by Dana R. Lynn
By the time the case had been closed, he’d convinced himself it was best to keep his distance. Sure, he could have found where she lived, or asked Jess for a way to contact her. But he had let the opportunity slip away. And anyway, she hadn’t shown any interest in him.
No, he didn’t know her well, but it bothered him when a young woman was victimized. He needed to be careful. He’d let himself act upon his anger once before when involved in a case, and it had almost ruined his career. Even though that time it was personal. Very personal. Couldn’t fall into that trap again. He was still trying to get back into his chief’s good graces.
He asked her a few more questions, trying to get most of the details down while they were waiting.
Red and blue flashing lights caught his attention. A second police cruiser pulled up in front of his, then shifted back to parallel-park against the curb. Good. Jackson was here. And he hadn’t come in hot. Lights, but no siren. If the attacker was still hanging around, there was nothing to cue him that backup had arrived.
“Okay. Sergeant Jackson is here. I’ll have him start looking at your car while we finish this.”
Miles opened his door and stepped out. Turning to Rebecca, he paused and took in her wide blue eyes and troubled face. At least her cheeks seemed to have some color, and her trembling had ceased. She looked calmer. Actually, she looked beautiful. If he hadn’t met her previously, he would not have guessed her background, growing up Amish. Her skirt was long, but it was rust-colored with gold, brown and orange leaves on it. It was pretty on her. He pressed his lips together when his gaze fell on the rip at her knee. Her gold sweater was simple but elegant. Her pale hair was shorter than he remembered, ending just an inch or two below her shoulders. It made him think of summer, the way it shimmered gold.
What? That kind of thinking would get him nowhere.
“Olsen, what do ya know?” Gavin Jackson sauntered toward him. His voice was casual, friendly, but his gaze was in constant motion, sweeping the area for any threats. Keeping it concise, Miles brought him up to speed.
“Rebecca Miller? Hey, I remember her from Travis’s wedding. Cute little thing.” Jackson ducked down to wave at the girl sitting in the car. Miles frowned, not sure why it bothered him to see Jackson smiling at her. But it did.
“Okay, Casanova. Let’s process the scene.”
Jackson’s brows rose, but he made no comment about Miles telling a higher ranking officer what to do. Instead, the man shrugged and shifted back into cop mode.
Between the two of them, they managed to get the scene processed in a relatively short time. Miles kept a close eye on Rebecca. She had refused to sit in the car by herself. To be honest, he preferred having her where he could keep an eye on her. By herself, she wouldn’t be able to hear the attacker return. And even though having her accompany them meant she was out in the open, exposed to another attack, it was hardly likely that her assailant would come back with two officers so close.
When the paramedics arrived, Miles jogged over to interpret for her briefly. He knew the paramedic in charge, a serious blonde woman named Sydney.
Not surprisingly, Rebecca refused to go to the hospital. Sydney didn’t push the issue.
“There’s no bulging around the area. And your color looks good,” Sydney told her as Miles interpreted. “If you have any trouble breathing or opening your mouth, or if swallowing becomes painful, you need to go to the ER. Immediately.”
Rebecca nodded and thanked the woman.
Miles returned to Jackson.
Now they just needed to finish looking over the car, checking to be sure it hadn’t been sabotaged. It was a possibility. Even in the light of day, the alley behind the store was empty. Only businesses. And most of the businesses closed at five. Chances were good that anyone could damage the car without fear of getting caught.
Inside the car, there were no prints, no clues left behind. The attacker had been careful. Except that the back locks had been jimmied. Something was lying on the floorboard. Flashing a light in that direction, he saw Rebecca’s purse. It had been knocked over, the contents spilled everywhere. Why didn’t women use bags that zipped? Seeing her phone, he snatched it up and brought it to her.
“Do you have anyone you can call tonight? Someone to stay with you?”
She nodded. It bothered him to see her so pale and worn. Even her signs were lackluster. “My roommate will be home later. She works until ten. She usually arrives home around eleven.”
“Maybe send her a text. Let her know what happened so she’ll know to come straight home.” He handed her the phone, then left her while she composed the text.
“Pop the hood,” Jackson called, scooting out from his position under the car.
Miles jogged around to the driver’s side and leaned in to pull the lever. The hood released with a small click.
Jackson whistled.
“What?” Miles stepped up beside his colleague.
“Wow.”
The engine had been incapacitated, the spark plugs nowhere to be found. One thing was clear—whoever had attacked Rebecca had wanted to be sure she couldn’t get away.
“Do you think she was specifically targeted?” He took out his cell phone and snapped pictures of the engine. “Could this be random?”
His gut told him no. This kind of attention to detail took forethought and planning.
Jackson was already shaking his head, frowning.
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t, either.” Miles shoved his hands in his pockets, watching Rebecca as she sat on the cement curb. She looked tuckered out. No wonder. “How does this play for you? I think the perp has been watching her for some time. Maybe a few days, maybe longer. It’s possible he picked her because she was deaf. Thought she’d be an easy mark. He knows where she leaves her car, and what hours she works. Chances are he waited here for her.”
