“It’s a talent,” he shrugs and steps aside. I smirk at him as I pull on a pair of latex gloves. I stick my head inside the car and have a look around. Nothing out of the ordinary. I open the glove compartment and see an owner’s manual, a flashlight, and a small packet of tissues. In the console between the front seats I see several CDs and some change. It doesn’t look like anything’s been disturbed. I look in the back seat and, sure enough, Tommy was right. There’s a small, dark green purse lying in the back floorboard behind the driver’s seat.
When I pick it up, I can see that the purse is open. Inside I find a small hairbrush, a chap stick, a cellphone and a wallet. I take out the wallet and have a look. There’s eighteen dollars in cash, a black AmEx card, a Visa and three more department store credit cards inside the wallet. The only thing that appears to be missing is Miss Colby’s driver’s license but, of course, I’ll have to ask her to be sure.
I don’t like it. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would a guy go to so much trouble to snatch a purse and then leave everything in it? It’s obviously an expensive bag; hell, it could probably bring in at least a few hundred dollars if he fenced it. And why swipe a high end car and then leave it parked nicely on the side of the road in a nice neighborhood, locked up nice and tight? And then something hits me.
I look up and glance around to get my bearings. The market Miss Colby was assaulted at is just one street over on Fremont Avenue. And, if I remember correctly from the info I compiled on her last night, Miss Colby lives in the very swanky Mountain View apartments just around the corner. This ain’t good. I slowly walk around the car and give it a good once over. Tommy’s right, there’s not a scratch on her. It doesn’t even look out of place sitting on this street.
“I know that look,” Conner says to me. “What are you working out, Guy?”
I shrug as I look over at him. “Doesn’t add up. Obviously our guy wasn’t interested in stripping it for parts. He just wanted to take it for a little spin. But he also didn’t want any harm to come to it because he left it here, in Miss Colby’s safe, exclusive neighborhood instead of leaving it in a bad part of town.”
“Colby lives in this neighborhood?” Conner sounds surprised and it pisses me off. I gave him all the info I compiled; he should know this shit! My expression must reflect what I’m thinking because he looks away, embarrassed.
“She lives two streets over on Fernwood.” My voice is low and full of annoyance. I roll my eyes slightly as I continue, “It’s almost like he wanted it returned to her in the same pristine condition that he took it in. I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this one. The more I look at it, the more I’m starting to think this wasn’t just a random assault after all. I’m thinking maybe Miss Colby was targeted specifically.”
Conner gives me a look of skepticism and waits for me to go on. “I think our guy followed her to that market and he waited for the perfect moment to make his move. He beat her up, he took her purse and her car, only to then leave them both intact just a couple of streets over. It’s like he’s taunting her, or sending her a message of some kind.”
“Okay,” Conner says, “I’m with you so far. But what’s the message?”
“I don’t know,” I respond distractedly, my mind working a mile a minute as I try to figure this one out. “Maybe that he can get to her anytime he wants. The only things not recovered, as far as I can tell, are her driver’s license and her keys. If she’s like most people, she probably keeps all of her keys on the same key chain – house, car, work, whatever.” And if she keeps all of her keys together, I think to myself, then he now has access to her entire life. “Hey, do me a favor,” I turn to Conner with a determined glare. “Take over here, supervise the CSU and take care of the car.”
“Where you going?”
“I’m heading back to the hospital. I need to speak to Miss Colby again.” He nods and I head back to the cruiser. As I pull off into traffic, I can’t shake the thought that this attack feels less random and more personal somehow. Miss Colby was targeted specifically, but why? What’s going on here? She has to know more than she’s saying. And as I continue to mull it over, I can’t help but wonder again why someone would want to harm such a sweet, young girl. She sounded so sad and vulnerable when we spoke earlier. So helpless. And she looked so scared and so small sitting in that hospital bed, and so … lovely.
Fuck. Where did that come from?
I shake my head as if to clear it of some unwelcome thought. What the hell was that? Talk about random. I must be concentrating too hard on this one and it’s starting to mess with my head. I try to shrug it off and continue on, but by the time I arrive back at the hospital, I’m a bundle of nerves.
