Face the Flames

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Face the Flames Page 12

by Jo Davis


  “No, and that’s the thing. He’s been strangely silent since I returned to Sugarland, and my uncle is not the quiet type. I’m sure he knows I’m here. Any silence from his end can only be construed as suspicious at best, dangerous at worst.”

  “You think he’ll make a move soon.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I’m really afraid he may have already.” Chewing on her lower lip, she stared at the video screen.

  “All right.” Austin leaned forward. “Let’s assume he or someone he hired has been following you and Clay. Then let’s assume he followed Ron, and possibly worse. To what end would he hurt an officer you barely know?”

  “My uncle knows me well enough to understand that it would hurt me for someone to target any officer who’s been close to me. If he’s been following me for long, he knows Ron and I worked a call together and saw us talking. It would be enough of a warning to me if he grabbed Ron.”

  “What kind of warning?”

  “That he can get to me or any of my colleagues anytime he wants. Sadly, that’s true.”

  They fell silent for a few moments, and then Melissa pushed to her feet. “I’ll get going with those interviews and do some poking around. Best case, we’ll find him shaken but unharmed.”

  Nobody had to voice the worst case.

  “In light of this discussion, I want you to take one of your team with you. Take Shane, he’s around here somewhere.”

  “But Cap—”

  “That wasn’t a discussion.” His clipped tone and stiff body language shut her trap real quick.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Two heads are better than one, as they say. It’s not just for your protection.”

  “You’re right, of course. I’ll go find Shane.”

  “Let me know when you find something.”

  When, not if. With a nod, she walked out and went in search of her wayward lead detective. It didn’t escape Melissa’s notice that Austin was sending her out with his very best homicide detective. She shivered inside at the knowledge of what that meant—after nearly forty-eight hours without a word from Ron following a normal stop to pick up food after work? The poor man was probably dead.

  Still, he could be injured somewhere, lying around waiting for help. She clung to that as she found Shane in the break room sucking down coffee like it held the secret to everlasting life. They were alone, so she spoke in a low tone as she reached him.

  “Ron Nelson from patrol is missing. Austin wants us on it.”

  Shane’s eyes widened and he tossed his paper cup. “No shit? Give me the rundown.”

  She did, leaving nothing out, and he whistled quietly. “I want to see the videos before we head out.”

  “I figured you would. We’ll let you watch and then go check out an unmarked.”

  “Fuck that, we’ll take my truck. Nothing ever really gets the stench of piss and vomit out of the backseat.”

  “Gross. That’s one of the reasons I don’t miss patrol.”

  “Same here.”

  She watched the video with Shane, who hummed thoughtfully before agreeing that the SUV was definitely suspicious and gave them a new angle to follow.

  “We’ll canvass some of the nearby businesses, see if they have a video showing the parking lot of the Chinese place and if they’ll release it.”

  “That’s a big if. Many businesses won’t let go of their vids without a court order.”

  “I’ve never been able to understand that.” He shook his head as they walked out together. “Why do some people resist helping when they have evidence that could solve a crime or even save a life?”

  “Because they don’t want to get involved, or they hate cops. Any number of reasons. It’s damned frustrating.”

  He made a noise of agreement. “Maybe luck will be on our side.”

  It wasn’t.

  The employees at New Hong Kong had nothing to add to the witness’s statement, nor had any of them seen the alleged SUV in question. After a bit more probing, they left and hit the surrounding businesses. Only one had a viable feed of the parking lot of that night, but the manager wouldn’t let them see it, much less release it, without the okay from corporate.

  “Back to square one,” Shane muttered in disgust. “The little fucker. What would it have hurt to let us at least look?”

  “Cop hater,” she said. “He sneered at you when you weren’t looking. I barely caught him. That vid has probably hit the trash can as we speak.”

  “Yeah. Son of a bitch.” He climbed behind the wheel and slammed the door. “I’ve got a bad feeling about Ron.”

  “Me, too.” She checked her phone. “Just got a text from Austin—Ron’s wife says she checked their online account with their cell phone service provider, and there’s been no activity on Ron’s phone. Not good.”

  “Sure isn’t. They can’t pinpoint a location?”

  “No. It’s either dead or turned off, and he didn’t have a locater app installed on it.”

  Looking as disheartened as she felt, Shane started the truck. “Let’s drive his route home, see if we can find anything.”

  “Good idea. I can’t believe nobody’s done that yet,” she said.

  “I’m sure his wife did, plus Mac and some of the other patrol officers, but it won’t hurt to give the area a fresh eye.”

  They drove out I-49, carefully scanning the gullies and forest along the side of the road for any breaks. Any flash of color among the green and brown. Ron’s car, they’d been told, was a recent-model blue Taurus, and the dark shade of the paint job might be hard to spot among the shadows of the gullies.

  They were disappointed not to find anything. No crushed foliage, no skid marks or debris. Nothing to indicate a wreck had taken place—at least not on Ron’s normal route home.

  “Let’s take that side road we passed a couple of miles back,” she suggested. “There aren’t many places to pull off the road on this winding stretch, and if he felt ill or had car trouble, he might’ve turned off there.”