“But if April hadn’t left early, he would have had to contend with two women.”
Jackson had a point. He went to Rebecca and posed the question. A minute later he was back.
“Not necessarily. Rebecca said April usually parked in the parking garage across the street. All he would have needed to do was stay down until she was out of sight.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
The quiet was broken with a ridiculously raucous ringtone coming from his watch. Jackson’s brows rose in amusement. Miles brought up his wrist and fumbled with the buttons, mumbling an apology. He’d left his earpiece in the car, so he moved slightly away from Jackson. It was the chief.
“Olsen here.”
“Report, Officer Olsen,” the chief of police ordered.
“Sir, the perp is gone and has left no traces we could find. He disabled the car, though. It needs to be towed. Jackson and I think he’s been watching Rebecca for a while.”
“Rebecca?” There wasn’t any censure in the chief’s tone, just mild curiosity.
“Sorry, sir. Miss Miller. I know her. Anyhow, we don’t yet know why she was targeted.”
“Ahh.” He could picture the chief nodding as he leaned back in his swivel chair. “Even if the perp was watching her, it might have still been a random attack. Maybe he noticed she drove alone and parked in the alley and thought she looked like an easy mark.”
“Sir, I’m going to drive Miss Miller home, and then come in and file paperwork.”
“Very well. Does she have someone she could stay with?”
Miles cast a concerned glance toward her. Her arms were crossed on the top of her knees, and her head was down.
“Miles?”
Huh? Oh, right.
“Yes. She has a roommate. I had her text the woman and let her know what was going on.”
“Good. I’m glad she’ll have someone there for her,” the chief responded in a smooth drawl.
Miles thought for a second, deciding his next move. “I also think we should try to get the visual artist in as soon as she’s available to see if she can remember any details that might get some hits on the database. Oh, and see if the interpreter is available.”
“If not, you could interpret if she waives her right to a certified interpreter.”
Miles frowned. “Yes, sir. Although I think it would be better to have someone certified.”
People didn’t always understand that managing direct communication in sign language and interpreting at a professional level were two totally different skills. Just because someone could speak the language didn’t mean they could expertly translate it into English.
“I agree. But interpreters are very hard to come by.”
“Yes, sir. I will try to get all that scheduled ASAP.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” A pause. “Miles, I’m going to put you in charge of this case.”
“Sir?” His heart thumped in his chest.
“You’ve been doing good work since you came back. I want to find this perp. And I think you’ve proven you can handle the responsibility. Plus, you can communicate directly with our victim, so that makes you the natural candidate.”
“Thank you. I will do my best.”
He tapped the face of the watch, disconnecting the call, joy bursting through his body. His first case as the lead. The chief trusted him again—he could finally put his past mistakes behind him. This had been a long time coming.
Then he looked at Rebecca, and some of the joy faded. As proud as he was to be lead in the case, he hated the idea that his victory came with the price of her horrible attack.
She was so vulnerable. Just like his stepsister, Sylvie, had been. Suppose this wasn’t a one-time attack? Suppose the perp was a stalker, fixated on Rebecca? He would have his work cut out for him, finding the perp before he struck again. Oh, he’d been in on tough investigations before. Chief Paul Kennedy had been slowly giving him more and more responsibility as he had shown he could be relied on.
For some reason, though, this responsibility seemed heavier. Because it was quite likely that the beautiful young woman sitting a few feet away was still in danger.
TWO
The trip to Rebecca’s apartment was a quiet one. She’d given him the address, and off they went. Since he was familiar with the area, he didn’t need to take the time to plug the address into his GPS.
The trip was silent, but not uncomfortable. Rebecca had calmed down. Once they were ensconced in his vehicle and moving away from the scene, the tension in her shoulders and face seemed to have eased. She wasn’t happy, but neither was she panicked. Which was good.
As for Miles, he appreciated the silence. It gave him a chance to process the events of the evening and get a hold of his own emotions. He couldn’t help but worry about how she was handling the pressure, though. He turned to look at her—her expression was smooth, unruffled. Could she really be that calm? He would have expected more panic, or at least signs of discomfort. He’d seen the bruises on her neck—they had to be hurting.
Get a grip, Olsen. She’s not your sister. She’s strong. And now she’s your case. Keep it professional.
He was so involved in his own thoughts, he almost missed the entrance to her apartment complex. Good thing Windy Hill Apartments had a large sign out by the road. Grimacing, he shifted on his blinker and spun the wheel at the last second, swerving hard into the driveway. In his periphery, he saw Rebecca put her hand on the dashboard to brace herself.
Bet that impressed her. Not.
What an awful parking lot to come into at night. It had one light, right in front of the entrance. But the rest was dark, the corners in the lot merging into the shadows and trees. Anyone could hide out in those shadows, and she wouldn’t be aware of it until it was too late. Rebecca wouldn’t be able to hear any telltale sounds that might warn her of impending danger.
