She Can Hide (She Can Series) (16 page)

“Wait here.” He took off after the intruder.

“Like hell.” Abby stuck close to him as he sprinted after the fleeing man. There was no way she was waiting by herself. There could be more than one intruder, and Ethan had the gun. The intruder disappeared over the chain-link fence that led into the neighbor’s yard.

“Hey,” Ethan yelled and pulled ahead. He vaulted over the fence. Landing, he yelled something back at her.

But Abby couldn’t make out the words. She stopped to climb the fence. Her jacket caught on a metal loop. Why hadn’t she learned to hurdle on the track team? Ethan drew ahead.

Once on open land, though, Abby caught up. The guy they were chasing set a brutal pace, and they didn’t gain any ground. He disappeared down an alley lined on both sides with some type of evergreen shrubs. The greenery blocked visibility. They stopped. Breathing hard, Ethan shot her a
what the hell
glare and pushed her behind him as he peered around the corner. An engine started.

Ethan sprinted down the alley. Abby followed. They emerged just in time to see a dark sedan disappear around a corner two blocks away. Ethan took off after it, cutting through a service alley. Abby kept pace. The sedan halted at a stop sign.

“Stop!” Ethan darted out in front of the vehicle, took an official looking stance, and pointed his gun at the windshield. Confusion and then frustration played over his face. He lowered the gun.

A little old lady sat behind the wheel, complete with a puffy white hairdo and thick trifocals. Ethan tapped on her window and flashed his badge. When she lowered it, he glanced in the backseat. “We’re chasing a fugitive. Would you please open the trunk, ma’am.”

“Of course.” She complied. The trunk bounced up. Gun at the ready, Ethan peered inside.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am.” He tipped his head.

“It’s no problem, Officer.” She gave him a serious nod. “I hope you catch him.”

Ethan moved out of the street. She drove away, bumping over the curb and scraping the undercarriage of the sedan on the concrete.

“I thought out-of-state cops didn’t have jurisdiction.” Abby joined him on the sidewalk.

“We don’t, but her glasses were so thick, I doubt she could see my badge at all.”

“Tricky.”

“Desperate.” Ethan bent double and wheezed. “Did you get the make or model of the car?”

“No.” Abby shook her head. “Dark blue four-door. That’s all I saw. At least that’s what I thought I saw. Maybe that wasn’t even him. Maybe that was her.”

Ethan scrubbed his face with both hands. He coughed and squinted at her with suspicion. “You’re barely winded.”

“I shouldn’t be winded at all. I’ve missed my last few runs.” Abby leaned forward and stretched her hamstrings. He was still staring at her. “I can run a marathon in under three hours.”

“You run marathons?” Walking in a circle, Ethan holstered his gun. He pulled out his phone, called 911, and reported the incident. “The car was a four-door, dark blue. No, I don’t know the make or model.”

He ended the call and turned to Abby. “So, you handle a gun like a trained law enforcement officer. You run sub-three-hour marathons. What else don’t I know about you?”

“I don’t know.” Abby followed him as he turned back toward Roy Abrams’s house. “A lot of things, I guess.”

His question was a reminder that they barely knew each other. Though the familiarity between them was hard to ignore.

“We have to work on that.” He broke into a loose jog.

Oh.

Abby’s heartbeat sped up when it should have been slowing down.

As they hustled back to Abrams’s house, Ethan scanned their surroundings and stayed just ahead of her. Crossing the rear yard, Ethan went to the back door. He knocked. No answer.

“Did he already break in, or did we stop him?” she asked. But the little hairs on the back of her neck were tingling. Something was wrong here. She could feel it. Despite the heat generated by her body from the run, goose bumps rose on her arms.

Ethan walked up to the back window. He cupped his hand over his eyes. “He was already inside.”

“Shouldn’t we see if he’s still alive?” Abby stepped toward the window.

Ethan caught her by the upper arms. “Don’t.”

But she’d already caught sight of the body on the floor. She barely recognized the retired detective with a discolored face, bulging eyeballs, and a swollen, protruding tongue. Her thigh muscles trembled. Her stomach heaved.

Ethan grabbed her elbow and lowered her to the concrete step. “Is that him?”

“Yes.” Sirens sounded in the distance. Abby rested her forehead on her bent knees. Nothing would remove that image from her head.

There was no question. Roy Abrams was dead.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ryland’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Equal parts apprehension and irritation washed through him. All he wanted to do was watch his grandson’s school concert. Was that too much to ask? He checked the screen. Kenneth.

Apparently it was.

“Excuse me,” Ryland whispered in Marlene’s ear.

