Читать книгу Identity Withheld - Sandra Orchard - Страница 13

THREE

After checking on his injured firefighter in the E.R., Jake hurried back out to his truck to get home to his son. The poor little guy wouldn’t be happy to learn his dad had volunteered tomorrow’s day off to consult on the arson investigation. The least Jake owed him was some cuddle time tonight. Kara’s frightened face flashed through his thoughts as he stopped at the hospital parking lot’s exit. He still had an uneasy feeling about the supposed friend she’d gone to meet. It would take only a couple of minutes to stop by the coffee shop to see if he, or she, had shown.

An ambulance whipped out of the next lane and veered across his path, sirens blaring.

Jake glanced after it and his heart rammed into his throat at the sight of swirling emergency lights two blocks down. He peeled his truck out after the ambulance. Cruisers blocked the streets around the coffee shop. Jake slammed the steering wheel. He never should have left Kara there. She’d been too edgy.

Jake screeched to a stop, half on the sidewalk, just outside the roadblock and cut around the cars on foot. Two deputies hauled a handcuffed punk from the asphalt. Another recovered a sawed-off shotgun—oh, God, please not again. The deputy waved the paramedics into the shop and Jake raced after them.

Someone slammed him into the side of a cruiser. “You can’t go in there.”

He strained to see around the deputy who’d body checked him. “My friend’s in there.” He spotted the sheriff giving orders to one of the deputies outside. “Sheriff, is Kara okay?”

The sheriff headed Jake’s way. “This has been one wild night. There must be a full moon behind all those clouds. What are you doing here?”

“Kara was in the shop. Is she okay?”

“The woman from the fire?”

“Yeah.” Jake jutted his chin toward the suspect—a mercenary type sporting military fatigues, a shaved head and the muscles to back up his threats. “Is that our arsonist?” And if his guess was right, an ex-husband or ex-boyfriend, too.

“You say she was here?”

Jake’s heart jackhammered his ribs. “She’s not now? Was there another guy? Did he take her?”

“Slow down.” The sheriff waved off the deputy who’d manhandled him and led Jake toward the front door of the shop. “The waitress said there’d been another customer, but that she disappeared before the gunman came in.”

“What do you mean disappeared?”

“She thought she went to the bathroom. Except she isn’t there now. But the window was unlatched.”

“So she escaped?” Except that meant she was out there alone. Unprotected. “You need men searching for her. A K-9 unit.”

“We don’t have one, but trust me, we’ve got men combing the streets. Seems your first instinct about her at the fire might’ve been right. Sounds as if she could’ve been the gunman’s accomplice. The waitress said she’d been texting just before the gunman stormed in.”

Jake snatched his cell phone from his hip. “You got her number?”

“Yeah.” The sheriff flipped open his notebook and recited the number as Jake punched it in.

“Her friend was supposed to meet her here.” The phone rang and rang. Voice mail never picked up. He clicked it off. “She’s not answering.”

The sheriff opened the shop door and motioned to the paramedics tending to a guy on the floor. “That the friend she came to see?”

Jake recognized the victim’s leather coat, longish hair from the coffee shop window. At the sight of the man’s bloodied face, Jake almost heaved. That could’ve been Kara.

“He wrestled the gunman to the ground while the waitress called 9-1-1.” The sheriff let out a soft clicking sound. “But the gunman got in a couple of nasty gun butts to the head.”

Jake hadn’t gotten the impression this guy was who Kara came to see, but... “Sounds as though he might’ve been.” Kara had said he’d keep her safe. Apparently she’d been right. Jake hoped.

The sheriff flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. “So what am I supposed to make of the woman being at two of my crime scenes in one night? If she was the target and not the instigator, why didn’t she ask for protection?”

Jake’s gut tightened. He could think of one reason. Maybe whoever Kara was running from was good at convincing the authorities he was an upstanding guy. Just like his father-in-law. Cop by day, abuser by night.

A waitress hovered over the paramedics, mascara streaking her cheeks.

“You know the victim?” Jake asked her.

She nibbled nervously on her fingernails. “He’s my boyfriend.”

The sheriff’s gaze snapped to Jake. “You sure you’ve got your facts straight?”

Jake refocused on the waitress. “The customer you mentioned to the sheriff, was she wearing a dark hoodie, about five-four, shoulder-length brown hair?”

“Yeah.” The waitress pulled her fingers away from her mouth, curled her hands into her apron. “She was the only customer I had all night.”

“Besides your boyfriend?” Jake clarified.

“Well, yeah.”

“Did she talk to him?”

“No. She sat at the counter.”

Jake’s gaze tracked to the unfinished mug of black coffee, the muddy puddle beneath the stool.

“I got the sense she was waiting for someone.”

