Читать книгу The Marine's Last Defence - Angi Morgan - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Two weeks in one bed. Sabrina could barely believe how much she looked forward to having the same pillow under her head for that long. Living out of a suitcase, shuffling from house to house or a couple of nights in a hotel room had gotten old after the fourth or fifth time. Six months later and she wasn’t any closer to discovering Griffin’s connection to whoever had ordered her death or who they’d referred to as the “higher-ups.”

She was ready to give up her search and her nomad existence. Griffin had accused her of not having a life. Well, he’d been wrong. Her life had been full of people and pets and things to care about. It was living like this that wasn’t really living. If that even made sense. A solitary life void of friends and fun. Shoot, she didn’t even have a car.

And to top it off, the first inkling of an attraction she’d had was for a cop. A detective she’d nearly given her cell number to. Yes, she’d lied to the detective about owning a cell. What if he’d actually called? What a stupid move that would have been. But he’d seemed so...so shy.

She lifted the suitcase out of the slush as she crossed the last street.

Walking through a little snow wasn’t hard for a girl born and raised in the Texas Panhandle. No, sir, a little snow and ice didn’t slow her down at all. She walked the four blocks from the coffee shop to her next pet-sitting job, pulling her handy-dandy suitcase. Barely any cars passed by. She’d taken the long way around to avoid the park just in case the detective was still nearby. From her view at the diner, it had appeared empty with the exception of one car and the local kids on their bikes.

Dallas with a layer of snow was a lot different than Amarillo in the same condition. Back home on a Saturday morning all the kids would have been on that hilltop, sliding until their fingers were frozen from grabbing the edge of their plastic or even cardboard sled. She couldn’t let herself think of home.

Thinking of the people she’d hurt by running away wouldn’t help her get home any sooner. At first, she hadn’t contacted her parents because she hadn’t wanted anyone in danger from the men working with Griffin. She soon realized being dead made getting around much easier. Law enforcement wasn’t searching for her.

Even if the police weren’t looking, it didn’t mean she could see the handsome detective. That would be thumbing her nose at the good fortune she’d had for the past six months. Sooner or later her luck would run out.

Each day she hoped her family would forgive her when she finally proved her innocence and could go home again. There were three more names to check out and then she’d have to turn herself in to the police. Or use the stolen money to hire a detective to clear her name.

She couldn’t do that. The money was evidence. If she’d used it, she could have gone anywhere, hired that dang detective months ago, slept in a nice hotel instead of those shelters the first week. Other than the three hundred dollars she’d been forced to use, over ninety thousand dollars—in very large bills—was now hidden in the liner of her toiletry bag. She’d only grabbed one bundle and hidden the rest with her uncle, who’d helped her leave Amarillo.

Sabrina peeled off her gloves and found her keys in her jacket pocket. She pushed the handle of the suitcase down. The huge monster was wearing out along the bottom faster than the first one she’d bought secondhand. Obtaining another needed to be added to her list of things to get done soon.

Think about that in two weeks. Maybe living out of a suitcase won’t be necessary then.

Stomping her wet tennis shoes on the welcome mat, she wished again she had her favorite snow boots. She tried to get as much snow off them as possible before entering Brenda Ellen’s immaculate domain and just pulled them off instead, along with her wet socks. She turned her key in the kitchen door, dropping the set into her pocket.

Backing inside, she lifted her case over the threshold, bracing for Dallas’s welcome. The big, rambunctious pup could knock her down when she caught her off guard.

No Dallas.

She whistled while shrugging out of her coat and dropping it along with her shoes on top of the suitcase. She clapped. Still no sound of nails clicking on the hardwood floors.

“Dallas,” she called. “Mrs. Richardson? Brenda Ellen?”

Had her trip been delayed again because of the snow? Dirty dishes sat on the counter and stove. Weird, because Brenda Ellen Richardson practically ate over the sink when she bothered to eat at home. The loaf of bread was open. Grease in a frying pan where eggs had been cooked. Blood near a block of cheese on the counter.

“Oh, God.”

Was that Brenda Ellen’s blood? Or had someone else made themselves at home?

Brenda Ellen didn’t eat eggs and never fried anything. Had they found her? No! No! No! Don’t panic. Maybe Brenda Ellen had forgotten to text her that the flight had been delayed. Maybe she’d had company overnight. That potential scene was embarrassing but held much less panic.

But where was Dallas? Even if she was locked out of Brenda Ellen’s bedroom, she’d be greeting any visitor at the door.

