Cold Truth

by Mary Stone

  Next to him, Ellie braced herself when they got close, holding her breath, eyes wide.

  Jacob pulled the nose of the cruiser even with the suspect’s back panel, lining up the squad car’s front tires with the sedan’s rear ones.

  Yanking the wheel slightly, he guided the cruiser into contact with the sedan, then accelerated, sending the fleeing car sideways.

  Jacob caught a glimpse of the man’s face as he fought to control the car, careening across the bridge and skidding backward. The driver’s door dragged along the cement wall. Jacob turned his car into the sedan, initiating contact between the passenger side of both front bumpers as the fleeing car slowed.

  The suspect shouted profanity through the passenger’s window, revving his engine and trying to force the car forward and the cruiser out of the way. His car’s rear was pinned against the wall at an angle, and he was trapped inside by the crumpled driver’s door.

  “Gun!” Ellie shouted as she ducked.

  Bullets zinged off the front of the cruiser.

  Ellie released her seatbelt just as the sound of breaking glass filled the air.

  “Stay in the car,” Jacob ordered, his ears ringing.

  “He’s out of bullets, and he’s climbing out the window.” She wrapped her fingers around the release for the door.

  “We need to wait for backup.”

  “There’s no way I’m letting this guy get away.” Ellie flung open her door, and she was gone.

  “Ellie, wait.” He put it in park, but by the time he yanked on his door handle, the perp was already out of the car, running down the bridge. Ellie was on his heels.

  Jacob’s heart caught when the man turned and pointed the gun at Ellie, his own hand going to his police-issued gun as he ran. She was in his line of fire.

  The bastard with the gun pulled the trigger.

  “Shit!” Jacob kicked it up a notch.

  But the perp’s gun didn’t fire. She’d been right; he was out of bullets and hadn’t had the chance to reload.

  With a disgusted look on his face, sweat shining on his brow, the dark-haired criminal launched the gun at Ellie and took off, the waistband of his oversized Dickies gathered in one hand to keep them from falling. His open plaid work shirt caught the wind as he ran. Even with his billowing garments slowing him down, he made it almost halfway across the bridge over the Ashley River, Ellie still behind him.

  Unless Ellie managed to tackle the man before he got off the bridge and disappeared beneath the highway, he could get lost in the neighborhood, and if so, likely be gone for good. A door-to-door search would take too long to organize, and with instant car services available at the touch of a finger, the man could be halfway to the state line while they were still chasing their tails.

  A chopper overhead caught Jacob’s attention.

  But it was only the news helicopter that hovered over the freeways during rush hour—probably filming to air the story on tonight’s news.

  With no help from above, he and Ellie were on their own.

  3

  Ellie’s footfalls were hollow on the smooth concrete of the bridge. She could hear Jacob running behind her, but she was focused, gaze locked on the fleeing man.

  It would be pointless to waste her breath commanding him to stop, but it was procedure, so she wasted some breath screaming at him. He’d already tossed his gun at her, and she hadn’t seen an additional weapon. Drawing her weapon on an unarmed man wasn’t an option, and she was out of range for the Taser.

  They were running north in the northbound lane, which was empty since traffic was stopped behind their cars. A trickle of southbound traffic crept by with drivers doing double takes and gawking at them as they cruised by—one giving her a wolf whistle. There was nothing more than a small curb and flexible delineator posts to mark the division of the highway, and luckily, the man was smart enough not to cross into oncoming traffic. But Ellie knew that could change in an instant. Men fleeing murder charges rarely made intelligent decisions.

  She pushed her legs to pump harder, so fixated on the pursuit that the whop-whop of the news chopper barely registered.

  The suspect heard it and stumbled as he turned to look overhead.

  Her eyes met angry brown ones, and he let out another string of curse words before he made a sharp right, straight for the railing.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she whispered, her hands already on the buckle to release her gun belt.

