Pretzel Logic

by Tymber Dalton

  The guy dropped what he had in his hands, straightened, and turned to run, but Tom and Gary were already on him, their weapons also drawn.

  “Wait, this is a—”

  Tom had holstered his sidearm and went in for the takedown, tackling the guy facedown onto the pavement and sitting with a knee in the middle of his back.

  “Ow! Stop, wait, please—”

  Ethan holstered his sidearm and moved in to help subdue him, sitting on the guy’s legs.

  He sounded young. When Tom had the guy handcuffed, he ripped the man’s hood off him. “Jesus, he’s a kid.”

  “You got him?” Gary asked.

  “Yeah,” Ethan said. “What’s in the package?”

  Gary holstered his sidearm. Already wearing tactical gloves, he reached out, opened the black plastic garbage bag, and grinned.

  “Gentlemen, I believe we have our arsonist.”

  * * * *

  After reading him his rights and calling in a marked unit to transport the kid, who turned out to be nineteen, Ethan, Gary, and Tom collected the cameras and headed down to the main station to interview him.

  The makeshift device he’d had in the bag matched the accelerant profile and construction of the other one perfectly. They’d already awakened a judge to sign a search warrant, and a team was on their way to Venice to execute it as soon as they arrived.

  Klein Peters had turned nineteen a month earlier and still lived with his mother and step-father. In his car he’d had his bookbag and personal laptop computer.

  After torching the car, he’d been planning to make his way to classes at Venice High, where he was a senior.

  Before questioning the kid and risking him lawyering up, Gary and Tom sat down with him in the interview room while Ethan and a very tired-looking assistant state attorney watched from behind the two-way glass.

  Tom laid out paperwork. “Whoever set fire to Brita Delgado’s car is the same person who hacked into her niece’s school and changed her grades. So there’s arson, domestic terrorism, aggravated stalking, and a laundry list of serious felonies. Add to that the threats, the damage to the neighboring vehicles, and various other charges. That person is looking at a minimum of twenty-five years of hard time in Starke, no parole.”

  Klein Peters, who was kept handcuffed with his hands behind him, looked like he was ready to piss himself. “I want to talk to my parents.”

  “People in Hell want cold water,” Tom said. “You’re not a minor. When we finish here, you’re getting transported to the county jail and we’re recommending no bond.”

  “Now that is,” Gary said, “unless you want to talk to us, tell us the truth right from the start, work with us, explain to us what’s going on, give up your buddies who were also harassing Ms. Delgado, and make a deal to reduce your jail time to make you eligible for parole sooner. Or, we can stop talking now, put you in a cell, and your lawyer can try to get you liberal visitation in prison with your parents once you’re convicted on all charges. Your call.”

  Ethan watched and waited. At one point, before Gary and Tom had entered the room, the kid had been sitting there, crying.

  This was no hardened criminal.

  This was an online bully who’d crossed a line and had lost sight of the fact that there were real-world consequences for what he’d done.

  Gary clasped his hands on the table and leveled a gaze at the kid. “So what’s it going to be? You want to talk to us, right now, and get this over with? Or you want to ask for something else and drag this out?”

  Ethan and the ASA both knew what the detectives were trying to do. They were walking that precarious slackline between violating the kid’s rights to have an attorney present, and coaxing him into thinking it would behoove him to talk to them without an attorney without doing anything that would get a confession tossed out.

  The kid had not yet specifically asked for an attorney.

  “If I want to talk to an attorney?” the kid asked.

  Tom and Gary shrugged and stood, gathering their papers. “Enjoy Starke, kid,” Tom said.

  “Wait!” the kid said, leaning forward. “I said if!”

  The men paused, exchanging a glance. “We already told you,” Tom said. “We can talk to you now, or we can talk to you later with an attorney, but there won’t be any deals later. Not like the one we can offer you now. We need a fast resolution to this case. So make up your mind. Are you asking for an attorney, yes or no?”

  The kid swallowed hard. “No,” he softly said.

  “I couldn’t hear you,” Gary said.

  “No, I’m not asking for an attorney. I’ll talk to you.”

  The detectives returned to their seats. “Then start at the beginning,” Gary said. “Why did you target Detective Delgado?”

  When they finished nearly three hours later, Peters had written a confession and given up about two dozen of his hacker buddies, some of them local and three of them minors, who’d also been involved in the targeted harassment. Yes, Klein Peters been the one to torch Brita’s car, and he’d hacked into the school’s computer.

  He’d accomplished that by hacking his step-father’s laptop. That man led the school’s IT department, which was how the kid gained access to their system. He’d asked to use the man’s laptop one night to look something up and had installed a keystroke logger on it.

  With all the dots connected and a long list of names and the contact info the kid had, the ASA authorized them to make a deal for a minimum of eight years before parole, full restitution, fifteen years probation, and he had to plead guilty to all counts, no trial.

  Otherwise, they’d throw the full list of charges at him, as well as turn him over to the feds for further prosecution, including racketeering charges for the organized nature of the crime. The federal ADA had already agreed, via phone, to not pursue charges against him if he pled out quickly.

