Cold Pursuit

by Susan Sleeman

  “It just sounded like you might still be mad.” She placed her hand over his.

  He couldn’t believe he didn’t jerk it away. He should. He wanted to. But even worse—he wanted her touch. What a fool he was.

  “I’m sorry for what I said and how I handled things. I have no right to expect you or Sam to tell me things you can’t share. It just hit a nerve.”

  He lowered his voice so Sam couldn’t hear. “And maybe you’re looking for a reason to dislike me.”

  She lowered her voice as well. “Probably. Am I forgiven?”

  “Yes,” he said. If he ever did get into a relationship with her, it would be hard to stay mad at her.

  “Thank you for being the true gentleman that you are.” She squeezed his hand and took hers away.

  He instantly missed her touch. “I’d like to eat with the kids, but I think we’re onto something here, and I should keep working.”

  “I get it.”

  “Phone’s charged enough to boot up.” Sam sat, finger hovering near the power button, the phone plugged into an outlet.

  Alex forgot all about lunch as a feeling of great expectancy hung in the air. He got up and joined Sam, his heart beating a little harder over the very important lead that could go sideways with one push of her finger. Whitney was right behind him.

  “Ready?” Sam asked.

  “Go for it,” Alex said.

  Whitney took a deep breath and nodded.

  Sam pressed the button.

  The start-up screen displayed, and Whitney leaned forward. Her anticipation was infectious, and Alex caught himself mimicking her eager watch.

  “It’s turning on!” She grabbed his arm and held tight, her focus glued to the phone.

  “Don’t get too excited yet,” he warned, trying to ignore the jolt of emotions her contact released.

  “This is when it will fail if it’s going to,” Sam added.

  But the phone continued through the start-up screens, and Whitney’s fingers tightened. He glanced at her. She didn’t seem to have any idea that she was holding onto him, but man, he was all too aware of the warmth of her hand on his arm.

  “Okay. Looking good,” Sam said as the welcome screen with clock boasting the correct time came up. “Let’s see if he’s protected his phone with the touch ID.”

  She pressed her thumb on the button and the message try again displayed on the screen.

  “That means he did, right?” Whitney asked.

  Sam nodded. “And I need to use his finger to keep from getting locked out of the phone for tying too many times.”

  Whitney shuddered.

  “I know this bothers you,” Alex said. “But if you remember we’re doing it to find his killer and justice is served, it might be easier for you.”

  “Yeah. That helps.” She let go of his arm and ran her hand through her wavy hair. “I’ve honestly been thinking only of myself and the kids when this poor man lost his life and deserves to have his killer found… even if it isn’t Percy.”

  Alex shook his head. “Don’t beat yourself up about that. It’s natural to think about your safety. God gave you that instinct. Don’t discount it.”

  Sam got to her feet, unplugged the phone, and pocketed it. “Okay, this has enough of a charge now, and I’m out of here. I have only so many tries for this to work. Pray that I succeed.”

  “You got it.” Whitney excitedly threw her arms around Sam and hugged her. “Thank you, Sam. You’re amazing, and I owe you so much. After this is all over I hope I can somehow repay you.”

  Sam eased free, her face red. “Nothing to owe. Just doing my job.”

  “Oh, I’ll find a way to repay you.” Whitney smiled.

  Sam gave Alex a sober look as she slipped into her jacket and exited the room. All the excitement drained from the space, leaving behind cloaking tension, and the space seemed to close in on Alex. He searched for something to say and could only think to revert to his usual humor.

  “Hey, I’m amazing, too. Where’s my hug?” He forced a grin to his mouth, though he didn’t really feel it. He didn’t like being the joking guy with Whitney.

  “You’re right. I owe you even more.” She locked gazes with him and started to close the distance between them.

  “Wait.” He held up a hand. “I was joking.”

  “Well, I’m not. You deserve my thanks, and I’m going to give you a hug whether you want it or not.” She kept her focus on him and gently pressed his hand out of the way.

