Christmas Witness Pursuit

by Lisa Harris

  “Hey, are you okay?” The warmth of Slade’s hand on her shoulder kept her fixed in the moment, though she longed to escape.

  “I don’t... How can it be December twenty-second?” She sat up. “How did I lose two days of my life?”

  He shook his head. “Asia, stop messing around. I’ve gotta start this report before backup arrives.”

  She blasted him with her best death glare. “Slade, I’d love to spout the answers you want, but let me clue you in. I was in my apartment on December twentieth. It was payday, and I was trying to figure out how to make my rent. One of the many joys of being a widow whose drug-addicted husband took everything and sold it to supply his habit.”

  Doubt marked his frown, and he knelt beside the Glock, surveying but not touching the weapon. “Still doesn’t explain why you were pointing a gun at Quenten.”

  Asia bit her lip, scanning the room again, and landed on Slade’s unbelieving frown. “I’m trying to help you, but you can see how this will sound to the district attorney.”

  She stiffened. “I am being honest, and no, thanks—I’ve seen your idea of help.”

  The verbal slap tightened Slade’s jaw and irritation flashed in his eyes, but his tone remained unwavering. “Asia, I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am that Zander is gone. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him. He was my friend, my partner.”

  “Wow, beautiful. Is that the same little speech you told Sergeant Oliver before you betrayed Zander?” She pinned him with a glower. Slade was a traitor, and he’d destroyed her life.

  They held their wordless staredown until Slade glanced out the window, watching for backup. “Zander made his own choices and put us both in an impossible situation, including backing me against the wall. Turning him in was my duty. I had no other options.” He spun to face her.

  Asia looked away. Choices. There was no disputing the facts. Zander had chosen drugs, a plethora of other women and repeated binges. The combination proved to be the catalyst for their separation a year before his death had made her a widow at thirty-four. He’d walked a dangerous path, leading a double life as a trooper and working for Quenten. Eventually, it was bound to catch up to him. Asia had warned him repeatedly to get help and talk to Sergeant Oliver. In the end, Zander’s murder hadn’t been a surprise. He’d played too long with a dangerous, consuming fire.

  Still, Asia would never pretend to be okay with Slade’s method of handling things. He could’ve helped Zander. Been a real friend. Instead, Slade earned accolades by arresting Zander and putting a homing target on him that led Quenten’s men right to him. They’d silenced Zander permanently as a result of Slade’s by-the-book philosophy.

  Asia had lost everything. And Zander was dead.

  Slade was to blame. It was that simple.

  The familiar sorrow she’d befriended beckoned again.

  Slade exhaled, and his posture relaxed. “What happened with Quenten?” A gentle tone slipped through, reminding her of the boy she’d once known. He withdrew a small notepad from his uniform pocket.

  Stay angry. It’s safer. Easier. “If you ask me a hundred more times, I will tell you the same thing. I don’t know how or why I’m here. I never shot him. And I. Don’t. Remember. Anything.” Asia kept her voice tight and controlled, maintaining her composure to prevent any weakness from leaking through.

  “If you have no memories of being here, how can you be sure you didn’t shoot Quenten?”

  Asia forced her cuffed, shaking hands flat against her thighs. “My turn to ask questions. How’s your new position with the drug task force? Tell me, Slade—did your promotion come as a reward for betraying your partner? Or was it a consolation prize for arresting him and giving his murderer easy access to kill Zander?”

  * * *

  Slade flinched at the verbal attack. Deserved, but painful nonetheless. The venomous words stabbed his heart, a vicious reminder of his failures. His guilt. And he couldn’t agree with Asia more.

  She’d never forgive him. And she’d never understand that turning in Zander had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Maybe to some degree, she was right to blame him for Zander’s death. But he hadn’t complied with Zander’s unfathomable request to arrest him for the pleasure of earning a promotion, or anything else self-serving.

  Zander’s plan should’ve been simple. Slade would publicly arrest him so Quenten would believe his insider had been compromised. Then Zander would compile whatever evidence he’d assured Slade he had, ferret out the mole within the Nebraska State Patrol, turn state’s evidence and go into WITSEC. Zander had refused to share the details with Slade, wanting to protect him by not dragging him into the mire.

  Except everything went horribly wrong, and within twenty-four hours of being arrested, processed and released on bail, Zander was murdered. Slade had no evidence of corruption, no proof of a mole, and he’d been marked a backstabbing cop for turning in his partner. He bore Asia’s blame and anger and was left in an impossible situation of keeping Zander’s secret even after his death.

  “A good partner would’ve helped him instead of taking the first opportunity to prove your disloyalty for a lousy promotion.”

  Slade didn’t refute her words, but if she only knew the truth... Zander always got everything he wanted, including Asia. Slade had respected her decision all those years ago, tucking his own feelings far away where they couldn’t hurt either of them. He inhaled and replied with stale facts. “He was a drug-addicted thief working with that guy.” He pointed at Quenten’s body. “Which brings me back to what you’re doing here with a gun and a dead man. The circumstances, such as they are, aren’t looking good for you.”

  “I’m fully aware of how this looks. Contrary to yours and the entire state patrol’s beliefs, I’m not stupid.”

