asked, though she was certain she’d never heard his voice before.
“Nancy told me all about you and your little part in this. So glad I can clean up all of her messes in one night.”
He thought she’d discovered something about Nathan’s death, and he was going to kill her before she could act on it.
“I don’t know anything,” she said, filling her tone with as much conviction as she could, but it came out breathless and wispy.
“You think I believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
He bent low. Got in her face and laughed. Rumbling. Horrible. Sadistic. His breath was stale with cigarette smoke and mixed with cloying aftershave. For some reason, that made it all abruptly real, and she realized she was about to die.
Terror took hold. Terror beyond her wildest imagination. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest.
“No.” She bucked harder, upsetting him for a moment.
He had to grab the wall to steady himself. “Just like your friend. Fighting when you have no chance.”
He drew back and sent his fist barreling into her face. She felt her nose give. Blood poured freely down her cheek and into her mouth, tasting metallic and thick. He laughed as he wedged a small flashlight under his arm then pulled an elastic cord from his jacket.
“Nancy had no business talking with a private investigator. Your death is on her hands, not mine.” He aimed the light at her arm and secured the cord just above her elbow.
He pulled something else from his pocket and held it up. The beam from his flashlight shone through it.
A syringe!
A sob rose in her throat, wild and desperate.
“This is more fun that I thought it’d be,” he said, thumping the vein at the bend of her elbow. “Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing. You’ll just slip off to Never Never Land.”
She looked up at his blistering, angry eyes, and prayed. Prayed for Nancy, dear sweet Nancy, 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