The sheriff cocked his head toward Jake, lifting a brow.

No, she did not flee a fire to wait for a gunman in a coffee shop. That made no sense at all. Jake maneuvered around the sheriff to talk to the victim on the ground. “Did you know the female customer who came in?”

The guy’s eyes fluttered open then closed like leaden curtains.

“Afraid it’ll be a few hours before you get any answers out of him,” the paramedic said. “We’re ready to transport,” he added, directing that to the sheriff.

“Go ahead. The scene is secure.”

The waitress started for the door, then flailed her arms helplessly. “I need to go with him, but am I supposed to lock up?”

“The owner is on his way,” the sheriff reassured, “but I need you to answer a few more questions before you go. I’ll have one of my deputies drive you to the hospital. Okay?”

She gazed forlornly after the disappearing gurney and sank onto a stool. “I already told you everything.”

“You’d be surprised what you might’ve picked up without realizing it.” The sheriff clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Thanks for the tip on the woman. I’ll be in touch about the fire investigation.” And just like that Jake was dismissed.

Outside the shop, Jake scanned the dark streets, beyond the swirl of emergency lights. Lord, please let them find Kara safe.

He zipped his jacket against the fine rain that had started up again, like the niggling feeling he’d let another woman down this Thanksgiving. Five years ago, his gut had told him to take his wife to the E.R. in case the bleeding wasn’t normal postbirth hemorrhaging. Instead he’d let her sway him into believing she’d be fine.

As he’d done tonight.

He climbed into his truck and slammed the door on the memory. Lord, what is wrong with me? She was obviously in trouble, no matter what she said. Why’d I walk away? Then. Now.

At the sound of Beethoven’s Fifth—the ringtone reserved for his parents—chiming from his hip, he snatched up his phone. “Is Tommy okay?”

“Yes, but we’ll soon be heading to bed ourselves. Wanted to say if you were going to be much later, you might as well just leave him here for the night.”

And face an empty house alone? Not tonight. “I’m on my way now.” There was nothing more he could do here.

With one last glance toward the suspect warming a seat in the back of a cruiser, Jake hiked back to his truck. If his guess was right, and this was the guy Kara had been afraid of, at least she’d be safe now.

The thought didn’t ease the hundred-pound weight parked on his chest. He pulled a U-turn onto the empty street and headed home. He was a firefighter. His job was to put out fires, rescue victims. Chasing after Kara at the scene had been above and beyond. So why did he feel as if he hadn’t done nearly enough?

Glancing at the snapshot pinned to his dashboard, of April cuddling their newborn son, Jake tamped down the urge to go out looking for Kara and leaned on the gas.

A thump sounded in the bed of the pickup. Must’ve missed a firewood log when he’d emptied the couple of cords he’d picked up yesterday. Seemed as if he was missing things left, right and center these days.

If not for wanting to try to catch Kara at the hospital, and hopefully a lead on their arsonist, he never would’ve let the chief of Hadyn’s volunteer crew convince him to leave the rest of the cleanup to them. What if they destroyed key evidence?

The cops didn’t call firefighters evidence destroyers for no reason.

Ten minutes later, he stopped at the intersection leading to his street and clicked on his turn signal. As he touched the gas, a shadowy movement in the rearview mirror caught his attention. He punched the brakes and more than just a thump sounded from the back of his truck bed. That had sounded like a yelp.

He rammed his stick shift into Park, grabbed a crowbar from under the seat and jumped from his truck. He clanked down the tailgate and yanked on the tarp bunched over a hump in the far corner. “Kara?”

She shrank into the corner of the rain-slicked truck bed, drenched and sickly white under the glare of the streetlight.

“What are you doing back here? Get into the cab before you catch your death!” His throat closed on that last order.

Instead of scrambling to obey, she shrank deeper into the corner, tugging what little she could of the tarp back over her body.

Jake’s fury and confusion, and emotions he didn’t have time to identify, seeped out in a frustrated sigh. “Kara, I won’t hurt you.” Her gaze darted to the crowbar poised over his head, and he dropped it onto the truck bed. “Please, come out of the rain. They caught the gunman. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

She edged toward the tailgate, ignoring the hand he offered. Well, not exactly ignoring. Her gaze was fixed on it as if she feared he might grab her.

Biting back the questions and assurances pressing at his throat, he pulled his hand to his side.

The tightness around her mouth eased as she quickly slid off the tailgate and headed toward the passenger door.

Giving her the space she seemed to need, he took a moment to latch the tailgate. “There’s a blanket in the cab. Wrap it around yourself. I’ll call the sheriff. Let him know you’re safe.”

Silence.

“Kara?” He came around the truck to give her a hand, but she was gone. “Kara!”

Hedges on the other side of the ditch rustled.

