Lock&Load (PASS Series Book 3) Page 3

  It wasn’t the first time she played that card. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve been looking after the homeless people coming in on our shift since I started at the South Avenue Shelter. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind—there are far worse things than a bit of dirt and body odor—but I don’t appreciate being pulled away when I’m helping other patients to do it.

  I’m getting tired of it and I went home last night thinking maybe I should see if I can get on another shift. Unfortunately, that would mess with my routine at the shelter. Still, her constant poking at me is starting to take its toll, so I needed those extra hours of rest this morning.

  As a result, I didn’t get the jerk pork I had planned for today going on time—I like to have it simmering all day—so I had to run to the store before Tessa is dropped off for something quick and easy to throw together.

  I try to eat healthy when I have time to cook, especially when you end up at the hospital cafeteria three nights a week. Today I have no idea what to make, though. I’m standing in the middle of the produce section, finding not a single iota of inspiration. Damn, I’d really been looking forward to that pulled pork.

  I watch a woman grab a premixed salad from the cooler at the end. That would be easiest, I guess. Maybe I can cook some fish to go with it.

  My basket is pathetic when I step up to the checkout. A bag of baby greens, a can of tuna—because I couldn’t decide on what fish to buy—half a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. My guilty indulgence. I feel a binge coming on.

  I shove the first spoonful in my mouth about an hour after Jake and Rosie dropped Tessa off. Poor thing has been loudly unhappy ever since. Rosie had warned me beforehand she was fussy because she’s teething.

  “Hush, little one,” I placate her with a mouthful of mint chocolate chip as I bounce her on my arm. My entire shoulder is soaked in tears and drool.

  With my free hand I shove the tub back in the freezer when I spot the reason I opened it in the first place. A teething ring Rosie put in there before she left. I hope to God it’s cold enough.

  Tessa clamps her gums on the cold surface and immediately stops crying, when a knock sounds at the door. Shit, I hope it’s not one of my neighbors complaining about the noise.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I’m surprised to find Radar on my doorstep carrying a six-pack of beer and a large pizza, which smells amazing.

  “I come bearing sustenance,” he says, squeezing past me through the door.

  I open my mouth to protest the invasion, but words get stuck in my throat when he bends his head down. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but he ends up kissing the top of Tessa’s head.

  “I’m surprised she’s quiet,” he says, moving directly to my kitchen where he drops the box on the counter. “Jake says he hasn’t slept in days.” He opens the fridge door and shoves the six-pack inside before he turns around and sees me staring. “Sorry, did you want a brewski now?”

  He’s about to dive back into the fridge when I repeat, “What are you doing here?”

  That seems to startle him.

  “Oh, well Jake mentioned you were looking after Tessa. I figured you’d have your hands full, so I brought dinner. And beer. And an extra pair of hands so you can eat.” He lifts his and wiggles his fingers.

  I’m not sure what to say to that. It’s terribly invasive and presumptuous, but at the same time awkwardly thoughtful and kind of sweet.

  “That’s…nice of you.”

  He shrugs. “Not really. I’m a bit of a health nut and this gave me a valid excuse to skip cooking and eat pizza.”

  The admission makes him even more appealing. He lifts the lid of the box and suddenly freezes, looking at me with such abject panic on his face I almost laugh out loud.

  “What?”

  “Please tell me you’re not a vegetarian, because I got an extra large meat lovers.”

  I let the laugh escape and Tessa suddenly tilts her head back to stare at me, her bite ring momentarily forgotten.

  “Meat lovers pizza is my favorite.”

  That earns me a grin.

  “Perfect. Hand me that little terrorist and grab yourself a beer and a slice. You can eat first.”

  I’m surprised at his confidence as he takes the baby from me.

  “You’ve done this before?” I ask, pulling a few plates from the cupboard and grabbing some paper towels.

  “My brother’s brood. He’s got two boys I used to babysit before he took his family to Alaska.”

