Extreme Pursuit
Alex Kingwell
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CHAPTER ONE
Nicky Bosko didn’t see the beat cop until it was too late. She was thirty steps from the intersection, and he was tucked in around the corner, his eyes tracking a homeless man pushing a shopping cart down the rain-slicked sidewalk.
Her heart constricted, as if someone had reached in and grabbed it. The girl walking beside Nicky followed her gaze, froze.
Nicky grabbed the girl’s arm. “Keep walking.” She pitched her voice low.
They had no choice. A cold drizzle had emptied the sidewalks, and the cop would notice them for sure if they turned back or tried to cross the street. They had to keep going and pass by him.
The girl had that deer-in-the-headlights look, her eyes wide as saucers. “He’ll see me.” The words seemed to catch in her throat.
“No, he won’t.” Nicky tried to sound confident even as her stomach twisted into a hard knot.
The cop, his hands hooked behind his back, was ruddy faced, stout, and he wore a dark rain jacket. He stood under an awning, partially protected from the rain, which a west wind drove down at a slant toward him.
The homeless guy stopped to peer into a steel mesh garbage can, parking his cart at an angle that blocked the sidewalk.
Stuck behind him, the knot in Nicky’s gut tightened. Forcing herself not to look at the cop, she focused on the homeless guy. Fat raindrops slid down the green garbage bag he wore as a poncho. He had frizzy gray hair that flared out from under a navy beanie, reaching his shoulders.
The girl’s eyes darted around, as if looking for an escape route. Nicky tightened her grip on her arm as the homeless man finished inspecting the garbage can. Straightening, he wheeled the cart to the left, having decided to take the cross street. He waited at the curb for a green pedestrian signal.
Nicky and the girl kept going straight ahead. Just as they reached the curb, the pedestrian light flashed yellow. She bit the inside of her cheek, cursed under her breath. Cars and buses cruised by, their tires hissing on the wet road and spitting up water. Wiping rain from her forehead, she glanced to the right, past the cop and up the side street. Dark clouds hung low in the bleak sky. On the other side of the drugstore was an office building, then a four-story car park. On the next block, a patrol car pulled to the side of the road. Nicky held her breath until two officers got out, walked into a building.
There were two ways this could go. They could run now, in any direction. The cop’d call for help, give chase, and chances were one or both of them would be caught, possibly before they got farther than a block or two.
Or they could keep walking. Hope the cop didn’t recognize the girl. She wore Nicky’s navy blue rain jacket and a ball cap pulled down low over her forehead, but her picture was everywhere and, since her father was a cop, there’d be extra incentive to catch this runaway. A vivid memory surfaced, something Nicky hadn’t thought about in months, and her stomach clenched. She’d been fourteen, a terrified runaway huddled on a New York sidewalk, scavenging in garbage cans for food. But she’d been lucky. A female cop had taken her to a shelter. That wouldn’t happen with Michelle. This cop, any cop, would deliver her back to her father.
But she had to keep her cool. If the cop recognized her, they’d run then.
She shot another glance at the girl. Her name was Michelle Stafford and she was five foot six, almost Nicky’s height, thirteen years old. Her soft, tiny facial features were still that of a child, but a somber guardedness in those gray-blue eyes suggested she’d already witnessed too much of life’s dark side. That and the large bruise yellowing on her left cheek.
Nicky tightened her fists as a sudden fierce resolve coursed through her. She felt like a mama bear protecting her cub. The cops wouldn’t get Michelle, not if she could help it.
Four people now waited with them to cross the street. She snuck a glance back at the cop. He caught her eye, gave her the once-over. Looking away, she sucked in a ragged breath. Caught a whiff of wet cement, which somehow reminded her of running track in high school. Practicing sprints and hurdles in the chill fall air. She’d been fast, probably still was. The girl would be, too.
The cop didn’t look fast. But maybe he wouldn’t need to be.
Holding her breath, waiting for him to shout at them to stop, she kept him in her peripheral vision, ready to run if he moved a single step.
A car honked its horn. She jumped, swallowed hard. Beside her, a woman in hospital scrubs spoke loudly into a cell phone. Somebody had botched the grooming of her dog. Coco now had an eye infection and the woman wanted everybody in Riverton in on that little tidbit. Across the street, a woman in red running shorts bounced up and down on her toes, impatient to cross.
Michelle didn’t say anything, just stood, her body rigid, stared straight ahead.
At last the light changed. Starting across the intersection, Nicky kept a steadying hand on the girl’s arm and forced herself not to hurry, to go with the flow. Not until they were on the other side of the street did she let out a heavy breath.
A tear escaped Michelle’s eye and slipped down the middle of her bruised cheek. Nicky squeezed her hand. “Just a couple more blocks, Michelle. You’ll be okay.”
She scanned the sidewalk. A young guy in an acid-wash jean jacket and baggy pants stared at her as he walked toward them. He wasn’t looking at Michelle, but Nicky kept her eye on him until they passed. Paranoia strikes deep.