  Her arms went up. Her eyes darkened.

  He knew how this was going to go and shouldn’t let this happen, but he couldn’t step back. The temperature in the room soared, and he felt flushed. He inhaled a steadying breath while planting his feet in expectation of having his world rocked.

  She slid her hands up his chest. Circled them around his neck. Her touch should have been filled with gratefulness, but it was loaded with the unspoken emotions that had been zinging between them for days.

  She raised up on her tiptoes, and he leaned down. Her hair caressed his face like a soft kiss, and he almost gasped. She tightened her hold, and he slid his arms around her slender body and drew tight. Then he held on. For dear life.

  Emotions from the last hug he’d had where he’d felt such deep emotion flashed back. His mother. The day before she took her life. She’d already decided by then. She had it planned. Arranged things for after her death. Had seemed peaceful when she was planning such a horrendous act. She’d said her goodbyes. He didn’t know it at the time, but in hindsight he could see it.

  One final encompassing hug. One final kiss on his forehead. Eliciting a promise to always look out for Faith. He should have seen it.

  Why didn’t I, God? Why?

  He shook his head as he had for what felt like an endless lifetime. He’d asked this question a million times with no answer. What was the point?

  Whitney leaned back. “What’s wrong? Do you really not want a hug?”

  “No, it’s…I…” He stepped back and shoved a hand in hair. “It reminded me of my mother.”

  Her eyes flashed wide. “Your mother. Man. That’s not the kind of feeling I got from you.”

  “I know. It just morphed into that.”

  She took his hand and led him to the couch. “It’s time for you to tell me about your mother. Not just the overview but details.”

  “I don’t—”

  “It will help.” She nudged him to sit, and sat next to him, still holding his hand and gazing intently at him.

  He fidgeted, then pulled his hand away to rake it through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say.”

  “Tell me how she died.”

  He took a long breath in and let it out slowly, sounding like a leaky tire. Once she heard the specifics of his mom’s death, things could change between them. They always did when someone found out the details of what happened, like he had a plague or something. But he wouldn’t look away or feel less than because of her actions. At least he’d mastered that skill over the years.

  “She took a bottle of pills while my sister and I were at school,” he said flatly and waited for her response.

  She blinked, then sorrow filled her eyes. Finally she whispered, “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

  She didn’t say anything else. Didn’t look disgusted. Just supportive. Could she be the first person to simply accept that his mother’s actions had nothing to do with him?

  He hoped so and for some reason he wanted to tell her the whole story. “I got home from school before Faith’s nanny brought her home from preschool. I called 911 so by the time Faith got there, I could shield her from seeing them take Mom out in a body bag.” A vision of the bag laid out on the gurney, the shape of his mother’s body molded through the plastic when it rolled past was almost too much. A long shudder wanted to work its way through him but he held it at a bay.

  “No wonder you can relate to Isaiah. Your loss was sudden and shocking, to
o.”

  He nodded. “In hindsight, I can see she was preparing for a few days. Saying goodbye. She was suddenly so peaceful after such a long bout of depression. I’ve since learned that just making the decision helps some people relax…but I…I didn’t get it.” He stopped. Swallowed hard.

  She rested her hand on his. “I know this seems clichéd, but I am so sorry for your loss. For you having to go through that. Especially as a child…”

  He nodded and ignored the moisture forming in his eyes.

  “You’re still troubled by what happened.” Her voice was low and gentle.

  He shifted uncomfortably, then exhaled a long breath. “I didn’t think it was still an issue, but yeah, seems that it is.” He looked at her. “Meeting you. Isaiah. It’s all become obvious to me.”

  She nodded. “I’ve seen families in the ED after a loved one has taken their life. They were confused and hurt and desperate to know what they did wrong. Why they couldn’t have stopped it. Do you feel that way?”

  He couldn’t sit under her close scrutiny any longer. He got up to pace. “I thought I’d given up on the what ifs. What if I’d seen her mood change and realized it was a bad thing? That she was saying goodbye. Thought about her pills. I didn’t, and I can’t change that. I know in my brain that it was the depression and it had nothing to do with me, but still, I feel a need to make up for it.”