  “Wow. That’s a ways from Colorado.”

  I grab a couple of beers from the fridge and hold one up for him. He nods and answers me as I set a bottle in front of him.

  “Yeah, it is, but it was always a dream of his. Three years ago Hugh was offered a job as a project manager, working on the construction of a new hotel outside of Anchorage. He’s a civil engineer. Leslie, his wife, was willing, and since his boys were only two and four at the time, they figured the timing was perfect.”

  “You must miss them.”

  He shrugs, bouncing a little when Tessa starts fussing.

  “We FaceTime. They fly down for Christmas. It’s all good.”

  I load two slices on my plate and take a bite of one.

  “Oh my God. This is so good,” I mumble with my mouth full and catch him smiling at me. “What?”

  “You didn’t think I’d show up with just any pizza, did you?”

  He turns to the travel crib Jake had carried in, and I’m about to warn him I tried putting her down earlier with little luck, but when he lays her down I see she’s fast asleep, the teething ring still clutched in her little fist.

  Chapter Four

  Radar

  “Just a quick one around the block, Phil.”

  She looks at me with those woeful eyes, when I clip on her leash, and waddles reluctantly outside when I open the door.

  Of course the dog had been fast asleep when I walked in after sharing pizza and a beer with Hillary. I made sure not to overstay my welcome, in particular since I basically invited myself in. Had I given her an inch, I’m almost positive she would’ve turned me away.

  Previously she’d come across as so self-assured, in control—aloof, even—but she wasn’t any of those tonight. Babies can be disarming like that, unintentionally stripping away the layers until the person underneath the veneer is exposed. I learned that much from my nephews, who had been able to wash off the thick grief covering my father with their mere presence.

  Maybe that’s why I picked up the pizza and beer, to see for myself if that would be true for Hillary. I’m glad I did. Seeing her slightly rattled made her more human, more approachable.

  There were no in-depth conversations, mostly small talk, but we did briefly discuss Monday night’s events. She’d heard from one of the neighbors there would be a vigil held for Sandra Elliot Saturday night outside the building and she planned to attend. I mentioned I wouldn’t be able to since I’m going to be in Montrose, helping my dad.

  Phil picks a spot on the grass of the berm to do her business, and I quickly get rid of the evidence before turning her back to the apartment. I’m eager to get to my computer.

  I managed to finish up my portion of the report for the police chief this afternoon, but I’d like to do a little more digging of my own on those license plates. I have a feeling the detectives on the case are not inclined to share their findings with me, and I’d like to get started tonight.

  The dog curls up on the couch again as soon as we get home. I grab a beer from the fridge, walk into my office, and boot up my computer. Both my laptop and desk unit are hooked into the PASS network, so it’s easy to access the information I pulled up earlier.

  The first DMV record I open is for an eighty-four-year-old woman, Candace Miller, who lives in a seniors’ community just a few blocks from here. The car is a 1998 dark green Corolla. I’m pretty sure the car wasn’t green, but I know how colors can sometimes
get distorted under streetlights. I know for a fact it wasn’t a woman her age running away, but it’s possible someone else was driving her car. Maybe a grandchild?

  With a little digging I discover Ms. Miller, a retired pharmacist, has no living relatives. No siblings, no kids, and no grandkids. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t know anyone she may have lent her car to, but there’s no way for me to find that out right now. I close that one and pull up the next file.

  This one is for a black, 2016 vehicle, owned by one Karl Manheim. He turns out to be a forty-seven-year-old tow truck driver with an address in Clifton, on the east side of town. The car is a newer model Corolla than I thought, but when I discover he’s a widowed father of two teenage girls, fifteen and seventeen, I dig a little deeper anyway.

  I quickly jot down their names and start scanning social media. Both girls look to have Facebook accounts, and both appear to be students at Central High School. I open a new tab and look at the school’s staff roster, but unfortunately Sandra Elliot’s name is not on there.

