“Wow. That’s . . . good. Unexpected, but good.” She ignored the questioning looks, but had to admit she was secretly relieved her mother seemed to be behaving herself. “And did you get the subpoena?”
Linc took a large helping of hash browns before meeting her gaze. “I got it last night as well as the phone records. So far there’s nothing that stands out. All of Heather’s calls matched up to friends, family, coworkers. There were a lot to you, but nothing after Wednesday night.”
Emily swallowed and nodded. “I see.”
“In the meantime, we can listen to the 911 call if we want to.”
“I do. I mean I don’t want to, but I need to. I have to.”
“No. Emily—” Brady said.
She held up a hand. “Don’t even try to stop me, please. She’s my best friend. I need to go. I can’t just sit around here waiting.”
Brady and Linc exchanged a look and Linc raised a brow. “I’m fine with her going,” Brady said. “It might actually be safer than leaving her here alone since Ruthie has to go in to work. We can let the officers watching the house go and return later when she comes back.”
“Okay with me, then,” Linc said after a short hesitation.
“Good,” Emily said.
Ruthie frowned and clasped her hands in front of her. “I’ll say grace.”
“And a prayer for protection,” Chloe said.
“Indeed.”
Once breakfast was over, Emily found herself in the front seat of Brady’s truck. Linc said he’d follow since he wanted his vehicle in case he needed it.
The ride to the dispatch office located on Laurel Street took all of eight minutes. “That’s convenient for you. Being so close to work and downtown, I mean,” Emily said.
“Yeah, comes in handy,” Brady said as he parked. “Stay put for a second, will you?”
“Why?”
Brady climbed out and walked around to her side to open her door. She lifted a brow. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Linc slipped up behind her, and while she figured Brady to be the kind of guy who’d hold the doors for the women he dated, this wasn’t a date. With Linc hovering close behind her and Brady right in front, she realized they were creating a shield around her. The knowledge humbled her. They didn’t even know her and yet these men were willing to risk their lives for her. That fact told her all she needed to know about their character and their commitment to the oath they’d taken.
Once inside the dispatch call center, Brady approached the desk and asked for Director Mason Helms. Emily bit her lip as impatience surged. She wanted to hear that call . . . but didn’t. But had to.
Brady’s phone rang and he stepped to the side to answer. She couldn’t help but wonder who he was talking to and if she needed to know the information that had him frowning. But there was no time to ask. He finished the call as a tall, dark-skinned man with short black hair and friendly eyes approached. “I’m Director Helms, but just call me Mason.”
“I’m Emily.” She shook the director’s hand and followed as he led them into the call center. Multiple stations in organized rows dominated the large room. Each station had three or more monitors. Two dispatchers spoke into their headsets.
Mason stopped at a desk two rows down from the door and touched the shoulder of the woman in the chair. “Dawn, this is Detective St. John and Special Agent St. John. This young woman here is Emily Chastain. She’s best friends with the caller.”
“Heather,” Emily said.
“Yes, Heather,” Mason said. Compassion glittered in his gaze, and Emily looked away, not wanting to admit what that communicated about Heather’s fate.
The dispatcher was ready for them and handed them all headsets. A wave of nausea washed over Emily even before the woman clicked on the button to play the recording.
Brady kept his gaze on Emily.
“911. Where is your emergency?”
“I’m in the Cannon Street Garage, third floor. My name’s Heather Gilstrap. There’s a guy following me and I think he’s going to kill me.”
Emily sucked in a sharp breath, but other than that didn’t move.
“The door won’t open!” The sound of Heather’s harsh breathing reached them. Then a pounding. A harsh grunt. “I can’t get out! No, no, no.”
Heather fell silent, but he could hear movement in the car and he’d give anything to see what she was doing.
“I can’t get out!”
“Heather? I’ve got officers en route,” the dispatcher’s voice said.
“My car won’t start. My doors are jammed. He did something to my doors.” A whimper.
“Heather?” A pause. “Heather? Heather! What’s happening?”
“He’s almost here. He has a gun. With a suppressor.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“No. He has a ski mask on.” A sob, sniffles. “Please, God, don’t let me die in vain,” she whispered. “Please, he’s going to kill me—”
“I have someone on the way right now. You have to find a way out of the car and run.”
“I can’t!”
“Can you break the window?”
Harsh breathing echoed over the line. Emily trembled, her hands shaking. Brady wrapped his fingers around hers and she squeezed. Her gaze met his even as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“What?” Heather’s voice.
“Can you break the window?”
“I tried,” she whispered. “Tell Em I tried. Emily Chastain, tell her! Warn her she’s in danger!”
The sound of breaking glass.
Heather’s scream. Then, “Please, don’t.”
Click.
15
I need a bathroom,” Emily said. “Now.”
“Down that hall, second door on the left,” Dawn said. Tears stood in her eyes too.
Emily spun and raced from the call center, hit the hall, then the door to the bathroom. Then the toilet.
