I slopped my mop back onto the floor and continued cleaning. At one point, Detective Hunter looked up at me. His eyes met mine.
My first inclination was to stare back. But that would be a mistake—my character would be broken. Instead, I quickly looked away as if shy.
There was just no way I was getting information tonight. I needed to think harder. What would Michael do right now? Were there any tips he’d given me that I could tap into?
Maybe if I could just be invisible, I could find some answers.
I worked the rest of the room, saving the area near the detective’s desk until the end. Hunter sat there silently for the entire time I was in the room, studying a file.
There once was a girl named Sue. She didn’t know what to do. But she tried to get nearer so she could see clearer, but she feared that she might spew.
I forced myself closer. As I did, another man walked up to Hunter. If I had to guess, the man worked in the lab. His white overcoat gave him away. Yes, I was astute. What could I say?
“The blood spatter analysis is back,” the man started.
“And?”
“This is where it gets interesting. Look at the pattern here on the wall and on the carpet.” He showed the detective some photos. “Now look at it on Sarah’s shirt, as well as on Flash.”
“What am I supposed to be seeing here? Can you give me the Cliff Notes version?”
“Of course.” The tech straightened. “To be direct, it’s quite clear someone left-handed is behind this crime.”
Detective Hunter’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
The lab tech nodded. “I am. Now that I’m looking more closely at the forensics, something about this investigation isn’t adding up now. I re-created the scenes, complete with the blood spatter. I don’t believe Flash Slivinski murdered Sarah Vance.”
His words nearly stopped me in my tracks. If forensics had come back proving that our client may not be guilty, what did this mean about Flash’s upcoming trial?
I didn’t know. But at least I had something right now.
“Elle!” Rosa called. “¡Vamonos!”
I snapped back toward my boss, my cheeks flushing. Did she suspect I’d been eavesdropping? I had no idea.
I quickly gathered my supplies and made my way toward her. The crew met in a central area near the entry to the office area, and together we walked toward the lobby.
As we did, two uniformed officers—one of them Bradford—escorted a man inside. A big man. An angry man that reminded me of a snarling dog about to attack.
Just seeing him caused a shiver to race through me. I didn’t know what he was being brought in for, but I definitely wouldn’t want to encounter him alone in a dark alley.
Danger seemed to seep from the man like a contagious disease.
The cleaning crew stepped aside without being told. Each of us seemed to sense that this was no time to operate as usual.
The man muttered under his breath as the officers escorted him toward the booking area. As he passed, the man glanced at me. Something flashed in his eyes.
My lungs froze for a minute as I scooted closer to the wall.
I did not want this guy looking at me.
Especially not with that gleam in his eyes.
I waited for the men to move on, suddenly even more anxious to get out of here.
But just as the man walked by, his arms somehow broke free from their confines. He rose to full height like a monster rising from the mist.
The next instant, he lunged forward and grabbed me. With lightning speed, he snatched an officer’s gun from his holster and pressed it into my head.
“Everyone stand back or the girl dies!” he growled.
My head spun. Everything around me blurred.
What was happening?
Blood pumped through my veins with so much force that I thought I might pass out. Almost getting killed two nights in a row wasn’t part of my job . . . right?
Yet, as I glanced around at everyone staring at me, I knew it was happening.
The monster-like man had a gun to my head.
Dear Lord, it’s me again. Begging for your help. Pleading for your mercy.
Everyone around me froze as they stared, waiting to see what the man would do next. His actions seemed to shock the officers, who tensed and braced themselves as if unsure of their next move. No one had anticipated this.
Don’t freeze, Elliot. Use that brain. Don’t let this all be in vain.
I sucked in a breath, trying to gather myself. I needed to do what I did best. To observe. To make note of all the details around me—starting with the man who held me hostage.
I could smell him. Smell the fear and alcohol and cigarettes.
I felt his muscles as he gripped me. His thick skin seemed to indicate a hard life. His shoes were dirty, like he’d been outside.
This all wasn’t going to end well, was it?
“I’m leaving with her, and, if anybody tries to get close, I will kill her,” the man hissed, his spittle hitting my hair. “Don’t test me.”
I glanced across the room. Rosa stared at me with fear in her eyes.
They were probably all glad it was me, not them. I couldn’t even blame them.
I gasped as the gun pressed harder, the metal digging into my skin.
Detective Hunter stepped out of the doorway, his hands in the air and his body language unassuming as he stepped toward the gunman.
“You don’t want to do that,” Hunter murmured. “Why don’t you just let her go? She’s innocent.”
“I don’t want to let her go. We’re getting out of here.” The man took a step backward toward the door, the gun still pressed to my temple.
Someone of his size and inebriation should not be walking backward with a gun. One wrong move, and his finger would hit that trigger, and I would be . . .
Needing a gravedigger?
This was not the time to rhyme.
I only knew I couldn’t go out like this. Not at this place in my life. I was still finding my footing and forging a new way for myself. I felt like there was more I needed to accomplish.