  His radio squawked, halting their conversation.

  “Go ahead,” he answered.

  “Multivehicle injury accident with confirmed fatality on Highway 275. Backup is delayed. Will dispatch next closest ambulance,” the dispatcher rattled on.

  Just another night in rural Nebraska. Never enough responders, and everything happened at once. “Ten-four,” he acknowledged. “Guess it’ll be a bit before they get here. So how about if we start over? First, your injury appears to be a through-and-through gunshot wound, from the little I can see. May I take a closer look?”

  She glanced down and removed the cloth. “Fine.”

  Slade examined her bleeding shoulder then pressed the fabric tighter against the injury. “Yep, looks like the bullet went clean through.” A blood-matted section on the back of her head caught his eye. “You’ve got a head injury too.”

  “What?”

  When he reached out to examine her, she flinched at his touch. He retracted his hand, the sting of her rejection piercing his heart. They used to be friends. “I won’t hurt you.” I’ve done enough damage already to last a lifetime. “I only want to check the injury.”

  “Okay.”

  He withdrew his flashlight, then separated her raven shoulder-length hair clotted with dried blood to reveal a goose egg.

  “Ouch!” Asia dodged to the side.

  He jerked back his hand and replaced the light in his gun belt. “Sorry. Any idea where you got that knot?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any other injuries?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “If I weren’t handcuffed, I might be able to answer your question.”

  The department-issued restraints latched on her wrists tore at him. Never in his wildest imagination had he considered the possibility of arresting Asia. “It’s protocol.”

  “Right—I forgot you never break the rules.” Her uncharacteristic sarcasm sliced through his heart.

  When had she grown so cold toward him? The sweet girl he’d known all his life had morphed into an angry woman, but he saw f
ear in her dark eyes masked behind the facade of her bitter tone.

  “I’ll remove the handcuffs, but don’t try anything stupid.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Joking was the furthest thing from his mind. This whole situation was beyond his comprehension. He knelt in front of her and removed the cuffs. Asia was the last person he’d thought capable of murder. Almost fifteen years in law enforcement had awakened him to a lot of unbelievable realities. Still, his gut said she wasn’t guilty. Or was it his heart?

  Asia lifted her hand and rubbed her wrists, then gingerly fingered the head wound and winced. “That solves the mystery behind my headache and the internal bullhorn amplifying every word you speak.”

  Slade stilled her with a raised palm. It was too quiet.

  “I—”

  “Shh.”

  She glared at him but remained silent.

  He stepped into the hallway and scanned the two bedrooms again. He entered the back bedroom, stepping around the king-size mattress and knee-high junk piles to the window. Slade peered out of the broken blinds into the darkness.

  The trailer was located in the middle of an abandoned farm away from the road. A large dilapidated shed surrounded by mounds of jalopy cars sat two hundred feet from the mobile and close to the neglected cornfields. Slade lifted the window and scanned the area with his flashlight, illuminating the ominous shadows.

  Nothing but the wind whipping over the land and trees greeted him. He slid the window closed and repeated his surveillance in the bedroom facing the front of the property. Trash bags and boxes stacked high obscured the window, forcing Slade to move around the mess. He shifted between the towering displays of clutter and glanced out the dirty glass. A glimmering light flickered in the distance.

  A shiver writhed up his spine. The light faded. A passing car on the county road?

  He returned to the small living room. The home had to be at least thirty years old. Deserted and in the middle of nowhere. Not a place he’d expect to find Asia. So why had she texted him to meet her here?

  A sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air like the putrid atmosphere. Maybe he should just arrest her and get out of here. The isolated locale left them exposed and too far from help. Whatever her situation, they’d work out the details at the patrol office. He closed the space between them, determined. “I think we’d better—”

  Headlights beamed through the window and the crunching of tires on the ice-covered snow drew Slade’s attention. A large black vehicle sped toward the house. Too fast. “Get down!” He tugged Asia to the floor.

  Slade crouched and peered through the bottom corner of the blinds. A barrage of gunshots turned his patrol car into Swiss cheese.

  “Shots fired! Shots fired! Newer-model black SUV. Need backup! Now!” His voice reverberated and increased an octave, hollow in his own ears. Anticipating a blast, he shielded Asia with his body.

  Several seconds passed with no explosion. Pulse drumming and fury radiating up his neck, Slade shifted to get another glance outside. “Stay down.” His hands shook with adrenaline as he pushed the blinds aside.

  The assailants circled on the snow-covered ground, filtering headlights inside again. They were coming back! He dived, covering Asia a second time.

  Bullets blasted through the home, shattering the window and raining glass.

  The dispatcher’s robotic response melded into the background of machine gun fire. Slade tucked Asia under him, protecting her from the debris pelting his neck and arms.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.” He glanced up, catching sight of the hallway. Grateful he’d cleared the property earlier, he considered their only exit strategy. The bathroom and bedroom at the front of the home would shield them until they climbed out the rear-facing bedroom window.

  Rhythmic pinging penetrated the fabricated home’s thin walls, and the TV took several hits before emitting sparks.

