“Come on,” her companion said. “Let’s dance.”
“Really, I need to be—”
“One dance before you leave.”
She relented, and they joined the throng of sweaty bodies on the tiny dance floor. It wasn’t easy to find space, but it felt good to move, to get her blood flowing. Even though Hannah wasn’t a great dancer, she loved the feeling of moving to the rhythm of music. And after a beer or two, she didn’t care what she looked like.
The music ended and another song came on. One dance became two, then three. The third song was a slow ballad, and Hannah closed her eyes, let herself lean into the solid bulk of her partner. There was something comforting about being in the arms of a man, even a stranger she wasn’t ga-ga about.
When the song ended, she pulled away. “Now I really am out of here.”
He held onto her hand. “No.” He was teasing again.
“Yes.” She wanted to sound strong but hiccupped at the same time she spoke. “Truly, I need to get home.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
He slipped his arm around Hannah’s waist and held her close as they moved through the crowded room.
“Where are you parked?” he asked as they stepped outside into the cool night air.
“Over there.” She pointed to her old Camry. Thankfully it was not off by itself in some lonely corner of the lot.
At her car, he kissed her, pressing himself hard against her. The first kiss was urgent and forceful, but when she pulled away, he became more gentle. His features were blurred by the dark of night, allowing Hannah full rein with her imagination. She gave herself a moment to enjoy the physical contact.
He slipped a hand under her blouse. His fingers were soft but cold on her skin. She shivered.
“Hey, what this?”
“A prosthesis,” Hannah told him. And then held her breath.
“A pro what?”
“A fake boob.”
His hand touched her other breast, and she felt an effervescent tingling sensation all the way down to her toes.
“This one’s real,” he said. “I can tell.”
“So what do you think?”
“I like the real one better.”
“So do I,” she said.
Maybe he wasn’t a prince, but he’d passed the first test. She slid her hands up his chest and then down his back. He had a small layer of fat around his middle. Her standards were slipping something terrible.
“Breast cancer?” he asked.
She nodded.
“How long’s it been?”
“Three years.” Not even long enough for the oracle of medical wisdom to declare her free of the disease. And tomorrow might just break her three-year run of good luck. She felt panic grip her.
“Bummer,” declared her man of the hour. As far as he was concerned, the subject was closed. His fingers went back to exploring the flesh under her blouse.
Hannah wished she could silence the tapes in her head as easily. Just a small spot, probably nothing. But the radiologist would like a few more films.
The man nuzzled her neck. “Do you really have to go home? Why don’t you stay at my place?”
He wasn’t her type, and she hadn’t been looking for action. But he hadn’t freaked at her lopsided chest, and once he’d lightened up on the kissing, he’d done okay.
Besides, this wasn’t a good night to be alone.
“How far is it?” she asked.
“About ten minutes.” He stroked the back of her neck, and Hannah shivered with pleasure.
“Okay,” she said after a moment. “You lead, and I’ll follow you.”
The instant she was alone in her own car, Hannah regretted her words. Going home with this guy would be a big mistake. She wasn’t really attracted to him, and he lived in the community. She’d made that one of her ground rules—no one she might run into when she was on duty. Sort of like not soiling your own nest, she supposed.
As Hannah pulled onto the main road behind him, she considered the best way to extricate herself—head straight home or follow him and explain.
She was weighing the alternatives when a blue Explorer passed her going the other direction. She caught only a fleeting glance at the license plate, but the first digits matched what Sam had reported seeing the night of the ransom drop.
Hannah made a quick U-turn and followed the SUV. In her rearview mirror, she saw Jake-or-Jack slow then turn to follow her. Damn.
She caught up with the Explorer and followed it for about a quarter of a mile. There were two people inside. The driver was taller than the passenger, and slender. That fit the description Sam had given them.
Hannah pulled close enough to read the whole license. It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t remember off the top of her head if it was one they’d already checked.
Only one way to find out.
Hannah rolled down her window, reached through, and planted a flashing red light on the roof of her car.
The Explorer slowed then sped up again.
She gave the Camry gas and followed.
The SUV made a sharp right. So did Hannah. She reached for her cell phone and called in her location. With luck, there’d be a patrol car close by.
Within minutes, she heard the wail of a siren ahead of her then saw the bank of flashing lights.
Hannah held her breath. Would the driver of the Explorer stop, or would he plow through and lead them on a full-fledged chase?
The Explorer braked sharply, swerved to the right, and stopped.
The uniforms—Carla and Brian—approached the vehicle from the front. Their hands were on their guns. Hannah came at the vehicle from the rear.
“Let’s see the registration,” Brian barked.
Hannah was even with the car now. She could see that the driver was male, in his late teens.
Her companion from the bar had screeched to stop behind her and scrambled out of his car. “What’s the matter?” he yelled.
“Stay back, Jack.”
“Jake. It’s Jake.”
Well, at least that mystery was cleared up. “I’m a cop. Everything is under control.”
“A cop, wow. You’re on duty?”