“Just let her go and let’s talk.” Detective Hunter stepped closer.
How could he be so calm at a time like this? It was beyond what I could fathom. But I was thankful for his presence. Something about his easygoing demeanor made me feel more at peace right now too.
He almost reminded me of . . . my dad. Papa had always been able to bring peace to tense situations.
I swallowed hard again.
“There’s nothing that I want to talk about,” the man said. “We’re getting out of here.”
He took another step back. I knew if I left this building with this man that I’d probably never be seen again. Gut instinct told me that.
I couldn’t wait for someone else to save the day.
“Damien . . .” Hunter warned.
Damien? Did I recognize that name? I didn’t think so.
I heard a click behind us and knew we were surrounded by officers. But could they really help me? I was at this man’s mercy.
Even your breathing, Elliot. Keep a cool head.
It was useless. Adrenaline fueled my thoughts, my actions, my reactions.
The gun dug into my skin until my head throbbed and my mind swirled.
“You’re not going to make it out of here alive.” Detective Hunter stepped closer. “If you pull that trigger, then we will take you down. There’s no happy ending here.”
I wanted to frown at his words. The detective’s statement had included me dying—and that wasn’t a scenario I wanted to imagine.
Then again, the detective didn’t think I spoke English, so I wasn’t supposed to understand him. Don’t look fearful but confused, I reminded myself.
“You don’t want it to end like this,” Hunter continued.
The man behind me froze. As he did, something about him caused a memory to rise in me. I’d smelled this man before.
I
know it was weird, but I was certain of it.
My mind flashed back to the past few days. Why was this man familiar? I’d never seen his face before.
That’s when it hit me.
This was the man I’d tackled in front of Oscar’s office last night. I was nearly certain of it.
But what was he doing here now? Did he recognize me? Was that the spark I’d seen in his eyes?
Then I remembered the warning Jono had muttered after he’d helped me fix my car. Be vigilant. I remembered that feeling I was being followed.
Was this somehow connected? Had I been the target and not Oscar?
Nothing made sense.
If it came out that I’d tackled this guy at Oscar’s office, I was going to have a lot of questions to answer. My cover would be blown.
My problems continued to mount.
I needed to think quickly.
Part of me thought I should be compliant, that it was the best way to stay alive.
But the other part of me told me that I should be feisty if I wanted to live.
What would my dad do?
The man shoved the gun into my skull even harder. I flinched.
My eyes went back to Detective Hunter. He still watched. Studied my face. Tried to assess the situation.
But I could feel the desperation from the gunman. He would pull the trigger. He didn’t care if I was a victim here or not. I had a feeling that he didn’t care if he was a victim either. He was drunk and desperate. Maybe he didn’t even have anything to live for.
If that was true, then I really was in trouble.
Because he had no reason not to act. No motivation to stay alive.
“Just leave me alone!” the man yelled.
He was escalating. I felt his heart beating faster behind me. Felt the sweat coming off him. Even the way his chest rose and fell indicated that his breaths were becoming shorter and not as deep.
“Just put the gun down, Damien.” Hunter’s startling blue gaze returned to the gunman, and his motions were calm and steady.
Despite that, Damien was not putting the gun down.
There was only one thing I could think to do. And it was risky.
But if I was going to die, I was going to go down fighting.
Before the man could react, I raised my elbow and rammed it into his neck.
The motion took him off guard, and he reeled backward.
As he did, I swung my leg around and kicked his hand.
His gun flew through the air.
I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him until he cried for mercy. Thank goodness, my dad had made me take years of self-defense classes. I just never thought I would use what I’d learned like this.
At once, cops surrounded Damien. One of them grabbed the man’s gun.
The danger appeared to be over.
For now.
I collapsed on the floor and gasped for air as trembles claimed my body.
What had I just done? I wasn’t sure.
But I did know that I was alive, and that was the important thing.
Chapter Twenty
I was still trying to maintain my cover as I sat across the table from Detective Hunter in one of the interview rooms. He’d brought in another officer who spoke Spanish to interpret for me, and he’d gotten me the worst cup of coffee my taste buds had ever experienced.
I’d told Detective Hunter I’d never seen the man before.
It had been a lie. I didn’t know what else to say. But guilt pounded at me. I knew I wouldn’t sleep tonight because of it. I could feel the rock closing in on one side and the hard place on the other.
Maybe I would come back to the station later. Tell the truth.
I just didn’t know anymore. Everything I’d ever prided myself in felt like it was crashing around me. My rigid moral compass now felt broken.
“It was very brave what you did, Elle.” The detective leaned closer to me. “Kudos.”
Once the detective learned that this man might be the same one who’d tried to shoot Oscar last night . . . would he and the other detective compare notes? Would they figure out that I was involved with both incidents?
Guilt—and a little panic—pounded harder at me.
The officer interpreted the detective’s words. I glanced at Hunter and nodded, muttering, “Gracias.”