  “Wait!” Jacob’s warning reached her over the whirring blades of the chopper and squealing tires of the onlookers who were stopping to gape, but it was too late.

  The runner’s hands were on the railing, then he was over the side. The splash was loud when he hit the water and frantically swam north toward the shore.

  “Don’t do it!” Jacob called out as she kicked off her shoes and dropped her gun belt on top of them. He was only a few yards back, face red with effort, brown eyes more worried than she’d ever seen them.

  She lifted her hands in the air, palms up, grabbed the railing and launched herself over the side before she could change her mind.

  His “damn it, Ellie,” was whipped away as wind rushed past her ears. Then her stocking feet hit the cool water, which opened to swallow her whole. The instant her head was beneath the surface, the water slammed back together, slapping her so hard her head jerked to the side. There was nothing but the muted sound of air bubbles as she kicked and flailed her arms to slow her descent.

  She pushed past the surface, taking in a lung full of precious oxygen, ears popping from the sudden pressure, then release. It took less than a second to catch sight of her target, closer than she’d expected him to be.

  Ellie’s practiced strokes cut through the current, carrying her across the surface quickly. She caught up to him about halfway to the shore, but before she could grab his collar, he shrieked and started sputtering. When he turned around and saw her, rather than trying to get away, he grabbed at her shoulders. He was hysterical, screaming the same syllable over and over.

  Ellie went under when he managed to grab on to her arm, pressing his weight into hers. He dunked her again as he tried to crawl into her arms, eyes wide, the whites as red as if he’d been crying.

  Kicking to the surface, she freed herself, coughing up the water she’d swallowed, clearing her lungs as she tried to see what he was screaming about.

  His voice rising nearly two octaves higher than before, it took Ellie a beat to realize that he was screaming “croc!” and pointing at an object in the water. He grabbed her again, taking her under once more, and pulling her hair in the process.

  When they resurfaced, she punched him hard in the jaw, knocking him back and quieting him long enough to get a word in.

  “Calm down, or we’re both going to drown,” she ordered, turning him until she was facing his back. She grabbed his collar in one hand and started kicking toward shore. “If you fight me again, I’ll have to let that gator get you.” She took in a few deep breaths, the exertion making it hard to speak. “Relax, let your body float, and we’ll get to shore just fine.”

  He was crying now, huge wracking sobs that echoed off the underside of the bridge. Was there really a croc nearby? She scanned the water until she spotted the reptile that had set the man off. Floating lazily near the surface and watching them with interest was…a large river turtle.

  If Ellie had possessed enough air for the effort, she would have laughed.

  “Please don’t let me get eaten,” the man blubbered, kicking and trying to roll back onto his stomach.

  “Stop, or you will,” she said without a twinge of guilt for lying. They were almost to the edge of the marshy shore. She needed him to cooperate. “It’s not interested in you right now. But if you keep flailing around, you’ll attract his attention again. He’ll eat us both.”

  The man’s breaths came faster, and his body went stiff as a board. He began praying in a low voice, pleading with a higher power to keep him from becoming gato
r bait.

  Ellie was tempted to suggest he confess to the murders, but without Mirandizing him, anything he said would be thrown out in court.

  Jacob was running along the bridge, his eyes on them, her shoes and gun belt tucked under his arm. When he was even with the shore, he lowered himself over the edge and dropped to his feet. Dumping her belongings in a pile, he waded out to help her.

  Once the suspect’s soggy shoes met with the riverbank, Jacob hauled the man onto his feet and cuffed him, then offered a hand to Ellie.

  She took it, both exhaustion and her wet clothes dragging her down as the earth sank beneath her feet with every step. Once on shore, she picked her way over the wetland, testing the ground before each step.

  “What is he going on about?” Jacob growled, half dragging, half carrying the weeping man toward the bridge.

  A pair of cruisers screeched to a stop, and three officers jumped out and scrambled over the railing.

  “Gator,” Ellie said, raising both arms over her head to increase her lung capacity.

