by Debra Webb
“I repeat, this is 911, what is the nature of your emergency?”
Bobbie’s attention snapped back to the phone. What the hell?
“If you can hear me...”
She reached for the handset.
“...we’re sending—”
The dispatcher’s voice silenced midsentence.
Bobbie twisted and leveled her Glock on whoever had entered the room.
“What the hell are you doing, Bobbie?”
Special agent Anthony LeDoux. His fingers still rested on the switch hook in the phone’s cradle, severing the connection.
“What the hell are you doing, LeDoux?”
Better question, how the hell had he sneaked up on her like that? Sleep deprivation is making you sloppy, Bobbie.
The agent held up his hands. “How about you put your weapon away and we’ll talk about the reason we’re both here?”
She glanced at the open doors. “We should be looking for whoever all that blood belongs to, not debating our respective motives for breaking and entering.”
“I’ve already looked around inside and out,” LeDoux said. “No one’s here. I’d be gone, too, except as I headed for the back door I heard someone come inside. I hid in the pantry you walked right past. You’re losing your edge, Detective.”
Anger and frustration seared through Bobbie. “Fuck you. Where’s Zacharias?”
“I can tell you that the illustrious task force assembled to find Weller doesn’t have him.” He shook his head, his face tightening with distaste or something on that order. “I can’t believe the son of a bitch wasn’t under surveillance.”
Bobbie glanced at the open doors again before shifting her attention back to LeDoux, only then realizing her Glock was still aimed at his chest. Deciding she wasn’t ready to surrender the upper hand, she held her bead on the FBI agent. His story was a little too pat for her comfort. He just happened to be going out of the house as she was coming in? The only time she had witnessed timing that perfect was at a Broadway play she and her husband, James, had attended when they’d gone to New York City for Christmas the year before Jamie was born.
LeDoux was lying.
So she asked him again, “If Zacharias is gone, who bled all over the carpet? The blood’s not even dry.” Though she hadn’t touched it, she had seen enough to know the dull, blackness of blood that had been spilled had sat there for a while. Her gaze narrowed. “Who made that 911 call?”
LeDoux laughed. “I got no idea where the blood came from. As for the call, that was me. The phone was already off the hook, I just selected line one and dialed. I figured it was the least I could do.”
A couple of scenarios elbowed their way into her thoughts, neither of which included his story. She restrained the urge to bombard him with the questions pounding in her brain. “You have no idea where Zacharias would go?”
“If I had a fucking clue where he or Weller might be, we wouldn’t be having this friendly conversation.” He sent a pointed look at her weapon.
Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he’d had about as much sleep as she. His jeans and sweater were rumpled as if he’d been wearing them a couple of days. He hadn’t shaved recently and those bloodshot eyes provided considerable insight into the sustenance he’d chosen for survival lately.
“Have you heard from Nick?” Jesus Christ, the blood could be Nick’s. Fear spread through Bobbie’s chest like fire through a drought-stricken forest. Nick would no doubt have come to Zacharias, looking for answers.
Don’t you dare die on me, Nick Shade. Too many had died already, damn it.
“Not a word.” LeDoux hitched his head toward the open door. “We should get the hell out of here. Now.”
This didn’t feel right. Bobbie split her attention between the French doors and the agent she didn’t completely trust. “What we should do is have another look around. The bleeder can’t have gotten far without help.”
“You’d better rethink that strategy.” LeDoux nodded toward the phone. “Atlanta PD will be rolling by now.”
“We’ll need to give a statement,” she countered. The bloody handprint on the handset, the red smudges on the keypad held her attention for an extra beat. What was she missing here? Her focus swung back to LeDoux. He stood a mere three feet away without a visible speck of blood on his pale gray sweater and faded jeans. No way he’d carried or dragged a bleeding victim out of this house.
“They’ll be looking for someone to blame for whatever happened here,” LeDoux countered. “We both want to find Weller. And we both want to help your friend Shade.” He gestured to the bloody mess. “The questions and the investigation will keep us on-site for hours if not days, and time is our enemy.”
Five then ten seconds elapsed while she weighed her options. He was right that the 911 operator would have already dispatched the police. Standard operating procedure for 911 hang-ups. Bottom line, LeDoux had a valid point about the other, as well. She couldn’t afford the delay.
“Fine.” She lowered her weapon. “We’ll do this your way, but if you’re lying to me, LeDoux—”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Bobbie. Not when it counts.” He held her gaze a moment, then headed for the door.
Maybe she was a fool, but she followed him.
Outside, the blood trail was lost to the darkness. “My car’s parked on the street in front of the house,” she said. “I’ll follow you. Where’re we going?”
LeDoux headed toward the street. “I’ll hitch a ride with you,” he called over his shoulder. “I took a cab.”
Bobbie watched his retreating back until he’d disappeared into the darkness beyond the landscape lighting. There were only two or three logical explanations for taking a cab anywhere. You either didn’t have personal transportation or you were too inebriated to drive. Since LeDoux didn’t fall into either of those categories at the moment there was only one plausible explanation for his actions.
He didn’t want any potential witnesses able to ID his vehicle.
LeDoux had good reason for wanting to find the monster Zacharias had represented, just as Bobbie did. She thought about the blood on the floor in the study. Whether or not LeDoux had killed Zacharias in an attempt to extract information was the real question. His erratic behavior the past week or so provided sufficient reason for her to doubt his trustworthiness...but could she really see him as a murderer?
Either way, he was right about her not having time to be waylaid by the investigation to find out or to be cleared of suspicion.
Without looking back, Bobbie turned off the instincts screaming at her and followed LeDoux.
He was the closest thing to a lead she had.
Don’t miss
THE COLDEST FEAR,
available September 2017 wherever
MIRA Books and ebooks are sold.
www.Harlequin.com
Copyright © 2017 by Debra Webb
ISBN-13: 9781460396643
A Deeper Grave
Copyright © 2017 by Debra Webb
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