  Remembering the two dark figures running ahead of me, I had the impression they were male, but I could be wrong. It’s worth looking into, though.

  The last file I flagged is for a 2004, graphite gray Toyota. It’s one of three vehicles owned by Bernard Briscoe, a name I recognize as a city council member. He’s also the owner of a catering company servicing Grand Junction Regional Airport. Aside from the Toyota, he owns a Porsche Cayenne and a Lexus IS 350. The old Corolla must stand out like a sore thumb in the driveway of his mansion near the Redlands Golf Course.

  Interesting.

  It looks like Briscoe married a woman by the name of Ingrid Loman ten years ago and his new wife came with a son.

  Twenty minutes later I call Bree.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  I glance at the clock indicating it’s after midnight. Shit. I was too excited to check before I dialed.

  “Sorry.”

  “Where’s the fire?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Now?” She doesn’t sound too pleased.

  I swallow the urge to say yes. Given the hour it’s unlikely anything will be done with the information before tomorrow anyway.

  “I guess tomorrow morning will do,” I concede. “I found the car.”

  “What car?”

  “The one involved in the attack on that teacher. I’ve been doing a bit of digging and I’m sure we’re looking for Jeremy Loman. He’s sixteen and attends The Christian Academy, a private school where Sandra Elliot was a teacher.”

  “No shit?” She definitely sounds more alert now.

  “You’ll never guess who his stepfather is…”

  “I give up.”

  “Bernard Briscoe.”

  “The councilman?”

  “That would be him,” I confirm.

  It’s quiet for a few beats on the other side.

  “How are you sure it’s him?” she finally asks.

  “Because I scoured the kid’s social media and found pretty damning evidence.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a picture of him holding a bloody baseball bat. I’m pretty sure he’s one of the kids I saw.”

  “You’re shitting me. Have you called this in?”

  “No. That’s where you come in. I’ll send it to the detectives on the case, but I don’t think I’m a fan favorite with either of them, seeing as they haven’t even acknowledged the initial information I sent them. This is gonna cause ripples, and I think Chris Underwood should be informed.”

  “And you want me to do that.”

  “You are our law enforcement liaison.”

  I grin when I hear her growl.

  “Can’t call the man out of bed, but I’ll get hold of him first thing in the morning.”

  “You’re a treasure, Bree.”

  “Whatever. Can I get back to sleep now?”

  “Sure thing. Sweet dreams.”

  I hang up, put all the information in an email, and shoot it off to Bissette. Then I turn off the lights and head to bed.

  Tomorrow morning I’ll stop by Hillary’s place to give her a heads-up.

  Hillary

  “Did you sleep?”

  I glare at the far too handsome, freshly showered man on my doorstep. I’d be tempted to slam the door in his face if not for the extra steaming takeout cup he’s holding out. After a restless night with only a couple of hours of sleep, it’s not a good day to find out your coffee tin is empty.

  I snag the offered cup from his hand and take a gulp, burning my mouth and trying to ignore the smirk on his face. None too graciously I leave the door open as an invitation for him to follow me inside. I hear it close and Radar tails me into the kitchen.

  “I’m taking that as a no.”

  Poor Tessa only managed to nap for thirty minutes or so at a time before she’d wake up crying again, until she finally crashed at four this morning and she’s been asleep ever since. I almost cried myself when my internal alarm woke me a little after six. I tried falling back to sleep, but instead I ended up listening to Tessa’s breathing from the travel crib I’d set up beside my bed until the doorbell rang.

  “Tough night,” I mumble with my lips already pursed for my next hit of coffee.

  At that moment a familiar angry squeal sounds from the bedroom, followed by hearty crying, and I groan. I’d hoped to grab a shower so I could feel a bit more human before she announced herself, but I guess it’ll have to wait until after Rosie picks her up.

  With a deep sigh I set my cup on the counter and start walking toward the small hallway leading to my bedroom, when a hand lands on my shoulder.

