Sight Lines

by Michelle DiCeglio

  In an effort to recover from the sting of being so wrong, I decided I was going to use the evening to try to relax and clear my head. But I was still shaken from the break-in, and—although I wasn’t going to admit this to Bishop, Braxton or anyone else—I was a bit apprehensive to stay in my house alone.

  I knew Ali would stay over if I asked her to, but I didn’t want to put her in any danger. What if the perpetrator decided to come back? Whether it was just a Villager or someone worse, I wasn’t going to take that chance with her.

  As I made my way down Ali’s street, I saw her standing in her driveway holding a garden hose. I watched her as she rinsed off the side of her truck. She quickly waved when she saw my car. I rolled down my window and waved back. The humidity had started to fade away, and it was turning into a perfect summer evening.

  “Pull your car in the driveway,” Ali said as I was about to park on the street. “I can wash the mud off your car too,” she added.

  I parked my car behind hers and shut off the ignition. With my frequent trips to Vantage Woods, my poor Jetta was getting more than its fair share of dirt built up along the doors and fenders.

  As she began to hose off my car, I walked into her house to change out of my work clothes. I had gathered enough clothing from my bedroom floor on the night of the break-in that I knew I could piece together an outfit suitable for washing my car.

  I made my way back to the bedroom and saw Viggo lying on the floor next to the air-conditioning vent. He lifted his head to acknowledge me when I walked by, but he made it clear that he had no intention of moving from the coolest spot in the house.

  I quickly changed and joined Ali next to my car. She had already started scrubbing the caked-on mud around the fenders. As she washed, I followed behind her with the hose and rinsed. We were close to being finished when she suddenly stopped. I looked over as she knelt beside the rear passenger-side tire and set the sponge on the ground.

  She placed her hand under the wheel well and pulled out a small black box. Then she handed it to me.

  “Has this always been on your car?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. I rotated it in my hands, thinking about when it could have been placed on my car. “It’s a tracking device,” I told her. “One that reads in real time.” I looked around to see if there were any cars nearby that could have been watching us. Whoever had put this on my car could track my location at that very moment. And that would explain how the person who broke into my house knew I wasn’t home. It also meant the person knew how often I was at Ali’s—and where she lived too.

  “Are you being followed?” Ali asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said—although I had the feeling I was. “I’m going to finish rinsing off my car, and then I’m going to the station to have Bishop take a look at it,” I said, not taking my eyes off the small black box.

  “Want me to go with you?” she asked.

  “No, stay here. I won’t be long,” I replied. “I’ll have someone sweep my car for any other bugs while I’m there. I’ll be right back,” I added as I finished rinsing my car and shut off the hose.

  Within a few minutes, I was on my way back to the station. Bishop had told me he would be there late, but I called ahead just to make sure. I spoke to the desk sergeant and asked him to tell Bishop to expect me soon. I didn’t want to give away too much information over the phone in case someone had planted a listening device too.

  The sun was starting to set, and I adjusted my rearview mirror to deflect the blinding headlights of the car behind me. The winding road was completely deserted with the exception of our two vehicles. Although I was driving slightly over the speed limit, the car behind me increased its speed. So I slowed down to let the person pass. Instead, the car came to a complete stop.

  I continued driving, finding relief in the growing distance between myself and the vehicle behind me. I looked down at the tracking device on the passenger seat, wondering how long it had been on my car and why anyone would care about my whereabouts.

  As I started to accelerate, a flash of bright lights caught my attention in the rearview. Before I had time to react, I heard a loud crash and felt a push from behind like a bulldozer smashing into my bumper. I lost control and began swerving all over the road. I slammed on the brakes as the entire right side of my car lifted upward. I clutched the steering wheel and braced for impact, listening to the sound of metal scraping against asphalt as my body lunged forward.

  * * *

  I slowly opened my eyes to the quiet beeping of a heart monitor above my head. It hurt to move, and I winced in pain. Blinking several times to clear my vision, I tried to glance around the white room. I saw a dry erase board attached to the wall across from me, with my name and a physician’s and nurse’s name written in red marker. I looked to the right and saw Ali sitting in the chair next to my bed. Her arm was draped across the metal barrier, our fingers intertwined.

  “Hi,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Hi.” I could barely speak. “What happened?”

  I tried to remember where I had been, but the last thing I could recall were bright headlights and the crunching noises my car made when it smashed into the guardrail and overturned. I tried to move again, but my spine felt like it was glued to the bed beneath me.

  “You were in an accident,” she said. “The other driver took off.”

  “We’re out looking for him right now,” a familiar voice said. “How are you feeling?” It was Bishop.

  “I’m really sore,” I replied. “Am I okay?”

  “The doctor will be in shortly,” he said. “She told us nothing’s broken, so you should be able to go home tomorrow as long as everything checks out.” He looked at Ali and smiled. “I’ll leave you girls alone,” he said. “We can talk about what was found on your car at a later time,” he added before he left the room.

  “You told him?” I glanced at Ali. She unapologetically nodded.