  “Stay low and move to the back.”

  “Okay,” she cried over the noise.

  They army-crawled through the hallway and into the bedroom. Slade pushed the door shut, providing a barrier—albeit a flimsy one—against the firepower.

  “Can you climb out the window?” He lifted the latch, pulled open the tall rectangular glass and shoved out the screen. “It’s only a few feet down. I’ll lower you.”

  “I’ve got it.” Asia moved in front of him and scrambled through. She perched on the ledge before hopping down.

  Slade followed behind and grasped her arm. “Hold on.”

  The gunfire ceased, leaving an eerie calm hanging in the air.

  Had the shooters gone?

  The ground was covered in hard-packed snow and their footprints would be easily visible. Only two viable options of escape remained. Run through the cornfields and hope they reached help before the men found them or hide in the shed. If they ran to the front of the house and the men were waiting, they were dead. Scattered assorted metal junk pieces covered the backyard. They’d have to use the debris in a disorganized game of hopscotch to hide their location. Asia’s compromised state and blood loss combined with his undrivable unit meant hiding was the only logical choice. They’d have to take their chances.

  “Follow me and step only on the junk. Do not let your feet hit the snow.” Slade gripped Asia’s hand and they made their way to the random assortment of hubcaps, cinder blocks and other unidentifiable scraps.

  They neared the shed and Slade peered over his shoulder. Men’s voices echoed inside the house. They’d pursue as soon as they spied the open window.

  He shoved aside the shed’s rusted metal door hanging by one rotted hinge.

  “Is this safe?” Asia whispered, squeezing through the gap.

  It was a good question. “Get behind the hood.” Slade gestured toward an old truck hood leaning against a dried and decaying bale of straw.

  Asia maneuvered around the junk and squatted. Slade joined her and inspected the shadowy space. His flashlight would prove beneficial, but advertising their location would be unwise. Darkness hid things he’d rather not spot, anyway. Various vehicle parts including two more hoods pressed against the far wall, shielding them on all sides. A barricade of automotive leftovers. Please, Lord, let them protect us.

  “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, silencing his radio.

  Together they faced the door. A sliver of an opening provided a decent vantage point of the back of the home but trapped them with no other way out.

  “They escaped.” A man’s voice carried from the house across the open land.

  “They found the window,” Slade murmured, more to himself than Asia. “Stay behind me,” he warned, moving in front of her.

  “Hey, I need—”

  “Not now,” he hissed. Weapon poised, Slade peered around the oxidized hood and spoke into his shoulder mic. “Shooters still on the premises.” The speaker remained muted because it didn’t matter what the dispatcher said. They had to get out of here—and fast.

  Where was his backup? Slade angled past the bales and crept toward the entrance. Asia started to follow, but he halted her with his hand. He peeked through the crack between the door and the frame. Figures moved inside the bedroom. How many were there?

  “At least Nevil Quenten is dead.” The man’s booming voice made him easy to distinguish.

  “Excellent,” the first replied. “Where’re the cop and woman?”

  Slade stiffened. What had Asia gotten herself into?

  “They got away. You need shooting lessons. All that damage and you still didn’t kill them.”

  Asia shifted behind him and a hollow ting resounded in the small shed. Slade jerked as the offending noisemaker rolled to his feet. A hubcap.

  “Quiet! I heard something,” the voice outside demanded.

  Slade moved to where Asia stood near the hood and bal
es. He pinned her with a glare. She shrugged and mouthed “Sorry.” Tugging her down, he crouched with her behind the metal barrier. He strained to hear the men’s conversation.

  “There’s nothing out there. I told you, they escaped,” the other argued.

  “No. I see a shed. That’s where they are.”

  Within seconds, the crunching of boots on snow drew closer.

  Slade surveyed the confined space again, searching for a way out. They were trapped.

  The steps paused outside the shed.

  Please, God, get backup here. Fast!

  “Knock, knock.” The man’s taunts were followed by two quick raps on the door.

  Slade held his breath, gun at the ready and heart drumming in his ears. He might be able to outshoot them, but were there more intruders in the vehicle? If he missed, and Asia was hit... No, he’d have to be dead on target.

  A rat skittered over Slade’s boot, and he flinched, nearly squeezing the trigger. The rodent scurried out of the opening, evoking a curse from the intruder.

  “Aw, what’s the matter? Scared of the dark or the little mouse?” The second man roared with laughter. His voice echoed, confirming he was farther away.

  “It’s not funny. Rats carry disease,” the first whined.

  Footsteps drew closer. “Move, so I can look inside.”

  “Forget it. I’ll take care of them from here.”

  Slade interpreted the warning and shoved Asia to the cement floor, covering her with his body. Bullets pinged all around them in rapid succession. The hood and the bale suffered the brunt of the attack, spitting shards of straw like confetti at a parade.

  At last, the rain of fire stopped. Asia’s staccato panting lingered, but to her credit, she never uttered a sound.

  Slade lifted his head and pressed his fingers against his lips, reminding Asia to keep quiet. She nodded. Slade shifted into a crouch while considering the number of bullets in his magazine. Were there enough for him to blast their way free of the shed?