Jeremy dialed Heather’s cell phone with his hands-free setup as he pulled out from the office.
“Hello.” Her voice was sweet and just what he wanted to hear after such a completely wasted day of searching for their only lead.
“It’s Jeremy.”
“Did you find anything?”
He shook his head, then remembered that she couldn’t see him. “Only bad news. Gordon’s phone was a disposable cell. Unregistered and impossible to trace. No way to even match a credit card receipt.”
“Oh.” He could almost see her face fall and her shoulders slump.
“What have you been doing? Did you get some rest today?”
She huffed. “I’m fine. I’ve just been looking at Kit’s notes again.”
“Find anything new?”
“Nothing. They’re just as cryptic as they were last night.” She yawned but tried to muffle the sound by covering the phone.
“Did you get any sleep today? I’m sure you’re wiped out.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and my sleeping needs. You don’t have to check up on me all the time. And you can call off your watchdog, who won’t move his cruiser from in front of my house.”
Jeremy smiled to himself. It was good to have seniority sometimes, if only to be able to have the newbie act as a bodyguard when Jeremy couldn’t. “Not until I get back to your place. Sorry.”
Her long-suffering sigh could have won an Emmy. “All right. When are you getting back?”
He glanced at his watch. “I think I’m going to run a quick errand, and I’ll be there in about an hour. Tops.”
“Do you want me to wait dinner for you?”
“Depends. What are you making?”
“Mac and cheese.”
He laughed. “No, thanks.”
They hung up, and he pulled a U-turn at the next light, taking him in the opposite direction of Heather’s house.
Not really able to pinpoint the reason behind turning around, he let the car carry him to the place where they had started the day. The roads free of rush-hour traffic, he arrived at Clay’s neighborhood in a matter of minutes, uncertain of what he was looking for.
All he knew was something gnawed on his stomach. He’d missed something. He should have taken note of something.
But what?
As he pulled up to the curb in front of Clay’s house, his headlights illuminated two parked Portland PD cruisers. They were both completely dark, so his gaze jumped to the front door, where two uniformed officers stood staring in his direction.
Hopping out of the car, Jeremy lifted his hand in a casual wave. “Hello, officers,” he called.
“Evening. Something we can do for you?”
As he approached, Jeremy said, “I’m Jeremy Latham, with the sheriff’s office.” He held out his badge, and they both squinted at it.
Finally the stocky man with skin the color of mocha met Jeremy’s gaze. “I’m Phillips.” His head bobbed once to his right. “This is Rizzy.”
“Nice to meet you guys.” Jeremy shook hands with both of them, then slid his badge back onto his belt. “You know Tony Bianchi?”
Even though the only light in the area came from the bulb above the door, he could clearly see their postures relax. Phillips offered a genuine smile, and half of Rizzy’s mouth pulled upward, the other half seemingly paralyzed.
“Sure, we know Tony. He a friend of yours?”
Jeremy nodded. “He’s been helping me out a bit on a case that I’ve been working. You heard about that helicopter crash outside of town last week?”
Jeremy quickly filled them in with a generic version of the case, leaving out everything that really mattered. No mention of the drugs, Mick Gordon or the break-in at Heather’s house.
“So what brings you out here tonight?” Rizzy finally asked.
“The sole survivor of the crash, Heather Sloan, knows the guy who was attacked here this morning. He was the fiancé of her sister, the woman who died in the wreck. I told her I’d ask around a little bit to see if there was anything I could find out for her. See if there was any official news I could pass along.”
“We were just coming back to make sure the crime scene guys cleaned up before Mr. Kramer is released from the hospital,” Phillips said. “We don’t have anything official that we can share, but if you want to look around, you’re welcome to.”
“Really?” Jackpot! “That’d be great.”
Jeremy followed the uniforms into the house, the entryway exactly as it had been that morning. Nearly pristine.
He spun around on the spot, his hands on his hips, brain trying to figure out how everything seemed to be in place. Not even the polished brass trash can had been knocked over. “You guys have any idea why Mr. Kramer was attacked?”
“We thought maybe it was a robbery, but we haven’t been able to confirm with him if anything was taken.”
Jeremy stepped from the foyer into an opulent living room, complete with plush leather armchairs, a wall-mounted flat-screen television and a total entertainment system including a Blu-ray player, digital music port and even two classic turntables.
He whistled low and deep, and Rizzy walked up beside him.
“I know. And you should see the theater room. Twelve leather recliners and a screen that’s got to be nearly a hundred and fifty inches.”