  “Any idea who hit you?” she asked.

  “No,” I lied, my hoarse voice barely a whisper. “Do you think it was…”

  “Yeah, I do. I overheard Bishop talking to a detective in the hallway. He doesn’t think this was just some random hit-and-run,” she said. I tried to nod my head in agreement, but it hurt too much. “If I asked you something, Lacey, would you say ‘yes’ without question?”

  “Depends on what it is,” I said.

  “If I asked you to leave with me, would you?”

  “Where would we go?” Given my current state, leaving Lyons seemed like the smart move.

  “I don’t know. Just away from here,” she said with a sigh.

  I didn’t know what to say, but I could tell she was waiting for my answer.

  Here I was again at another fork in the road. Going left would be staying in Lyons, but I couldn’t give myself or Ali any guarantees that we’d both be safe. Going right would be leaving Lyons, but what kind of detective would I be if I left?

  No matter which road I chose, it was going to be wrong.

  “Ali,” I started to say, but she cut me off.

  “Please, Lace, let’s just go. Tomorrow, after you’re released. We can get as far away from here as possible,” she pleaded.

  “I can’t just leave my job,” I said.

  “We don’t have to leave permanently, just for the time being.” She looked at me through tear-filled eyes. She started to say something else, but before she could speak again, Bishop and the doctor walked into the room.

  “Ms. Mills,” the doctor said, carrying my chart in her hands. “I’m Doctor Summers.” Her stethoscope was draped around her neck, and she pulled a pair of reading glasses from her white coat’s pocket as she looked over my chart. “You took quite a hit, and I can’t believe nothing’s broken. You’ll be sore for a few days, but it’s nothing any over-the-counter pain reliever can’t take care of.” She began flipping through the pages of my chart. “Is anything hurting you?” she finally asked.

  �
��I’m just sore, all over—especially my back,” I said. She walked to the other side of the bed and placed her hands beneath me, pressing upward on my spine with her fingertips.

  “Anything hurt or feel out of place?” she asked. I shook my head. “We’ll keep you overnight for observation, but if all looks good, you can go home tomorrow. I assume you have someone to take care of you?” she asked.

  I looked at Ali and smiled. “Yeah,” I answered. The doctor excused herself and left the three of us in my room.

  “I’m going to take off,” Bishop said. “I’m glad you’re all right, Mills. You take good care of her,” he politely instructed Ali.

  “I will,” she answered as he left the room for good. Ali looked at me and sighed. I knew she wanted to continue our conversation, but I also knew she knew it was pointless. I wasn’t going anywhere until the killer was caught—especially if he was the one who did this to me.

  “How did you know I was in the hospital?” I asked her.

  “Someone saw your car on the side of the road and called for help. The paramedic who responded went through your phone and dialed the last two numbers you called,” Ali said.

  “You and Bishop.” I smiled, but even that hurt. “Are you staying?”

  “Until visiting hours are over,” she said and smiled, her hand still in mine. “You look tired. Try to get some sleep,” she added.

  She was right. Whatever was in my IV was making me tired, but the weight of her proposal was too heavy to let me drift off.

  “I understand why you want to leave Lyons,” I said. She flashed me a look that was more inquisitive than supportive.

  “You do?” she asked.

  “If you were lying here instead of me, I’d already have our bags packed.” I smiled. “But it’s my job not to run away. I took an oath,” I said, hoping she might understand.

  “I know you did.” She started to say something else but stopped herself.

  Neither of us said anything for a while.

  “We’re close to catching this guy,” I finally said. “I know we are. And once he’s caught, there won’t be a reason to leave.”

  “Yeah, until something like this happens again,” she mumbled. “You should get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she added.

  And I knew—although she wasn’t happy with the outcome—the conversation was over.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said and closed my eyes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After a long week of recovering and car shopping, I headed into the station on Monday morning and sat down at my desk. Before I could even turn on my computer, I heard someone walk up behind me. A shadow spread across my desk. Somehow I knew whoever it was didn’t have anything good to say. I turned around, ready to get the conversation over with.

  “Mills, I need you to see you in my office,” Bishop said. I followed him across the department, walked into his office, and sat in one of the two chairs across from his desk. He closed the door behind us and sat down next to me.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “How’s the new car?”

  “It’s a car,” I answered. I knew there was a more serious reason he had called me into his office. I had taken all of last week off to recover from the accident. But after Tara’s death, I had barely used any vacation time—so I could probably take the remainder of the year off if I wanted to.

  “What kind did you go with?” he asked, obviously stalling.

  “Another Jetta. Black,” I answered.

  “That drug bust you made—the one with Tiffany Jones—she was indicted on thirty-seven counts of possession. She made a deal with the D.A., or else it would’ve been thirty-seven counts of intent to distribute too.” He cleared his throat, and I could tell he was finally getting around to the real reason he called me in. “She’ll be locked up for a long time. That was really good work.”

