Ethan glanced at the time on his cell phone. He couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed his brothers’ keys and folded his body into the driver’s seat of the subcompact. The MINI Cooper’s three-hamster engine whined as he pressed the gas pedal.
He was cruising past Abby’s neighborhood when he spotted a figure walking next to the snowplow berm. It was a kid. An unwieldy backpack sagged from his shoulders. Ethan slowed. The kid turned, and Ethan recognized the boy who lived next door to Abby.
Stopping, Ethan lowered the passenger window. “Hey, Derek.”
Derek backed a step. He tripped on a clump of snow and nearly fell into the dirty roadside slush. His eyes darted to the horizon, as if he wished he was there.
“Cold morning for a walk,” Ethan said.
“I missed the bus.”
“That sucks. Can I give you a ride?” Ethan pressed the unlock button on the door.
The kid hesitated. He scanned the MINI Cooper.
Ethan had a feeling if he’d been driving his police cruiser the answer would have been an emphatic “no.” He checked the dashboard clock. “I can still get you there before the first bell.”
Derek sniffed and gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah, thanks.” He slid into the passenger seat and jammed the backpack between his feet.
“No biggie.” Ethan pulled out onto the road. “I don’t like to be late.”
No response.
The MINI’s engine sounded like an electric weed-whacker as Ethan accelerated. “What do you think of the car?”
Derek shrugged. The kid spoke zero words during the seven-minute ride. Ethan dropped him off in front of the main entrance. “Have a good day.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Derek mumbled. Swinging his pack over one shoulder, he darted for the door.
Ethan wasn’t offended. Most kids didn’t talk to cops. But Derek’s reluctance seemed excessive. He reminded himself he’d intended to check the kid’s history. A few minutes later, he parked in the station lot and went inside. As he hung up his coat, the chief waved him over. Rubbing his cold hands, Ethan walked back to O’Connell’s office. The chief sat behind his desk. Abby Foster’s open case file stared up from the blotter.
“You were going to follow up with Abby Foster today?” O’Connell removed his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Yes.” Ethan dropped into one of the two chairs facing the desk. “I don’t see any reason she can’t have her personal stuff back. I went through everything. There’s nothing out of the ordinary there.”
The chief leaned back in his chair. “I want you to bring her into the station.”
“Why?” Ethan’s insides clenched.
“The report on her Gatorade came in.”
“That was fast.” Incredibly fast for the overwhelmed county lab.
The chief shrugged. “The lab tech’s daughter is a big horse nut. I might have traded some riding lessons with Rachel to move this up in the queue.” O’Connell’s fiancée was a former international equestrian champion. He scratched his cauliflower ear, a reminder of his collegiate wrestling days. “If someone tried to kill Abby Foster, I wanted to know about it before the responsible party could follow up.” The rough-looking police chief was a total marshmallow when women and children were threatened, a fact everyone knew but no one mentioned.
“Well?”
The chief’s phone rang. As he picked up the receiver, he tossed the file across the desk. It landed on the oak with a thwack.
Ethan opened the manila cover, but he didn’t need to read the words. The sharp, angry edge in O’Connell’s light blue eyes told Ethan that the report contained bad news.
CHAPTER NINE
“Ready to go?”
Abby looked up from the geometry quizzes she was stuffing into her briefcase. Brooke hustled into the classroom. She was wearing her long parka. Her briefcase and purse were slung over one shoulder.
“Almost.” Abby zipped the case. “I appreciate the ride.”
“I’m just dropping you off at the car rental agency. It’s not a big deal.” Brooke smiled. “You’re my friend.”
“You’ve helped me a lot this week.”
Brooke waved her comment off. “One trip to the store and a ride to work this morning? I wish you’d let me do more. How do you feel?”
“Fine. I should have come in yesterday.” But she’d slept most of Sunday and was still so tired on Monday, she’d ended up calling in sick.
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Brooke gave her a that’s ridiculous eye roll. “The doctor said to rest.”
