His spiky dark lashes dropped over his eyes briefly, and Elise knew she’d just passed some test.
“How were you getting home?”
“Taxi. There’s no parking in that neighborhood. I had the bartender call me a taxi, and I went outside to wait for it.”
“What happened next?”
Goose bumps rippled across her arms, and she pulled the blanket up to her chin. “I saw a man standing beside a car. The trunk of the car was open.”
“Did he see you? Speak to you right away?”
“I’m sure he saw me, although we didn’t make eye contact. He must’ve seen me come out of the club, but by the time I looked at him he was bending over the open trunk.”
“What kind of car? Make? Model?”
Was he serious? “I’m not sure. It was a small, dark car, old.”
“Then what? Did he talk to you?”
Elise licked her lips, and she could still taste the salt from the bay. “He seemed to be struggling with something. Then he poked his head around the open trunk and asked me if I could give him a hand.”
“Did you?”
“I guess I shouldn’t have.” She knotted her fingers, studying his face for signs he thought she was an idiot. She didn’t see any.
“I walked toward him, and that’s when I noticed his arm.”
Detective Brody’s dark brows shot up. “His arm?”
“It was in a cast.”
The pen dropped from the detective’s fingers and rolled under the bed. He ducked to retrieve it. When he straightened in his chair, his handsome face was flushed.
He cleared his throat. “The man’s arm was in a cast?”
“A full cast almost up to his shoulder, like he had a broken arm. When he asked me for help, I...I didn’t think anything of it. I wasn’t suspicious, and he looked...”
“He looked what? What did he look like?”
She shrugged and the blanket slipped from one bare shoulder. “Normal. He looked normal—blond hair, kind of on the long side, jeans. Normal.”
“We’ll get to the rest of the description in a minute. So, what did you help him with?”
“A box.” She folded her arms across her stomach, where knots were forming and tightening. “There was a box on the ground that he was trying to get into his trunk.”
“And you helped him with the box?” His hand froze, poised over his notepad, where he’d been scribbling her every word since retrieving the pen.
“I didn’t get the chance.” She clutched her arms, digging her nails into her skin. “When I bent over the box, he hit me on the back of the head.”
Detective Brody jumped from the chair, knocking it to the floor.
“What’s wrong?” His sudden movement had caused her to jerk forward, and the blanket fell from her shoulders.
“A man with a cast asked you for help and then bashed your head in. Did he stuff you in the trunk?”
“Yes, yes. Has this happened before?”
Closing his eyes, he stuffed the notepad in the pocket of his shirt. His lips barely moved as he mumbled, “A long time ago.”
“What? A long time ago? Last year?” She hadn’t heard about any crazed killers in the news lately. Were the cops trying to hide a serial killer from tourists?
He righted the chair, brushed off his jacket and dropped onto the hard plastic. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “How’d you get out of the trunk? How’d you get away?”
Did he plan to let her know whether or not somebody was running around San Francisco abducting women?
“M-my dress must’ve gotten caught in the trunk when he closed it. I came to, and there was a light in the trunk.”
“Wouldn’t there have been some indicator on the dash that the trunk was open, alerting him?”
“I told you. It was an older car. Maybe there was no indicator. Maybe there was and he didn’t notice it.”
“You pushed open the trunk and jumped out?”
“Not right away. When I woke up, I was a little groggy and a lot terrified. The car was going fast, too. I waited until he slowed down. Once he did—” she pushed her hands against the air “—I shoved open the trunk and rolled out.”
“Ouch.”
“It beat the alternative.”
“But he heard you.” He dipped into his pocket and retrieved his notepad again.
“Yeah, the trunk lid sprang up, so he would’ve seen it. After I hit the ground and rolled, I jumped up and started running toward the shoreline, running into the fog.”
“You had a couple of things going for you tonight—the dress getting caught and the heavy fog.”
“I could barely see the lights on the bridge, and we were right there.”
“The bridge?” A muscle ticked in the corner of his mouth.
“The Golden Gate. He was driving down that road along the strip of shoreline at the base of the bridge, or close enough to the base before you pull into the parking lot there.”
“I know it.” He tapped the end of the pen against his thumbnail in a nervous gesture. “You’ve described the car. What about the man? Did you get a good look at him?”
“He had shaggy blond hair.” She skimmed her hand on the top of her shoulder. “Long. He had a full beard and mustache.”
“Height and weight?”
“I have no idea. He was kind of stooped over when I joined him at the car. He could’ve been short, but I think he was probably medium height because he was bent over. I think he only straightened up when he was behind me.”
“And was he a thin guy? Big?”
“Seemed heavyset, but he was wearing a jacket so it was hard to tell.”
“Other clothing?”
“Jeans, dark shirt, that bulky gray jacket.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait. He was wearing a jacket with elastic at the sleeves and had both sleeves pushed up. That’s how I saw the cast. And on the other arm, the one not in the cast, he had a tattoo.”