  Once he’d signed his confession, then they let him call his parents.

  That also explained why Ethan hadn’t been targeted by the hackers. Because he was active law enforcement, he wasn’t listed in the computer records for Jordan’s file. There was a notation in her records to see her physical file, where the signed forms were kept, for the names and info of additional contacts. It was a safeguard Sorrellson had in place to help protect parents who were law enforcement. The physical files were kept locked up and only accessible by certain employees, including the principal.

  By the time Ethan returned home late that morning, it was nearly noon and he was exhausted. He logged into his e-mail account and sent her a message from there.

  B, we caught the ringleader. He’s the one who burned your car and who changed Jordan’s grades. He’s in jail and will plead out on everything. Local kid. Please call me, or contact me. It’s safe to come home.

  Love you.

  He stared the message for a moment before hitting send and then closing his laptop to go grab a shower and a nap.

  Short of a material witness warrant, there wasn’t much else he could do.

  Except pray she saw the presser when they finished their first round of arrests of the kid’s cohorts.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It’d been three weeks since Brita had arrived at Sachi’s. She knew she’d have to contact Ethan soon. If nothing else, so he didn’t worry.

  In the past week, her physical pain levels had been the lowest she could remember since she’d hit a plateau in her healing. Maybe Sachi had been totally right about Kilroy, no matter what the reason.

  He’d helped her heal in a way she hadn’t been able to heal before.

  And she couldn’t imagine the little dog not being in her life now.

  Jordan’s going to love him.

  She hoped Ethan loved him.

  She sat in Sachi’s backyard, reading an e-book on her tablet while she watched Kilroy chasing a couple of leaves. He had boundless energy like this, making it even more incredible how calm and soothing he was when snuggling with her.

 
Like, exactly as Sachi said, he sensed what she needed and when. Entertainment or snuggles.

  I need to train him.

  He already knew the basics, but Brita could easily picture him enjoying training. Plus it’d give her something else to do to stay active, as well.

  She pulled up her Amazon app and started browsing. Once she had filled her shopping cart with several dog training books and DVDs, treats, toys, and a couple of clickers, she hit the buy now button.

  Done.

  Maybe part of her had hoped Ethan would have found her by now from the yarn order she’d placed. Obviously, checking her Amazon account hadn’t been something he’d thought about. Why would he? She’d used one of the prepaid credit cards so it wouldn’t trip a bank notification.

  As far as the world at large was concerned—outside of Amazon—she’d totally left the grid.

  More guilt filled her.

  He’s probably worried about me.

  It was too tempting to spend the rest of her life in hiding. Sachi, Oscar, and John had been amazing hosts, but she couldn’t live there forever.

  She had a home. She had a family.

  A guy she loved with all her heart.

  The BDSM stuff still worried her, that the stalker might somehow connect her to Ethan and then to Suncoast Society members, putting them at risk, as well. But if she stayed dark in terms of social media, and they didn’t attend Suncoast Society functions in the foreseeable future…maybe that connection could remain hidden.

  Am I really going to let some anonymous asshole run me out of my life, or am I going to fight back?

  After a moment, the answer came to her, like a quiet voice in her brain.

  I want to fight.

  Tonight, she’d call him, once she knew he was home from work.

  * * * *

  By late the following morning, just over three weeks since she’d left, Ethan still hadn’t heard anything from Brita. He wasn’t sure if the first thing he should do when he finally found her—or she came home—was spank her ass or kiss her.

  Maybe both.

  She’d proven herself to be an excellent hider, that was for sure. He’d thought maybe she’d slip somewhere.

  Other than the e-mail he’d sent to her Gmail account letting her know that they’d caught the little bastard, a text to her phone saying the same thing, and periodic checks of her bank accounts, there wasn’t much else he could do.

  Ed swore he wasn’t holding out on him, and that he absolutely would order her to contact Ethan if she contacted him first.

  He believed the man.

  Wherever she was, and he suspected it wasn’t local, she likely had someone helping her stay concealed. Yet none of their friends, when he’d talked to them personally, acted like they had any knowledge of her whereabouts.

  He suspected he might even be on the verge of losing friends, from the way he’d grilled people about her.

  Repeatedly.

  After the press conference that morning updating people on the arrest of Klein Peters, and the still-growing list of charges against his cohorts—including federal charges—and that they had made other arrests that would be announced soon, Ethan clocked out for the rest of the day and headed home.

  Mentally, physically, and emotionally, he was worn out.

  A stop by Brita’s condo, just to put his mind at ease. He made the rounds of the windows and everything was as it should be.

  Except for Brita’s absence.

  He headed home and thought about trying to send her another e-mail. Not that it would likely be seen by her. Either she was periodically looking at her e-mail, or she wasn’t.

  He suspected wasn’t, since he hadn’t received any security alerts about access from other devices, something he’d set up soon after her departure. He’d thought maybe if she logged in from some other computer somewhere, or a burner phone, at least he’d have a ballpark idea where to start looking for her.

  I have to wait her out.