Hunter leaned toward me, less hard-nosed professional and more compassionate problem solver. “You should learn some English. We could use more brave men and women at the station. You have good instincts.”
I blushed before I could stop it. As the interpreter rattled off Hunter’s statement, I looked away, afraid my gaze would reveal too much.
Finally, I muttered, “Gracias” again.
Hunter stared at me another moment before finally saying, “I need to get your number in case I have any more questions for you.”
After Hunter’s interpreter repeated his words back to me, I wrote my cell down on a piece of paper. I had to remind myself to answer any future unknown callers in Spanish.
A few minutes later, Officer Bradford was assigned to drive me back to my car at the motel. The rest of the cleaning crew had already gone. He’d blathered on and on as he drove, obviously loving the sound of his own voice since I wasn’t supposed to understand his English.
I couldn’t even pay attention. Instead, I soaked in his vehicle. Took notice of the fact he loved Mountain Dew—empty bottles of it were on the floor. And he apparently liked cats because a couple cartoon cards with the felines were shoved into a drink holder.
As soon as he’d dropped me off and I was alone in my vehicle, my muscles turned to Jell-O.
That had been a foolish thing I’d done tonight. But my life had flashed before my eyes.
The good news was that I’d ended up victorious. The thought made a whoosh of relief escape from me.
I wasn’t sure whether to celebrate or cry. But victory and defeat seemed to clash inside me. Sure, the ordeal had been terrifying. But I’d also proven to myself that I was tougher than I thought.
I gripped my steering wheel.
I needed to get home. It was well past midnight, and I was sure that my mom was waiting up for me.
It was becoming harder and harder to explain to her why I was wearing khakis with a white shirt and smelled like Clorox every night. She was bound to start asking questions.
Despite that, I was ready to get home.
What a day.
Tomorrow was going to be another big day also. I had a fundraiser to attend—and answers to find.
“I know what you’re hiding from me.” My mom wagged her finger in the air as she stared me down.
She assaulted me with the statement as I stepped through the front door. I tried to keep my face placid as I deposited my purse on a table near the foyer. But heat already rose up my neck toward my cheeks.
How had she figured it out?
I swallowed hard before asking, “What makes you think I’m hiding something from you?”
Deflection. It seemed like a good method right now.
Her face tightened. “Don’t lie to me, Elliot. Something hasn’t been right this week, and I just now figured out what.”
I sucked in a long, low breath and waited for her to continue. “What’s up?”
“When you said that you were hired at that law firm, you didn’t tell me that you were hired to clean for them.”
Realization washed through me. Her conclusion made perfect sense. But my secret was still safe.
I licked my lips, trying to figure out how to respond.
“Mama . . .”
“Don’t Mama me. You didn’t get all your education and all your smarts just to end up working as a cleaner. Not that cleaning isn’t honorable, but you’re wasting your talents and abilities if that’s what you’re doing.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then you better start explaining to me what exactly it is like.” Her stare burned into me.
I let out a sigh
and wondered how I was going to get out of this one. It was one thing to lie to the police, but it was a whole entirely different story to lie to my mom.
I needed to stick as closely to the truth as possible. “I do work for Driscoll and Associates. But I was given the opportunity to get some extra work in the evenings. I knew we could use the money.”
It wasn’t the complete truth, but it wasn’t a total falsehood either. I knew, deep inside, a lie was still a lie. But . . .
I was going to have a lot of amends to make sometime in the very near future.
Right now, I waited for her reaction, which seemed suspended as my words sank in.
My mom’s face softened, and realization rolled over her features. She rubbed my arms. “Oh, Elliot. I had no idea. I am so sorry that I assumed the worst.”
“It’s okay.”
“I hate to see you working so much. You look so tired.”
I was exhausted. My head throbbed. My trembles came and went. “I’m still adjusting, but I’ll be fine.”
“Hopefully not much longer. I heard today that Ruth was number twenty-four on the transplant list.” A hopeful smile drifted across her face.
“That’s great news.”
“We don’t know how soon that will be.” She wrung her hands together. “It could still be another year or it could be another month. I just know that we have to have the money in place before they will do the surgery.”
“I am trying hard, Mama.”
She rubbed my arms again. “Oh, I know you are, sweetie. I know you are. Why don’t you go get some rest? You look like you could use it.”
I pushed down my guilt as I walked past her. I hated myself for not telling her the truth.
But I also couldn’t wait to be by myself. I needed to decompress, and I knew just the perfect way to do it.
By reading another entry from my father’s journal.
After I relished a new entry from my father, I pulled out my laptop computer. I felt even more determined than ever to find answers.
I did a couple of quick searches, researching more on Sarah Vance, Flash Slivinski, and Bernard Sutherland.
Then I remembered the poster I’d seen inside the police station. The one offering the 100K reward for information leading to the arrest of the Beltway Killer.
The Art of Eavesdropping Page 12