Michelle had arrived at the shelter last week, brought in by another kid after two nights on the streets. This morning, they’d convinced her to see a doctor. Nicky thought about what the doctor had told her after, while Michelle used the bathroom. Her throat soured. No wonder she’d run away. But that was a whole other worry.
A block from the shelter, the sun broke through the low clouds, flashed off car windshields. More people spilled onto the sidewalks. That was good and bad. She and Michelle weren’t as exposed, but it’d be harder to tell if they were being followed. Not that she had any skills on that front. She was a youth worker, not some covert operator.
Her eyes swept the length of the street, taking in the four people in a bus shelter up ahead and, just past them, a woman in a tight cobalt-blue dress and five-inch heels leaning against a door, smoking a cigarette. Across the road, a man walking a muscular dog stopped to read a menu posted outside a new pizzeria. Cars streamed by. Nobody slowed or seemed to take any interest in them.
Rolling her shoulders, she tried to shake off some of the tension. She felt sweaty despite the September chill and her damp hair and clothes.
The cigarette smoker ground the butt into the sidewalk with the toe of her shoe, smoothed her dress, and then vanished inside a shoe shop.
Nicky pointed out a department store just past the shoe shop. “They have a sectio
n for teens upstairs. We could go check it out if you’d like.”
The girl brightened. “Oh, please. I hardly have any clothes.” Her voice was soft, surprisingly low-pitched. “One of the girls loaned me a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but they’re too big.”
Nicky smiled. Those were the most words the girl had strung together in two days. It’d been hard to tell if she was naturally quiet or had switched off because of everything she’d been through.
Five minutes later, they turned the final corner before the youth shelter. The tan brick building was on the other side of the street, down half a block. Out front, in a no-parking zone, a man leaned against a dark gray sedan. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a light shirt and dark pants.
Nicky stopped short. Something needled at the edge of her brain, made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. It took a second more to process what it was. No kids were outside, hanging out in the sunshine on the front steps.
The man was a cop.
Her heart pounding against her ribs, she grabbed Michelle’s arm. The girl looked at her, tilted her head to the side. Nicky nodded in the direction of the shelter. “See that man beside the car? I think he’s a cop.” She reached into her shoulder bag, fished out her cell phone, and shoved it into Michelle’s hand.
The man looked in their direction. Seeing them, he uncrossed his arms, pushed himself away from the car, pulled out his wallet, and flashed a badge.
Nicky said, “Call the shelter in an hour. The number’s programmed in there.” Her eyes searched the girl’s face. “Promise?”
Michelle glanced at the man, back at Nicky. Clasping the cell phone, she nodded. Already she was up on the balls of her feet, just waiting for the go-ahead.
Nicky said, “Remember that department store? Go in there. There’s an exit at the back to the next street over.” She pressed some bills from her wallet into the girl’s hand. “Hide out for a couple of hours, then phone. Don’t use your own phone. Okay?”
Michelle’s lips trembled and her eyes bounced from the cop, who stood by his car, watching them, swinging his arms, back to Nicky. “Okay.”
Michelle turned, bolted up the street. She slowed for a second to hook the knapsack on both shoulders but didn’t look back. She was fast, all right. Her long legs flew over the pavement.
Nicky turned back to the cop. He was halfway across the street, a hand outstretched to stop cars. His mouth was open in surprise, his eyes locked onto Nicky.
A glance up the street showed that Michelle had disappeared. She just had to stall the cop, to ensure Michelle got away. It didn’t look like he had called for help, which gave Michelle at least a fighting chance.
Across the street now, the cop started walking quickly down the sidewalk toward her, his bearing that of a man more used to giving orders than receiving them. Even from fifty yards she could tell he was a looker. Dark blond hair, striking, sharp facial features. And big, with a broad, muscular chest, and plenty through the arms and shoulders. At least a head taller than her. The word “strapping” came to mind.
An urge to run came upon her but she stood her ground. Foolhardy she could be but never cowardly.
The cop’s approach caught the attention of a middle-aged man in a suit walking past her. Slowing to catch the action, the suit looked from Nicky to the cop and back at her again. A hard stare convinced him to move on.
The cop stopped in front of her, flashed a shiny metal badge in her face. “Police Investigator,” it said. Her glance moved up his chest—lingering momentarily on the man cleavage peeking out from two undone buttons—to his face. He was hot, all right. Off-the-charts hot, with impressive eyebrows, a strong jaw, and a long, straight nose on a squarish face. His hair was messy and in need of a trim but, combined with the stubble on his chin, gave an impression of rough, raw masculinity more in keeping with thugs than cops. He’d be a natural at undercover work.
She met his eyes, felt her mouth drop open.
They were intense.
It wasn’t just their color—a clear, medium blue—but the way he was looking at her. But not in a way that suggested he liked what he saw. If anything, the opposite. More like the way a plastic surgeon might examine a particularly nasty facial disfigurement. A very rude plastic surgeon.
