A Critical Tangent

by Reily Garrett

  She’d altered the course of whatever part of his life remained.

  How many people were going to die because of her? If her parents hadn’t stopped at the quick mart to pick up ice cream, they’d still be alive. Now, a psycho claimed she had some part in an operation. What type? Where did she fit in?

  A solid kick sent the chair from its perch against the door. She jerked it open after grabbing the lamp from the bedside table and yanking the cord from its socket, weak as far as weapons went.

  In the living room, she cringed. The thug was gone, but the officer lay on the floor, eyes closed as if taking a nap. His revolver remained gripped in his hand.

  Her dad’s shotgun lay just beyond his feet.

  The police will think I shot him.

  She approached on silent steps, each stride adding to the tears brimming her eyes.

  Blood covered his left shoulder and pooled on the floor between his arm and chest, soaking his shirtsleeve. This was one of the reasons she’d decided to solve the puzzle herself.

  The officer appeared to be her age, but had to be twenty-one to carry a gun. One of her classmates had gone through the police academy at age twenty, the crucial birthday hitting two weeks before graduating.

  Behind her, silverware and cooking utensils lay scattered across the tile floor between stainless steel pots and pans. Even the contents of her refrigerator lay strewn across the tile with shattered glass glinting in the sun that streamed through the window. One piece survived intact—her precious table.

  Her legs shook as she knelt by the officer’s side and reached to feel for a pulse. She’d heard two shots, one from a pistol, the other a shotgun blast. The odds of the officer hitting his target weren’t good considering the lack of a blood trail unless the intruder wore body armor.

  The officer had a pulse, and it was strong as breath moved in and out of his lungs. His brow furrowed in pain. The nametag read Crowley, the designation forever burned into her brain.

  A surge of energy thrust her up to snatch one of her racing T-shirts hung on the wall. Crimson soaked the tie-dyed material pressed to his wound, a reminder of a race where someone else almost died.

  Thundering footsteps in the hallway ceased at her doorway. Nolan and Coyote had their guns drawn and aimed toward the floor.

  “He’s gone,” she answered the question in the detectives’ eyes, her own blurred with moisture.

  Nolan shouldered his weapon and knelt on the other side of Crowley, his grimace convicting her in the court of public opinion despite lack of specific knowledge.

  A two-handed grip on the victim’s shirt ripped the garment open and sent buttons plinking against the wall to slide to the floor. Underneath, the officer wore his vest, which had caught a portion of the shotgun spray.

  “Crowley, EMS is en route.” The wolf demeanor slid in place, an unspoken assurance to set things right. A brief scan of her face preceded a deepening frown before turning his attention back to the officer.

  Coyote stood guard at the doorway, informing dispatch over his phone of the downed officer.

  “I didn’t see him,” Keiki began in a choked voice. “I heard the doorknob rattle and tried to pick up my phone.”

  She looked back to the kitchen, not seeing her cell. “I dropped it and didn’t have time to pick it up, so I ran into the bedroom and wedged a chair against the door.” If the officer died, it would be her fault.

  Crimson coated the creases of Crowley’s neck and arm, but his eyes snapped open in panic. Nolan placed one hand on the officer’s uninjured shoulder to keep him flat when he curled to sit.

  Neither remarked on the shotgun lying on her living room floor.

  “Not yet, Crowley. EMS will be here in five,” Coyote advised from the doorway.

  “Was it the same guy who went after Shelly?” Nolan’s pitch dropped an octave, continuing his no-nonsense demeanor.

  “Yes. The guy had a Spanish accent.” Keiki pointed to her father’s shotgun in helpless rage. “What does he want?”

  “We’ll figure it out, kid. We will. What else did he say?”

  Keiki couldn’t comprehend all that blood, but she couldn’t meet Nolan’s inquisitive scrutiny either. All the panic, frustration, and fear combined in a soundless scream that rent her thoughts to shreds.

