Читать книгу Cold Case Secrets - Maggie K. Black - Страница 15

He would, would he? Her relief at knowing she wasn’t alone and her irritation at having a man—any man—suddenly announce that he was in charge and all would be well if she just did what he said battled somewhere deep inside her core. Yes, he was a cop. Yes, there was something undeniably and extremely reassuring about the feel of him there. But she’d survived her whole entire life on her own, without ever being rescued by anyone and wasn’t about to just fall into anyone’s arms now.

Especially not if that someone was Detective Jacob Henry.

Her eyes closed for a moment as the background file she kept on Jacob filled her mind. He’d done more to save lives, rescue others and stop killers than anyone she’d ever known. Not that they’d ever actually met. She’d heard his voice before, usually saying no comment and telling her to get off his crime scene before he had her arrested. As for his face, she knew it had a handsome and rugged quality that was a bit rough around the edges, like a former movie star that had retired to build custom motorcycles. But right now, he was holding her too close for her to turn around and see it. She definitely had never let herself imagine what it would be like to be held like this in his arms. Well, at least not in a situation like this.

Jacob Henry had a knack for being the primary detective on practically every major crime scene she’d raced to, especially the worst and more grisly ones. Some veteran detectives—like the immensely charming Warren Scott who’d been supremely friendly since transferring to the Toronto division a few months back—were known to toss reporters like her at least a few scraps of information before politely sending them on their way. But Jacob never had. If anything, he’d avoided even looking at her, let alone making direct eye contact, as if something about her mere existence made him uncomfortable. And maybe it did. Reporters and cops did tend to eye each other warily despite the fact that, as she saw it, they were all on the same team, wanting to see truth win out and bad guys get locked away. She didn’t want to know how much worse it would be if he knew she was the daughter of a dirty cop who’d killed a fellow officer.

Of all the cops who could’ve dropped out of nowhere to rescue her, why oh, why did it have to be him?

In fact, just last week, when she’d heard that her boss’s sister, Detective Chloe Brant, was getting married this weekend to Jacob’s fellow detective, and brother, Trent, she’d sent Jacob an email, hoping that one point of connection would be enough to thaw the ice between them, enough to grab a friendly and professional off-the-record coffee. Not a date. She definitely hadn’t asked him out on a date. Just to grab coffee sometime to see if they could set up a better, less adversarial mode of communication. Instead, he’d ignored her.

Well, he could hardly ignore her now.

And if he didn’t get his hand off her mouth pronto, she just might bite him.

He leaned so close she could feel his breath on her face. He smelled like coffee and wood smoke. It was a scent that somehow seemed to match both the toughness and warmth of his voice.

“Hand me the gun,” he whispered.

She shook her head. He sighed and twisted it from her grasp so deftly that she had no choice but to let go. He slid it into his ankle holster with one hand and pulled his pant leg down over it. Then his hand was back on her wrist so quickly it almost impressed her.

“Now I’m going to peel my hand away from your mouth,” he said. “But I need you to promise not to scream.”

Who did this man think she was? No, of course, she wasn’t going to scream or start caterwauling with a serial killer lurking nearby. He did know about Cutter, right? That had to be why he was here. Jacob seemed to be waiting for a response, so she nodded definitively and firmly. He eased his hand from her mouth, but the other stayed firm on hers with his fingers brushing just against the inside of her wrist. Yeah, not distracting at all.

“Now,” he whispered, “I need you to—”

“Give me my gun back.”

Even with her back to him, it was like she could feel his whole body blink.

“Who are you?” His voice sharpened. “Are you law enforcement?”

“I’m Grace Finch, lead crime reporter, Torchlight News.” She wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she was expecting. But it wasn’t the stony and awkward silence that filled the space around them. “We’ve met before. You’ve ordered me off your crime scenes and ignored my phone calls. I sent you an email about coffee just last week you never responded to.”