Swallowing hard, she took a full step back.
It was too weird. She said, “What are you looking at?”
He looked away for a moment, gave his head a little shake, then back at her. “You are Nicole Bosko?” His expression wasn’t as intense now, and she had the feeling he was making an effort to tone it down.
There didn’t seem any point in lying. She nodded, then gestured across the street toward the shelter. “I’m late for work.”
He held up a hand. “I’m Detective Cullen Fraser. I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”
“I’m sure you do, but I have no intention of answering them.”
Those thick brows furrowed. “You don’t even know what it’s about.”
The chambray shirt he was wearing brought out the color in those penetrating eyes. He would wear blue a lot—she’d bet good money on him being the vain type.
“Of course I know what it’s about,” she said, her irritation building. “Don’t you have better things to do than harass innocent kids? It’s not like they don’t have enough problems without the cops coming down on them.”
He crinkled his brow. “Drop the attitude, will you? I’m just trying to do my job.”
She ground her teeth. “Unlike you, my job involves helping those kids. Some of them don’t even have families.” She thought about Michelle. “Or they’d be better off without their so-called families.”
His lip curled. “Bad families, are you still blaming all your problems on that?”
She jerked back. What did her past have to do with this? Feeling her cheeks burn, she clenched her fists at her side. “You want to talk about my family?”
“Actually, yes, I do. What did you think I wanted to talk to you about?” He had his feet planted wide and his hands on his hips. “Have you done something illegal I should be aware of?”
“Of course not.” She cleared her throat. “What is this about, then? Are my father and sister okay?”
“They’re fine. It’s concerning a cold-case investigation.”
She eyed him warily. “Cold case? What cold case?” It was a trick; it had to be.
He cleared his throat. “I really don’t want to talk about this in the middle of the street.”
It was her turn to put her hands on her hips. “Too bad, because I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going on.”
He cleared his throat. “It concerns your mother.”
A sudden coldness squeezed her heart as more of her past slammed into the present. A long-buried past. She squeezed her eyes shut, willed her mind to go blank. Some memories, even painful, humiliating ones from her teen years, she could take. They reminded her of how far she’d come, and how easily things could go wrong. But Lisa Bosko? No way. No good would come of going down that road.
Already shock was giving way to anger. “My mother? I don’t have a mother,” she spat out. “And that means I have even more reason not to talk to you.”
She brushed past him, stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, waited for a break in the traffic so she could cross.
“Don’t you want to know what happened to her?”
His voice came from right behind her. She sucked in a deep breath, turned to face him, hating the weakness that was fanning a tiny flame of curiosity deep inside her. “Has she gone missing again? Is her new family looking for her?”
“It’s not like that,” he said flatly. Something dark flashed in his eyes.
Her heart pounding against her ribs, she stared at him. For the first time in years, her life was on track, an achievement made possible only after she’d packed up memories of Lisa Bosko and buried them in a deep, dark corner of her mind. Exhuming them would be stupid. Really
stupid.
If she had any sense, she’d run as fast as she could in the other direction.
He watched her, lips pursed but not saying anything.
A sinking feeling hit the pit of her stomach. Good sense never had been her strong suit.
CHAPTER TWO
Cullen watched Nicole Bosko closely, tried to read her expression. Anger? Curiosity? It was impossible to tell.
“Well?” she said. “I’m listening. Tell me what happened.”
Cullen shook his head. “I’d be happy to, but not here, in the middle of the street.”
She was gorgeous, as he’d guessed she would be, tall and slim, with a perfect oval face framed by long brown hair, big brown eyes, and high cheekbones that hinted at Slavic ancestry. It was an easy beauty, the kind that might have been spoiled by too much makeup, but she wore little or maybe even none and seemed unaware of the effect of her looks.
Or maybe she was very much aware. Cullen had no idea. He was still spooked from seeing her in the flesh.
She said, “Why not? I promise not to get upset.” A barely perceptible smile of contempt played on her full lips.
He gritted his teeth. His patience, already wire-taut, was about to snap. Sucking in a deep breath, he told himself to keep his cool. She seemed to want to piss him off. As if not giving a shit about her mother wasn’t already accomplishing that goal.
He shook his head. “Come with me to the station. We’ll talk there. I promise it won’t take long.”
She fingered a thin gold chain around her neck, and curiosity must have won her over, because she said, “All right, but I’ll have to let them know at work I’m going to be late.”
They walked across the street. He waited in the car while she went inside the shelter. Five minutes later, she came back out and got in the car. After she buckled up, he pulled into traffic.
At the station, she drew a few looks as they walked off the elevator and through the squad room. Not subtle, either. He led her down the hallway to his cramped office, where he gestured to a chair in front of his partner’s desk, then went off to get his partner, Anna Ackerman.
Extreme Pursuit (Chasing Justice #2) Page 1