  “How?”

  He’d never told anyone this, and his heart was already ripped open, but more than anything he wanted her to know the real Alex Hamilton. Not the joker everyone else knew. That meant putting it all out there. “By making sure people around me are happy. Not letting anyone get too discouraged. Joking around to make that happen. It’s ingrained in me now, and I have a hard time turning it off.”

  “That surprises me.” She got up and joined him by the fire. “I know you’ve mentioned that, and I’ve seen it some, but I wouldn’t say you were a particularly joking kind of guy. I’ve found you more serious and contemplative.”

  He met her gaze. “That’s because of you. When I’m with you I’m different. I want to see you smile, because, well, it’s amazing, but I don’t feel a need to crack a joke to make it happen. I think I’m the Alex I’m supposed to be when I’m around you.”

  “Interesting.”

  He had no idea what that meant. “Interesting good or interesting bad?”

  “Good.” She bit her lip for a moment. “Because I feel comfortable around you, too. Like we fit together.”

  Yeah. He felt that way, too. But could he trust those feelings? Trust that she wasn’t going to rip his heart out as his mother had done? Could he have a relationship where he could relax and trust the other person completely? He didn’t know, and until he did, he wouldn’t do anything to lead her on. Nothing. Not even kissing her—when that was all he wanted to do.

  20

  The door burst open, and Whitney spun, but not before Alex drew his gun and jumped in front of her.

  “Damien Vose,” Sam said, holding up the cell phone.

  Whitney’s knees wobbled and wouldn’t hold her. She sank down onto the sofa and blinked a few times to get her focus back.

  “Seriously, Sam.” Alex seated his gun back in his holster and let out a breath. “You can’t come busting in here like that. I might’ve taken you out.”

  “Sorry,” Sam crossed the room. “I was just excited at succeeding. I thought you might be, too.”

  “Yeah, sure, I am,” Alex said. “Just let my heart rate slow down.”

  Sam approached Whitney at the sofa. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

  “Damien Vose,” Whitney said, trying the sound of it. “No. I don’t think so.”

  Sam shifted her focus to Alex. “What about you?”

  “No.”

  Sam held up the phone again. “Hopefully once I get into the phone it will give us more to go on. I need to copy the files, but first I need your help. Both of you.”

  “You know how to image the phone?” Alex asked.

  Sam grinned. “Sure do. I took a continuing ed class in it, but the Northwest Regional Forensics Computer Lab did all the imaging for PPB. So I’ve never done it on the job, but I’ve practiced plenty of times, and I’m confident in doing it.”

  Alex gave a single nod. “What do you need from us then?”

  “Protocol says I image before I do anything, but I’m worried with the water issue that the phone could still fail before we get anything from it. So I want to write down all the calls and text numbers in case it does fry.”

  “Won’t that change things in the memory?” Alex asked.

  She nodded. “But I talked to Nate, and we agreed it’s better to do this than risk losing it all. I’ll call the numbers out to you, and I’d like you each to jot them down as a fail-safe check. You know, in case digits get transposed.”

  “Then let’s do it.” Alex went to the desk in the corner and grabbed a yellow legal pad and two pens.

  Sam headed for the dining table and plugged the phone in again. Whitney got up and joined her. Alex ripped some paper free and set the pad and pen in front of Whitney. She picked up the pen as Alex sat next to her.

  Sam looked up from the phone. “Okay, let’s start with calls. I’ll give the time and date of the call along with the number. Oh, and the name, if one shows up in the log. Ready?”

  “Ready,” Whitney said.

  Alex nodded.

  Sam started down the log, enunciating the information clearly, and Whitney did her job until they’d reached the end of the calls.

  Sam tapped the screen. “Let me scan the most recent texts to see the gist of the conversations so I can prioritize them.”