  In the next instant, words without meaning spewed forth, broken by sobs and choking noises she couldn’t hold back. Nolan reached to touch her shoulder, but she couldn’t bear his compassion.

  Paramedics arrived and began assessment and treatment, urging the detectives out of their way. Sounds of plastic ripping open and low murmurs signaled emergency work in progress. Two other tenants in the hallway watched the comings and goings of EMS personnel.

  Keiki felt numbness creep into her soul as they continued to work in the background. Crimson-stained carpet inside her door marked where the officer had fallen.

  Nolan halted the paramedic’s progress with an outstretched hand as they wheeled past with their conscious patient. “Did you see his face, Crowley?”

  “No. He wore a mask. Spanish dialect. He said vos instead of tú.” The low murmur spoke of pain, almost an apology. “When he held the gun up, he was wearing gloves.”

  “What about his choice of words?” Nolan canted his head to the side, waiting.

  “He was Costa Rican. I recognized the way he talks—same as my aunt.”

  Nolan sighed. “We’re looking for a shooter from Costa Rica who flies drones and wears a mask.”

  One minute she was sobbing with her face in her hands, the next, strong arms pulled her against a solid chest, familiar, safe, and warm.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear it… Well, sometimes I fly my drones too close to buildings, but Tucker set me straight on that.” She babbled, with no control over thought or content. Words without meaning hurled out like an erupting volcano.

  “Tucker?” The edge was back in the wolf’s voice.

  She tried to pull back, but he nudged her closer, rubbing her shoulders and back.

  “Yeah. I’m beginning to think I’m not cut out for this shit.”

  “Aw, hell. You shouldn’t be mixed up with the likes of him, anyway.” Coyote turned away and scrubbed a hand over his jaw.

  “Well, he’s nice, and I’m earning extra money.”

  “Is he working on anything concerning Harock Industries?” Nolan asked.

  “No. Not that he’s told me.”

  “You can’t stay here, now.” Nolan’s regard catalogued the carnage on the floor and, at last, stopped on the shotgun.

  She answered before he could ask. “I know. I told you it belonged to my father. Was the prick trying to frame me?”

  “If not for the vest, Crowley would be dead. So, yeah, I’d say yes.” His analytic tone turned sharp.

  “He’s gonna keep coming,” Coyote murmured.

  “I have friends I can stay with for a while.” Keiki assessed both detectives’ expressions, calculating their measure of determination.

  “And lead a killer to their door? That’s not a very smart idea.”

  “I can’t go far, I have school.” A quick inhale coincided with a new awareness. “He got my phone. It has my whole life on it. My schedule, appointments, banking, everything. It even has an application for crude control of my drones.”

  “Dead students don’t learn much. The rest—we can deal with.” Coyote flinched when his words startled her into stumbling back against the wall. “Sorry, kid.”

  She sidestepped and stood by the stretcher where paramedics continued to stabilize the officer. The guilt was unbearable. An IV infused clear liquid to replace the crimson fluid soaking the bandage held against his shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry. This happened because you tried to help me. I’m so very sorry.”

  Despite pain fogging his mind, Crowley offered a brief half smile. “If you wanted, you could make it up to me and share a latte with me while I’m recovering.”

  Another flood of tear
s threatened to overcome her attempt to offer comfort. “I’ll come see you in the hospital. London Fog? Adaptogen?”

  “Did she just switch languages?” Nolan looked to his partner for help.

  “No, old man. Get with the times. Trendy lattes are up and coming.” Coyote grinned then sobered when Nolan glared. Age jokes didn’t go over well with the senior detective.

  Keiki freed her hand from the young officer’s grasp when the paramedics urged her back. Watching them wheel away sent a powerful message to the darkest corners of her soul. It could’ve been a body bag.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nolan nodded to the two street cops approaching them. Both were off duty but had obviously heard the call go out. They’d seen the stretcher bearing their co-worker to the elevator. Each appeared grim and determined to help.

