Читать книгу Battle Tested - Janie Crouch - Страница 12

Chapter Five

Steve caught the first flight he could get to Pensacola. Sadness and guilt weighed on him the entire time.

The prints on the glass in his office—immediately fished out of the trash—were being run right now. If Rosalyn was in any law enforcement system, Steve would have the full results by the time he met with the Pensacola police.

Damn it, he should have run them earlier. Should’ve gotten her information and gone after Rosalyn himself. Okay, maybe she might have had to do a short stint in prison for theft, but at least she would be alive.

Steve had known something was wrong, known Rosalyn was in serious trouble, but he hadn’t been able to look past his wounded pride to see she got the help she needed.

And now it was too late.

He got the information about the prints via email as he was getting off the plane in Pensacola.

Rosalyn Mellinger.

Twenty-four years old from Mobile, Alabama.

Her prints actually weren’t in any of the law enforcement databases; that’s why the Pensacola PD hadn’t been able to identify her. Cynthia had been able to identify Rosalyn from something to do with her juvenile record. She couldn’t access the full record but had been able to link the print from the glass to the record.

Steve drove straight to the police department, which also housed the coroner’s office. It was midafternoon but Steve was determined to identify Rosalyn’s body today. Somehow he couldn’t stand the thought of her sitting another night unidentified in the morgue.

The Pensacola county sheriff and the coroner were both waiting for Steve when he walked in.

“Agent Drackett.” The sheriff, a portly man in his fifties, extended his hand for shaking. “Is agent the right title? I’m Sheriff Harvey Palmer.”

“Just call me Steve.” He shook the man’s hand.

“This is Dwayne Prase, our county coroner.” Steve shook his hand too.

They began walking down the hallway to the morgue.

“We really appreciate you coming all the way from Colorado,” Sheriff Palmer said. “I have to be honest—I didn’t expect your call.”

“I don’t know the victim in any official capacity. I met her when I was on vacation here six months ago. We spent a few days together. I recognized her immediately when the Jane Doe picture came across my desk.”

“I see.” The sheriff nodded and thankfully didn’t ask why Steve would be getting police reports from Pensacola. “No one here has missed her at all. No missing-persons report or anyone asking about her. Her prints didn’t show up in any of our computers.”

Steve nodded. If he hadn’t had access to the Omega databases, he wouldn’t have known anything about Rosalyn either.

“She was definitely murdered?”

Palmer nodded. “Yes, strangled. In her car in a parking lot.”

“She’d been dead for hours before anyone found her,” the coroner chimed in. “And has been here unidentified for nearly thirty-six hours.”

Steve brought his fingers up to the bridge of his nose. There was so much he wished he’d done differently.

They reached the cold chamber of the morgue, where the body was being kept to reduce decomposition. Steve entered with the two men and saw the body was already on the table ready to be identified.

Prase pulled the sheet slowly off the body’s face.

Steve hadn’t realized how much he’d been praying there had been some type of mistake, that it wasn’t really Rosalyn, but looking at her now, he couldn’t deny it.

“That’s her. That’s Rosalyn Mellinger.”

* * *

STEVE SPENT THE next couple of hours with Sheriff Palmer, filling out some paperwork. He’d asked the sheriff if his men would mind if Steve stuck around for a couple of days and helped in any way he could with the investigation. Thankfully, Palmer hadn’t felt threatened by the offer and readily agreed.

He’d called back into Omega and let them know he’d be out for a few days. One thing about having a team as good as his: they could continue to function without him when necessary.

Steve planned to find Rosalyn’s killer. It was the least he could do.

But not tonight. Tonight he was going to go back to the tiki bar where he’d met her and have a drink in her memory.

Steve decided to stay at the same hotel he’d used before. Not the romance package, but still a nice place. It was only a few blocks from the station. He checked in and unloaded his overnight bag. He took off his suit and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. No shorts and flip-flops this time.

He decided to walk to the tiki bar from his room even though it was through sand. He stopped for a minute as he reached the area where he and Rosalyn had sat and talked for so long that first night, partially because he wanted to take a moment to remember that place.

But also because Steve could feel eyes on him.

Someone was watching him.

As inconspicuously as he could manage, Steve turned. He didn’t see anything to his left. He knelt down into the sand as if he’d found some great shell and spun to the right. No one there either.

Maybe this feeling was just a result of stress. God knew today had been stressful enough.

He stood back up and began walking to the bar.

It was a Wednesday now, not a Sunday like when he’d been here before. The TVs had some basketball games on, and the place wasn’t nearly as full.