  Whitney set down her pen and watched as Sam scrolled through them. Her facial expressions changed as she read until she snapped her head up. “Bingo. I think he was meeting our gun runner.”

  Alex leaned forward. “Why?”

  “This thread starts with him saying he’s arrived at the resort. The response from our target says, ‘Did you bring two boxes or thirty-two of the widgets?’”

  Alex stared blankly at Sam.

  “The numbers two and thirty-two,” she said.

  Alex drummed his fingers for a moment then his expression cleared. “Oh, right, clever. Yeah. Right. Vose was here to meet our guy.”

  Confused, Whitney shot a look between the pair. “I don’t get it.”

  Alex gave Sam a questioning look, and she nodded.

  Alex looked at Whitney. “Our guy’s room is 232. And you’re right. It’s McCray. I can’t have you sharing that with anyone else.”

  “Thank you for trusting me with it. I won’t let you down.” Whitney leaned in. “What else do his texts say?”

  “Basically, that it’s all clear and to bring the product with him. McCray was waiting. So here’s the phone number for the text.” Sam rattled it off.

  Whitney concentrated on writing it down right. “Here’s your link, then. Between them. And with the likely sighting of Percy, it could mean McCray killed Vose.”

  Alex shook his head. “We have no proof of that and the sighting still hasn’t been confirmed. We can’t assume anything.”

  Sam looked up from the phone. “I’d like to think we can track this phone number Vose called back to McCray, but odds are good he was using an untraceable phone.”

  “And if I know McCray, he got rid of that cell the minute Vose was killed,” Alex added. “We can still ask Nate for a warrant to search him and his room. That will put him on alert, but it can’t be helped at this point.”

  “If he threw the phone in the trash in any of the common areas,” Whitney said. “It would still be sitting out back. Room trash is bagged and in the same place, too.”

  “He’d be more careful than that. Maybe take it outside and bury it. Or hide it in the building.” Alex’s fingers started up again. “Still, I’ll have the PPB officers search the trash cans.”

  “There’re gonna love you for that,” Sa
m said.

  “At least I’m not tossing them in a dumpster of rotting garbage.” Alex grinned.

  “Ew, gross.” Whitney shuddered.

  “Tell me about it,” Sam said. “As a criminalist I’ve been in my share of them on sweltering summer days. But now…” She sighed contentedly. “At the balmy coast, I’ve got it made.”

  “Um, I hate to burst your bubble, but think ahead to summer and seafood season.” A boyish smile crossed Alex’s face.

  She held up a hand. “Enough said. Okay, let’s finish up these texts.”

  “And then?” Whitney asked.

  “We’ll have Eryn run a phone lookup on this number and we’ll do a background check on Vose,” Alex said a gleam in his eye. “And then…then it’s time we paid McCray another visit.”

  Alex scanned the Internet search results for Damien Vose on his computer screen and clicked on the next one. He’d wanted to rush out to confront McCray, but his interrogation would go better if they had additional information on Vose. So Alex was searching the Internet while Sam and Whitney sat at the small dining table with him listening to the guest and staff interviews to find someone who might have access to or knowledge of a 3-D printer. So far both efforts had been a bust.

  He quickly scanned the new article for content, zoning in on the important details. “Here’s something. Vose was convicted for possessing and selling an illegal weapon that resulted in a death during a gang drive-by shooting. He was charged as an accessory to murder.”

  Whitney’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t get it. You said that the fingerprint database contained convicted criminals’ prints. So why didn’t his prints show up?”

  “Says here he was only seventeen,” Alex said. “Maybe as a minor the records were sealed.”

  “I’m surprised the reporter used his name then.”

  “Me, too, but he did.” Alex squinted at the screen. “Don’t know if this website is reputable or not, but if they used the name, maybe they’re not.”

  “Regardless, we now know he’s been convicted of a crime,” Sam said. “And Alex is right. If the record was sealed, he wouldn’t show up in a regular search. As far as the records go, it’s as close to having never committed the crime as possible.