the scene ASAP? Or called him if they’d been delayed?
Nick stood at the edge of the curb where the north/south alley came out onto the street and looked up and down the block. With his gun still drawn and hanging down at his side, he took note of the green neon shamrock hanging in the bar window across the street a little ways down the block.
His instincts were to go over there and see if the missing officers had decided to ignore his emergency call and have an extra cup of coffee. He didn’t know either man personally, but the only reasons a cop wouldn’t answer a call for backup was because he was a lazy dumbass, he’d been disabled or he was on the take—and Nick wasn’t comfortable with any of those options.
Nick’s breathing quieted, but his suspicions mounted with every passing second. Something about this picture was all wrong. The street was too quiet. The hour might be late, but New Year’s was a holiday that was about staying up all night and partying, especially in a trendy area like this downtown neighborhood. Yet there was not one person on the street besides him. No one waiting for a bus or cab or scraping off a windshield or darting through the shadows.
The man who’d attacked Annie was gone. And the two uniformed cops assigned to the crime scene weren’t coming back.
Nick didn’t like the answer he got from Dispatch when he called in to get the officers’ location. “Relieved of duty? What do you mean they were relieved? By whom?”
“Officer Galbreath said Officer Gobel met them at the Shamrock Bar. Gobel and an Officer Ramirez were taking over the crime scene detail.”
Nick swore. “Then put me through to Gobel and Ramirez.”
A couple of minutes passed before the Dispatch operator came back on the line. Her apology was a bad, bad sign. “I’m sorry, Detective. Apparently, Officer Gobel is out of town on vacation. I have three Ramirezes on the personnel list—do you have a first name for me to contact?”
“No, forget it.” If one cop was a fake, then he was guessing both men were impostors. He’d bet his next paycheck that one of them had come back to attack Annie while the other had waited close by to drive the getaway car. “Wait, do you have a twenty on Galbreath and Foster?”
“Yes, they’re back at Fourth Precinct HQ.”
“Good. Tell them to stay put until I call them.” He had a traumatized CSI waiting for him back in his Jeep. He’d made a promise to his partner that he’d keep an eye on Annie Hermann and the crime scene—that he’d protect the task force and the work they were doing. He’d better turn around and do just that. With one last glance at the empty street, Nick headed back into the alley. “Call in a sketch artist, too. I want them to give me a good description of what this fake Officer Gobel looked like.”
“I’ll let them know. Dispatch out.”
How had the two men gotten access to KCPD uniforms and IDs to look authentic enough to waltz into a cop bar and convince two legitimate officers to head back to HQ? How did they find out about the crime scene in the first place? Or were they after Annie? And why?
Nick wasn’t going to find his answers here. His best bet was to get a description from the real officers and then run a facial recognition check through criminal databases and hope to get a hit on some real names. All that would take time. But right now, he needed to get back to Annie.
Decision made, Nick traded his gun for a flashlight and headed south toward the east/west alley. Because his gut was telling him he wasn’t catching the perp in the black parka and ski mask tonight, he let his thoughts stray from the doorways and trash bins where he automatically checked for anyone hiding there. What was it about men in black parkas? First, Jordan Garza had put his paws all over his baby sister, and now one had assaulted Annie. Or maybe it was the New Year that had brought out all the creepies and tilted Nick’s world on its edge.
And what was the deal with Annie Hermann tonight anyway? Had he come to the crime scene with his concentration and emotions so out of whack over finding Nell making out with a gangbanger that he wasn’t thinking straight? His concerns for his family had distracted him from the role he needed to play here. KCPD detective. Task force member. Protector. Period.
The Annie he knew had always been big mouth and attitude, not shy glances and vulnerability. She was Ivy League education and absentminded professor to his working-class street smarts and willingness to take point on the front line of the action. He teased her the way he teased his sisters. He respected her skills, got frustrated with her stubbornness and argued her out-of-left-field ideas. So there was no call for noticing how perfectly her small, dexterous hands had fit between his, or how her plain brown eyes turned a deep, soulful amber when she tilted them up at him and questioned why he was so eager to touch her tonight.
Man, he should be asking himself that same question. He needed a stiff drink or a good lay or a smack on the back of the head to get this ill-timed and inappropriate awareness of the woman—of the fact Annie Hermann was a woman and not some girl playing with her chemistry set—out of his head.
Nick turned the corner and collided with the distraction herself.
“Did you find Galbreath and the other officer?” She was sharp elbows and flashing eyes and tripping over one of his feet.
“Damn it, Hermann, I told you to stay in the car.” He caught her by the arms to steady her and quickly release her, but she’d already latched on to the sleeve of his coat, denying him the clear-thinking distance he needed.
“It’s been ten minutes.”
“You’re timing me?”
“I didn’t know if something had happened to you.” Her other hand was clutching the front of his coat now. “I didn’t want to be alone. Even being with you is better than being alone right now.”
“What you don’t do for my ego.” Casting aside the humbling revelation, Nick freed the leather from her death grip to turn her back toward the Jeep. “Come on. I don’t think our perp’s coming back. Neither are Galbreath and Foster.”
He raised her fingers up to the illumination from his flashlight. She’d peeled off those sterile plastic gloves and replaced them with royal blue knit ones. But there was still blood on the fingers.
Her blood?
Nick swung the light up to her face, ignoring her squint as he brushed that wonderfully curly, dark brown hair off her forehead.
“What are you doing?” she protested, batting his hand away. “What happened to Galbreath and Foster? Are they okay?”
Nick pushed back the edge of her blue stocking cap and cursed at the weeping gash at her temple. Way to take care of people, Fensom. The thickness of the wool and Annie’s hair had probably saved her life. Answering the 9-1-1 pouring through his system, Nick mentally shifted gears. He hugged his arm around Annie’s shoulders and hurried her through the alley. “That needs stitches. I have to get you to the E.R.”
“But the officers—”
“Are gone. Some bogus cop calling himself Gobel met them at the Shamrock and sent them back to HQ.”
“Fake cops?”
Nick nodded. “I’m guessing one of them attacked you.”
“Why?”
“How