Okay, so maybe that was a bit testier than she’d intended, but she’d never been one to beat around the bush.

“So you’re not law enforcement or the military?” His whisper came back swift and sharp. “Do you have a license to carry a handgun?”

The questions felt rhetorical.

“No, but I’ve passed the Canadian Firearms Safety—”

“Then it’s illegal for you to be carrying a handgun, and you’re not getting it back—”

Like she didn’t know Canadian gun law. “There’s an escaped convict in the woods!”

“Actually, there are three—”

“Three?” She fought and failed to keep her whisper from rising. Did that mean Cutter hadn’t lied and her father really had escaped prison? Enough of this. She spun around and turned toward him. Jacob let her go, and then she was facing him, standing so closely she was practically pressed against his chest. She looked up at him in the dying light. His green eyes were serious. His chestnut hair was tousled and spiky with sweat. His face radiated a sense of protection that she didn’t even know how to begin to process. “Who are the three convicts?”

“Who did you see?” He deflected her other question with one of his own.

Fine. Sometimes a person had to give information to get information.

“I was attacked by Barry Cutter,” she said. “The serial killer. He tried to force me to take him to my car, which is over six hours away by canoe from here. I fought him off and ran.”

Jacob let out a long breath and stepped back as far as the narrow space would allow. His voice softened. “How did you possibly get away?”

“I zapped him with a Taser and then took his gun.”

He blinked. “That would be the gun I just took from you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Where’s the Taser now?”

“In my pocket.”

“And did you take that off him too?” Jacob asked.

“No, it’s mine.”

A faint smile turned at the corner of his mouth. She wondered if he was debating pointing out it was also illegal for her to carry a stun gun.

“He also took my wallet,” she added. “And I assume it isn’t actually his gun—”

“No, I imagine he took it off a guard.” His face turned grim. “About four hours ago, three prisoners overpowered the prison guards who were transporting them. We don’t know how it happened yet, but they forced the van to crash and killed the guards. There’s a massive manhunt underway across Ontario to find them. I just thank God that I happened to be flying overhead when Cutter attacked you.”

Something about the way he said it made her think he actually believed there was a God who had helped him out.

“Was he the only person you saw?” Jacob asked.

“He was,” she said.

“Where’s Cutter now?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But since you dropped down from above me somewhere, I’m guessing it’s possible to walk along the top of the rock face. I suggest we climb up, take a look around from there and hail the helicopter. Now, what can you tell me about the other escaped convicts?”

Was Cutter telling the truth? Was her father one of them?

Jacob turned his head away from her. “Henry here.” The shift in Jacob’s tone was so sudden that it took her a moment to realize he was talking into the shoulder microphone for his walkie-talkie. “I’ve secured the civilian. She claims to have sighted Barry Cutter. Do you have any other heat signatures in the area?” He paused. “Okay. Heard that.”

Maybe he’d heard it, but she was still out of the loop.

“So what’s going on? Who are you talking to?”

“That was RCMP SAR pilot, Kevin Faust,” Jacob said, and she felt oddly thankful he hadn’t felt the need to spell out Royal Canadian Mounted Police Search and Rescue. “Now I need you to stay here and hidden. I’m going to go out there and assess the situation.”

“There’s nothing to assess. I told you, there’s a maniac out there—”

“I wouldn’t say maniac—”

“He was convicted of killing two women,” she cut him off, “as well as being credibly accused of assaulting several others before then and of killing his own mother.”

“And how would you possibly know that?” Jacob asked. “We worked very hard to keep that information out of the public record.”

“Because, as I told you, I’m Grace Finch, award-winning crime reporter for Torchlight News.” Her chin rose. “If you’d ever bothered talking to me or answering my phone calls or emails, you’d know that we don’t ever report anything without proper verification, and in some cases authorization. But that doesn’t mean we don’t know an awful lot more than we let on.”

“What are you doing here, Grace?” He shook his head. It was like her mere existence baffled him. “How did you even get here?”