  Jacob glanced back out at the water, concern in his expression. “Where?”

  The man moaned. “It was right there. I think I crapped myself. Oh man, where are my pants?”

  Ellie and Jacob looked down at the man’s naked legs in unison, and Ellie choked on the laugh that bubbled up. A quick look back revealed his lost pants floating in the water near the same large turtle that was still watching them, too interested in what was going on to hide beneath the surface.

  “If you cared about people seeing your boxers, you wouldn’t wear pants that don’t stay up.” Ellie tried to keep a straight face and failed.

  “Don’t kick a man when he’s down, okay?” the man shot back. “I almost died today.”

  “Yeah, that turtle looked really hungry,” Ellie teased.

  The man’s face went blank before his brows drew together, and he looked out over the river, shaking his head vehemently. “No. I saw it. It was a gator.”

  The other officers had formed a chain and handed the suspect off to the next until he was back on the bridge. He was still ranting about the gator, jaw quivering as he was loaded into the back of a squad car.

  Ellie swung onto the bridge and over the railing, wet socks squishing on the roadway.

  “You’re shivering,” Jacob said when he handed her gun belt and shoes to her.

  “I’m fine. The water was great, it’s just the wet clothes.”

  He eyed the circling chopper. “I guess there’s no use trying to play this one down for Danver.”

  Ellie sighed. “My mom is going to be thrilled. I’m sure it’s live all over Charleston.”

  “There’s plenty of cell phone video too.”

  She blinked, noticing the crowd that had parked on the bridge and gathered nearby. Every one of them held a cell phone trained on her and Jacob or the suspect, mouths open in awe as they captured every minute.

  “Danver is going to kill you.”

  “Better than getting eaten by a gator.” She laughed, shrugging, her wet shirt sticking to her back.

  Jacob put his arm around her and led her to the back of an ambulance parked near the end of the bridge. She sat down on the floor of the ambulance, perching on the edge with her legs dangling, and the paramedic wrapped a hot blanket around her shoulders. She shivered as the heat sank into her muscles, and answered each of his questions as honestly as she could while Jacob tried to block the onlookers’ view.

  Her partner’s uniform pants had wicked water all the way up above his knees, and the marsh had claimed one of his shoes. But even covered with mud, which had spattered up his arms when he jumped into the sinking mud to help her, he still looked completely in his element. His brown hair was cut so short the wind whipping around them left it undisturbed. His deep brown eyes narrowed, taking every detail in and logging it all.

  Ten years her senior, he was everything she hoped to be at thirty-seven. Cool, collected, and completely comfortable with who he was, Jacob Garcia was the fourth partner she’d had, and when she moved on to detective, the only one she was going to miss. She smiled and squinted up at the chopper that still hovered over the bridge. If she didn’t make detective after this—

  The paramedic pulled the blood pressure cuff off her arm, the Velcro making a sharp ripping sound. “You’re good to go, if you’re sure nothing hurts.”

  She shook her head.

  “You’ll probably feel fine tonight, but I would take some ibuprofen and soak in a hot bath before bed. Under the best circumstances, hitting the water from the distance you did is jarring. The day after is usually the worst. Kind of like being in a car accident.”

  “I’m fine.” She stood, gritting her teeth when she took the first step, and her wet foot hit concrete.

  She handed the blanket back to the paramedic and immediately wished she hadn’t. With the wind on the bridge and soaked head to toe, she was freezing immediately.

  “Get into something dry, and take a load off,” the paramedic said, ducking into the back of the ambulance.

  “What’s wrong?” Jacob asked, lowering his head until they were close enough to whisper. “I was starting to think they were going to transport you. Good job, though.” He elbowed her playfully. “Most of the evidence has already been collected, and someone else will be transporting him to the station.”

  “I hate when my feet are wet.” She gritted her teeth and searched the bridge for their patrol car.

  Jacob wrapped his hand around her arm and guided her in the opposite direction. “Are you serious? All that, and your feet being wet is what’s bothering you most?”