“Just get back in your car and go home.”
“I thought you were coming back to my place with me.”
Jesus. Hannah looked to Carla to see if she’d heard. She couldn’t tell. “Please, Jake. This is police business. Go on home.”
“Will I see you again?” When she didn’t respond, he yelled, “I’ll be at the same spot tomorrow night.”
Carla shot Hannah a quick look. There was nothing of the smirk in it Hannah had expected.
“Leave now,” Carla said to Jake, “or I’ll arrest you for interfering with a police officer.”
Hannah walked toward the Explorer. Brian was still dealing with the driver. “What do you mean, you don’t know where it is?”
“I just don’t,” the driver replied.
“Hey, hope to see you again,” Jake called out.
Hannah heard Jake’s footsteps retreat and the engine start. He took off with a squeal of rubber on asphalt, and she began to breathe easier. What had she been thinking, anyway? Maybe it was time to put an end to this stupid, self-destructive behavior of hers.
“Is this your family’s car?” Hannah asked the driver of the Explorer.
He was just a kid, maybe seventeen, who looked scared half to death. He answered her question with a shake of his head.
“Get out of the car,” Brian told them. “Both of you. Keep your hands where we can see them.”
The boy opened the door and emerged with his hands in the air. His left arm was heavily tattooed. He was joined moments later by a girl in a scanty tank top and short shorts.
“It belongs to my mother,” the girl mumbled. Her voice had a faint British lilt.
It sounded familiar. Hannah shone the light near the girl’s face. It was the young girl with the cat in her arms who’d answered
the door when she and Dallas had been checking SUVs that fit Sam’s description.
“You’re Sandra Martin’s daughter.”
“You know her?” Brian asked.
“We talked to her mother when we followed up on the plate Sam gave us.” Hannah had a sudden, uneasy thought. “Does your mom know you have her car?”
The girl started to cry. “Not really. She’s out with a friend. But Ethan’s got his license and everything.”
“Shut up, Sally. You don’t have to answer their stupid questions.” The kid was trying hard to impress the girl, but Hannah could see that his hands were shaking.
“Why didn’t you stop when you saw my flashing red light?” Hannah asked.
The boy shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.
Carla leaned out from the passenger side of the car and held up a baggie. “Probably because there was grass in the car.”
Sally started crying harder now. Ethan looked like he might be sick to his stomach.
“Is this the first time you’ve taken the car?” Hannah asked.
Neither of them said anything.
“Did you borrow it a week ago Friday?”
“We don’t have to answer that,” Ethan said with bravado that rang false.
Hannah turned to the girl. “Your mom said she was out that night. But you were home. Did you and Ethan take her car?”
“Don’t answer,” Ethan said to her. “You’ve got a right to ask for a lawyer.”
Sally ignored him and addressed Hannah instead. Tears streamed down her face. “You said you were looking for a car that witnessed an accident. We didn’t see any accident.”
“But you were on El Dorado,” Hannah said with sudden certainty. “And you went through a red light at the intersection of Mills Landing.”
Ethan jerked his head in her direction. “How’d you know about that?”
“We got scared,” Sally whimpered. “There was this car following us. We wanted to get away. That’s all.”
“What were you doing out there?”
“We’d been to the quarry,” Sally said. “We just wanted someplace to be alone. We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
Except taking her mother’s car without permission and maybe smoking some grass. Could they have been involved in the ransom demand as well?
“What did you do with the money?” Hannah barked.
They both spoke at once. “What money?” The looks on their faces registered genuine surprise.
“You think we should take them in?” Carla asked.
Ethan looked confused. “Take us in? For what? It’s only a little grass.”
“Did you see anyone else that night?” Hannah asked. “Any other cars on the way out to the quarry?”
“It was dark,” Ethan said. “We weren’t paying attention.”
“A car parked on the side of the road maybe, or by the barn as you come in?”
“No, nothing,” Sally said. “We just wanted someplace quiet to talk. We’ve never seen another car up there.”
“That Friday night wasn’t the first time, then?”
She was sobbing now. “My mom is going to kill me when she finds out.”
Hannah left Carla and Brian to deal with the unauthorized driving. She’d follow up on the kids’ story, though from their reactions, she could only assume they knew nothing about the ransom call.
But their account of the evening corresponded almost exactly with Sam’s.
The uneasy feeling that had been with her all day gripped her tight like a steel band. It appeared Sam had been telling the truth about following the SUV. Could it be that he was telling the truth about everything?
CHAPTER 37
The guy sitting at Frank’s old desk at the station was a young black man he didn’t recognize. Looking around the once-familiar room that had been like a second home to him, Frank was hit with the reality that he was now an outsider. He’d been back after retirement but not in the last couple of years. Mostly he met with the guys for a beer after work. With both horror and relief, Frank realized that time had moved on. In his heart he’d been pining for something that no longer existed.
He found his old partner, Wade Cushing, in the file room.
“Hey, Frank, what are you doing here? Millie kick you out of the house for the day?”