  “It was a fluke, Bishop. I wasn’t there for a drug bust.” I wasn’t in the mood to play along with his praise, and Bishop must have picked up on the hint.

  “This isn’t easy for me to do,” he said, “but I’m taking you off the case. Braxton’s going to take lead.”

  “But why?” I pleaded—although I already knew why.

  “I’m not going to put one of my detectives in harm’s way.”

  “I’m fine, sir. Really. And there’s no proof the person who hit me is related to the murders. We still haven’t ruled out the possibility of retaliation from one of the Villagers.”

  “The break-in at your house? The tracking device on your car? We’re supposed to believe all that is because you busted their mom?” Bishop scoffed. “We had an agreement. If something else—anything else—happened, then…” He paused. “You’re off the case,” he said, throwing his authority at me. “The decision is final.”

  “Anything else?” I snapped back, like a teenage girl who’d just gotten grounded.

  “Why don’t you take a vacation? Until we solve this thing.” He sounded just like Ali.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. And I’ve already cleared it with admin. You’re on leave—with pay—until we can sort this out.” He started fumbling through paperwork on his desk. He found a folder with my name on it and handed it to me. “Just sign these and get out of here.”

  “Where am I supposed to go?” It was a rhetorical question.

  “I don’t know. Go to Florida. Take a cruise. Just get away from here. I can’t lose you too.” And that’s when I realized he wasn’t acting like a boss. He was acting like a father. “Don’t bother fighting me,” he said, cutting me off before I had a chance to comment. “All of admin has my back on this.” He waited for me to sign the paperwork before continuing. “You can keep your gun and badge. Just no rogue detective work, got it?”

  “Got it.” I tossed the pen forcefully in his direction and stood from the chair. Whether he was my boss or my father, I wasn’t happy with him either way.

  Walking back to my desk, I picked up my badge and my cell phone and headed toward the elevator without saying a word. I caught Braxton watching me out of the corner of his eye, and I debated whether to say something to him. Deep down, I knew this wasn’t his fault. And if anyone was going to take over as lead on this case, I was grateful it was him. But that didn’t make me any less angry about the situation.

  On my way to my car, I decided to call Ali. I wanted to let her know that if she still wanted to leave, I was able to now. We hadn’t talked about running away together since she first mentioned it in the hospital. But given that I was no longer on the case—or any case, for that matter—there was nothing keeping me here.

  “Let’s just get in the car and see where the road takes us,” I said when she asked me where I wanted to go. “We can leave right now.”

  “Sure…” She paused, as if waiting for the punch line. “I’ll just have to call my boss first and let him know I’m leaving,” she added.

  “Great. I’ll swing by my house to pack, and then I’ll come get you and Viggo,” I said. It sounded like a plan to me.

  “Can you give me a few hours?” she said with hesitation in her voice. “There’s something I have to do here first.”

  “Anything I can help you with?”

  “No,” she said firmly but sweetly. “Just come by around two? I’ll be ready by then.”

  “Two it is,” I said and we hung up.

  Now that plans were in motion, I drove to my house to pack the essentials. I was still cautious every time I opened my door, not knowing if I was going to be met by a stranger in my living room. I grabbed my suitcase from the bedroom closet and began tossing in socks and underwear and casual clothes. It felt odd not having to pack the suits I normally wore to work every day. But the more I looked at my civilian clothing, the more I began to welcome this unexpected vacation. Thankfully, it was going to be warm anywhere we went, so I didn’t have to worry too much about what to pack.

  I turne
d off all the electronics in my house, set my new security system to “vacation mode”, and grabbed my keys off the table by the front door. As I rolled my suitcase down the short sidewalk to the driveway, I noticed how heavy and gray the clouds were. I placed the suitcase in my trunk and walked along the driver’s side of my new car. It was only a ten-minute drive to Ali’s house, so I texted her that I was on my way—and that I would be almost an hour early.

  With the approaching storm, it was darker than I had anticipated it would be by the time I got to Ali’s place. The light in her living room was on, casting an eerie glow inside her house. I parked behind her truck and texted her to let her know I was here. After a few minutes without a response, I turned off my ignition and walked up to her porch. The force of my knock opened the front door, which was slightly ajar. I was curious as to why she would leave her door unlocked, especially when she knew we were quite possibly being targeted by the killer.

  Instinctually, I pulled my gun from the back holster. I slowly walked inside and toward the back of the house. I flipped on her bedroom light and saw her suitcase on the bed. A few rows of neatly folded clothes were next to it, waiting to be placed inside. Then I checked her bathroom, but there was no sign of her. I called her name. Nothing.

  I began checking the rooms of her house more carefully. I entered her bedroom again and opened the closet door, my gun drawn and pointed forward. The closet was secure. I closed the bedroom door and went into the spare room. I didn’t notice anything out of place. I checked the closet in there. Secure as well.

  I walked down the hallway, closing the doors to the spare room and bathroom, and headed toward the front of the house. I could feel my heart start to pound as its beating rose to the middle of my throat, feeling more worried than scared.