Snatched (A Diana Hunter Mystery Book 2)

by Alison Golden

  SNATCHED

  ALISON GOLDEN

  &

  Gabriella Zinnas

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  CHAPTER 1

  DIANA HUNTER BENT over, taking deep breaths of the salty air. She’d pushed herself hard on her run today. She’d felt the need to after being stuck behind her desk almost around the clock for the past seven days.

  Standing up, she began to stretch her muscles. That’s when she saw him. A man sitting under a tree right outside her apartment. Usually, she wouldn’t have taken any notice. He looked engrossed in the book he was reading, and it wasn’t unusual for people to come out and sit by the ocean.

  But there was a problem. First of all, it was seven in the morning. No matter how much you loved reading, being out at this time was odd. Yes, it was beautiful, but then Royal Bay Beach always was. The sun sparkled off the deep blue water, the grass was lush and green, and the pale sand looked as inviting as always. Diana had spent many an afternoon enjoying a good book curled up under a maple tree or admiring the flowers and shrubs that dotted the promenade running right alongside the beach. But not so early in the morning, when it was still pretty chilly.

  She’d first noticed him when she’d started her run, almost an hour ago. And he hadn’t moved an inch since then. Something was definitely wrong.

  She walked over to him. “Sir? Are you feeling alright?”

  No response. She tried again, a little louder this time. “Can I get you anything? Do you need a doctor?”

  Again, nothing. Kneeling next to him, she took a closer look. Her breath caught in her throat. This isn’t good.

  He was pale. Much too pale. His chest didn’t seem to be moving, either. She reached out a trembling hand and, using two fingers, tried to find a pulse in his neck. He was as cold as ice. There was not even a flutter of a heartbeat to be found.

  This man was dead. And she was fairly certain that he hadn’t died of natural causes. Especially considering that, other than having no pulse, the man looked to be in good health and was certainly in his prime.

  The urge to scream was strong, but she kept it in. “Breathe, Diana, breathe. You’ve seen dead bodies before. Get a grip.” The last thing she wanted was to turn a crime scene into a circus, which would make the job of the police impossible.

  She looked up to see if anyone was around. The beach was deserted. She pulled out her phone and dialed 911.

  “What is your emergency?” the operator said as soon as the call connected.

  “I’d like to report a dead body.” Diana cleared her throat. “Could you send an ambulance and the police?”

  “Did you say a body, Ms. …?” the operator inquired, her tone disbelieving.

  “Diana Hunter. And since he isn’t breathing and is as cold as ice, I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” Diana’s voice had gone up a few octaves, so she took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “Please send someone.”

  “Of course,” the woman was suddenly all business. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll dispatch units to your location.”

  “I’m right on the promenade near Royal Bay Beach, close to Stanley Park.”

  “Stay where you are. The police will be there in five minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Diana disconnected the call and looked down at the body again. Now that she was a little calmer, her brain started working overtime. What could have happened to him? Who was he? Who could have left him there? Why take the time to position him like that?

  Part of her wanted to turn away and ignore the whole situation. She had been looking forward to spending a quiet weekend at home catching up on some chores. But questions kept nagging at her. With a sigh of defeat, she took a closer look at the body, making sure not to touch anything. She didn’t want to contaminate evidence and make the police work harder.

  Clearly, whoever had dumped the body had wanted to make sure people didn’t notice it right away. And one thing was certain. He hadn’t been there last night. She’d got in after midnight, and would have noticed someone sitting on the grass at that time. So the body must have been deposited between one and six this morning.

  Diana took another quick look around her and leaned in to examine the body. There weren’t any visible marks on him. She was tempted to stand up and move away, but her curiosity got the better of her. His shirt was unbuttoned part way down – a fact she hadn’t noticed earlier – so she pinched the fabric with the tips of her nails, trying to touch as little as possible. She pulled the shirt out slightly and looked down, but before she could be sufficiently horrified in her reaction, she heard sirens. The cops would get rather touchy about someone getting too close to their crime scene, so she jumped up and as far away from the body as was feasible without looking like a crazy person.

  An ambulance, a patrol unit, and an unmarked police car pulled up beside her. As the paramedics rushed to the body – she could have told them rushing wasn’t necessary – she watched the policemen get out of their patrol vehicle. One of them looked young, and she tried to hide a small smile at the terrified look on his face. This was probably his first dead body. Just then she felt a light touch on her elbow. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Ms. Diana Hunter,” the man asked. This had to be the man who’d pulled up in the other car.

  “Yes.”

  “Ms. Hunter, I’m Detective Peter Hopkinson. Can you tell me what happened?”