  He took a look at his neglected backyard and, with a heavy heart, broke out the lawnmower and got to work. At least he could do something productive.

  It wasn’t the same without Brita sitting on the lanai, watching him, bringing him water, making sure he took breaks, able to talk to her.

  During one such break, he grabbed his cell phone, fully intending to call Bill at work, just to help center him.

  Then he realized he had an Amazon delivery notification for his monthly vitamin subscription order he received through them.

  Sure enough, the box sat on his front porch. He’d never even heard the driver.

  As he grabbed the box and headed inside with it, he froze.

  Shit. I’m an idiot.

  Racing inside to his laptop, he pulled up the Amazon site…and didn’t see any orders he didn’t place.

  But as he looked closer, he realized what he didn’t see.

  The order he knew she’d placed for crochet supplies when Gabe worked with her. So he logged out…then logged in as Brita, into her account.

  The air whooshed out of his lungs when he saw the two new orders in her account. One placed—and delivered—over a week ago.

  And one placed that morning, just an hour earlier.

  Both of them with a Brooksville delivery address.

  Gotcha, baby.

  * * * *

  He showered and dressed, slacks and button-up shirt, as if going back into work.

  Including his sidearm and badge, just in case.

  He didn’t recognize the name of the property’s owner when he looked up the address on the Hernando County tax collector’s website. Her name—he assumed a her—sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

  With the address plugged into his phone for the GPS, he took his personal car and headed for I-75 a little before two p.m., not daring to hope.

  As he drove, he thought about the orders. Yarn supplies made sense. She’d taken her crochet stuff with her.

  It was the dog supplies he didn’t understand. He hoped it was Brita behind them and not some criminal who’d hacked into her account.

  Except the new credit card listed as the method of payment was likely a prepaid card.

  Which would explain why no bank alerts had triggered.

  Ethan didn’t recognize any of the cars parked in the driveway when he rolled up to the house just after four o’clock. Still, even knowing he wasn’t in his jurisdiction, he parked on the street, clipped his badge to his belt, and walked up to ring the bell.

  He didn’t even get that far when the front door opened. He started to speak to the short, Asian-looking woman with long, dark, straight hair who answered it, but she shot him a dark scowl and motioned with a finger over her lips for him to be quiet. Her blue, almond-shaped eyes intensely focused on him. Gaze narrowing, she pointed at him, looking him up and down several times.

  As if…scanning him.

  When he tried to speak to her a second time, she jabbed her finger at him and placed it over her lips again.

  Finally, she slowly nodded, several times, then crooked her finger for him to follow and turned without bothering to wait.

  Weird.

  Despite it going against every ingrained instinct in his body, and his training, he followed.

  That’s when it slammed home why the property owner’s name sounded so familiar, and he realized he was a fucking idiot.

  Again.

  This was Brita’s skeet coach.

  I’m a moron. I should be busted down to deputy.

  He’d never even thought about Brita coming up here.

  Relief flooded in, though. It meant Brita was safe, and likely had support the past couple of weeks. He followed Sachi through the house and to a sliding glass door that led to a screened lanai. Past that, a shaded, fenced backyard, and he saw Brita sitting in a lawn chair, her back to them as a little black and tan dog ran around and played.

  He tried to step forward but Sachi grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. Then, she rose up
on her toes to whisper in his ear.

  “Please be gentle with her. She damn sure hasn’t been very gentle with herself. But she loves you very much and hid to protect you and Jordan and everyone else she loves. Keep that in mind, and be firm in your love for her. She’s already broken. What she needs isn’t scolding. She needs someone to make her allow herself to accept his help to pick up the pieces and lovingly put them back together for her.”

  He froze, already rethinking his approach. When he tried to step forward again, she stopped him.

  “His name’s Kilroy, and she adopted him last weekend. I think they saved each other. I also don’t care that you’re a cop. If you don’t accept her dog, I will personally make sure they never find your fucking body, buster.”

  This time, Sachi gave him a wide, toothy, manic grin before she patted him on the shoulder and stepped back, motioning for him to go on, shooing him out the door.

  Normally, he might take a threat like that seriously. Except he’d heard lots of stories from Brita about Sachi’s snark, which hit stratospheric levels.

  Although the tone she’d delivered her statement in sounded very Tilly in nature. He suspected Sachi and Tilly were cut from the same cloth, and failure to at the very least respect them might get someone on their bad side.

  A place he definitely didn’t want to be.

  He couldn’t very well do anything about his sidearm, but he did slip his badge off and put it in his back pocket, as well as roll up his sleeves.

  Casting a look back at Sachi, he saw she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, watching, and she nodded encouragingly to him.

  He got the distinct feeling she was a very protective person, like Tilly. He didn’t know much about her personally, except Brita loved her and enjoyed her lessons. He knew the basics about the attack Sachi had endured not too long ago, but he’d suspected she had a backstory Brita never revealed to him out of respect for her privacy.

  That was something he’d ask Sachi himself.

  Later.

  For now…

  He carefully slid the door open, then quietly closed it behind him after stepping through. All the things he’d planned to say to Brita over these past weeks vanished from his brain.