  It was a stretch, but they had nothing else.

  The road was built on an incline, bordered by a fence on one side. She was glad they’d brought Shane’s truck to navigate the terrain. There wasn’t much to see, until she spotted something off to her right.

  “Stop!” Immediately he hit the brakes. “Look, over there.”

  His eyes followed where she was pointing, to a break in the fence. It was nearly concealed by weeds, but the area, including the plants, had clearly been crushed.

  “Good eye,” he said, putting the truck in park. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  What they had was a spot where a vehicle of some type had definitely gone through the fence. The break was wide enough for a car, and the tire tread marks in the dirt gave proof.

  “No car, though.” He frowned. “Where could it be, assuming it was Ron’s?”

  “Well, if he was fleeing someone, or wanted to make a stand and confront his pursuer, I’m guessing he pulled off here. But he lost control and went through the fence. He gets out, and the confrontation goes bad. He’s subdued and the suspect takes him.”

  “And comes back for his car later. Damn, Ron could be anywhere.”

  “Exactly.”

  They continued their search, moving farther off the road. Melissa wasn’t thinking they’d find much else—until she spotted a few dark droplets on some leaves about twenty yards from the broken fence.

  “Shane, I got something.”

  He came to take a look. “Dried blood? We need to get the crime scene techs in here to process this. Might not be the scene we’re looking for, but something occurred here and we need to find out what.”

  She agreed. Shane made the call, and an hour later they were up to their elbows in cops and crime scene personnel. The captain showed up, too, and took in the are
a for himself. Pictures were snapped. Lots of samples of the soil, leaves, and blood were taken, and several hours later, she and Shane were among the last to depart.

  “Jesus, I’m tired,” he complained. “Just standing around is worse than chasing a suspect on foot for twenty blocks.”

  “True that.”

  She was relieved when they climbed into his truck to leave. After some maneuvering, he managed to turn the vehicle around and get them onto the highway again. As he pointed the truck toward town, they were each lost in their own thoughts. She thought of the possible crime scene, and couldn’t fathom what Ron’s wife was going through.

  If it were Clay who was missing and probably dead, she’d lose her mind. That didn’t even bear thinking about.

  “Hey, check out this van on our six.”

  Glancing behind them, she saw a white utility van closing the distance at a rapid pace. The driver was going much too fast on these roads.

  “Shit, he’s not going to slow down,” Shane growled, speeding up.

  But the van had caught up to them, and Melissa barely had time to brace herself before the driver slammed into them from behind.

  “Goddammit! That prick!” Shane yelled. His truck fishtailed wildly before he gained control. “What the fuck is he doing?”

  “Here he comes again!”

  Fear coursed through her like lightning and she yelled out as the van hit them again. Shane fought the steering wheel, trying to correct the truck’s forward motion. But the effort was useless. The heavy vehicle skidded, hit the gravel on the shoulder . . .

  And plunged over the side of the steep embankment.

  Melissa shrieked and Shane cursed as the truck shot down the incline, bouncing over rocks, the jolts hard enough to rattle their bones. She felt a sharp pain in her mouth and warmth flooded her tongue. The trees were approaching at frightening speed.

  And then the truck began to slide sideways, tilting. They were along for the ride as it rolled in a terrible crunch of metal, and the world flipped once. Twice. Her head smacked against the window and she flailed, attempting to shield herself from more damage.

  The truck landed upright with a hard thud, slid a few more feet, then came to rest against a tree on Shane’s side.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped, reaching a shaking hand to the throbbing spot on her head. “Are you all right?”

  Silence. Ominous, absolute quiet.

  “Shane?” Dreading what she would see, she looked over at her friend.

  The other detective was utterly still and pale, eyes closed. Blood streamed from under his sable hair and down the side of his face, and his head was tilted slightly to the side, resting against the window.

  “No,” she whispered. “Don’t be dead. Please, please, be okay.”

  Hand trembling, she reached out and pressed two fingers to his neck. At first she found nothing, and began to panic. But finally she located his pulse, which seemed to be steady and strong.

  “Thank God.”

  Now to get help. Finding a cell phone was the first order of business. She patted her front pants pocket to find hers still stuck there, and fished it out. The device appeared undamaged. But when she unlocked the screen and tried to make a call, there was no service.

  “Dammit!”

  The reception in the gulley was shit. She’d have to climb to higher ground to get a signal. It took her several tries to get her door open, and she had to shove so hard she almost spilled onto the ground when it gave. Looking worriedly back at Shane, she checked his breathing one more time to find his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. Then she stumbled from the truck and started the arduous climb to the top.

  As steep as it had looked going down, it was worse going up. Halfway there, her legs were shaking and rubbery. Stopping, she checked her phone for service. When she saw the little bars across the top indicating a connection, she could’ve wept with relief. Quickly, she placed the call.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” the dispatcher intoned.

  “This is Detective Melissa Ryan, Sugarland PD,” she rasped. “My colleague and I, Detective Shane Ford, have just been run off the road. His truck rolled and is lying in a gulley off I-49. We need police and an ambulance, and please hurry!”