“I don’t understand how I can have a concussion. I don’t even have a headache.” Abby shrugged into her puffy down jacket, which didn’t coordinate with her long skirt and knee-high leather dress boots. But her wool coat had washed downstream, and she wasn’t going looking for it.
“It’s been a few days.” Brooke stepped aside while Abby pulled her classroom door closed.
“Well, in an hour I’ll have a rental car. Then I won’t have to bother you anymore.”
“I told you, I don’t mind,” Brooke said. “Have you heard from your insurance company?”
“They said they’ll have an adjuster out soon. I’m waiting to hear. ” Abby dropped her keys in the old purse she’d pulled out of the back of her closet. Her pocket buzzed. She fished for the new cell phone Brooke had taken her to buy on Sunday afternoon.
“I can’t believe you don’t like smartphones,” Brooke said.
“I’m not a tech person.” Abby didn’t recognize the caller, but the exchange was local. Hope sparked. She’d only given the new number to a handful of people, and her insurance agent was one of them.
“Hello.”
“Ms. Foster?” The voice was male and familiar enough to send a tingle into Abby’s nerve endings. Ethan. Stop it! He isn’t calling for a date.
“Yes?” she answered.
“This is Officer Hale.” He paused. “Ethan.”
With the phone pressed to her ear, she followed Brooke down the hall.
“Can you come to the police station?” The cop’s serious tone ruffled her on-edge nerves.
“Now?” Abby halted. Brooke stopped and faced her. Her head tilted with concern as she analyzed Abby’s face.
“Now would be good,” the cop said.
Anxiety snuffed out Abby’s hope like wet fingers on a candle wick. “Is something wrong?”
“It would be better to discuss it in person.” His voice went flat. “Do you need a ride? I could come get you.”
“Hold on a second.” Heart scurrying, Abby covered the receiver and turned to Brooke. “Ethan wants me to go to the station.”
“Did he say why?” Brooke’s head tilted.
“No.” Abby shook her head.
Brooke pursed her lips. Her eyes narrowed as she pulled her keys from her coat pocket. “I’ll drive you.”
Abby removed her hand from the mouthpiece. “I don’t need a ride. I’ll be there soon.” Her voice was steady, but unease rattled in her stomach.
“Thanks.” Ethan ended the call.
Abby removed the phone from her ear and stared at the blank display.
“Relax.” Brooke wrapped an arm around Abby’s shoulders and steered her toward the exit. “He probably just has a couple more questions.”
“Maybe, but it sounded serious.” Abby slid the phone into her jacket pocket. They stopped to zip up and pushed through the metal doors. “And urgent.”
The snowbank-bordered parking lot was spotted with icy patches. Wind kicked snow dust across the asphalt.
“It’ll be all right.” Brooke tugged on a pair of gloves. “Oh my God. I can’t remember a January this cold and windy in years.”
Abby flipped up her collar and shoved her hands into her pockets. A gust blew her hair around her face. N
ot willing to expose a hand, she ignored it. Rock salt crunched underfoot as they trudged across the pavement and got into Brooke’s small SUV. The leather car seat froze Abby’s butt, and she longed for the knee-length coat the creek had stolen. Remembering the icy creek, her body shuddered hard. Why did the police need to see her so urgently? And why at the station? The last time Ethan had questions, he’d come to her house.
She gnawed on her chapped lip for the ten-minute drive into town. The car had barely begun to warm as Brooke turned into the parking lot of the small brick police station.
“Abby, look at me.” Brooke shifted into park and turned a level gaze on Abby. “These are good men. I’ve no doubt they are trying to help you. You can trust them.”
Abby nodded but couldn’t bring herself to agree. Just because the police were supposed to help people didn’t make it so. “Thanks for the ride. I can walk to the car rental agency from here when I’m done. It’s only six blocks or so.”
“If you think I’m abandoning you here, you’re crazy.” Brooke pulled her keys from the ignition. “Let’s go.”
