by Julie Miller
Probably nothing to worry about.
But there was something else, farther back, its shape distorted by the ruffling tarp, framed in the tee where the two alleys connected. The hair at her nape pricked to attention. She raised her gaze from the camera to the tunnel of shadows leading down to the dim light at the crossroads.
Someone was moving in the other alley.
“Officer Galbreath?” The second name popped into her head. “Foster?”
It made sense for the two officers to take a shortcut coming back from the Shamrock Bar, as cold as it was. No one else would cross the yellow crime scene tape blocking each end of the alley, would they?
No one she wanted to run into, at any rate.
Screw independence.
“Detective Fensom?” She retreated a step toward the sidewalk and called over her shoulder. She wondered if he was still on his phone to his partner. Had he been a rat and gotten inside his Jeep to warm up while he made the call? “Nick?”
Speaking of rats, maybe that’s all this was. Even though she didn’t particularly want to meet a swarm of those either, it would be a plausible explanation for the sounds—rats tunneling beneath trash bags, rifling through Dumpsters and knocking things over.
She almost hoped that she’d step on a rat or some other critter to prove to herself that any threat she felt was only in her imagination. But a rat would still be moving. And the only thing she was hearing now was her own pulse throbbing in her ears.
“Nick?” A shadow darted around the corner and rushed toward her. Way too big to be a rat. “Nick!”
Annie was in full retreat as the figure dressed in black charged. She raised her flashlight, the only weapon she had on hand as the black coat and dark eyes behind a stocking mask took shape. One arm swung her way, but she deflected it. Another arm knocked the flashlight from Annie’s cold fingers. She screamed.
Two big hands locked around her shoulders and threw her against the Dumpster. Ignoring the bruising pain, she shoved backward against her attacker, ramming her elbow into his gut. “Stop fighting,” he muttered on a voiceless rasp.
“Nick!” she screamed.
But the man, much larger, much stronger, palmed the back of her head and shoved her forward. Her forehead connected with immovable steel, splitting open skin, numbing the point of impact. Annie collapsed to her knees as the darkness swirled around her and the snow rushed up to meet her. More scuffling noises buzzed through her foggy senses. The corner of the tarp broke free of its mooring and whipped against her.
And then she was jerked upward by the camera strap looped around her neck.
“No!” The thick strap strangled her and she instinctively scratched at the choking vise. The strap loosened for an instant and she latched on tight, holding on as he yanked her to her feet, trying to pull the camera from her neck.
“You crazy—”
“Hey. Hey!” Another voice was shouting, a man’s voice. There was no mistaking the drum beat of running footsteps now. Or the deep shout of Nick Fensom’s voice. “KCPD!”
All at once, the tension left the camera strap and Annie tumbled backward. She rolled onto her hands and knees and pushed herself up, snatching the swinging camera against her stomach as the dark figure ran toward the back of the alley.
“Stop where you— Damn it, Annie, get down!”
By the time she focused in on Nick’s gun and realized she was in the line of fire, Nick had rushed past her. He charged through the alley like a linebacker chasing down the quarterback and disappeared around the corner into the darkness. Both the attacker and her savior were gone.
Clear thoughts were still trying to work their way into her jumbled brain as Annie untangled the plastic tarp from her legs and staggered to her feet. A man had been hiding in the shadows, waiting to attack. How long had he been watching to make sure she was alone? Who was he? Why her? She was going to have plenty of bruises on her body, along with a crazy headache. She hugged her camera tightly to her chest.
The squeal of car tires spinning to find traction and shouts in the distance diverted her thoughts to a different question. Had Nick Fensom really come to her rescue?
She was leaning against a brick wall, still puzzling out that last observation, when the detective in question came jogging back around the corner. The stocky shadow became a leather jacket and dark hair, blue eyes and stiff-lipped concern as he approached.
He tucked his gun into the back of his jeans as he spoke into the phone at his ear. “Track down those two cops and tell them to get their butts back here now. We’ve got a trespasser on the scene. Fensom out. Annie?” He stuffed the phone into his pocket and closed his hand around her arm. “CSI Hermann?”