Great. Now he was getting paranoid on her behalf.
He parked the cruiser under the light and switched off the ignition. Turning to face Rebecca, he paused when he saw her pensive glance. Her eyebrows squished together and her lips tightened. She flickered her gaze around the dark edges of the lot. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one who found the place unsettling.
He tapped her on the shoulder once, to get her attention.
She glanced nervously at him. She was definitely disturbed by something.
“What’s wrong?” he signed, folding his three middle fingers down over his palm while extending his thumb and little finger, then tapping the folded part against his chin.
She pointed to a window on the second floor. The curtains were open, and the lights were out. “That’s my apartment. My roommate isn’t home yet.” Using the one-handed ASL alphabet, she finger-spelled her roommate’s name. Holly Fletcher. “I knew she wouldn’t be, but—”
“You are nervous about entering an empty apartment?” He raised his eyebrows and crooked the index finger of his right hand in a question mark.
“Yes.”
She didn’t look happy about admitting it. But at least she wasn’t denying it.
“No problem. I will walk up with you and make sure it’s all clear.”
Nodding, she turned from him to get out of the car. But not before he saw the relieved smile that swept over her face.
Wow, she sure was pretty. Yeah, so not going there. Even though she was.
Back to work, Miles. You have a job to do. And then you need to leave.
Shoving those dangerous thoughts from his mind, he focused on the task at hand. He waited as she tapped in the five-digit entry code. Although not foolproof, the added security measure did make him feel better about her safety here. They climbed the single flight of stairs and walked to her apartment. When Rebecca moved to unlock the door, Miles held out a hand to stop her. Startled, she moved her gaze to his, her brows rising in a question.
“Give me your keys,” he signed.
She dropped them in his open palm. He motioned for her to move back. As soon as she was away from the door, he leaned closer to listen for movement inside the apartment. Nothing. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could and signed for her to wait while he checked out the apartment. Her eyes widened as he removed his gun from the holster.
“Just a precaution,” he signed.
Keeping his weapon at the ready, he moved through the apartment, checking each room. The kitchen was spotless. No sign of any disturbance. The first bedroom was clear. It was clean, like the kitchen, but he knew at once it was the friend’s room rather than Rebecca’s. Pictures of the attractive brunette with a hodgepodge of people and in a variety of settings covered the large corkboard on the wall, with some in frames on the desk and dresser.
The next room was obviously Rebecca’s. The contrast was startling. The room was clean, but the decor was sparse. There were a couple of pictures. They all looked very recent, none dating back earlier than four or five years ago. And why would there be? The Amish didn’t take pictures. Against the far wall, there was a large oil painting. It clearly showed a white farmhouse with a black Amish buggy in the front. It was so realistic, it looked like someone could reach out and open the door of the buggy. He peered closer to see the artist’s signature, then whistled softly. Rebecca Miller. Wow. She had some mad talent.
On the desk under the window was an open laptop and several textbooks. A GED certificate was prominently displayed on the wall. That’s right, he thought. The Amish only go to school through eighth grade. Right next to that was a college diploma. She had a bachelor’s degree in art. It was awarded this past spring.
Giving in to his curiosity, Miles peered closer at the books. They covered topics ranging from the deaf community to the study of ASL and ethics and practices with interpreting for the deaf. Rebecca
apparently aspired to get a CDI certificate. He’d only ever met one Certified Deaf Interpreter. They were highly sought after in improving communication with the deaf community in official settings. Good for her.
Returning to the living room, he found Rebecca standing inside the door, her back against the living room wall. Made sense. If you couldn’t hear, you didn’t want to leave yourself vulnerable to attacks from behind. Again.
“Nothing here. Are you sure you’re all right? I can stay until your roommate gets back.”
She was shaking her head before his hands stopped moving. “I’m fine. Thank you so much for checking. I feel silly, but I appreciate it.”
He stepped closer to her and put his hand on hers to stop the apology, then pulled his hand back at the zing that shot up his arm. Her shocked expression told him all he needed to know. She had felt it, too, and by the look of the frown stamped on her pretty features, wasn’t any happier about it than he was. Good. That meant she wouldn’t expect anything. He ignored the twinge of disappointment.
He couldn’t afford to get emotionally involved with anyone. Emotions had almost cost him his job once. In the end, he had kept his job, but had lost his rank as sergeant. That fact was brought home every time he put on his uniform without the insignia. All he wanted was to earn it back.
“I don’t mind checking. I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost ten now. Your roommate should be here in an hour. Let’s trade numbers, and you can text me if you need anything. I’ll text you to let you know if we have any leads.”
They exchanged phones. He put in his number, then snapped a selfie so that she’d have a visual in her contacts. Oh, wait. Amish. He flicked a glance in her direction. She was shaking her head at him, a half smirk forming on her lips. Her face had more color in it now, he was glad to note. Her earlier pallor had bothered him.
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “I can delete the picture if you want me to. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay.” She snapped a selfie of herself on his phone. “I’m not Amish anymore.”