Something was wrong. Brenda Ellen was a businesswoman and wouldn’t have forgotten to cancel her dog sitter. Should she leave? Yes, turn and run this minute! Grabbing the suitcase and running down the sidewalk was the safest thing to do.

And then what? She could go...where?

If someone was here, they’d heard her come inside, heard her whistle for Dallas. They’d follow her down the street. What if they were waiting for her to search the house? What if Brenda Ellen was tied up or...or...worse?

I’m so tired of being afraid, she said to herself.

It was time to stop being afraid and confront the fear. Take action. Do something proactive and not just run. Dial 911 and then leave.

Her cell was packed. Fortunately, or it would have been in plain sight for Detective Jake Craig. Then get to the landline in the living room, and get help for Brenda Ellen, then leave. That was a plan. She’d taken self-defense classes. She could get to the phone on Brenda Ellen’s desk.

As quietly as possible, she rolled open the drawer that contained the meat mallet. The knives were tempting, but much bigger than the scalpel she’d stabbed Griffin with.

Attempting to get to Brenda Ellen’s phone was risky. But she couldn’t leave without trying, without knowing if her employer needed help. If Brenda Ellen was in trouble, it was Sabrina’s fault and she had to do whatever she could.

Mallet in hand, she knelt at the doorway, trying to see if anyone waited in the living area. Surely, if anyone were there, they would have already come to see who had whistled and clapped. There wasn’t anything to be frightened of. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop shaking or thinking about the different possibilities. Overreacting had become the new normal for her.

“There’s nothing there.” Sabrina stood and shook the tension from her arms but kept the mallet in her hands.

She rounded the corner, prepared to whack any intruder or at least throw the mallet at their head. Nothing. The pillows were out of place, the cushions were crooked and the glass top on the coffee table was shattered.

It might look like an accident had happened, but she knew Brenda Ellen. The woman had given her a five-minute lecture when she hadn’t vacuumed one morning.

She froze. Had that been wood creaking? Barely a sound from the carpeted stairs, but she recognized it. Being in the house alone with Dallas, she’d heard it many nights as the pup had gone downstairs to bark and howl. She swallowed hard, the simple silent sound reverberating in her head like a shout. She held her breath.

Was it the man from the clinic? The one who looked like he enjoyed killing? His horrible smile haunted her nightmares where she was endlessly being chased.

Whoever was behind her on the stairs knew she was in the house. She couldn’t make it across the room to the phone. She couldn’t unbolt the front door without her keys, which were in the pocket of her coat. Out the kitchen door was her only choice.

So she ran. She hated turning her back, afraid the crazy-smile guy would shoot her between the shoulders. Unlike her dreams, where she ran all night, just out of his reach.

He heard her. She could hear his heavy, fast-paced steps. The lamp from the sofa table toppled to the floor behind her as she skidded around the corner of the kitchen.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

She slid to a stop, yanked the door open as far as her suitcase allowed and jumped the two steps to the driveway.

“Hi, Bree, looking for Dallas?”

It took a couple of seconds to shove her heart from her throat to her chest again. It was just a neighborhood kid she’d met plenty of times while walking the dogs. “Get out of here, Joey.”

“It’s okay. This cop found her at the lake. I guess she got out after Mrs. Richardson left.”

“Cop? Where?” She grabbed his bike handles and pulled. “Come on, Joey. I said to get going.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, dragging his feet through the drifting snow.

The door swung open. She caught a glimpse of a barrel, a man in a mask. “Get down!”

Sabrina jerked the handle bars sideways, knocking Joey to the ground and jumping on top of him. A beige blur pulled her sweater and shoved her facedown into the snow next to the street.

“Hold it,” a deep voice boomed from above her.

“He’s...he’s in the house with a gun,” she explained, spitting the snow from her mouth.

“You okay, kid?” the voice asked. Nothing like the voice from the clinic. The tones floating to her ears were deep and rich with a natural Texas twang she recognized.

Jake Craig.

She watched Joey’s head bob up and down and then an excited gleam dart into his eyes at the thought of danger. Give it up. It ain’t anything like you think it might be, kid.

“Stay here,” the voice commanded as he ran toward the door.

They’d do no such thing.

She was getting Joey as far away from the house as possible. “Get behind that car,” she told Joey, who seemed mesmerized.

“But he said—”

“I don’t care. Get up and move.”