All the way back I had to make myself concentrate on the facts of the case and not on Miss Colby personally. I don’t know where the hell my head is at but, for some reason, my thoughts of the victim appear to be moving into a weird area and I can’t seem to stop it. All I keep thinking about is the sweet sound of her voice. Well, that and the sensual movement of her full lips when she talks. Shit. This is crazy. Ten years on the force, four of those as a detective working the Violent Crimes Division … this doesn’t happen to me. I don’t get involved. With anyone.
I try to tell myself that my wayward thoughts have something to do with the photo of Miss Colby that I came across while doing my research last night and nothing to do with my interview of her this afternoon. That hand holding shit? That was just a fluke; a momentary wave of compassion. But the photo I found of her showed that underneath all the bruises and the bandages, Miss Colby is not unattractive. Not by a long shot. Long chestnut hair and big green eyes. Still, it’s not like me to be impressed by a pretty face. It’s not like me to be impressed, period. I don’t get involved. With anyone. And for good reason.
I approach her hospital room and nod to the guy working security at her door and show him my badge. He remembers me from earlier today and waves me in. I knock lightly before I open the door.
“Miss Colby, I wondered if I…,”
“Can I help you somehow?” I am cut off by some brown-haired guy sitting at her bedside, looking at me with an attitude. Who the hell is this fucker? Before I can respond, Miss Colby speaks up.
“Detective Pierce?” Her voice is soft and laced with surprise. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it is,” I reply, turning my attention away from the joker with the attitude. “I promised to be in touch after I checked out the car. And I have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no I don’t mind,” she says. “Please, come in.” I enter the room still eyeing the guy sitting by the bed and I note, with interest, that he eyes me just as warily. “Detective, this is my brother,” Miss Colby says softly. “Lucas Colby.”
“I’m sorry, Detective,” he says standing up and offering me his hand. “It’s been a small challenge trying to keep the reporters at bay.”
“No problem,” I respond, shaking his hand firmly. “I understand.” The relief I feel with the knowledge that this man is Miss Colby’s brother is very disconcerting to me. Why the fuck do I care?
“I was actually just about to go and cancel my sister’s credit cards but, I’d like to hear about your investigation first,” he says.
“You have news of my car, Detective?” Miss Colby asks.
“Yes, ma’am. We did locate your Maserati,” I answer. Turning to her brother, I add, “And you might want to hold off on canceling those cards for now.”
“Why is that, Detective?” The sound of her voice is alluring for some reason. It’s almost … hypnotic. Focus on the job, Pierce!
“Miss Colby, we recovered your purse. It was inside your car with most of its contents still in it.”
“My phone?”
“Yes, your cellphone was there. Along with a hairbrush, a chap stick and your wallet.”
“And the credit cards were still there?” Lucas Colby asks with surprise.
“An American Express, a Visa and three depa
rtment store cards. Along with eighteen dollars cash,” I respond.
“Yes,” Miss Colby says brightly, “that sounds right.”
“You don’t look happy, Detective,” Mr. Colby says. “What aren’t you saying?”
I look at Lucas Colby and then back at his sister. Perhaps it’s a good thing he’s here. It will save me the trouble of tracking him down to ask these questions later. “Miss Colby … we’re a little concerned that both your purse and your car were stolen and then recovered so quickly and almost completely intact.”
“I don’t understand, Detective,” she says softly.
“Well, your car was found parked and locked, just one street over from where you were assaulted. It’s in perfect condition. And, if I’m not mistaken, that’s exactly two streets over from your apartment building.”
“Yes.” She shrugs at me and I can tell it’s still not sinking in. I glance up at her brother and he’s looking at me with dawning apprehension.
“Miss Colby, the only items we still haven’t recovered are your driver’s license and your keys.” I watch her carefully and I slowly see the understanding come.
“But … if they didn’t want my car and they didn’t want my money or my credit cards … well, that means, whoever did this to me … just wanted … to scare me? To terrorize me?”