  “Finish your coffee,” Radar says behind me. “I can get her.”

  He doesn’t wait for my answer and brushes past me into the bedroom. I should probably object to him invading my space or something, but I just don’t have the energy. The feeling of relief is quickly doused by a wave of guilt as I return to the kitchen and grab my cup.

  I love that baby to death, but I have to admit there was a time or two last night when I wanted to bang my head against a wall. My lack of sleep is showing when I managed to be annoyed at the fact there hasn’t been a peep from her since Radar walked into my bedroom.

  Grabbing a bottle from the fridge for her, I drop it in the warmer Rosie brought over. Then I pop a few slices of bread in the toaster. I turn when I hear Radar walk in.

  It should be illegal for someone to look that good this early in the morning. His dirty blond hair is still wet and curling at the ends where it hits the collar of his shirt. Despite his tall, lanky frame, the shirt he’s wearing stretches enticingly over his surprisingly muscled shoulders and biceps. Thick veins curling around his arms suggest more strength than you might’ve given him credit for at first sight. Not as much of a nerdy geek as he might appear. Even the brown eyes behind the heavy frame of his glasses are beautiful on closer inspection.

  I’m suddenly aware of my own rumpled state and tug the threadbare robe closed with one hand, while the other reaches for what I’m sure is an unruly mop of hair.

  “Did you find everything okay?” I try for a friendlier tone than I greeted him with and am rewarded with a mesmerizing grin. The ping of my toaster provides a good distraction and I busy myself slathering on jelly.

  “Yup,” he says from close behind me.

  His long arm stretches around me to pluck Tessa’s bottle from the warmer, and I try not to shiver at his proximity.

  Get a grip.

  Shoving a bite of toast in my mouth, I turn around to see him casually perched with a hip against the counter, Tessa in the crook of one arm reaching eagerly for the bottle he’s holding up for her.

  “Have you eaten?” I ask, belatedly reminded of my manners.

  “I have. I’m sorry for barging in so early,” he continues. “But I wanted to talk to you before I head off to work.”

  “About what?”

  I pull out a stool and sit on the other si
de of the counter with my toast and coffee.

  “I was looking into some stuff last night when I got home.” He one-handedly manages baby and bottle, while pulling a phone from his pocket. It takes him a minute to find what he’s looking for before he holds up a Facebook page for me. “Do you know him?”

  He hands me the phone and I look at a picture of a kid, an older teen, flipping the bird at the camera obscuring part of his face.

  “Who am I looking at?”

  “Check out his latest post, see if you recognize him in the photo?” He answers with another question.

  I scroll down until I see the same kid wearing a black hoodie pulled over his head, brandishing a baseball bat in his hands. Even without the blood caking the wood of the bat, I would’ve known who he is.

  “How did you find him?”

  Scrolling back up I look at the name; Jeremy Loman. The name doesn’t ring any bells.

  “Partial license plate. I left a message for the detectives, so I hope they’ll be in touch at some point, but I wanted to make sure you’re aware.”

  I study him with unveiled curiosity. Interesting that he’s taken it upon himself to investigate, and even more so that he feels the need to warn me.

  “Why?” I regret my question the moment it leaves my mouth, because it clearly makes Radar uncomfortable, unless it was my close scrutiny that put the blush on his face. “I mean, it’s awesome you were able to find him, but why the warning?”

  He shrugs. “Figured you should know, that’s all. The cops have to conduct an investigation by the book and God knows how long that can take. Didn’t want you to walk around without knowing who to steer clear of.”

  It didn’t really cross my mind that I could be a target of any kind, but I guess it’s possible. He’s just being cautious, and to be honest, kind of sweet.

  “I appreciate it. Sorry if I was a bear,” I apologize quickly. “Lack of sleep will do that to me.” I glance at the calm baby snuggled in the crook of his arm. Now she’s quiet, the little traitor.

  “I have a little time, why don’t you grab a quick shower? It’ll make you feel better.”