Faster than she thought possible, they were sitting with their backs against the tires. She expected gunfire to explode around them at any moment. The more seconds that ticked by, the easier she breathed, and the more she realized she needed to sneak away before the cop returned.

Her feet were stinging from the cold. Could she get somewhere safe without any shoes?

Scratching against glass. She heard a familiar bark and whine. Dallas.

The pup was in good hands. The cop would take care of everything. She could leave without him ever really seeing her face. She shivered from the cold, wiping melting snow from her skin. She could get another used coat when she picked up a new suitcase.

Oh, no! The money!

Whether it was her exasperated cry of utter disappointment or her slow recovery from having been scared to death, Joey responded with an awkward pat on her shoulder.

“Was there really someone inside with a gun?” the teen asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. “Was she, like, being robbed or something?”

He started to stand and she tugged him back to her side.

“How did Dallas end up with a policeman? What’s going on?”

“See, we was, like, going down to do some stunts in the empty lot and instead there was a lot of cop cars. They hauled somebody off in, like, a real body bag and everything. Then we notice this guy and he had Dallas. So I went over and asked him why.”

During the explanation, her heart ventured into another part of her body again. “Do you know who died?”

Dallas barked, pawing at the door.

“You’re Mrs. Richardson?” the detective asked, coming around the end of his car. “Is this your dog?”

“Nope, this is Bree. She’s the dog sitter,” Joey answered.

Jake had a strange look on his face. He listened intently the entire time and never took his eyes off her. Sabrina knew he was tall. He’d towered over her at the diner, but from a sitting position on the ground, he was frighteningly tall. It didn’t help that his wary approach seemed ominous. She knew he was legit and not a part of the higher-ups, but she couldn’t stop shaking.

“Can I go now?” Joey asked, touching her hand.

She hadn’t known she still held the teen’s arm. She released him and the cop came closer. He didn’t slide around on the quickly defrosting ice. But his clothes looked like he’d already taken a couple of bad spills. She’d seen them in detail at the diner.

“Thanks for the directions, kid.”

“I gotta go tell everybody what happened,” Joey said. He was down the hill and nearly around the corner by the time she turned to face Jake.

Jake? Detective Craig! The same detective who does not need your phone number, she realized. Oh, my gosh. She was even rambling nervously in her thoughts.

“Hold on a minute, sweetheart.”

“What?”

He reached past her and stuck his arm inside the car, then swung the door open and Dallas leaped out. The pup joined her, crowding her face with a cold nose. She automatically began running her fingers across the pup’s sides. While her chin was being licked, Bree shifted her gaze from the ground, connecting with the detective’s curious observation.

The images of a gun, body bags, jail... They all circled her head, making it swim. Brenda Ellen would have been walking Dallas last night. She felt desperately ill and dropped her face into the black fur.

“You didn’t catch him?” she asked.

“I didn’t find anyone, no.”

“Is she...? Is that why you were bringing Dallas home?” Oh, my gosh, she’s dead. Sabrina could tell she was right by the detective’s sympathetic sigh and awkwardness.

“I need to ask you a few questions, Miss Bowman.” He extended his hand to help her stand.

Sabrina had no choice. Because of her, Brenda Ellen had died. Perhaps she should be arrested and leave the investigating to professionals. She placed her cold fingers within his warm grip and stood. She didn’t want to go to jail. “I’m Bree.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

He kept hold of her hand, steadying her. Gone was the shyness, the awkward bit of flirtation from the diner. They stood there for several seconds until Dallas whimpered and pawed at her legs.

“Maybe we should go inside?” he asked.

“Can we? After that guy was there? I mean, don’t you need fingerprints or something? He killed Brenda Ellen.”

“Did you actually see someone?” He shoved into her hand some silver material that he’d used for a leash, then tugged her to the sidewalk, protectively pushing her a couple of feet behind a giant sycamore. She winced as the snow covered her feet.

“He pointed a gun at Joey out the door. The kitchen’s a wreck and you said someone killed her.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No.”

“But you found a body and Dallas was at the lake. There’s eggs and grease and a mess.” She wasn’t making sense and, from his curious expression, could tell he was confused.

“Did you actually see someone in the house?”

“Yes. He chased me outside and was going to shoot us, but then you got here.”

“What makes you think that? What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. He had a mask and a gun. I saw the gun.” Her hands shook. She hadn’t been this frightened since stabbing Griffin with a scalpel. “She never, ever eats fried food.”