  “Detective Ryan, can you give me an idea of your location?”

  Melissa described the spot as best as she could, and the dispatcher affirmed that help was coming and to stay on the line. “I’m going to continue on to the top so I can see the road and wave them down. Please hurry, Detective Ford is bleeding and unconscious.”

  Another thought struck her—what if the truck caught fire and blew up? Oh, God. Should I go back and get him out?

  “Okay, hang tight, Detective. Help is on the way.”

  “What if the truck catches on fire? I need to go back and get him out.”

  “Do you see any smoke?” the other woman asked.

  Looking down at the vehicle, she peered closely and relaxed only marginally. “No, I don’t. But I hate not being able to help him.”

  “You are helping him, okay? Continue to the top and flag down the first responders so they don’t miss you. If they pass you by, it will cause a delay getting assistance to Detective Ford. Can you do that?”

  The dispatcher’s voice was calm, and her reasoning broke through Melissa’s rising panic. “Yes, I can do that. I’m going now.”

  She absolutely hated leaving Shane. The most helpless feeling in the world was continuing on knowing he was injured and bleeding in the cab of his truck. But the dispatcher was right—the most pressing concern was making sure their help actually found them.

  At the top, she bent over panting with exertion, hands on her knees. Little black spots danced before her eyes, but she wasn’t going to pass out now. Forcing herself to calm down, she took slow breaths until the dizziness and black spots faded.

  The noise of a car on the road caught her attention. Ignoring the pain making itself known in her battered body, she waved frantically as a squad car rounded the bend. The officer pulled off onto the shoulder and she saw the car held two occupants in the front—the uniformed officer named Jenk, and Austin Rainey. He must’ve just gotten back to the station after investigating the potential crime scene and had been nearby when she placed the call for help.

  “Thank God,” she said on a sob as they approached. Austin wrapped her in a quick hug and she leaned into his strength for a moment. Then she pulled away and pointed into the gulley. “Shane’s down there and he’s hurt.”

  Both men cursed. The captain gently took her arms in his big hands and said, “Wait here for the ambulance, all right? We’ll go down to Shane.”

  She nodded tearfully. “Okay. I wanted so much to stay with him. Please tell him.”

  “We will,” he assured her with a soft smile.

  Then he and Jenk were hurrying down the incline, skidding, shoes kicking up rocks and dust in their haste. From her vantage point she could see Jenk walk around to the driver’s side, but shake his head. The tree was in the way. Austin crawled in through the open passenger’s door to get to the other detective, and then Melissa couldn’t see much through the truck’s tinted and cracked windows. Shane had someone with him now, and that was what mattered.

  When she heard the sirens, the deep horn of the fire engine, her hand went over her mouth. Emotion crashed through her, wild and raw, as she spotted the ambulance coming round the bend, the engine behind it, lights and sirens blaring.

  And she burst into tears.

  • • •

  So far, it had been a busy first day back at the station.

  Not that Clay was complaining—far from it. He relished being busy, having a purpose again. He chuckled to himself, thinking of the eight-year-old who had his head stuck in the fence earlier. The kid hadn’t cried or anything as he waited for the firefigh
ters to dismantle the iron bars so they could free him, but he’d been plenty embarrassed.

  They’d given him some Sugarland Fire Department logo stickers and a stuffed Sparky the Fire Dog to brighten his day. But when Clay’s team had left, the boy’s playground friends had been chanting, “Way to go, Iron Man!”

  The poor little guy would probably be stuck with that moniker for the rest of his public school days.

  Clay had just bitten into a chocolate chip cookie when three loud tones sounded over the intercom system, announcing an incoming call. This time it was a truck that had gone off the road out on I-49, and there was an occupant trapped inside.

  Nothing amusing whatsoever about this one. The drive down that stretch of highway was a gorgeous one—but it was also extremely treacherous. Clay shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth and jogged for the bay, then jumped into his boots and pulled on his turnouts. The rest of his team followed suit, and they were roaring down the street in seconds.

  Julian drove the ambulance this time, and Clay sat in the passenger’s seat nearly vibrating with adrenaline. He lived for this, helping people. And now, having been a victim of a near-tragic accident himself, he had a whole new level of empathy for the people who relied on him to rescue them.

  Several minutes later, Julian rounded a bend in the highway and his eyes widened. “Say, isn’t that your new girlfriend?”

  “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “What the hell?”

  As Julian pulled over and parked behind the squad car, Clay saw that Melissa’s shirt was torn and a trickle of blood was running down the side of her pale face. Her eyes were trained frantically on the arriving assistance, and her hand went over her mouth. She looked like she was barely holding on to her sanity.

  He was out of the ambulance in a split second. “Melissa!”

  She launched herself into his arms and fell apart, sobbing into his shoulder. He held her close, patting her hair, crooning in her ear that he had her and wasn’t letting go. Who the hell had done this to his girl? Rage gripped him and he wanted to kill someone for this. But he kept his control for her sake, just barely.

 

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