporters from the bigger towns would descend on Calico Bay and the medical center, making the sheriff’s department’s job harder. With more strangers in town, finding the masked man would be more difficult. She’d already made calls to all the gas stations, restaurants and grocery stores, asking everyone to keep an eye out for an outsider. In winter, visitors were an oddity in the close-knit community.
Audrey’s gaze searched the streets for any sign of trouble, namely in the form of a masked man in black with a large gun. It bugged her no end that the bandit in the SUV had disappeared. The sheriff had chased the offending vehicle for several miles before the creep threw out a handful of spikes that had punctured the sheriff’s tires, allowing the suspect to escape. That wasn’t an amateur move. Given how the victim and the assailant were dressed, Audrey had a suspicion there was some paramilitary-type thing going on here. Not a comforting thought.
She parked at the side entrance next to her mom’s sedan and went inside the brick building, pausing at the nurses’ station to ask for her mom.
“Dr. Martin is with a patient at the moment,” Katie, the nurse on duty, informed her. Katie shoved her red hair off her shoulder and leaned close. “So was there really a shootout this morning on the beach?”
Resting her hands on the utility belt at her waist, Audrey towered over the other woman. “Yes. No one was hit, thankfully. Where’s the man who was brought in this morning?”
“Second floor. Deputy Gregson’s on duty.”
“Thanks.” Audrey bypassed the elevator and took the stairs, preferring to move at her own rapid pace rather than waiting. When she emerged from the stairwell, she halted. Deputy Gregson wasn’t at his post.
A bad feeling tightened the muscles of her neck. He should’ve been sitting outside one of the rooms, but the chair at the other end of the hall was empty. A magazine lay on the floor nearby. She unlatched the strap on her holster and gripped the butt of the Glock as she moved with caution toward the last room.
She passed the nurses’ desk. The older woman manning the station glanced up from the report she was studying. “Evening, Deputy.”
“Where’s Deputy Gregson?”
The nurse popped up from her chair and frowned. “Well, he was sitting right over there last I checked, but I’ve been busy so I haven’t paid much attention.” She sat back down with a shrug. “Maybe he’s using the restroom.”
“Maybe.” Though the itch at the back of Audrey’s neck was saying no. Something was wrong. She paused outside John Doe’s door, withdrew her weapon, took a calming breath and then pushed the door open.
* * *
Lying in the hospital bed, the man blinked at the dark figure towering over him.
The stranger grabbed a pillow, his intent clear as he held the white fluff in both hands and brought it toward the man’s face, clearly meaning to smother him. Why would he choose that method of elimination? The answer came with lightning speed. Suffocating him was soundless, providing the goon more opportunity to get away cleanly.
Fear, stark and vivid, flooded his system, short-circuiting his brain in a shower of pain. The patient in the bed lifted his arms to ward off the attack, but his limbs felt heavy. His body responded sluggishly, as if he were fighting to move through mud.
There was no way he could defend himself.
He was about to die. He didn’t know why.
His mind reeled. The world receded. His limbs flopped back to the bed at his sides, and darkness claimed him once again.
* * *
Several things registered at once for Audrey as she stepped into John Doe’s room. Deputy Gregson’s prone body just inside the doorway. Blood from a gash on his head.
The same tall, muscular man dressed in dark clothing, with sand still clinging to his boots, stood holding a pillow in his hands, about to suffocate the unconscious man lying in the bed, hooked to a heart monitor and an IV.
“Stop, police!” she shouted.
The intruder spun to face her. The fury in his dark brown eyes, the only thing visible between his black beanie and the black neoprene half mask, was unmistakable when his gaze locked with hers. “You! Not again!” His voice was deep, gruff, muffled by the mask. “Stop interfering.”
“Drop the pillow. Put your hands in the air,” she commanded, bracing her feet apart in case she had to fire.
He threw the pillow, hitting her in the face and blocking her view for a split second, just enough for the man to use his shoulder to slam into her like a battering ram and knock her off her feet.
“Hey!” She landed on her backside with a jarring thud, her weapon hitting the tile floor and skidding away. The man jumped over her. She grabbed his ankle and hung on, tripping him. He went down, landing on his knees and hands with a grunt. He kicked her with his free foot, his heel smashing into her shoulder.
She ignored the blast of pain and scrambled for a better hold, but he twisted and jerked out of her grasp to race out of the room. She jumped to her feet, grabbed her gun from the floor and dashed after him. He disappeared down the stairwell.
“Call nine-one-one,” Audrey shouted to the startled nurse as she raced passed the desk. “Check on Gregson and the patient.”
Using caution, Audrey opened the stairwell door and peered inside. She heard the man’s pounding footfalls going downstairs. She chased after him, leaping down the last few steps and careening out of the stairwell onto the first floor. Up ahead, the man slammed into an orderly, knocking him sideways, then the assailant hit the exit. Audrey ran outside but lost sight of him.
Not far away an engine turned over, and then tires screeched on the pavement.
Heart pumping with adrenaline, she rushed back inside and up to the second floor. She checked on Gregson, who now was sitting up. A nurse tended to the wound on his head.
“What happened?” Audrey asked the dazed officer.