by Carsen Taite
“Pearson said they have a strong lead on Pratt.” Starr squeezed her hand. “I promise, I’ll let you know more as soon as I can.”
“Okay.” It was and it wasn’t, just like it was both comforting and disconcerting to have Starr standing so close to her. Catherine wanted Starr to find out what was going on, find Pratt, and bring him to justice, but she also didn’t want to break the connection between them. “As long as you promise.”
“I do.” A few beats passed before Starr eased her hand away. The moment they were no longer touching, it was as if a cold wind had swept between them, and Catherine longed to be warm again. She watched Starr leave, already counting the moments until she heard from her again, knowing her longing had nothing to do with the case.
* * *
Starr punched in Pearson’s number as she sped away from Catherine’s house. When the line connected, she didn’t wait for him to speak. “What’s the situation?”
“We’ve got eyes on a duplex on the east side, over near Montopolis,” he said, referencing one of the sketchier neighborhoods in Austin. A patrol cop in the area spotted a guy matching Pratt’s description at the convenience store down the block and followed him back here. He’s been holed up in the house ever since.”
“Please tell me he was driving a white pickup.”
“No, he was on foot, but that doesn’t mean anything. The store’s just down the street. He’d have to be stupid to drive the truck around after all the news coverage.”
Starr knew he was right, but she was still disappointed not to have that clue locked up. “What’s the plan? Are you going to wait for him to make a move?”
“Not much longer. If she’s in there, we need to get inside sooner, rather than later.”
“If Hannah Turner is in that house and you go in guns blazing, she could die.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Pearson said. “Hey, I don’t suppose Landauer would be willing to show up on his doorstep?”
“And do what exactly?” Starr struggled to keep her voice neutral, but she wanted to scream at the idea of putting Catherine in harm’s way. “Remember he wants her more than he wants Hannah. Catherine showing up on his doorstep is only an invitation for him to take two victims, instead of one.”
“You’re right, I know. I doubt the chief would go for it anyway.”
Starr heard the edge in his voice, and she could empathize. They were all on edge, and hers was fueled further by her growing connection to Catherine that came with a strong desire to bring her good news that would allow her to put her past back where it belonged. The only way she was going to make it through the anxiety of waiting, was by doing something. “What do you need me to do?”
“I guess check in with the rest of the task force and see if there are any other leads,” Pearson said. “If this is Pratt, we’ve got him cornered. When he comes out, we can arrest him based on the New Mexico warrant, but we might need a warrant of our own to search his place for anything to do with Hannah. You want me to text you the address?”
“Yes.” She knew he meant so that she would have the information for the warrant, but she couldn’t imagine sitting at the police station waiting around while he and the others on the task force closed in on the man whose actions had altered the entire course of Catherine’s life. The very least she could do was to see the place where he lived. “I’m going to meet you there. I’ve got my iPad, and I can type out a warrant just as easily from my car as at the office.” Her phone chimed with the sound of his incoming text. “I’ll see you in a few.”
She hung up the phone before he could protest. She really had no business showing up at a stakeout, but she needed to lay eyes on Pratt’s place, if only because she knew that Catherine would want to hear every detail and she wanted to be able to comply. She steered into an illegal U-turn, daring anyone to stop her and raced through the ten-minute drive to the address Pearson had sent. As she drove up to the duplex, she spotted his car right away, along with a couple of patrol units parked along the side street, out of view of the front of the house. Taking her lead from the cops on sight, she parked nearby, and made her way to Pearson’s vehicle.
He looked up as she approached, shook his head, and lowered his window. “Taking a stroll, counselor?”
“Better than sitting around in the office, waiting for shit to go down,” she replied, knowing he would understand.
He pointed to his passenger seat. “Get in.”
Once she was settled into the seat next to him, she asked, “What’s the plan?”
“It depends. Do you think we have enough to get a warrant to search his house?”
“Probably not, unless you know for sure it’s his. You said the patrol cop recognized him from the photo we circulated at the briefing?”
“Yes. Officer Burns spotted a guy matching Pratt’s description buying some snacks at the convenience store down the street. He called it in right after Pratt left the store,” Pearson pointed to his right, “and he followed him here.”
Starr shook her head. “As much as I’d like to believe it’s him, that picture was old. It’s not enough. Who owns the duplex?”
“Some corporation. We’re running it down now, but if Pratt lives there he probably leases, and likely under a different name.”
“We need him to come out so we can confirm his ID,” Starr said. “I think that’s the only way we’re going to convince a judge to let us search the house.”
“Or we could find exigent circumstances,” Pearson said.
Starr wanted to agree. All they’d need was to allege that they’d heard a young girl calling for help or that they’d spotted one of the creepy white satin bows in the window to justify pushing their way into the house. The courts made an exception for warrantless searches when someone’s life was in danger or evidence was likely to be destroyed if the police were forced to wait, but if they forced their way in and didn’t find Hannah or any of the bows, they wouldn’t be holding Pratt for long and the misstep could do serious damage to their credibility if they eventually wound up at trial. She was about to tell Pearson no, when he pointed toward the front door of the house.
“He’s on the move.”