“I’m okay.”
But when he pulled her away from the wall and turned her, Annie’s knees wobbled. Nick’s face swirled out of focus and suddenly her feet left the ground. “Easy, slugger. I’ve got you.”
She identified soft cold leather beneath her cheek before she realized that Nick had scooped her up in his arms and was carrying her out of the alley and along the sidewalk toward his silver Jeep. Annie’s focus bounced along with every step, making her dizzy, and she squeezed her eyes shut. But other nerve endings were working just fine. The solid chest didn’t move when she pushed against it. The muscular arms were locked firmly around her shoulders and knees.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” What was happening to her? Nick Fensom couldn’t annoy the hell out of her and then haul her around without some kind of explanation. She slitted her eyes open when the movement stopped. “You know, you’ve never once touched me before tonight, and now this is the second time you’ve gotten personal without my permis—”
Her butt hit the passenger seat of his Jeep as he set her inside. He reached across her lap and pointed to the radio on his dashboard. “Call it in to Dispatch. Lock the doors.”
He hadn’t even acknowledged her protest. Instead, he was pulling his gun again, retreating.
Annie grabbed a fistful of his jacket. “You’re leaving me?”
“You said you were all right on your own.” She’d lied. Yes, she knew how to be self-sufficient. Didn’t mean she liked it. Especially when shadows came to life and attacked her. He laid his gloved hand over hers and gently pried it free. “Sit tight. I’ll be back. I’m going to find out what the hell just happened.”
“Nick—” But the door closed and he darted into the alley again. Falling snow and loneliness swallowed Annie up.
* * *
“WHERE DID GALBREATH AND Foster go?” Nick muttered out loud as he retraced the footprints he’d run past earlier before they disappeared beneath a fluffy layer of snow in the alley. Two sets besides his own went out, but only one came back into the alley. The perp who’d gone after Annie had waited there, by that trash can. Why hadn’t the two uniformed officers gotten back to the scene ASAP? Or called him if they’d been delayed?
Nick stood at the edge of the curb where the north/south alley came out onto the street and looked up and down the block. With his gun still drawn and hanging down at his side, he took note of the green neon shamrock hanging in the bar window across the street a little ways down the block.
His instincts were to go over there and see if the missing officers had decided to ignore his emergency call and have an extra cup of coffee. He didn’t know either man personally, but the only reasons a cop wouldn’t answer a call for backup was because he was a lazy dumbass, he’d been disabled or he was on the take—and Nick wasn’t comfortable with any of those options.
Nick’s breathing quieted, but his suspicions mounted with every passing second. Something about this picture was all wrong. The street was too quiet. The hour might be late, but New Year’s was a holiday that was about staying up all night and partying, especially in a trendy area like this downtown neighborhood. Yet there was not one person on the street besides him. No one waiting for a bus or cab or scraping off a windshield or darting through the shadows.
The man who’d attacked Annie was gone. And the two uniformed cops assigned to the crime scene weren’t coming back.
Nick didn’t like the answer he got from Dispatch when he called in to get the officers’ location. “Relieved of duty? What do you mean they were relieved? By whom?”
“Officer Galbreath said Officer Gobel met them at the Shamrock Bar. Gobel and an Officer Ramirez were taking over the crime scene detail.”
Nick swore. “Then put me through to Gobel and Ramirez.”
A couple of minutes passed before the Dispatch operator came back on the line. Her apology was a bad, bad sign. “I’m sorry, Detective. Apparently, Officer Gobel is out of town on vacation. I have three Ramirezes on the personnel list—do you have a first name for me to contact?”
“No, forget it.” If one cop was a fake, then he was guessing both men were impostors. He’d bet his next paycheck that one of them had come back to attack Annie while the other had waited close by to drive the getaway car. “Wait, do you have a twenty on Galbreath and Foster?”