“I hiked and canoed,” she said. “It took me six hours. I left my car at the front entrance. I’m heading to a cabin, once I can find it.”

“And you honestly had no idea there were escaped convicts on the loose before you decided to come up here?” he asked.

“Absolutely none.” Besides, if they had escaped when Jacob had said, she would’ve already been deep in the forest when they broke out.

“And you just happened to have a Taser on you?” he added.

“Yes,” she said. “And bear spray. I’m not in the habit of going places unprotected. Now, who are the other two convicts that escaped?”

“Victor Driver and Hal Turner.”

So it was true. Her father had escaped prison. A pain-filled gasp slipped to the edge of her lips, but she slid her hand over them before they made a sound. Jacob looked down at her for a long moment, with an inscrutable look in his eyes that she couldn’t begin to make heads or tails of.

“Stay here,” he said finally. “Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t make a sound. Once everything is secured, I’ll come get you and we’ll airlift out of here. Got it?”

“I hear you,” she said. “Now, can I please have the gun back?”

“You mean the gun you can’t legally carry that you lifted off a criminal?” he asked. “No. Be thankful that I’m choosing to overlook the fact it’s also completely illegal for you to have that stun gun.”

Yeah, she’d wondered how long he’d be able to go without mentioning that.

“Now stay here,” he said again, “and don’t do anything stupid. Got it?”

“Got it,” she said. “Nothing stupid.”

But even then he paused a very long moment with his eyes on her face. “Okay then. We’re down to maybe an hour of daylight, if that, and according to my pilot, Kevin, there’s a pretty bad storm coming that’s probably going to hit sooner than that.” Then, as she watched, his gaze rose to the clouds above. “Lord, help me do this. Help get Grace and myself out of here alive. And may somebody catch these killers before anyone gets hurt.”

Hang on, had he really just prayed? In front of her? He had, hadn’t he?

Jacob unholstered his weapon and slowly moved away from her. She watched as he paused and searched the world outside their hiding place. Then he stepped out and she lost sight of him.

Maybe the fact Jacob had prayed didn’t mean anything. She’d heard plenty of people claim to be religious, including a whole lot of criminals just looking for a break at their trial. Yes, Jacob’s reputation was impeccable, and maybe there were a few really good people of integrity out there, but she wasn’t about to risk her life on Jacob being one.

No, she couldn’t risk telling him about the cabin, her father or her real reason for being here. But if she could find the cabin, there was the tiniest possibility she could still retrieve whatever her father wanted her to find before being airlifted to safety.

She cast one last glance through the crevice to the empty space where Jacob had gone and saw nothing but trees. Then she reached up, grabbed hold of a jagged and jutting piece of rock and started climbing.

* * *

Jacob stepped into the clearing and paused with his weapon at the ready. It was empty. Water roared far below him to his left. The helicopter whirred above him just out of view. Cutter was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, Warren, where was the heat signature again?” he asked, his eyes in the sky.

“Ahead about a hundred paces to your left.” The detective’s voice was back in his headset. “I can track him, but it means losing eyes on the civilian.”

Jacob frowned. “Do it.”

“Are you sure the man the civilian saw was Barry Cutter?” Now it was Kevin’s voice that crackled in his ear.

“Absolutely.” He started walking slowly, listening for the sounds of life. He had no doubt in his mind Grace had seen exactly who she’d said. As difficult as that woman was, from what he’d read of her articles, it seemed she was also fairly brilliant and knew her stuff. He took a deep breath and fought the urge to go back and talk to her. Something about the way they’d just left things felt awkward. But what else was there to say? He had an escaped convict to find, a helicopter to catch and an undercover detective to meet up with at midnight to collect new evidence, which would hopefully help him solve the one murder that had been tearing him up inside for over half his life.

And here his brain was having trouble focusing.

Okay, God. Help me do what needs to be done. Help me get my head in the game.