“Perfect. What was it?”
“It was a bird, a bird with wings spread open.”
The detective lifted his gaze from his notepad and drilled her with his dark eyes.
A chill zigzagged down her spine. Had she hit on something? He must know this killer. This had happened before.
He unbuttoned the left cuff of his pressed white shirt and pushed it up. “Do you know what kind of bird it was?”
“No—dark colors. It was hard to see. I just noticed the bird’s wings.”
Then he extended his forearm toward her. “Was it like this?”
A tattoo of a dark blue bird spreading his wings, his claws rising from a flame, decorated the detective’s forearm.
Elise clapped a hand over her mouth and jerked back against the bed. “Exactly like that.”
Chapter Two
The tattoo on Sean’s arm tingled and burned. Some killer had the same tattoo? And why this killer? The M.O. of someone luring women to his car by feigning an injury and then hitting them on the head was all too familiar to him.
Familiar and painful.
Now he’d gone and scared the color out of the victim—Elise, who was shrinking against her pillow, her face as white as the sheets. He’d already startled her when he jumped from his chair, knocking it over. No need for both of them to be freaking out right now.
Sean scooped in a breath and shook down his sleeve. “Similar to that, huh?”
“Similar? Exactly the same.”
Her blue eyes took up half her face, and she eyed him like a trapped animal.
He should’ve never shown her his tattoo. He’d completely misplaced his professional demeanor during this interview. A bird with spread wings—lots of tattoos like that out there.
“I doubt it�
�s exactly the same, Ms. Duran.”
“Elise.”
“Elise.” At least she still wanted him to use her first name. “You said it was dark. A bird is a bird.”
She chewed her lip and then relaxed her shoulders. “Can I see it again?”
He hadn’t buttoned his cuff, so he shoved the sleeve up his arm again and rotated his forearm.
She leaned forward and her blond hair tickled the inside of his elbow. She smelled salty—not at all what he expected from this blue-eyed blonde with the peaches-and-cream skin.
She wrinkled her nose. “I guess it could’ve been different. He had a bird tattoo. You have a bird tattoo.”
He smoothed down his sleeve and buttoned the cuff. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. I wanted to show you mine to see if it would prompt any more detail.”
Actually, he hadn’t been thinking at all. What did it matter if he and a killer both had a tattoo of a bird on their arms? Unless someone was trying to pin something on him.
Just as someone pinned something on Dad.
“I...I really didn’t mean to imply that I thought it was you out there.” She twisted her damp hair into a rope over her shoulder. “The similarity just startled me. You have to admit it’s a coincidence.”
Despite the warmth of the space, he slid into his jacket. “Yeah, a coincidence. A lot of people have tattoos today, but that detail might make it easier to find this guy.”
“I hope so. I’m not his first, am I?”
“I can’t say for sure, Elise.” He tucked his notepad into his jacket pocket. “Is the hospital releasing you soon?”
“The nurse is coming back to check my temperature. If it’s at a safe level, I’m free to go.”
“It’s almost morning. How are you getting home?”
“Taxi.” She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “My purse. It must’ve fallen on the ground outside the club.”
“Or he took it.”
She widened her baby blues, which seemed to get even bluer. “My license is in there, my phone, my credit card.”
He has her address and her contacts and God knows what else.
“If he tries to use the card, we can track him.”
“He knows my address now. I got away. I can give a description of him.” Her hands clawed at the sheets.
He resisted the urge to take one of those small fists in his hand. “Maybe he left the purse at the scene. We’ll call the club to see if anyone found it. We’re going to canvass outside the club anyway, see if he left any evidence, question the employees.”
Still clutching the sheets, she said, “I’m sure he has my purse. He called my name wh-when I was hiding from him. I never told him my name.”
A nurse peeked around the curtain and tiptoed to the bed in the small space. “Excuse me, Detective. I need to take her temperature.”
Sean scooted his chair back to give her room, and the nurse leaned over Elise, pinching a thermometer between her fingers and wheeling the machine on the stand closer to the bed.
“I’m just going to put this under your tongue and we’ll see how you’re doing.” The nurse made a tsking noise. “They could’ve done a better job drying your hair.”
Elise twirled a damp lock around her finger and shrugged.
The nurse peered at the thermometer. “You’re good to go. How do you feel? How’s the head?”
“I’m warm, I’m dry and my head hasn’t hurt since the last ibuprofen I took.”
“Then I’ll bring your clothes and have the doctor sign your release. I’m sorry we have to kick you out of the emergency room. You should see your own doctor as soon as possible for a once-over.”
“I will, thanks.”
When the nurse left, Elise clasped her hands in her lap, looking...lost.
Sean cleared his throat. “Since you don’t have your purse, can I give you a lift home? Unless you want to call a friend.”
Or a boyfriend? Husband? Surely this woman had someone in her life, someone to keep her safe.