“It could just be a random, senseless act of violence. Or it could be something else entirely. We think maybe whoever did this is trying to send you some type of message,” I tell her. “We think maybe he followed you to that market last night. That he’s trying to prove that he can get to you whenever he wants.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispers. Her voice is full of fear and I have to fight the urge to wrap my arms around her. Shit, Pierce! What is your problem?
“Miss Colby, can you think of anyone who might want to harm you?” I ask her softly, trying desperately to focus.
“No,” she says, and her tears are flowing freely from her swollen eye. I take a handkerchief from my pocket and gently place it in her hand. She gasps softly, and I am briefly reminded of the first time our hands touched. I frown at the confusion I’m feeling.
“Thank you,” she whispers, dabbing gently at her swollen eye.
“Miss Colby,” I say, trying hard to concentrate on my job, “this is very important. Are you sure that you can’t think of anyone? Perhaps someone who has a personal grudge against you? Someone you may have argued with recently? Someone you work with?”
“No,” she gasps. “There’s no one.”
“Detective, my sister is the sweetest person in the world,” Mr. Colby says. “Everyone loves her!”
I nod at him. “I understand that, Mr. Colby. But someone assaulted your sister last night and now it’s looking like she may have been targeted specifically. Is there any chance that this could be connected to your family’s business somehow?”
“Colby Coring?” he asks with a look of shock on his face and I nod. Colby Coring, Inc. The place is like an institution around here. The company designs and manufactures specialized, diamond-tipped drilling bits for use in construction, mining, and even off-shore oil rigs. It was founded by Andrew Christopher Colby, or AC for short, back in the mid 1920’s. AC Colby was their great-grandfather, and Colby Coring became one of those industries that helped put Seattle on the map. And from what I was able to determine last night, the company holds the patents on every drill bit they’ve ever designed, which makes their competition pretty much nil, and the Colby family billionaires.
I shrug at him. “An irate business rival perhaps? Maybe someone who has it out for your family?” He frowns at me and I get the feeling he’s thinking about something. I give him a look that lets him know I’m aware he’s mulling something over. “What is it, Mr. Colby?”
“Well, we do receive the occasional piece of hate mail. But it’s usually harmless, environmentalist crap.”
“Are any of them ever threatening?” I know it’s a long shot but, I have to ask.
“Not usually,” he responds. “But the ones that are … they only threaten to blow up oil rigs or the plants where the drill bits are manufactured. Things like that.”
I nod at him. “If it’s all the same to you, sir,” I tell him, “I’d like to have a look at any you’ve received recently.”
“Sure. We usually have our legal department hold on to that kind of thing for a couple months, I think,” he says. “I could have someone messenger it over to the PD tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I respond.
“Detective,” Miss Colby says, “you said this could just be some senseless act of random violence.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Isn’t that more likely than some sinister plot to target me?” Her voice is so hopeful and I want to reassure her that it’s all going to be okay. But I have to be honest with her.
“Miss Colby, there is a good chance that this is all just random. But it is more likely that whoever did this to you had a specific reason.” I know she doesn’t like my response. I don’t like giving it to her. But it’s the truth.
“Detective, you mentioned that my sister’s keys were not recovered?” Lucas Colby asks.
“That’s correct.”
He turns to his sister and says, “Look, Sam … I know you don’t want to hear this but, maybe you should go and stay with Mom for a while after you’re released from the hospital.”
“I am not going to let some lunatic scare me away from my own home,” she says very adamantly. “Besides … if I have to move back in with Mom, one of us will be dead inside of a week.”
I try to stifle a smile but, fail miserably. She’s obviously a very stubborn, very determined young woman with a twisted sense of humor. “You really shouldn’t say things like that in front of a cop, ma’am,” I say, trying to hide my amusement.
“Sorry,” she whispers with a small smile. I think she’s embarrassed and she flushes slightly, although it’s difficult to tell with the bruises.
“If you refuse to leave your place,” I continue, trying to regain my professionalism, “then you might want to consider having your locks changed before you return home.”