He’d been completely knocked off-kilter, to the point of feeling all of his words fall from his head, the moment Grace had said her name and he’d realized just who he was holding against his chest. Of all the women in the world it could’ve been, why did it have to be her? Grace Finch was difficult, challenging, a pain in his neck, impossible...and impossibly beautiful with her long legs, bold and determined eyes, and full lips. He’d never known anyone capable of knocking his breath from his lungs by just walking onto a crime scene like her.

Had she really had no idea that three lifers had escaped prison when she’d decided to come camping up here in the middle of nowhere? But how else would she have gotten here in time? The convicts had crashed in a secluded area north of the park, so it made sense they’d been able to travel as deep into the length of the woods as they had in four hours, which is why this was where they’d been searching. But if Grace really had parked at the entrance and hiked in that way, there was no way she could’ve heard of the prison escape and made it here by now. Not unless she was airlifted in.

But could it really be a coincidence one of the country’s best crime reporters just happened to be in the woods in the exact location where notorious serial killers who’d just escaped prison happened to be? Of course not. Not that he could come up with a plausible alternative theory. Or take the time to figure one out now. So much of this didn’t make sense. Starting with the fact that his mouth hadn’t been able to summon so much as, “Yeah, I know who you are,” when she’d told him her name.

He could still remember the first time he’d seen her walking toward him at the crime scene of a multiple homicide, striding right up to the yellow police tape. He’d hoped she was a detective, a colleague, someone he could grab a coffee and talk over cases with. Not that he’d ever considered looking for a romantic relationship with her or anything. He already had enough people who counted on him, what with two elderly parents, three younger brothers—one getting married on the weekend—three new sisters-in-law and two nephews. But he’d never been opposed to building a new professional and collegial friendship.

He also remembered the first time Warren had spotted her at a crime scene. The fellow detective had just arrived back in Ontario earlier after spending over a decade putting away an impressive array of criminal lowlifes out east. And somehow, just a few weeks on the job, she’d already caught his eye.

“That’s Grace Finch, the reporter, right?” Warren had nodded in her direction through the maze of flashing red and blue lights punctuating the night. “I heard she’s a force and a half.”

Jacob couldn’t even remember what he’d said next. Maybe, “Yeah, she’s pretty tough,” or something like that.

“I was thinking of asking her to a new show at the Art Gallery of Ontario,” Warren had started saying. Then he’d taken in the look on Jacob’s face and added, “Unless for some reason you’d rather I didn’t.”

And Jacob had realized in that moment just how very much he’d rather Warren didn’t. Not that he had any right to ask him not to date Grace. Sure, Jacob had been quick to assure him he had no intention of ever pursuing a relationship with Grace. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d been kind of relieved that Warren hadn’t either.

He paced a few lengths into the woods, slowly, carefully following the broken branches and disturbed ground that told him someone had gone this way. “Hey, Kevin, how are we doing on the fuel situation?”

“I can give you fifteen minutes.” The pilot’s voice came back in his ear. “Twenty at the absolute max.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah.” The sound of Kevin blowing out a hard breath filled his ear. “That was adding in a time cushion just to be safe in case we got delayed by the storm. Now, we’re all out of cushion.”

“Got it. Warren, have you got eyes on me?”

“Heat signature on your own, moving north?” Warren confirmed. “Yup. But I’ve momentarily lost the one you were tracking.”

Jacob frowned. It happened. The camera’s range was not that broad. “How’s our civilian doing?”

“Hang on. I’ve got to move the camera,” Warren said. Jacob waited. “I’ve got no heat signatures near the rock formation. Your civilian is gone. But I think I’ve got two figures on top of the rock ledge to the east of you.”

Jacob turned on his heels. You have to be kidding me! Had she actually decided to ignore what he’d said and take off on her own? His strides turned into a full-out sprint. He reached the crevice. It was empty. No Grace. His jaw clenched. “She’s gone.”

Lord, help me hold it together...

A scream filled the air.