Abby opened her mouth to protest. Going it alone was an instinct, a reflex honed by years of neglect. The wind made her teeth ache, and she pressed her lips together. When that cold water had closed over her head, she’d regretted being a loner. She’d moved to Pennsylvania for a complete do-over of her life, and that included having real friends—like Brooke. But pushing people away was a hard habit to break.
Inside, Brooke unbuttoned her parka. Abby kept her jacket zipped to her chin. The puffy fabric was one more barrier between her and the bad news she sensed was coming.
A somber Ethan greeted them in the small lobby. “Please come back to the chief’s office.”
Brooke touched Abby’s forearm. “Do you want me to stay out here or come with you?”
Putting her independent nature aside, Abby remembered the last time she’d been at the mercy of a policeman. “Please come.”
Brooke looked to Ethan.
“That’s fine with me.” He shrugged. “In that case we’ll use the conference room.”
Abby’s knees felt stupidly loose as she followed him down a short hallway. Brooke rounded the oval laminate table and dropped into an office chair on the far side. Abby chose the chair next to her friend, which also gave her a view of the doorway and an unobstructed exit. A laptop computer occupied the center of the table.
“I’ll get the chief,” Ethan said as he ducked out.
A beefy man with muscular shoulders that nearly spanned the width of the doorway entered. He nodded to Brooke. “Hi, Brooke.”
“Hi, Mike. This is my friend Abby Foster.” Brooke emphasized the friend. Abby glanced sideways. She’d known the police, particularly Ethan, often assisted Brooke with her self-defense classes, but Abby had no idea her friend was on a first-name basis with the police chief.
Mike held out a hand toward Abby. “Police Chief Mike O’Connell. You can call me Mike. Most people do.”
Abby half-stood and shook it.
His red hair grayed at the temples, and his nose had a previously smashed look. But as tough as his exterior appeared, his eyes were a soft shade of sympathetic and worried blue. He sat opposite Brooke. Ethan closed the door and took the seat across from Abby.
Brooke cocked her head. “What’s going on?”
Ethan’s mouth flattened out. He met Abby’s eyes. “When the chief and I went through your car, we found your seat adjusted to its farthest position from the dashboard. I could barely reach the pedals. There’s no way you could have driven the car like that. Now it’s possible you moved the seat accidentally while you were trying to get out of the car.”
Impatient, Abby interrupted. “You told me all this the other day.”
Ethan frowned. “We also found your half-empty sports drink bottle in the car.”
“I drink Gatorade before and after I run,” Abby explained. Why did it matter how she hydrated for a workout? But next to her, Brooke tensed.
The police chief’s gaze flickered to Brooke for a second. His expression went grimmer as his attention refocused on Abby. “On a hunch, we had the contents tested.” He softened his voice. “Your Gatorade came back positive for GHB.”
“What?” Brooke’s upper body shot forward. “That’s impossible.”
“What’s GHB?” Abby asked.
Brooke turned to her, anger radiating from her eyes. “GHB is like Rohypnol.”
Shock swept over Abby. “Are you saying I was roofied? Like in The Hangover?” Who would do that to her? And why? She’d been at work, not a wild Vegas bachelor party.
Ethan grimaced. “Sort of. Rohypnol or roofies are a different drug. Street names for gamma-hydroxybutyrate or GHB are ‘grievous bodily harm’ and ‘salty water,’ among others. But the effects are similar.”
The chief nodded. “In small amounts, GHB is a steroid alternative used by bodybuilders to enlarge their muscles. In larger doses it’s a sedative. It’s usually a clear liquid, generally odorless but salty. Typically, it’s slipped into alcoholic drinks in bars or parties, but a sports drink already has a salty taste that would also easily mask the GHB. We used to see more Rohypnol, but GHB is gaining popularity. Probably because it can be cooked up at home with floor stripper and drain cleaner.”
Disbelief hollowed Abby’s chest, as if someone had squeezed her dry. “And someone put this in my sports drink.” Her voice sounded as flat and empty as her chest. So much for starting her life over.