“I’ll take the ride, if you don’t mind. My best friend is the one I went to the club with. I doubt she’s going to be up at this time of the morning. I doubt she’s going to be home.”
“I’m assuming you lost your keys, too. How are you going to get into your place?”
“I hide a set outside.”
“Not a great idea.” He started to shake a finger at her, and then snatched it back. She didn’t need one of his lectures on safety.
Color rushed into her pale cheeks as she dropped her gaze to her folded hands. “I guess it wasn’t a great idea to approach this guy at two in the morning on a deserted street, either.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Elise. He’s clever. Why would you think he’d be a danger with a cast on?”
He’s not the first killer to use this ploy, and he won’t be the last. He had to remember that, too. The M.O. wasn’t unique, just as bird tattoos weren’t unique.
“I should’ve known. My friend, Courtney, would’ve known. Street smarts she’d call it.”
“Is Courtney the one who stayed at the club past two and may not be home this morning?” He raised one eyebrow.
“Yeah.” A smiled hovered on lips.
“Doesn’t sound too street smart to me.”
“Here are your clothes.” The nurse had a plastic bag hanging from her wrist and a black dress dangling from her fingers. “We did our best to dry them, but I think the dress is ruined.”
“Oh, well. Small price to pay.” Elise took the dress from the nurse and shook it out.
Sean pushed up from the plastic chair. “I’ll be in the waiting room.”
It didn’t take long for Elise to get dressed. After he’d circled the waiting room twice and inspected and rejected the vending machine in the corner, Elise shuffled into the waiting room, hospital slippers on her feet and a snug black dress hugging her curves.
She crossed her bare arms, and Sean strode across the room, shrugging out of his jacket. “Can’t the hospital loan you a blanket for the trip home?”
“I think the nurse expected someone to pick me up and bring a change of clothes.”
He draped his jacket around her shoulders. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”
“It’s too early in the morning to call anyone.”
“Family?”
“None here.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Nonexistent.”
At least he’d gotten that out of the way. He pulled the jacket tight under her chin. It was as if her assailant had known she was alone. Maybe this wasn’t a random attack.
He pointed to her feet. “Can you walk in those things?”
“If I don’t pick up my feet, they’re surprisingly comfortable. My shoes have been swept out to sea by now.”
Sean had parked his unmarked car in the small driveway in front of the emergency room entrance. He guided Elise to the car with a hand on the small of her back. Comfortable or not, it looked as if she could trip over those slippers at any minute.
He opened the front passenger door for her and she ducked in the car, tugging at her short dress. Had it shrunk after her dip in the bay? The black, sparkly material barely covered her assets—not that he minded.
He cranked on the heater after cranking on the engine. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine.” She wiggled her toes and tapped on the window. “Maybe we’ll get some clear weather today.”
“That fog saved you last night, or rather earlier this morning.”
“It did.” She pinned her hands, completely covered by the sleeves of his jacket, between her bouncing knees.
“Where to?” He rolled away from the curb, looking over his left shoulder.
�
��Sunset District. I live in a house—the owner has the upstairs and I get the downstairs. It was divided into two apartments.”
“Okay, just give me directions as we get closer.” He scratched his chin. He didn’t want to keep bringing up the attack, but that’s why he was here, wasn’t it?
“We need you at the station sometime today to work with a sketch artist. Even if the guy was wearing a disguise, maybe we can get down the shape of his face or some other distinguishing characteristic.”
“Like the tattoo.”
The pulse in his throat jumped. “Yeah, like the tattoo.”
“Do you mind if we stop on the way for a coffee or something hot? Just a takeout.”
“Sorry.” He drummed the steering wheel with his thumbs. “I should’ve thought of that. You probably still need something warm to drink.”
As he swung into a U-turn, Elise said, “Hot chocolate.”
“Hot chocolate it is.”
“With whipped cream.”
“Of course.”
She bit her lip. “I suppose I should learn to like coffee like a grown-up, but there’s something so comforting about hot chocolate.”
“After the experience you had, you deserve comfort.” And protection. And whipped cream.
“I don’t have to go in like this, do I?” She yanked at the hem of her dress, which had hitched up around her thighs.
“I’m parking right out front. You can wait in the car.”
“One of the perks of riding with a cop.”
He parked the car illegally at the curb and hopped out. Even though the sun was rising on the busy street and people bustled in and out of the busy coffeehouse, Sean kept his focus on his car and Elise’s profile through the window.
She must’ve been terrified coming to in that trunk. Despite her soft, feminine appearance, she had to be made of steel to have waded into the San Francisco Bay to avoid her captor.
Holding a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a coffee in the other, he nudged open the door and strode toward the car. Before he reached the door, Elise hopped out and took both cups from him.
“Which is which?”
“Yours is on the right.”
She bent over into the car to secure his coffee in the cup holder. As she did so, her skimpy dress slid up dangerously high.
THE BRIDGE Page 2