Starr looked up to see a tall, lanky man dressed in jeans, boots, and a heavy jacket locking the door of the duplex. She held her breath that he would stay outside long enough for Pearson to approach and ask to see his ID. Pearson radioed to the patrol units to stand by, and he motioned for her to stay put. He quietly opened the door of his car and eased out. Starr watched in the rearview mirror as Pearson crept around the back of the car, while glancing surreptitiously at the sidewalk in front of the duplex as Pratt exited the house. The next few moments played out in slow motion.
Pearson walked up the street toward the duplex, feigning nonchalance. Pratt looked up as they were about to pass. Pearson said something to him that Starr was too far away to make out, but whatever it was, it sent Pratt running back toward the house with Pearson in hot pursuit. Pearson tackled Pratt and suddenly uniformed officers swarmed them both. Seconds later, Pratt was in handcuffs in the back of one of the patrol cars. Starr climbed out of the car and rushed over to Pearson.
“It looks like him,” Pearson said before she could get a word in. “Plus, he took off running the minute I said his name. No ID though. At least not on him.”
“Maybe it’s in the house?” Starr said. She was convinced they had the right guy, and she wanted desperately to prove it.
“Do we have enough to go in?”
Starr knew he was referring to searching the house, and that he was asking if they could go on in without a warrant. She could make a case either way, but her mind flashed to Catherine, and she knew she had to do this the right way to make sure that the case against Pratt was airtight. “Send one of the detectives on the task force to Judge Tatum’s house. She lives near the station.” She paused long enough to grab her phone and send the judge a text, grateful she knew Lisa Tatum well enough to have her addre
ss in her phone. “Tell him to wait there until he hears from us. In the meantime, surround Pratt’s house. If you hear anything to indicate someone is in there and in trouble—for real—then bust in.”
Starr opened her iPad and pulled up one of the search warrant templates she’d used in the past. Pearson peppered her with facts and she crafted the arguments, and within twenty minutes, she had a search warrant she hoped would hold up in court. She had him sign it and emailed a copy to the judge. “Tell your guy the warrant’s on the way. He can call us when it’s signed, and you can go on in.
It seemed like forever before they got word, but it was actually only fifteen minutes. Starr waited outside in deference to Pearson while half a dozen police officers performed an initial sweep of the house. The wait was excruciating. She wanted to call Catherine, tell her they had Pratt and were close to rescuing Hannah, but she wanted to be absolutely certain Catherine’s nightmare was over before she shared the good news.
When Pearson emerged from the house thirty minutes later, she could tell by his grim expression she’d been right to wait. “She’s not here?” she asked, although she was certain she knew the answer.
“Not a trace. If she’s been here at all, he’s hidden it well. We’ll get the crime scene techs out here, but my gut says they’re not going to find anything.”
“Okay.” Starr cast about for something to give them hope. “This place doesn’t fit his MO anyway. Maybe he’s keeping her somewhere else.”
Pearson nodded. “We’ll take him in and question him, but unless we arrest him, we won’t be able to hold him long.”
“Arrest him for the kidnapping of Jill Winfield.” She took note of his pained expression. “What?”
“There’s something else.” He sighed and shoved a driver’s license toward her. “We found this.”
She stared at the card in her hand and her gut roiled with dread. The picture was of the man they had in handcuffs a few feet away, but the name next to the photo was Albert Stevens. She cast about for an explanation. “She changed her name. He could’ve changed his.”
“Maybe. What do you want to do?”
She wanted to leave this chaotic scene and all the answered questions and go back to Catherine, but she knew she couldn’t face her if her only news was that they’d let Pratt go free. “I know what I don’t want to do. I don’t want to let him get away. Arrest him. I’ll contact the original jurisdiction and work out the details later. Do whatever it takes to hold him long enough for us to find Hannah Turner. Take him in and set him up in a video room. Let him sit there while we formulate a strategy for questioning him. I want to proceed very carefully.”
“Roger that. Meet you back at the station?”
Starr felt her phone buzz and it reminded her she’d promised to update Catherine. She made a mental note to call her back from the privacy of her car while she checked her phone to see who was calling. She gasped when she read the text from Fred Nelson. Where are you? Hannah Turner just showed up at the south substation. Murphy wants to see you now.
Her elation at the news Hannah had been found was dampened by the obvious tone in Nelson’s text. She told Pearson the news. “Why didn’t anyone call you?” she asked.
“Good question. Does this change our plans?”
A small voice inside told Starr she should hold off on having Pratt/Stevens arrested, but the voice urging her to protect Catherine was louder. “No.” Starr fished for her keys. “I better get going. First one of us that finds out what the hell’s going on, fill the other in.” At Pearson’s nod, she hurried to her car, wishing she knew what she was rushing toward.
Chapter Seventeen
Catherine leaned back in bed and read the texts from Starr for what had to be the hundredth time. Two texts about an hour apart. Pratt’s in custody. Hannah’s safe.
She’d texted back: Can’t wait to hear more. Come by if you can. She paused before adding. Even if it’s late.