  She gave the man a quick once over and noted that he wasn’t exactly what she had been expecting. She’d dealt with the police quite a bit in her career and found that detectives were usually middle-aged men with significant paunches and constantly irritated demeanors. Her experience had never involved a man who looked like he’d stepped off the cover of GQ magazine, sexy stubble included.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, I found a dead body.” Great going, Diana. That was deep. Really. Like he hadn’t figured that out by himself.

  “Yes, I think we’ve established that,” he said gently. “Could you be a little more specific?”

  For some reason, his quiet disposition annoyed her. She wasn’t in shock, and she definitely didn’t need to be coddled.

  She drew her shoulders back and, in a much stronger voice, explained to him precisely what had happened.

  “So, the body was here when you left on your run?” he asked, taking notes on his tablet. It was the first time she’d seen a detective with something other than a notepad.

  “Yes, I told you he was. But, at the time, I didn’t know he was dead. I thought he was reading a book, though it did strike me as odd. It was pretty chilly this morning, and no one comes out quite this early.” Great, now she was babbling.

  “And what made you stop to speak to him on your way back?”

  Diana rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth. “As I said, he hadn’t moved at all from his position, and I wanted to check he was alright.”

  “You noticed he hadn’t moved?” For some reason, the detective seemed rather skeptical.

  “Didn’t I just say that?” Why was he asking her to tell him the same things over and over again? Didn’t he believe her?

  “It’s unusual for people to be quite that observant.” His strange look set her teeth on edge.

  “You think I killed him?” Her tone clearly showed her shock. She’d never been a murder suspect before.

  “Of course not,” the detective said gently. “I’m just covering all my bases. And you have to admi
t, it does look a bit suspicious.”

  Diana felt her temperature rise up another notch. She was seriously starting to dislike the detective. Logic said he needed to ask her all these questions, but it just felt like he was wasting her time. Not to mention, also insulting her. First, he treated her like a silly little woman, and now he was inferring that she might have been involved. Male cover model looks or not, she had the sudden and overwhelming urge to tell him to shove it. Or slap him.

  “Finding a dead body drained of blood outside my building is certainly suspicious,” she snapped. “And of course I’m involved. I’m such a criminal mastermind that I killed him, drained his blood into my bath tub, dragged him out here, let him sit around for a couple of hours, and then called the police on myself to deflect suspicion.” She snapped her mouth closed in irritation.

  “Is that what happened?”

  Diana clenched her teeth. She took a deep breath and realized her imagination had taken off without her permission, creating a realistic scenario of what could have actually happened. Except for one thing. “And just how exactly would I get a dead body that weighs at least 180 pounds down from my apartment, on my own, without leaving a trail of blood, and without being seen?”

  “I don’t know. That’s for you to tell me.” He was watching her closely, his face betraying nothing.

  “You’re being serious? I can’t believe this. I wish I’d never made the call. I should have simply walked on by.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Hunter, but all of this is a bit strange, especially considering how much you seem to know about the body.” Great. She’d done it again. She’d put her foot in her mouth, and now she had to extricate it without letting on how close she’d got to the body. In her experience, offense was the best form of defense. So, she attacked.

  “How much I know? What are you blathering about?”

  The detective stiffened. “Well, I would be quite interested in how you know the body was drained of blood.” His tone was much colder than it had been before.

  Diana took a deep breath to calm herself before she went off again. Maybe insulting him hadn’t been the best course of action. “I got up real close and personal with him to make sure he was dead, and his color suggested he’d suffered severe blood loss.” She knew that all dead bodies had the same waxen pallor whether or not they had lost blood, but she had to say something.

  The detective cocked an eyebrow. “Is that the only reason you assume he was drained of blood?”

  “Why else would I think that?” She really hoped he was buying this. The last thing she needed was to be charged with obstruction or tampering with evidence or whatever else they charged people with for fiddling with dead bodies when they shouldn’t.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because you killed him and are now trying to throw us off your trail?”

  “You know, I was having such a nice morning.”

  “I can see how a dead body could ruin your morning.”

  Diana snorted. “It wasn’t the dead body that did it,” she replied with a pointed glare at him.

  Now the detective was gritting his teeth. Good. He was an ass who thought she’d killed this guy and then called the cops.

  “If there’s anything else…” he trailed off stiffly.

  She debated whether she should tell him what else she had noticed, but decided against it. If she said anything more, he’d probably arrest her.

  “No, that’s all I know.”

  “Very well. If you could come down to the station later on today so I can take your statement, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Didn’t I just tell you what happened?” Diana knew it was proper procedure but the fact that he wanted to go through what she had seen a third time was extremely irritating. Maybe it had something to do with the condescending look on his face.

  “As I’m sure you are well aware, it’s just a formality. So, please, come to the station.”

  “No.”

  “No?” He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What do you mean, no?”