She lost her breakfast and a piece of her sanity.
“Emily!”
Brady. “Go away!”
But he was beside her on his knees on the cold tile floor, handing her a bottle of water to rinse her mouth and pushing her hair back away from her wet cheeks. She rinsed and spit and tried unsuccessfully to stem the tears. Finally, he pulled her into his arms. “It’s too much,” she whispered. “I can’t handle this.” The grief welled until she wanted to scream. She’d lost too much. A person wasn’t supposed to suffer so much—and survive with her sanity intact. “I give up.”
“No, you don’t. You can handle this, Emily. You’re strong. You have to be strong.”
“I’m not,” she cried. “I’ve been fooling myself for years now. Tricking myself into thinking I’m strong. But I’m not. I’m not.” Sobs wracked her and her tears soaked his shirt.
He fell silent and just let her cry. It briefly occurred to her that she should care that her ugly crying was covering his white shirt in tears, snot, and black mascara, but she simply didn’t. She was beyond caring about anything except the fact that her best friend, the sister of her heart, was dead and there wasn’t anything she could do to bring her back.
After she’d cried herself into an exhausted numbness, she sat back, shoulders against the stall wall, and wiped her face with the toilet paper Brady pulled from the roll. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” Emily said on a hiccup. “She’s really gone.”
“I don’t know, Emily. I would say it’s probable that she’s dead, but like I said, someone could have taken her just like they did you . . .”
“No. She’s dead. He killed her. She screamed at him and begged him not to.” The sound still echoed in her mind. She sniffed, then blew her nose. He gave her a fresh batch of paper and she tossed the used into the toilet. “What do I do now?”
“We find who has her—or killed her. We find her so we know for sure.”
His words resonated. She let them roll around in her mind even as determination solidified. “Yes,” she sa
id. “That’s what we do. We find her—and them. I want them caught so they can rot in prison.”
Brady lifted her chin. “I have to tell you that I think whoever it is, is the same person who’s trying to kill you.”
She sniffed and swiped the tissue across her cheeks once more. “Probably.”
He stood and helped her to her feet and out of the stall. At the sink, she blew her nose, washed her face, and worked to pull herself together. For Heather. She could do this for Heather. Why, God? I don’t understand!
Brady opened the door for her and she slipped out into the hall while her cry echoed unanswered in her head.
Linc and the director had stepped away from the station, and Dawn was on the phone with someone.
“They’re probably in his office,” Brady said. He led the way and soon they were sitting across from Director Helms.
Emily cleared her throat. “Thank you for letting me come. I’m sorry I was so emotional, but I needed to be here.”
“No apologies necessary,” Director Helms said. “I understand. We all do. And we’re very sorry you had to hear that.”
“Thank you.” She stood. “I’ll just wait for you guys outside.”
“I’m ready,” Brady said. He thanked the director once more and they headed for the door. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Yeah. Dumb question.”
“No, it’s not. You’re concerned. I appreciate that.” She drew in a breath. “I’ll be more okay if we find Heather’s body and her parents are able to give her a proper funeral.”
“We’ll find her.”
He slid a hand under her elbow and reached around her to open the door. “Stand back a little and we’ll get you to the truck the same way we got you inside.”
With Linc in front of her and Brady behind her, they started down the steps and to Brady’s truck parked on the curb. He opened the door and the window shattered.
“What the—” Brady shoved her into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “Stay down! Get on the floorboard!”
He dropped to the pavement and rolled under the truck. Linc hollered and dove behind his own truck.
Brady caught sight of the muzzle in the window of the car parked across the street and diagonal to them. He brought his weapon up. Aimed . . .
. . . and a car drove in between him and the shooter.
Three pops sounded from the moving vehicle and it screeched away. Brady rolled out from under the truck and to his feet. He looked inside to find Emily huddled on the floorboard. “You okay?”
“I’m tired of getting shot at!” She glared up at him, eyes spitting fury and fear. But no sign of another wound.
He turned back to see Linc racing to the first shooter’s car and took off after him. They came up on the vehicle with guns raised. Brady placed himself to the side so he could see in the window, yet duck if he needed to. “Police! Show your hands! Hands on the wheel! Now!”
No movement. One person in the driver’s seat.
And leaning against the headrest, empty eyes open and staring at the roof of the Chevy. Brady didn’t need to check the man’s pulse to know he was dead. He lowered his weapon and Linc did the same.
“What just happened?” his brother asked.
“Someone tried to take out Emily, but instead got taken out?”
“I’m confused.”
“Ditto.”
Linc looked over his shoulder. “Help’s on the way. I’m going to let one of the officers secure the scene. Why don’t you check on Emily?”
“Yeah.”
Officers surged onto the scene and Brady knew the deputy coroner or the medical examiner would be there as soon as he could. If it was the ME, he hoped it would be Francisco Zamora. The guy was quirky, but he went the extra mile when it came to helping police solve a case.