It was two a.m. She’d gotten in bed an hour ago, but she didn’t hold out much hope of getting any sleep until she heard the whole story. She didn’t want to admit it, but she’d kind of expected Starr to call instead of text to deliver the news. Her warm voice would’ve eased the discomfort she felt every time she thought about Hannah Turner in Pratt’s clutches. She read the text again and tried to suppress a growing sense of unease. Was her discomfort because she thought Starr wouldn’t be back now that she’d gotten resolution to her case?
No, that wasn’t it. Surely she was reading too much into the terse phrasing, but she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. How had they located them? Had they found Hannah with Pratt? If not, had Pratt confessed to kidnapping Hannah? Had he confessed to kidnapping her? Had they even asked him that? As the questions mounted, she felt foolish for asking Starr to come by.
The doorbell rang, startling her out of her endless loop of questions. She picked up her phone from her nightstand and opened the video app to see Starr standing on her doorstep for the second time that evening. She spoke into the phone to tell her she’d be right there, and she jumped out of bed and headed to the door before she realized she was only wearing a slinky tank and too short shorts. She rushed back into her room, snatched a robe from the closet, and tugged it on as she made her way to the door.
Starr was by herself and she looked haggard and worn. “You must be exhausted.” Catherine pulled her in and shut the door behind them. She wanted to touch her, hug her, provide some comfort, but she decided it would be best to keep a safe distance for now. “Come, sit down.” She reached for Starr’s jacket, and set it on a chair. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?” She smiled. “It’s been a while since the omelets and knowing you, you’re probably hungry again.”
Starr smiled. “That’s for sure. Believe it or not, I’m not hungry, but I could use a drink if you don’t mind.”
Catherine reached into the cabinet and pulled down a bottle of Balcones single malt. Without asking, she poured them each a few fingers in short, heavy glasses and handed one to Starr.
“I love this stuff,” Starr said, and took a healthy swallow.
“I’d never heard of it before that first night we kind of shared drinks.” At Starr’s questioning look, Catherine said, “After Knoll pled out. At Guero’s.”
Starr nodded. “I remember.”
“I bought a bottle right after that. I have to confess, I didn’t think I’d ever be sharing it with you in my kitchen, but I’m glad you’re here.” The admission was big, but it felt natural. Now that she’d made it though, she was anxious to find out more. “I hate to kill your buzz, but can you tell me anything? I’m kind of dying without the details.” She sensed hesitation from Starr and started to backpedal. “Look, I get it if you can’t talk. I don’t want you to compromise the case against Pratt by sharing things out of school. But anything you can tell me would be welcome.”
Starr took another sip of whiskey and set the glass down. “I want to tell you everything, and I will when I can. For now, just know that he’s in custody and Hannah’s back home with her parents. He won’t ever be a threat to you, or Hannah, or anyone else again.”
Catherine let out a pent-up breath. “Thank God.” She sagged against the counter and a second later felt Starr’s arms around her, supporting her from behind.
“Are you okay?” Starr whispered in her ear.
She was and she wasn’t. She felt relief at Pratt’s arrest and Hannah’s safe return, but there was a buzzing in her ears and the room was suddenly intensely hot. Was she having a panic attack? If so, it was nothing like the ones she’d had before because instead of feeling like she was coming out of her skin, she felt at home in her own body for the first time in a very long while. She pressed into Starr’s embrace, longing to be closer to her, touched by her, held.
Starr shifted slightly. Catherine turned to find out why and suddenly their faces were inches apart. She stared into Starr’s dark, hazy eyes for several seconds before turning her attenti
on to Starr’s full lips. It had been a long time since she’d been with another woman, and never one she’d felt such a strong emotional connection to, but she recognized the signs of passion. Did Starr see the same thing reflected in her expression? Catherine leaned in and took Starr’s lips between her own. Soft yet firm, they were as hungry as hers, and slow touches quickly built to flaming heat, searing and then ebbing back to a gentle caress. When she pulled away to breathe, Catherine was heady with desire and unwilling to let that be the end.
Starr pulled back. “Wow.”
“I need a little more information,” Catherine said. “Is that a good wow, or a wow, I wish we hadn’t done that?”
Starr stepped back into her arms. “Seriously, can you not tell you are making me melt?”
“I may be a little too busy melting myself.”
“I want you.”
“I hear a ‘but.’” Catherine wanted to gloss it over, but it was important they get this right.
“Some people might say I’m taking advantage. This is a big night for you for obvious reasons. I imagine you’re feeling all kind of things, and sometimes those kinds of feelings can lead a person to do things they might not otherwise do.”
“Are you done?” Catherine waited until Starr nodded. “I’m an adult. I’ve been in therapy for years. I know what I want, and right now I want you. Russell Pratt has absolutely nothing to do with that. Understood?” She waited and watched Starr’s face shift through a few different emotions until she arrived at the right one.
“Understood. Now kiss me again, please.”
Catherine pulled Starr closer, the feel of her body against her skin welcome and inviting. This time the kiss spiked with intensity, and Catherine needed more. The chains from her past and the stress of this day fell away, and she no longer cared about anything other than the way Starr felt and her compelling need to make love to her. Right now. She grasped Starr’s hand. “Bed. Now.”