Frank laughed. “In a manner of speaking.”
“I got two more years, then I’m outa here myself. We can finally get us a daytime bachelor pad and leave the ladies to their dusting and whatever the hell else it is we get in the way of. Big-screen TV, top-notch sound system, maybe even a pool table. A fridge full of beer.”
It was a fantasy they’d woven together over years of grueling hours investigating crimes, and Frank was somewhat surprised to discover he no longer found it so appealing. “I don’t know, Wade, life changes when you retire. You see things differently.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve found God!”
Well, in a way, he had. But it had been the heart attack that ushered in those feelings, not retirement. “We’ll talk about it when you’re closer to retirement,” Frank offered.
“So what brings you here?”
“I’m doing a little follow-up on the Lisa Russell murder.”
“Follow-up? That one’s dead and gone.”
“Don’t I know it. Case files had to be dug out of storage. But Lisa’s parents keep hoping something will turn up that Sam won’t be able to wiggle out from under.”
“Ain’t going to happen.”
“Yeah, I know.” Frank brushed a streak of dust from his sleeve. He’d forgotten how dusty the file room was. “But Sam Russell and trouble have crossed paths again, this time in California.”
Frank had Wade’s full attention now. “He got remarried and his new wife was murdered,” Frank explained.
“Whoa. They think Sam did it?”
“That’s one theory. Anyone here assigned to Lisa’s murder still?”
“I don’t think so. As far as the department is concerned, it’s closed. We got our man. But funny you should ask, because we got a call last week. A young woman, says she was related to Lisa. She wanted to talk to someone in charge. It wound up on my desk. I haven’t had time to follow up. Not a high priority, with the active cases we’ve got.”
“Mind if I talk to her?”
“Be my guest. I’ll get you the contact info.”
Wade took the file he’d pulled and headed back to the squad room. Frank followed. While Wade rummaged through the stack of message slips on his desk—some things never changed—Frank looked around.
“Who’s the guy at my old desk?”
“Jeff Monroe. A little wet behind the ears, but he’s a good guy. I mean, he’s black but green.” Wade rolled his eyes. “Here it is ...” He pulled a pink message slip and handed it to Frank. “I’d better keep the slip, but you can copy the information.”
Frank reached for a piece of blank paper and wrote down the woman’s name—Annalise Rose—and the phone number.
“Thanks,” he said. “You remember anything about Lisa Russell being a ... I don’t know, someone who’d come on to deliverymen and the like?”
Wade shook his head. “Why, is the second wife like that?”
“I don’t know. But I talked to the holdout juror a while ago, and he said that was a big factor in his decision to give Sam the benefit of the doubt.”
“It’s been a long time, but that sure isn’t the impression I got.”
“Me either.”
“What a system we got, huh? We bust our butts to haul in the bad guys, and then one kook like that can throw a monkey wrench into the whole system.”
CHAPTER 38
Hannah turned from the radiology reception counter and surveyed the packed waiting room, looking for an open seat. She was about to head into the hallway, where she’d noticed a bench earlier, when a technician summoned the next patient for her appointment. Hannah made a beeline for the now-vacant seat.
The woman se
ated to her right was checking messages on her cell phone. To her left, another was chatting in Spanish to her companion. They were both laughing. Hannah wondered if she was the only one in the room with butterflies in her stomach.
Until three years ago, she’d diligently, and complacently, shown up for routine mammograms when her doctor ordered them. She considered the appointments a nuisance—one more demand on an already tight schedule—but she’d never given them a thought beyond that. She tossed the follow-up postcard that gave her a clean bill of health with the same offhand disregard she showed for junk mail.
Then came the call that started the avalanche that knocked her off her feet.
There was a spot on one of the films, the nurse had told her. It was probably nothing, but the doctor wanted to take a second set of films just to be sure. And with the second set of films, the spot became a lump. A tiny lump, which the doctor assured her would probably turn out to be nothing. But the biopsy showed it to be a definite something, after all. The tiny lump, which only a week earlier had been only an ambiguous spot on the X-ray, was suddenly a frighteningly aggressive strain of cancer. Medical appointments were no longer simple annoyances; they became the milestones in her battle. Surgery, chemo, radiation, tests. More tests. Even now, with a precarious three-year streak of good luck, she was terrified that the next test would send her headlong into another cavern. And that this time she wouldn’t have the strength to climb out.
The technician called two more names. The woman with the cell phone stood, as did an older woman across the room. Their seats were quickly grabbed up by others. Hannah counted twenty people in the waiting room. Twenty mammograms an hour, roughly, six hours a day. And most of them were clean.
It was like flying, Hannah told herself. Despite occasional horrific crashes, statistically speaking, airplanes were safe. She needed to take comfort in remembering the odds were in her favor. But they weren’t as good as if she’d never had cancer.
Hannah picked up a magazine from the table, flipped through pages of makeup tips and fashion advice without focusing on any of it.
Finally, her name was called. The technician handed Hannah a scratchy paper gown.
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