No Jimmy Buffett playing on the jukebox, no storm driving in beautiful women from outside.

Steve didn’t plan to be here long so didn’t get his seat at the end of the bar. Instead just sat at the first seat he came to and ordered a beer.

He was only a few sips into it when he felt eyes on him again. Steve quietly paid the bartender in case he had to leave in a hurry but then sat back and eased himself casually around in the barstool.

No one seemed to be paying him much mind, but he’d been in law enforcement too long to ignore a gut feeling twice in one hour.

Somebody was following him. Probably had been since he left the police station.

Maybe it was the killer trying to see who had identified his victim. Or maybe hoping to make another victim out of Steve.

Steve felt adrenaline pump through him. Bring it on. There was nothing he’d like better than a physical altercation with Rosalyn’s killer before arresting him. They would have to send the perp to the hospital before taking him to a holding cell.

Steve took a sip of his beer and allowed his vision to become slightly unfocused so he could better see everything happening in the room at once. After just a few moments he caught what he was looking for.

Someone out on the deck in a hooded jacket watching him through the window. The figure ducked as soon as Steve glanced his way.

Steve moved immediately but had to go out the side door to make it to the deck, losing valuable moments. The guy had already headed down the outer stairs and was moving quickly toward the closest set of hotels. Picking out his black jacket and hood was difficult in the darkening sky.

But Steve had no plan to let him get away.

Steve looked forward to the hotel buildings where the man obviously planned to go—his car was probably parked there. Then he ran down the back stairs, jumping down the last few. He began running up the path to the hotel also, but on a different path so the guy wouldn’t look back and think Steve was following him and move faster.

Steve was going to come around the other side of the building and cut him off.

It was a risky plan, dependent on the perp not changing course, but Steve didn’t dwell on it. He put all his effort into getting around the other side of the building before the person got there.

Racing through sand wasn’t easy but Steve knew he was gaining ground. From the corner of his eye Steve could see the perp was slowing down. Probably because he didn’t see Steve behind him. Or maybe he was trying to blend in with some other tourists now that he was closer to the hotel.

Steve didn’t slow down as sand gave way to a sidewalk, then to the asphalt surrounding the hotel. Glancing over, he saw the hooded figure slip down a slim walkway between two buildings. This was his chance.

Steve forced another burst of speed out of his body. He had to make it around the corner and to the walkway before the guy got through and made it into the parking lot. Steve wouldn’t have much chance of finding him then.

Steve barreled around the corner ready to make a flying tackle if necessary, but the guy wasn’t there. He immediately scanned the parking lot but saw only one group of teenage girls getting into their car and two parents removing kids from car seats in another.

No hooded man. Damn it.

Steve squinted in the fading light. He could be hiding behind a vehicle. Or had made it around the corner and run the other way.

Something caught his attention away from the parking lot. About halfway down the corridor he’d been expecting the perp to run through, a head stuck out, looking the other way. It was the guy, looking for Steve but looking the wrong way.

Steve flattened himself against the wall and began making his way toward the man. He pulled out his weapon, although he kept it low and pointed to the ground. He didn’t want to cause any panic for vacationers who might alert the suspect that Steve was coming up behind him.

Quickly but silently, Steve approached the hooded figure, who still watched the other way.

“I’m armed law enforcement,” Steve said as he made his last few steps and pointed his Glock directly at the man. “Very slowly put your hands behind your head.”

Steve saw the guy stiffen and stepped closer in case he tried to run again or fight. He was small, but Steve had seen plenty of small people who could do a lot of damage. Hell, he’d helped train some of the best himself.

Steve didn’t have cuffs with him, so he’d have to call Sheriff Palmer to come make the arrest.

“Just stay right there,” he said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

The guy began to turn around.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Steve poked him in the back with his weapon. “Just stay right where you are.”

“Steve.” The voice was soft. Almost a whisper, but it sent a bolt of electricity through him.

Steve did something he hadn’t done in twenty years of law enforcement: lowered his weapon in shock.

This wasn’t a man at all. It was a woman.

“Rosalyn?”

She reached up and lowered the hood of her Windbreaker as she turned completely around.

It was her. Beautiful black hair, gorgeous blue eyes. Even the splattering of freckles over her nose. Rosalyn was alive.

Which was impossible because he’d just ID’d her dead body a few hours ago. Steve didn’t care. By whatever miracle she was here—and he would get her to explain it all, no doubt—he would take it.

He holstered his weapon and pulled her into his arms. Then yanked her back immediately, looking closer at the rest of her body.

Rosalyn was here. She was alive.

And unless he was very, very wrong, she was definitely pregnant.