Brady jogged back to find Emily climbing out of the truck. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, face stony, eyes granite. “Fine.”
“I think it’s time you hid out for a while.”
“Hid out?”
“We need to get you someplace safe while we dig into what you and Heather were researching.”
“Where?”
“I’m thinking about that.”
“Brady?” He turned to see Izzy hurrying toward him. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, the guy wasn’t aiming at me.” He introduced Emily. “And this is my sister, Detective Izzy St. John.”
“Marshall,” she reminded him with an amused glance.
“Right. Marshall.” Her being married just didn’t compute with him even though he liked and knew her husband as well as his own brothers.
“Glad to meet you, although the circumstances could be better.”
“A bit,” Emily said.
“Who’s going to get this case?”
“Jordan and I caught it.” Jordan North, Izzy’s partner who was about two years away from retirement and still went after each case like it was his first. “What happened?”
He filled her in while Emily stood silent beside him. It didn’t take long. “I’ll get the security footage and we’ll see if we can get a plate off the second shooter’s car,” Jordan said.
“I want to watch it,” Emily said.
Izzy nodded. “Why don’t you two go inside and get comfortable.”
“I’ll take her statement,” Brady said. “And write mine up too.”
“Perfect. I’ll type them up later and get you to sign them.”
“Statement?” Emily asked. “What am I supposed to say? Someone shot at me and I got pushed into the truck. That’s about it.”
She was approaching the end. The end of her strength, the end of her patience, the end of her endurance. Brady had seen it before. He took her good arm and led her inside to the conference room.
Director Helms brought in soft drinks and bottled water. “Help yourselves. I’ve got chips and fruit in the break room through that door. Legal pads and pens are in the drawer of the credenza.”
“Thanks,” Brady said.
“Absolutely. Let me know if you need anything else. I’m so sorry this happened.”
He left with the promise to check back later, and Emily lowered her forehead to the table and closed her eyes.
“You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” Brady asked as he grabbed a legal pad and pen.
“No.”
“Good.” She still didn’t lift her head. “Emily?”
She sighed and groaned as she pulled her head up and looked him in the eye. “I have to go see Heather’s parents.”
He rubbed his chin. “I don’t think you should.”
“Come on, Brady . . .”
“We haven’t found her body.”
“Which means what? You think she could be alive?”
With a grimace, he looked away.
“Exactly,” she said. “So after the 911 call, the cops went to the garage and found nothing.”
“Right. Her car was gone and so was she. The cops then went to her apartment and the manager let them in. It was neat and looked fine, according to the report.”
“What happened after that?”
“The officers located her parents and told them about the call and wanted to know if they’d heard from Heather since it had been made. They hadn’t, so the cops went back to her apartment to see if they could find anything to indicate where she might be.”
“But they found nothing. By then, they probably thought she was dead.”
He nodded. “They would have looked for anything that might point them in the direction of her possible killer.”
“But again, found nothing.”
“Unfortunately. And then the cops went looking for you.”
“But I’d already been taken, right?”
“That seems to be the timeline.”
Emily groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Okay, what about her office? Did they search that?”
�
��Yes, and talked to her boss and all of her coworkers who were there the night she disappeared.”
She frowned. “And then someone went into her apartment—probably sometime on Thursday after the cops left—and trashed it. And mine as well.”
“That seems to be correct.”
“This stinks.”
“I know.” He cleared his throat. “For now, let me get your statement.” He grabbed a water bottle, opened it, and took a drink.
She spoke in a monotone and frowned as he wrote. But he took the statement word for word. She read over it, signed it, and passed it back to him. “What’s the point?”
“Gotta have it. You never know what might be needed.” He finished his statement while she worked on a bottle of water. “I think I know where you’ll be safe,” he said.
“Where?”
“Another friend with a house on the lake. A different lake.”
“I’m not sure I’m up to any more lake house adventures.”
He offered her a grim smile. “No more adventures. Just some peace and quiet.”
The door opened and Linc stepped inside.
“What’s happening out there?” Brady asked.
“I got a picture of the dead guy.” Linc took a seat at the table and turned his phone so they could see the screen. Emily leaned in and Brady got a whiff of his sister’s shampoo.
“You recognize him?” Linc asked.
She blinked and looked up. “Yes. I do.”
Brady and Linc exchanged a hopeful look. “Who?” Brady asked.
“That’s the guy who made the late-night, early-morning deposits. The one Heather followed. His name is Martin Burnett.”
“Wait a minute,” Brady said. “That call I got just before Mason came to get us was from the lab. Officer Schaffer gave them my number to call along with his when they got the DNA back from the lake house. The ski mask specifically.”
“That was fast,” Linc said. “Impressive for not being a Bureau lab.”
“You’re a funny guy. Credit goes to updated technology and a technician who owes me a few favors. That helped speed things along.”
“And?” Emily asked.
“It matched up to a Martin Burnett.”
“Wow,” Emily said. “So he and Owen Parker were working together that night.”
Code of Valor Page 14