  The apartment’s rural setting offered many avenues for a killer to escape. Procedure dictated they scour the area and talk with neighbors to inquire about suspicious sightings.

  Gut instinct warned him to keep the girl close. Reality dictated an alternate path. The war within dumped a hefty dose of indigestion and angst to mingle with the stress of a complex investigation. He had a job to do and a missing girl to find.

  “What was it you were saying about someone finding your friend’s phone?” If Nolan didn’t calm her down, she wouldn’t be able to function on the most basic level. On the other hand, her impromptu rambling proved she knew more than previously disclosed.

  Keiki scrubbed at her face as if able to wipe away the confusion marring her brow. “Um, I was getting ready to call you. I have video of two guys finding it in a clearing near a frat house.”

  “Do I want to know how you’re sure it was hers?” Nolan asked.

  “I called her number while I had them on screen. She has a ringtone just for me.”

  Coyote’s disapproving scowl deepened. He’d stood aside while his partner offered comfort, his posture stiffening. “We can’t locate her. No one’s seen her since she left a party Friday night.”

  “Let me get my computer. I’ll show you.” Keiki stepped around Nolan only to have him halt her with an outstretched hand.

  “No. This is a crime scene, and you can’t go back in until forensics is finished.” In a deft move, he pulled his cell from his pocket, wiping it on the cloth to remove his prints and provide a clean slate. He’d have her prints along with her friend’s alternate contact information, if it existed.

  Keiki took the cell with trembling fingers and dialed, waiting through several rings before voicemail took over. “Hey, Gabby. Haven’t heard from you. I, uh, I—lost my phone. Sorry I ditched you for the race. Call me at this number as soon as you get the message.”

  Defeated and exhausted, she handed the phone back. Nolan handled it with care, acknowledging his partner’s slight nod. They worked well together, exchanging information with a glance.

  “Now what? I can’t go to a friend’s house. I can’t stay here. I have no place to go.”

  “I know a place, a woman who has an apartment over her garage.” Nolan ignored Coyote’s sharp look of warning.

  “Is she your sometime lover or an axe murderer?”

  “Neither. She’s a mother hen who takes in strays on occasion.” Nolan waited and reminded his subconscious the young woman needed a safe place and someone to listen to her waking nightmares, both old and recent. What was better than an older woman who’d once taken on the world and understood grisly crime scenes and psychotic killers?

  Suspicion radiated from Keiki’s very essence. One heartbeat, then another while she weighed her options before she nodded her head, then froze.

  “Wait. I need to get some things out of my apartment. I can’t leave them behind.”

  Coyote’s shifting stance transmitted an unusual tension. “Are they—”

  “They’re in my bedroom. The guy didn’t get his prints, or DNA for that matter, anywhere near them. He never crossed the threshold.”

  “All right. I’ll go with you. You can get some clothes, textbooks, and whatever, from your bedroom. Everything else, including your laptop, stays.” Nolan followed her through the debris.

  The way her mechanical creations were displayed on bookshelves and side tables rekindled old memories of his first apartment, the tokens of his hobbies and ambitions laid out for the world to see.

  After a few minutes in her presence, he’d known before asking which items belonged to her and which were placed by her roommate. They were shadow and light, introvert and extrovert, two sides of a coin one couldn’t separate without damaging both.

  The pre-chem student enjoyed a bit of opulence in high-end furniture and collectables with a varied selection of expensive jewelry tucked in her bedroom, which told him the killer wasn’t interested in precious gems.

  Keiki, meanwhile, embodied practicality and focused on projects.

  It came as no surprise when she pulled out a duffel bag and began stuffing clothes en masse into its confines. No nonsense, no frills, just straightforward and direct best described his enigma.

  She’s not mine.

  The way she directed her attention elsewhere after specific questions and bit her lip denoted reluctance to elaborate on her earlier ramblings.

  His concern didn’t include suspicion of her involvement in murder so much as her mistrust of law enforcement mishandling information. He saw through her layers and the desire to A, solve her friend’s murder, and B, make sure justice was served by whatever means necessary.

