Brody Law. Carol Ericson
tapped in Courtney’s phone number.
“Hello?” Courtney’s voice, low and seductive, purred over the line.
“Court? It’s Elise.”
“Elise?” The dulcet tones turned to a squeak. “Where are you calling from? I thought for sure you were Derrick from last night when I saw the unknown number.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Are you okay? I texted you earlier but you didn’t respond.”
Elise took several steps away from the rubbernecking crowd, out of everyone’s hearing. “All hell broke loose when I left you at the club last night.”
Her friend paused for two beats. “Tell me you’re okay right now before I have a full-fledged panic attack.”
“I’m okay.”
Courtney blew out a noisy sigh. “You scared me. What do you mean all hell broke loose? Where are you and whose phone are you using?”
“After I left the club last night—” Elise closed her eyes and squeezed the phone “—I was attacked.”
“Attacked? What are you talking about?”
Her friend’s voice screeched over the phone and Elise pulled it away from her ear.
“Someone pretended to need help and when I went to help him, he knocked me on the head and stuffed me into his trunk.”
Courtney’s breath rasped over the phone. “Elise, you’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not joking, Courtney. I got away. I’m okay.”
“How can you be okay after something like that? Where are you?” She sucked in a breath. “Oh, God, you’re not in the hospital, are you?”
“Not anymore.”
“Not anymore? Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”
Elise switched the phone to her other hand and wiped her clammy palm against the seat of her jeans. “I was hoping you’d say that. There’s more to the story.”
A lot more to the story. She caught sight of Detective Brody’s head as he clambered onto a rock, his tie dancing over his shoulder in the breeze.
“I don’t need a ride, but I was hoping I could crash at your place for a night or two. Your brother’s out of town again, and I don’t feel like staying in the house alone.”
“Absolutely. Do you have your car?”
“I do. Are you home now? I’ll drive over.”
“I’m not home. I’m shopping, and I was going to grab some lunch. Why don’t you meet me for lunch?”
“I can do that. Where?”
“I’m at Union Square. How about Chinatown?”
“I don’t know how I’m ever going to find parking there, but I’ll give it a try. Han Ting’s?”
“I’ll meet you there at around one o’clock. Is that enough time for you?”
Elise agreed to the time and ended the call. She held the phone out to the woman. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Any progress down there?” Elise stood on her tiptoes, but the scene looked much the same—people searching the ground, heads together conferring, and still the white sheet billowed in the wind.
“No. I’m going to continue my walk over the bridge. I suppose we’ll be reading about this one in the newspaper.”
“I hope so.”
The woman’s brow furrowed and Elise felt her cheeks warming. “I...I mean, I hope the cops keep the public informed about crime. Do they ever underreport this kind of stuff? You know, shove it under the carpet to give people a false sense of security and to keep the tourists coming?”
“I suppose.” The woman cocked her head. “I read about another murder last month, a young woman. I hope we don’t have some serial killer on the loose.”
Elise didn’t want to dash the stranger’s hopes, so she sealed her lips. “I hope not. Anyway, thanks for the phone. Enjoy your walk.”
She shoved her hands in the pockets of her sweater and watched the woman cross the parking lot and head toward the bridge’s pedestrian walkway.
Elise had ventured across the bridge a few times since moving to the city. Round-trip was a good three-mile walk, and while she could use the exercise to clear her head, she had a lunch date with Courtney—not that she was looking forward to it.
She dreaded revealing the rest of last night’s details to Courtney, except for meeting Detective Brody. She wanted her friend’s take on the tall, muscular cop and his protective attitude toward her. Was his behavior normal for a homicide detective questioning a witness?
Normal or not, Elise had felt something click between them, or maybe that was just her desperately reaching out for a knight in shining armor. After Ty, she’d begun doubting the existence of those knights.
She dug in her purse for her keys, and then someone touched her shoulder. She spun around, dropping the keys and hugging her purse to her chest.
Sergeant Curtis faced her, his eyes narrowed and his arms across his barrel chest. “What are you doing here, Ms. Duran?”
Her gaze skittered over his shoulder to Detective Brody still clomping around the beach. “I just had to see for myself. That’s not against the law, is it? All these other people are here.”
“Of course not.” He hunched his shoulders until his short neck disappeared completely. “But you’re not like all these other people, are you?”
“I’m a curious looky-loo, just like them.”
“Don’t start doing your own investigating, Ms. Duran.” He shook his stubby finger in her face. “Leave it to us. We’ll tell you what you need to know.”
Bending over, she swiped her keys up from the ground, hoping for a little composure. Sergeant Curtis’s paternalistic tone caused a spiral of anger to shoot through her body. Why did men always think they knew what was best for her?
“Maybe I don’t want to wait for information. That woman was on my phone. I have a right and a need to know what happened to her.”
He took a step back and blinked. “Sorry. Just don’t want you putting yourself in any danger.”
“I get it.” She waved him off and strode to her car, jabbing her thumb on the remote. He’d probably go and tell Detective Brody now.
And what if he did? She didn’t owe Detective Brody anything, either.
As she rounded her car, a white square on her windshield caught her attention. She rolled her eyes. Perfect—a parking ticket.
She snatched the object from beneath her wiper, her eyebrows colliding over her nose. This was no ticket envelope. She unfolded the slip of paper and scanned the words.
The blood thundered in her ears as she crushed the paper in her fist, her gaze shifting wildly around the parking lot. Her dry mouth made forming words almost impossible.
She swallowed. She licked her lips. She tried again. She screamed.
“He’s here. The killer’s here.”
The woman’s scream pierced through the air. The sound tore at Sean’s insides. He jerked his head up and scanned the parking lot. A few of the vultures who had been circling the crime scene shifted their attention to a lone woman standing beside a car, waving