“Ma’am, I’m having a hard time following. You aren’t making much sense. I didn’t find anyone inside, but I can check it out if you want to wait in the car.”

* * *

“HE KILLED HER, didn’t he?”

Bree Bowman was losing it and sort of melted onto the sidewalk along with the snow from the night before. He didn’t believe she’d actually fainted but it was close. Jake did the only thing he knew how to do...

He grabbed the leash and lifted Bree. She was a tiny thing, fitting easily into his arms. She was crying hard, and was half-frozen from being outside without a coat or shoes. Her tiny feet were a bluish color, waving in the air. His only option was the house. Crime scene or not.

The door banged half open again. He took a second to look this time at what it hit. He recognized the suitcase from the diner—so she was a house sitter, not only a dog walker. The bottom of the case was still wet, so she hadn’t been there long. She clung to the dog leash and Dallas pulled them a couple of steps forward. Jake whacked his hip on a drawer.

“I’m so sorry. I needed the meat mallet in case someone attacked.”

“Drop the leash, Bree.”

“I can’t.” She locked her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer. “She’ll run through the house, maybe destroy evidence. She’s certain to get into things and someone was here. They chased me.”

“I’ve got it. You can let go.” She searched his eyes and then let go as instructed.

When he set her on her feet, he kept an arm around her waist to steady her. Dallas continued to tug and beg to be free.

“What makes you think your boss didn’t just have an overnight guest who didn’t clean up after himself and maybe thought you were the intruder?”

“Brenda Ellen was scheduled to leave for Seattle yesterday. Her flight was canceled and she was rescheduled for eleven o’clock this morning,” Bree whispered. “She wouldn’t have left anything out of place. She never does.”

Jake searched the kitchen. It was immaculate compared to his apartment. “Look, even if someone was here earlier, they’re gone now.”

“How do you know they aren’t hiding? Where’d they go? All the doors are still closed. What if someone was with the man with the gun?”

“I checked out the perimeter and backyard.” He needed to follow procedure and begin from the beginning. But instead, he broke protocol and placed his hands on Bree’s shoulders, trying to reassure her it would be okay.

Great, he hadn’t even called the location into his partner or captain yet. If someone had been there, they were long gone. He had little hope of a BOLO. Bree inhaled and opened her mouth to speak again. He covered her parted lips with a finger. Her warm breath escaped, but she didn’t utter a sound.

“I’m going to call for backup. You’re going to stay here with Dallas. Try to keep her quiet. Nod if you understand?”

She barely moved. He wanted to dab her wet lashes and give her a long hug. Why? Maybe it was the sympathy he felt for the dog spilling over to this petite, caring woman. Or the way she’d giggled at him in the diner. He didn’t know and squashed the urge.

“One thing first. What did Brenda Ellen Richardson look like?”

“Dark brown hair, about my length, slender, average height.”

“What color were her eyes?”

“Were? She’s...then she is who you found at the lake. They’re brown.”

She described his murder victim. With his luck, he’d be destroying more evidence by searching the house, but he needed to secure it. He pulled his cell from its belt holster. “Wait here.”

Jake called for backup and moved methodically through the rest of the house. Once he was in the front room, he saw a picture of his murder victim, laughing with an older couple. Most likely her parents. And then another of her with a golden retriever. He called his partner, giving him the name and address, and hung up before the old goat could gripe at him for being inside the house.

The furniture was nice, no dust on the shelves, a variety of books in the hallway case. From his point of view, barely anything was out of place. Breakfast dishes, a drop of blood from slicing cheese and a cracked coffee table that could have happened when the dog ran through the house. It didn’t look like there’d been an intruder.

But he entered each room as if an AK-47 was on the opposite side of the door. He couldn’t help it. Old habits were hard to break. His last partner had laughed a couple of times, but it had quickly become a routine for them. Better safe than sorry.

A dress was lying on the bedspread—could have been worn Friday or laid out for today, he couldn’t tell. Two nice suitcases sat in the corner by the master bath, giving credence to Bree’s story.

The house was clear. His backup should be here in a few minutes. Time to get some information from his witness and get himself back on this case. He headed downstairs and Dallas greeted him halfway up. “So you got loose. Overanxious?”

He hooked his hand in the leash and spent a couple of minutes coaxing the pup to go with him.

“I need to ask you a couple of questions now.” He entered the kitchen, but his witness was no longer there. Gone, along with the coat and suitcase.

He’d fallen for her act, hook, line and sinker.