  “I’m not a big complainer.”

  “I’ve noticed. Luckily, our ruthless thug does enough complaining for two people.”

  Ellie followed his gaze to the back of one of the police cruisers, where the man was still yelling about the gator, his voice only slightly muted by the closed windows.

  Shaking her head, Ellie motioned to Jacob’s missing shoe. “You have a backup?”

  “At home.” He shrugged. “Our shift is almost over anyway.”

  She looked down at her watch, surprised to see that it was well after lunchtime. “How’s the car?”

  “It’s drivable, but they’re putting it onto a flatbed with his car.” He nodded toward the truck.

  She stopped, surveying the damage. “Bullet holes?”

  Jacob’s face grew serious. “More than a few. They’ll tack on attempted murder of two officers.”

  “He’s in a lot of trouble.”

  “He is, but he’s better off in jail.”

  She tilted her head. “How so?”

  “His street cred went out the window when he started shrieking about a gator so loud I’m sure someone got it on film.”

  “Could you see it? I only saw the turtle, but this is South Carolina.”

  He shook his head, his lips twitching. “There was no gator. You could see the turtle clearly from up here.” He pointed skyward, at the helicopter. “And I’d be willing to bet that it’s on the news footage too.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “Exactly. He’ll be the laughingstock of Charleston.” He didn’t look like he felt sorry for the guy.

  “Hey, it made him easier to drag out of the water.”

  Jacob’s dark eyes zeroed in on hers. “He almost drowned you.”

  “I was there,” she teased, closing her eyes to block out his concern. She shuddered and rubbed her arms. “I need to go home. I have a hair appointment in a little over two hours, and I have to wash the marsh stink from my body before I go.”

  “Are you going to the gala tonight? Still?” He handed her phone to her.

  “Glad it survived your PIT maneuver. That was excellent, by the way. Let me know whenever you need to practice that again.” He rolled his eyes, and she winked at him. “And I have to go to the gala. My family is hosting it. If I don’t show up, my parents will disown me.” She stood on her toes and waved at a cab in the
single lane of cars creeping by the scene. “You got this?”

  “Sure,” he said. “But you realize that Danver is going to be pissed when you don’t go in after this?”

  “I have Danver under control. I get off in forty-five minutes, and the paramedic said to get out of these clothes and get some rest.” She poked him on the arm. “You heard him.”

  He poked her right back. “You’re on your own, Kline. I’m not taking the fall for this.”

  “You don’t have to.” She smiled as she stepped toward the cab. “I’m leaving against your advice. I’m sure they have this on camera too.”

  He sighed and shook his head, but his lips were trying not to curl up at the edges. She knew her partner, and no matter what he claimed, they had each other’s backs. She knew she could count on him. Danver would get over it.

  She leaned in the passenger side window and smiled at the Hispanic man in the driver’s seat.

  He smiled back. “You need a ride?”

  “Can’t patrol with a layer of Ashley River mud weighing me down. State Street and Queen?”

  He blinked. “That where you live?”

  She slid into the back and flashed him a smile. “Home sweet home.”

  “How does a cop afford an apartment in the French Quarter?”

  She quirked a brow at him. “The same way I can afford to make the trip worth your while.”

  He grinned at her from the rearview mirror and put the cab in gear. She didn’t have to ask him to turn the rear ventilation up on high heat.

  “Thank you.” She slumped against the back of the seat. “I’ll pay you for detailing. I’m sure I smell like a swamp.”

  “More like marsh mud, but yeah, I’ll have to detail the car before I pick up another fare.” He rattled off his email address and the cost of the fare. “I’ll probably spend that much steaming my seats.”

  She nodded, sending him a thousand dollars through fast cash on her phone. The amount popped up on his phone’s lock screen, which was attached to the dash to double as a GPS. He eyed her in the rearview mirror, and she shrugged. “I thought a generous tip was in order.”