  Undeterred by his arms crossed over his chest and deep scowl, she handed him a plastic case of her precious drones.

  “I assume you want to make one trip suffice?” She arched a brow and continued.

  It seemed she’d collected herself and bolstered her mental reserves. Silence lengthened until she handed him another. When she gestured for him to precede her out the door, he hesitated.

  “No. Ladies first.” He’d sensed the agitation in her tone and presumed snark would follow, her self-soothing technique.

  “Your parents raised a gentleman? I thought those were mythical creatures.” Indecision stalled her step, surveying the room as if debating a tactical move.

  “Not all men are pigs. While in college, it might be difficult to discern the difference. You’re smart and will figure it out.”

  With a last look around, she shouldered her bag and picked her way through the remnants of her life lying tattered and torn across the open space.

  When she stopped at one of the built-in cabinets, he cleared his throat.

  “You know I can’t leave this here.” Shafts of sunlight burnished her golden locks sliding forward when she hunkered down and stretched to reach the back of the lowest space. A sharp snap, then a false wooden panel opened.

  “At the diner, I told you this was here. It’s legal. It was my dad’s. It’s mine now.”

  Before he could object, she continued, “If he comes back and finds it then goes on a rampage, you’ll have more reason to doubt me.”

  The unusual and concealed spot made it highly unlikely the killer had found yet left it. It would’ve ranked a lot higher on the scale of glittery things than the jewels in the other student’s bedroom.

  Nolan nodded.

  In the doorway, Coyote sighed. They’d have a long discussion about it later with his partner’s dissertation on the virtues of reasonable law and policies on crime scene handling.

  “Do you know how to use that?” Coyote asked, his voice leaking skepticism.

  “Sure. Point the end with a hole in it toward the bad guy and pull this little lever that makes it go bang.”

  At times, Nolan’s greatest accomplishment lay in keeping his mouth shut.

  Her smile softened the sarcasm. “My dad and I were members of Jensen’s Tactical Group. We went to the range a bunch of times. He thought it was important I knew the basics.”

  Nolan took a deep breath. “We can take it from the apartment, along with the ammo, but you’ll have to
prove you’re proficient before you can keep it. You won’t need it where you’re going.”

  He counted to ten as she tucked both in a secure pocket of her duffel amid lingerie. Whether she had lacy, racy items or not was none of his business, yet his brain short-circuited with a peek of black lace. Justification came in the guise of rounding out his mental picture of her character.

  When she reached for the keys on a hook beside the door, he blocked her move and explained. “No. Not until we check to make sure there’s no tracking devices on the undercarriage. We’ll be discreet in searching your car and bring it to you when finished.”

  Although he felt fairly sure of her character, he didn’t know the other two girls from her trio, both of whom had access to the vehicle.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Before we go, is there anything you need from your car? Anything you might not want other officers to—”

  “No. Jesus. I’m in school to get my degree then go into business, not fool around with nonsense and shit.”

  “Sorry. Force of habit and training.”

  A slice of deviousness took over her face, her chin raised before adding, “Don’t worry, it’s not where I store the sex toys. I do like to keep them handy, though. If you need to inspect everything I’m taking…”

  Coyote smothered a guffaw behind his hand while Nolan shook his head.

  “I can’t imagine what you’re like at a party.” Nolan envisioned his life having taken a different turn. The comparisons thrust Keiki in a different light. Picturing her on a level playing field further strengthened their connection.

  A recipe for disaster.

  “I sure hope you’re the fun and intuitive one.” Her remark, directed at Coyote, earned a smirk and nod of deference.

  Coyote flipped the toothpick in his mouth side to side as Nolan turned onto the highway. “She didn’t look like she was gonna sit tight there for long, partner. What are you gonna do to keep her safe?”

  “I’m hoping Carolyn’s nurturing skills will coax her to stay until we see this through.”