“Yes, I’ll see to that,” her brother says. “Thank you, Detective.”
I nod in response. “Also, if it’s okay with you, Miss Colby, I’d like to send a couple of uniformed officers over to your place just to check things out. Make sure this guy hasn’t paid you a visit.”
“Yes, please,” she says quietly.
“I’m going to go now. Miss Colby, you still have my card; please use it if you think of anything else.”
“Yes. Thank you, Detective Pierce,” she says softly.
“You’re most welcome, ma’am.” I nod at her brother once more, then turn and leave the room. Once the door closes behind me I stand for a second and take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Get a fucking grip on yourself, Pierce!
Chapter Three
Samantha
I can’t get away! I’m trying. I’m struggling and pulling but I can’t get away, he’s too strong! I push against this faceless monster with my hands. I push his head back as I struggle to free myself from his hold but his grip is like a vice. I push and I push and I see flames. Lots and lots of flames. Everywhere. I smell smoke! Burning. Burning. Then blinding pain.
I wake with a start and I’m sweating and panting. My hospital gown is sticking to my skin. A dream. It was just a dream. More like a nightmare, my subconscious smirks at me, and she is totally right. I look around the hospital room and glance up at the clock and see that it is early morning. Gingerly, so as not to hurt my sore ribs, I stretch and yawn when it hits me – I looked up at the clock and I could see it! I can see out of my swollen left eye! It’s such a small thing but it gives me great joy and I know that I will never take my eyesight for granted ever again. It was so strange not being able to see yesterday. When I was here in the hospital room alone, it was very isolating. Almost scary, in a way. But weirdly, I did notice that I paid
a lot more attention to the sounds around me than I normally do. I heard things that I usually don’t even begin to consider. In a way, it was fascinating.
As I sit marveling at the wonders of eyesight and hearing, I feel a sudden and urgent need from my bladder, and since I now have at least one good eye, I feel adventurous enough to make the trip to the bathroom by myself. It was so frustrating not being able to do this on my own yesterday, having to depend on the nurse or my mom, or worse – Lucas, to help me. How embarrassing! I couldn’t even feed myself dinner last night; the nurse had to help me with that too.
Cautiously, I climb out of bed and I am happily surprised to find that I don’t hurt nearly as much as I did yesterday. My right shoulder is still a little sore and my ribs have a dull, nagging toothache kind of pain to them. But my head doesn’t hurt this morning and my face feels a lot better. Once I’m on my feet, I take hold of the IV stand and move slowly toward the bathroom. When I finally arrive at my destination and answer nature’s call, I stand to move over to the sink and wash my hands and I am horrified when I look up and into the mirror. My good mood at having my eyesight back quickly evaporates. I look as though I’ve just gone two or three rounds with Mike Tyson. My left eye is still quite swollen, although I can imagine it must have looked ten times worse yesterday. I have a small cut on my bottom lip and the whole upper left side of my face is a really impressive shade of lavender while the upper right side of my face is covered with the bandage over my right eye. Topped off with the eye patch, I look like a demented pirate.
Well, at least your hair is under control, my subconscious mutters at my reflection. I examine the long brown braid hanging over my left shoulder and smile to myself. That’s something, at least. Usually, my hair and I have a very tumultuous love-hate relationship going on but, right now, it has decided to play nice. Probably because it feels sorry for me.
I find a fresh washcloth and toothbrush in the bathroom and very gently and guardedly wash my face and brush my teeth. I feel loads better when I’ve finished. I give myself another once over in the mirror and decide that it’s as good as it’s going to get. Slowly I make my way back to the bed and climb in just as a nurse ventures in with my breakfast. She checks my vitals and tells me that the doctor will be around soon to determine if the bandages will come off today, and she seems pleased that the swelling in my left eye has gone down enough that I can now see. No doubt happy that I no longer require assistance to eat and pee. As she’s turning to leave, I notice that she has a small tattoo of shooting stars on the inside of her wrist and it triggers something in my brain. I remember the flames. And the smell of smoke.
Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set Page 3