He grabbed a flashlight and took off after her. She’d been okay until he mentioned the sheriff. And he’d told her they’d caught the gunman. Cop or no cop, he’d be warming a jail cell. So why run now?

Unless she wasn’t innocent.

* * *

If she’d been smart, she’d have kept on running the instant she jumped out of that washroom window and not stopped until she reached Seattle, someplace where she could blend in with thousands of other faceless people and no one would ever find her. Only...

Her handler wouldn’t have been able to find her either.

Jake’s flashlight beam arced over the yard to her left.

She ducked behind a wrecked car at the back of the neighboring yard. Her hand squished something on the ground that she didn’t want to contemplate. Mud seeped over the tops of her shoes, soaked through her already sopping jeans. A brisk wind teased up the back of her shirt, sending more chills through her shivering limbs. What was she going to do? She couldn’t exactly call the marshal’s office to find out if the bad guys had gotten to Ray. Witness security files were top secret. How many times had he drilled that into her?

“Kara,” Jake called. “C’mon, I want to help you.”

His pleading tone tugged at a cold, lonely place in her heart desperate to believe him. Never mind how he always seemed to show up when the trouble started. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he never would’ve let her walk away from the hospital. Right?

She swallowed the bile rising to her throat. Unless he was the one she’d sensed following her to the coffee shop, the one who’d sent in the gunman.

Jake’s voice drifted farther away, and she peeked over the back of the rusted jalopy. Please, Lord, let him give up looking. No matter how concerned Jake sounded, she couldn’t trust him.

If things fall apart, don’t trust anyone. They’ll pretend to be on your side, pretend to want to help you, pretend to be taking you to safety just long enough to get you somewhere secluded.

Her stomach pitched at the memory of the marshal’s warning. Not that this place was secluded. Or that Jake had known she was in the truck when he’d driven here for that matter. If she’d known it was his truck, she never would’ve jumped in it.

She couldn’t afford to take any chances. She tugged her sleeves down over her icy hands and pushed to her feet. A few more hours. That was all she needed. Tomorrow she’d go to the fail-safe meet site. That was where Ray would look for her next, and if something had happened to him, that was where his office would send another marshal to take care of her—someone who’d know the code phrase they’d agreed on.

Behind her a yard light blinked on. The back door creaked open.

Holding her breath, she edged toward the next yard. If the owner had let out a dog, she was—

“Kara!” Jake’s voice came louder again.

He was coming back! She darted in the opposite direction.

A barking dog raced toward her, yelped when he hit the end of his chain and got jerked off his feet. An instant later, his barking veered to the other end of the yard. Jake.

She tightened her fists and pumped her arms to drive herself faster. The dearth of streetlights hid her from view, but made running treacherous. She jumped over toys and tree limbs and— “Ah!” Her foot pinged a large can, sent it clattering over the rough ground. She stumbled, her ankle twisting.

“Kara, wait.” Jake’s flashlight speared her back.

Ignoring the pain screaming through her ankle, she took off again at a sprint. She veered between two houses, praying she didn’t run into anything else. Oh, why did it have to be Jake’s truck she’d jumped into?

The dog she’d heard barking outside the coffee shop after the police showed up probably hadn’t even been a police dog, but all she’d been able to think to do was run through the puddles to mask her scent and get away. His truck’s sudden appearance had seemed like a godsend. Why couldn’t Jake have just been some rubbernecker who’d move on after a few minutes of gawking?

“Kara, listen to me.” Jake’s footfalls pounded behind her, but the stamina she’d gained from her daily five-mile runs kept her ahead of him. “Kara,” he huffed, clearly tiring.

Wet and cold and hungry, she forced her mind off the fatigue tugging at her own limbs. Lord, please let him run out of steam before I do.

“If you didn’t set the fire, you have no reason to run,” Jake called between heavy breaths. “The police will protect you from whoever you’re afraid of. Was that guy an ex-boyfriend? Your husband?”

Husband? Was that what he thought? She tripped over the curb as she chanced a glance over her shoulder.

Jake burst from between the houses just as she recovered her balance. His gaze slammed into hers. The dim light couldn’t mask the concern she saw flickering in his eyes. He slowed to a sedate approach, patted the air with the hand not holding a flashlight as if she were a skittish colt. “I can help you, Kara. My wife’s dad was an abuser, I—”

The sound of a siren broke his spell. He’d called the police. She gulped in a lungful of air. “If you really want to help me, Jake, forget you ever saw me.” She turned on her heel and ran.

“Kara!”

Blinding headlights blipped on and she froze. Her heart jammed in her throat as the lights sped toward her. Oh, God, I’m going to die.

Hurled into the hedges on the other side of the road, her body exploded in agony. Then everything went black.