“Yes. Immediate signs of GHB ingestion are lack of inhibitions, loss of muscle coordination, nausea, sedation, and amnesia. The next day, symptoms might mimic a hangover or flu. Nausea, vomiting, or increased sweating are common as your body recovers from GHB poisoning.”
Brooke leaped to her feet and paced the narrow space behind the chairs. “I should have thought of drugs. Damn it. You had textbook symptoms all weekend.”
The chief shook his head. “Brooke, you know that, out of context, those symptoms can be confused with a concussion or virus. None of us suspected this. If Abby had been out at a bar or party and woken up with the same symptoms, you would have pegged it right away.”
Brooke took two rapid steps and pivoted. “Who would do that to Abby and why?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” the chief said. “According to the report, it’s a good thing you only drank half the bottle. If you’d have finished it, you wouldn’t have woken up and gotten out of the car.”
Panic gripped Abby’s insides. She put a hand to her stomach. “I drank paint thinner and drain cleaner. Those are poisonous. Are there any permanent effects? Do I need to go back to the hospital?”
Brooke stopped her pacing and dropped to the edge of her chair, facing Abby. “No. People do die from GHB ingestion, but not this long afterward. You’re fine. The body processes the drug quickly. After twelve hours there’s no sign of it, though you might feel like crap for a couple of days, which you did. In fact, it’s way too late for a lab test to find any trace of it in your blood by now.”
“You should see your doctor, though.” The chief’s voice went tight. “You’re missing two hours. Do you think there’s a possibility that you were raped?”
Abby stared at the salt-streaked leather toes of her boots. Too many horrific thoughts raced through her mind. She couldn’t process all the sickening possibilities. Two hours was a long time. What else had the person responsible done to her? Had she been raped? She hadn’t had sex in so long, surely her body would have noticed. There would have been signs of sexual activity, right?
The muffled ring of a telephone sounded through the closed door, but her body was silent. She remembered her trip to the ER. Other than the bump on the head, she’d had a few bruises from her escape from the vehicle. Most of those had seemed to be in logical places, considering she’d somersaulted in the empty car and s
himmied out a window.
Abby’s cheeks heated. She stared down at her clenched hands as she forced an answer through a constricted throat. “I don’t think so. I was wearing multiple layers of running clothes, and they all seemed undisturbed. But let’s be honest. It’s been four days. There’s no way to be a hundred percent sure, is there?” She lifted her chin, looking from Brooke’s furious expression to the controlled police chief and finally settling on Ethan. Anger, compassion, and frustration played over his face. “But we do know for sure that someone poisoned me, drove me out to the creek, put me in the driver’s seat, and rolled my car into the water.”
And that was more than enough to freak her out.
“That’s our working hypothesis.” Ethan didn’t blink. His jaw was clamped, the cords of his neck as tight as bridge cables.
His visible tension was nothing compared to the fear boiling inside Abby. “Someone tried to kill me.”
Again.
CHAPTER TEN
The accident file was officially relabeled ATTEMPTED HOMICIDE.
Ethan watched Abby process the news and arrive at the conclusion he and the chief had already drawn. Pity and anger churned in his gut.
Abby was silent. Disbelief and shock glazed her eyes. Her hands clenched into tight fists on her knees, and her gaze strayed to the door, as if she couldn’t wait to get out of the chief’s office. Which was the opposite reaction he’d expect from a normal person who’d just discovered she’d almost been a murder victim.
“What else are you doing?” Brooke’s eyes pinned him to the wall. “What about the school’s security cameras?”
Ethan nodded. “I reviewed all the school’s security tapes. Unfortunately, the cameras don’t cover the entire parking lot, only the building exits, the main halls, and a few other strategic spots. We have footage of Abby leaving the building along with kids and teachers. I’m going to ask you both to review a few screenshots and see if you notice anything out of the ordinary.”
She Can Hide (She Can Series) Page 8