  “Just what it sounds like. You want my statement, you can come to my place and get it.” And then she realized just how much like a proposition that sounded – especially when his eyes widened slightly – and a blush crept up her cheeks. “I meant that this is the first weekend I’ve had some free time, and I want to catch up on some chores at home. I need to get some vacuuming done. My fridge hasn’t been restocked in ages, and everything is covered in dust.” Great, now she was babbling like an idiot. Could this day get any worse? “So, if you want that statement, I’ll type it out, and you can pick it up later,” she finished in a rush.

  The detective paused for a moment, looking at her carefully, “Yeah, sure. I’ll come pick it up later on this afternoon.” He was still giving her a weird look. What was it about this man and his very attractive face that made her fly off the handle so easily?

  “Okay.” She rattled her address and phone number off while he took note of them and then turned to walk away. She would absolutely not give in and tell him what he could do with the stupid placating look he had on his face.

  “By the way, Ms. Hunter, what was it you said you did?” Hopkinson was looking at her as if he’d already judged her. Just because she wasn’t exactly looking her best with her rather worn and faded T-shirt and her running shoes that had seen better days, that didn’t mean he had the right to judge.

  “I’m a magazine editor,” she snapped.

  He inclined his head, eyebrow cocked again. “That explains it,” she heard him mutter. Did all law enforcement officers come with a built-in disdain for magazine editors? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been insulted by a detective because of her job.

  “Are you implying that my imagination has run away with me?”

  He looked at her with a small trace of surprise. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t need to. I know your type.”

  “Wouldn’t that be the pot calling the kettle black?” he asked with a smirk.

  She huffed in irritation because he had her. Deciding retreat was the better part of valor, she turned on her heel and marched toward her building. Of course, Diana being Diana, she couldn’t help but throw a parting shot at him.

  “Just to make your job easier, I’m pretty sure this was a body dump.”

  Before he had a chance to say another word, she’d marched off, leaving him with a bemused look on his face. That’s when she realized she might have implicated herself even further. Why couldn’t she have just kept her mouth shut? She didn’t have any proof of it being a body dump. It might be the logical conclusion, especially after she’d seen the wicked cut the man sported from sternum to navel. But still.

  CHAPTER 2

  DIANA WALKED INTO her apartment, shutting the door behind her and making sure to lock it. Her job as a reporter and then a magazine editor for a news and crime publication meant that she’d met and interviewed many people, including some pretty tough characters. She knew quite a lot about how the underworld worked, and it wasn’t a pretty sight; abused mothers and children prostituting themselves to make money for food, pimps taking advantage, and various other hardened criminals out to make a buck, regardless of who they had to trample over. She’d met a few serial killers, too.

  So, she always made sure to lock her door. It might not stop someone really determined, but it would give her a few extra minutes to get out of her apartment using the fire escape, if push came to shove.

  But before she could take a step, a small cannonball of white fluff hurled itself at her, yipping and barking. She laughed as she got down on her knees, holding her arms open. Max got the message and bounded up to her, licking her face, his tail wagging energetically.

  She hugged him until he started to squirm. She smiled down at the Maltese terrier who was her constant companion and the official love of her life. He always knew how to make her smile. He sat down, wagging his tail, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, looking up at her exp
ectantly.

  “Alright, alright. Come on. Let’s get breakfast.” She walked into her stylish, modern kitchen with its red and black lacquered cabinets, black granite countertops, and an island with her collection of copper pots and pans hanging above it. She opened the door to a cupboard and pulled out the dog food. Measuring out the right amount, she put Max’s dog bowl down on the kitchen floor. Like a good boy, Max waited to be invited. “Eat, Max.” In a flash, Max dived into the bowl. She giggled and rolled her eyes. Typical male. As soon as food was present, Max completely forgot she existed.

  Now that he had been taken care of, she walked into her bedroom that featured the same modern lines and red and black color scheme as the rest of her apartment. A king size bed with a black curved headboard, chrome accents, and inbuilt lighting dominated most of the space. Two small glass and chrome tables stood either side of the bed, in lieu of more traditional nightstands. Floor to ceiling mirrors hid her walk-in wardrobe. The wall facing her bed had red and black lacquered shelving units that held her makeup, some of her favorite books and magazines, and a single photograph in an ornate silver frame.

  Diana paused for a moment and trailed her fingers over the frame with a small sigh. The photograph was one of her most cherished possessions. It was a shot of her parents. Whenever she saw it, her heart shuddered. The way they looked at each other in the picture showed how much love they had shared. She ached to hear her mother’s soothing voice and her father’s deep and contagious laugh. She yearned to be held and told everything would be all right. She longed to be not so alone. Angrily she dashed away the single tear that rolled down her cheek.

  Giving herself a mental shake and putting the past firmly where it belonged – in the past, for now – she began to take off her clothes. She dumped everything into the hamper and padded into the bathroom. Turning the shower spray on, she waited a moment for the room to steam up. She knew at that point, the water would be perfect.