“Yes, they’re back at Fourth Precinct HQ.”
“Good. Tell them to stay put until I call them.” He had a traumatized CSI waiting for him back in his Jeep. He’d made a promise to his partner that he’d keep an eye on Annie Hermann and the crime scene—that he’d protect the task force and the work they were doing. He’d better turn around and do just that. With one last glance at the empty street, Nick headed back into the alley. “Call in a sketch artist, too. I want them to give me a good description of what this fake Officer Gobel looked like.”
“I’ll let them know. Dispatch out.”
How had the two men gotten access to KCPD uniforms and IDs to look authentic enough to waltz into a cop bar and convince two legitimate officers to head back to HQ? How did they find out about the crime scene in the first place? Or were they after Annie? And why?
Nick wasn’t going to find his answers here. His best bet was to get a description from the real officers and then run a facial recognition check through criminal databases and hope to get a hit on some real names. All that would take time. But right now, he needed to get back to Annie.
Decision made, Nick traded his gun for a flashlight and headed south toward the east/west alley. Because his gut was telling him he wasn’t catching the perp in the black parka and ski mask tonight, he let his thoughts stray from the doorways and trash bins where he automatically checked for anyone hiding there. What was it about men in black parkas? First, Jordan Garza had put his paws all over his baby sister, and now one had assaulted Annie. Or maybe it was the New Year that had brought out all the creepies and tilted Nick’s world on its edge.
And what was the deal with Annie Hermann tonight anyway? Had he come to the crime scene with his concentration and emotions so out of whack over finding Nell making out with a gangbanger that he wasn’t thinking straight? His concerns for his family had distracted him from the role he needed to play here. KCPD detective. Task force member. Protector. Period.
The Annie he knew had always been big mouth and attitude, not shy glances and vulnerability. She was Ivy League education and absentminded professor to his working-class street smarts and willingness to take point on the front line of the action. He teased her the way he teased his sisters. He respected her skills, got frustrated with her stubbornness and argued her out-of-left-field ideas. So there was no call for noticing how perfectly her small, dexterous hands had fit between his, or how her plain brown eyes turned a deep, soulful amber when she tilted them up at him and questioned why he was so eager to touch her tonight.
Man, he should be asking himself that same question. He needed a stiff drink or a good lay or a smack on the back of the head to get this ill-timed and inappropriate awareness of the woman—of the fact Annie Hermann was a woman and not some girl playing with her chemistry set—out of his head.
Nick turned the corner and collided with the distraction herself.
“Did you find Galbreath and the other officer?” She was sharp elbows and flashing eyes and tripping over one of his feet.
“Damn it, Hermann, I told you to stay in the car.” He caught her by the arms to steady her and quickly release her, but she’d already latched on to the sleeve of his coat, denying him the clear-thinking distance he needed.
“It’s been ten minutes.”
“You’re timing me?”
“I didn’t know if something had happened to you.” Her other hand was clutching the front of his coat now. “I didn’t want to be alone. Even being with you is better than being alone right now.”
“What you don’t do for my ego.” Casting aside the humbling revelation, Nick freed the leather from her death grip to turn her back toward the Jeep. “Come on. I don’t think our perp’s coming back. Neither are Galbreath and Foster.”
He raised her fingers up to the illumination from his flashlight. She’d peeled off those sterile plastic gloves and replaced them with royal blue knit ones. But there was still blood on the fingers.
Her blood?
Nick swung the light up to her face, ignoring her squint as he brushed that wonderfully curly, dark brown hair off her forehead.
“What are you doing?” she protested, batting his hand away. “What happened to Galbreath and Foster? Are they okay?”
Nick pushed back the edge of her blue stocking cap and cursed at the weeping gash at her temple. Way to take care of people, Fensom. The thickness of the wool and Annie’s hair had probably saved her life. Answering the 9-1-1 pouring through his system, Nick mentally shifted gears. He hugged his arm around Annie’s shoulders and hurried her through the alley. “That needs stitches. I have to get you to the E.R.”