“Wow. And it wasn’t touched?”
Rizzy shrugged. “Not as far as we can tell.”
“What about any other expensive items?”
Phillips strolled up to Jeremy’s other side and said, “I found an authentic Rolex and several other high-end watches in his bedroom. They didn’t even look like they’d been handled.”
“You think that’s strange?” Jeremy asked, cupping his chin to rub his cheeks with his thumb and forefinger.
Rizzy shrugged. “Who knows? It’s not like this is the first time there’s been a robbery in this neighborhood.”
“But is this the first time nothing was stolen?”
After a few more minutes, Jeremy thanked the two men and walked back toward his car, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched against a stiff breeze.
Behind the wheel again, he rested his hands at the twelve o’clock position, staring at nothing in particular.
If the attack had been an attempted robbery then quite clearly Clay had been the victim of an incompetent robber. Any thief worth his salt couldn’t have passed up the state-of-the-art electronics in that house—or the expensive watches, if he’d wanted something more portable. Which only increased the probability that his attack was somehow related to Heather and Kit. But if it was the same guy after them both, why had he trashed Heather’s humble town house and not touched anything at Clay’s?
Jeremy couldn’t answer that question.
But maybe Clay could help him start to piece together how that morning’s events fit with the crash and Heather’s break-in. Maybe he’d remembered something about his attacker or something that had been said. At this point, anything was better than walking blind.
Starting his car, he pulled out, headed toward the hospital that he’d visited earlier that day. Retracing his steps might just lead to the breakthrough he needed to protect Heather.
Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d spent over an hour at Clay’s house, piling up more questions than answers. He was going to be later getting back to Heather than he expected, so he quickly dialed her number.
“Should I be worried about you?” she greeted him.
He laughed. “Nope. Why? Are you?”
Carefully dodging his question, she said, “Where are you?” Beneath her words, he could hear concern and something else. Maybe a hint of panic? From the girl who seemed to always have it together? Not likely.
“I just talked with a couple of guys from the Portland P.D. They were quite talkative, and I’m going to follow up another lead. I’ll be back to your place in a little while.”
“What kind of lead? Gordon?”
He hated crushing the hope that had replaced anxiety in her tone. “No. Just some things about the break-in at Clay’s place this morning.” He steered the car onto the freeway, checking over his shoulder for speeding headlights. Then he continued before she could even ask the question he knew was about to spill out. “The officers just aren’t sure if anything was actually taken, plus it doesn’t look like the place is tossed, so I’m headed to the hospital to see if Clay can remember anything else about the attack.”
She hummed for a moment, a habit when she was putting things in order in her mind before speaking. “I just spoke to Clay about an hour ago. In fact, he called right after you did. He said he still can’t remember anything useful.” When she paused, he heard her fingernails tapping in rhythm on what he assumed was the kitchen table. “But are you thinking that if robbery wasn’t the motive, then it has to be the same person who targeted Kit?”
Chills ran across his neck. It made him squirm when she was on exactly the same wavelength, which seemed to be more and more often the longer they worked this case.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
She sighed. “How can we protect him? I don’t have any more room at my place, and it isn’t any safer than his.”
“We’re not moving in with him. I can tell you that much.” No way was he crashing on the couch of a guy who made Heather’s eyes look so sad and made Jeremy want to punch something.
He pulled into the parking lot at the hospital and turned off the car. “Well, I’m here. I’m going to run up and chat with Clay for just a second.”
“All right. Be careful.”
“You, too.”
“Ha! That’s not hard to do with a guard dog parked out front.” The miniblinds clinked back into place on the other end of the phone.
“Gonzales still there?” He couldn’t keep the humor out of his voice at her annoyance.
“You know he is.”
“Okay. Then I’ll see you in about an hour.”
As he pulled the phone away from his ear, he thought he heard her say, “I’ve heard that before.” He just laughed it off as he jogged through a light drizzle toward the reception desk on the first floor.
“Hi, I’m looking for Clay Kramer.”
“I’m sorry,” said the middle-aged man behind the front desk. He swiped at the salt-and-pepper hair on his forehead before continuing. “Visiting hours ended fifteen minutes ago.”
Jeremy reached into his pocket and pulled out his ID. “I’m Deputy Latham with the sheriff’s department. Mr. Kramer was the victim of a crime, and I need to ask him a few questions.”
The other man looked carefully at the ID, then up into Jeremy’s face, as though checking to make sure he hadn’t stolen the badge. “Hmm. Okay.” With the speed of a sloth, the other man pecked the letters on his keyboard. He hemmed and hawed for several excruciating seconds before finally saying, “He’s in room 109.”
“And where would that be?”
Looking entirely put out, the man pointed to his left. “Past the elevators and through the double doors.”
“Thank you.” Jeremy even offered the man a genuine smile before striding in the indicated direction. In less time than it had taken the man at the reception desk to look up the room number, Jeremy arrived at the closed door of 109.
Just as he was about to turn the handle, his phone rang. Pulling it from the back pocket of his khakis and sliding into a secluded corner of the hall, he said, “Hello?”
“Latham, it’s Gonzales.”
“What’s going on? Did something happen to Heather?”
“Nothing like that. It’s been quiet all night, but I just got a call from dispatch. Conrad needs backup at an attempted robbery. Shots were fired, and I’ve got to go.”
Jeremy let out his breath in a whoosh. At least Heather was all right. And she’d be okay until he could get back to her. “No problem, man. Thank you for being there today.”
“Sure.” Gonzales hung up, and Jeremy hurried back to Clay’s room. After turning the oblong handle silently, he poked his head into the room.
The only bed in the room was empty, the top sheet and blanket hanging off the far edge. He stepped into the room and looked behind a curtain. The door to the bathroom stood wide open, and Clay wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
He hustled toward the nurse’s station and quickly introduced himself to the young nurse who didn’t look like she’d been out of college for more than a year. He asked, “Do you know where the patient in room 109 is?”
She glanced at a clipboard on the desk. “He should be in his room. I just checked on him less than an hour ago.”
“He hasn’t been released then?”
She shook her head, her face a mask of confusion. “No, of course not. He’s being monitored. Why?”
“He’s gone,” Jeremy said.
Her eyes grew almost comically large. The nurse’s white tennis shoes carried her to 109 in an instant, and she flung open the door, searching just as he had. Then her gaze settled on the stand that held a leaking IV bag, tubes with needles still attached dangling uselessly. She immediately turned and ran back to the desk, picking up the phone. Her voice came over the loud speaker announcing a code, but Jeremy couldn’t make out the words over the rushing in his ears.
If Clay was gone and he hadn’t checked himself out, then maybe he hadn’t had a choice about leaving. And if the perpetrator had made his move against Clay, he might just think it was time to take out the other potential witness.
Ignoring the sudden hubbub surrounding the empty room, he bolted for the door.
By the time he reached the parking lot the sky had opened up with fat drops that made visibility dwindle and the ground slippery. He nearly slipped on the asphalt about ten yards from his car but caught himself on the bumper of a red coupe just in time.
Rain still streamed down his cheeks and chin as he squealed out of the lot, windshield wipers squeaking an incessant rhythm as his headlights bounced along the inky pavement. He pressed the accelerator all the way to floor, barely making a sharp turn to get onto the freeway toward Heather.
All of his actions seemed to be on autopilot, and he couldn’t bring his mind to actually ask the “what if” that loomed before him. Instead he repeated a single prayer over and over, his tongue moving as fast as it could.
“God, please let me get there in time. Let me get there in time.”
He needed to protect Heather. He had to save her.
The pounding in his chest felt like it would cause permanent bruising, but he didn’t care. He just had to get there, had to see that she was okay. A phone call wouldn’t be enough to calm his racing pulse, but it would have to do for now.
He didn’t want to scare her, but he needed to warn her. It might not calm him down, but at least Heather would be prepared if anything happened.
He nearly swerved off the road, suddenly thankful that the other lanes were empty, as he grabbed for his phone in the center console. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up,” he commanded as the phone on the other end rang and rang. Then voice mail clicked on.
Throwing the phone onto the passenger seat, he accelerated through a yellow light and into Heather’s neighborhood. Two sharp rights and a left, and he slammed on his breaks in the empty spot in front of the town house, which had been fitted with new windows.
Slamming his car door, he ran for the house. The rain still obstructing his view, he thought his eyes were tricking him when he saw a shadow cross between Heather’s home and the one next door. He glanced at the sky, hoping it might have been a cloud moving in front of the moon, but the moon was completely hidden.
And then he saw what looked like an arm, pumping as though the figure was running. Jeremy slipped on the wet grass, putting his hand down in the mud before regaining his balance and chasing the lone figure that he could finally see was decked out all in black.
Just past the row of shrubs growing along the side of the brick house, Jeremy gave up catching up to the wiry man, tried not to think about what weapons he might have and launched himself with arms outstretched.