“But the officers—”
“Are gone. Some bogus cop calling himself Gobel met them at the Shamrock and sent them back to HQ.”
“Fake cops?”
Nick nodded. “I’m guessing one of them attacked you.”
“Why?”
“How the hell would I know? They didn’t wait around to chat.”
“And I never got a good look at him. All I saw were brown eyes. And he only spoke in a whisper. Nothing I could make out...” She kept pace with him for several yards. He gripped her arm tighter when they had to step over the flailing corner of a fallen tarp. When they reached the Dumpster where she’d found the victim’s purse, Annie stumbled. She swayed back a step. And then she stopped.
She’d lost too much blood. She was passing out.
Halting in his tracks, Nick quickly unzipped his coat and shucked out of it. He draped it around her slender shoulders to add some warmth and stave off shock. But like his sister earlier that night, she shrugged it off. “Of all the stubborn...”
He saw the focus of her eyes and understood it wasn’t stubbornness or bravado as much as something else had caught her attention. She lurched forward and Nick grabbed her arm to support her. She touched the pink, slushy smear on the brick wall where the blood had been. “He wiped away the handprints.” She brought her glove back to her nose and made a face. Even Nick could smell the bleach from where he stood. “He’s contaminated everything—cut the anchor ropes on the tarp. Snow’s getting into...” She pulled away and dived into the pile of trash. “Oh, no.” She tossed aside one bag, then two. “No, no, no, no.”
“Annie.” Nick slung his jacket around her again, looping his arm about her waist and lifting her away from the mess she was making. “We need to go. You’re not thinking straight. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“No.” She spun in his grasp, fisted her fingers in the front of his sweater. “My kit is gone. He took my spare kit.” She blinked away the snowflakes and blood from her upturned eyes. “Along with the evidence I’d gathered inside it.”
Chapter Three
“It’s just a cut, sir.” Annie looked from the harsh scrutiny of her boss, Mac Taylor, the director of the KCPD crime lab, to the baffled expression of her friend and fellow CSI, Raj Kapoor, who lurked near the curtai
n separating this bay of the Truman Medical Center’s E.R. from the other emergency treatment rooms. “Really, I’m okay.”
Raj’s black eyebrows came together like a fuzzy caterpillar when he frowned an apology. “You don’t look so good to me, Annie.” His accented voice conveyed both sympathy and surprise. “When Mac said you needed help at the crime scene, I thought he meant you couldn’t carry everything in your kit.”
Her kit. She let her head sink back into the pillow on the E.R. bay’s exam table. Why would the rat who’d clobbered her steal her kit?
Her boss scowled behind the lenses of his glasses. He was so going to take her off this case if he believed she couldn’t fix this mess.
Opening her eyes at the touch beneath her neck, Annie looked for an ally in the friendlier countenance of the E.R. nurse who lifted Annie to wrap stretch adhesive around her head to anchor a protective gauze pad over the nine stitches in her hairline. “The doctor didn’t seem to think it was anything serious, right?”
“I believe he mentioned concussion.” The trauma nurse, whom Annie recognized from a couple of departmental social functions, was her supervisor’s wife. Julia Dalton Taylor offered her a kind smile before reaching over to touch Mac’s hand. “But trust me, I’ve seen a lot worse.”
Even scarred by the accident that had cost him part of his vision, the stern look behind her boss’s glasses melted for a second while he squeezed his wife’s fingers. “You’re in good hands, Annie.” Then he turned the focus of his sighted eye back down to her. “I know some of the CSIs in my lab were cops before they became forensic investigators, but most of us are scientists—like you and Raj. I don’t care if you are trained to use a gun, we’re not supposed to go head-to-head with the bad guys out in the field.” He leaned over her a moment, pulling aside the collar of Annie’s sweater to inspect the bruise darkening around her throat, where the attacker had tried to yank the camera from her neck. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
“Mac.” Julia shooed away her husband’s hand and inquisitive concern. “She’ll be fine.”