Sitting in the folding metal chair next to him, she frowned at his vibrating cell. Her hair was a soft brown, and except for the lines of disapproval currently creasing her face, her skin was remarkably smooth for her age. He patted her toned thigh. Outfitted in a slim skirt and matching jacket, her body put younger women to shame. Of course, he paid for the best in personal training and a few well-timed surgical enhancements to keep her looking her best. Nothing drastic, just a few touch-ups, regular injections, and beauty treatments.

“Only a moment. I promise,” he whispered. “It’s ten in the morning on a workday.” Her flashing eyes said she knew this but didn’t have to like it.

He appreciated her temper. Marlene was no pushover, a contributing factor to the length of their marriage and one of the reasons Ryland had given up his extramarital indulgences. His young-blonde habit was over. He regretted many of the decisions he’d made as a younger man. His business wasn’t the only part of his life getting a remodel.

She turned back to the stage, where a grade-schooler played a poignant classical piece on the piano. Their seven-year-old grandson waited in the wings. The private school his grandchildren attended cultivated the entire student, from math to the arts, a far cry from the urban Catholic school Ryland had attended, where more emphasis was placed on rules and rulers than academics.

Ryland stepped into the hall. A bulletin board of gap-toothed smiles faced him. He turned away from the innocent faces and answered the call. His gaze paused on construction paper snowflakes, decorated with glitter and pasted at random intervals on the pale blue cinder-block wall.

“Step two is complete.” In a hallway filled with childish grins and art projects, Kenneth’s chilly voice felt like a stain, dirty and permanent, as if the very nature of the call—and Ryland’s mistakes—leaked from the phone and dripped onto the waxed linoleum like blood from a wound.

“And step three?”

“I’m heading west in the morning,” Kenneth said. “I’ll be in Pennsylvania before lunch.”

“Excellent.” Ryland ended the call. He reentered the auditorium just as his grandson left the stage. He’d missed the performance. He eased into the metal folding chair. Marlene’s dark eyes flashed with disapproval. A fiercely protective mother bear in her own children’s lives, she’d transferred her maternal instincts to her grandchildren. She’d be angry with him for days.

As if he wasn’t angry with himself. He’d missed much of his children’s early years. Now his grandchildren seemed to be growing up even faster, as if the frenetic pace of life was contagious. As if the shortage of years left in his lifespan made each existing one seem more fleeting.

Disappointment rose in his chest. His business intruded upon his personal life at every opportunity. He straightened, more determined than ever to make sure the sins of his past weren’t inherited by his children.

Ethan pressed an ice pack to his jaw. “He was tall and thin, in damned good shape, shoes were black but soft-soled. I never got close enough to get a specific height, but he had to be taller than me. He was wearing a black hoodie and jeans.” Standing on the back patio of Roy Abrams’s house, Ethan filled Detective Marshall of the Greenland Police Department in on the story from the beginning, starting with the attempt on Abby’s life, through Faulkner’s murder, to this morning’s discovery of Roy Abrams. It took a while.

Marshall frowned. “That’s not much of a description to go on.”

“No. It isn’t,” Ethan agreed. If only he could’ve caught the guy…

“Could you pick him out of a lineup?”

“No. I never got a look at his face. Bandana.”

“Fuck me.” Marshall took copious, angry notes. Decades of stress lines and a double chin aged the detective. He could have been seventy but was likely closer to fifty-five, just old enough to live in this retirement community. “I have a dead retired police detective whose death is probably tied to the murder of a recently released kidnapper and his three-year-old crime in Harris, plus your attempted murder in PA. And a cop eyewitness who didn’t get a good look at the killer.”

“It does suck,” Ethan commiserated. “I’ve been chasing this case for a week. I’m as frustrated as you are.”

“It’s a jurisdictional nightmare.” Marshall stabbed his notebook. “I retire in three fucking months. I don’t need this shit.”

“Neither did she.”

Marshall’s gaze flickered to Abby, who had already given her statement and was sitting on a tree stump next to the boat. His face softened, and he sighed from the pit of a belly that could have been gestating twins. “I guess not.”

Abby was pale, and Ethan wished she hadn’t gotten a look at Abrams. Strangulation made for an ugly corpse, not that dead bodies were ever pretty, but the whole protruding purple tongue deal was just nasty.

Marshall looked past Abby at the boat that towered over her. “Awfully expensive boat for a retired cop.”

“The Cadillac in the drive looks new too,” Ethan said.

“Fuck me.” Marshall tapped his forehead with the notebook. “I guess we have to add a possible dirty cop to this cluster.”

“Looks like.” Ethan felt like he was stuck in the bottom of a giant hole that kept getting deeper and deeper. Eventually, there’d be no way in hell he’d ever climb out.

“Course, just because he might have been dirty and somebody killed him doesn’t necessarily mean both of those factors are related to each other or to her.”

Ethan looked at him.

“You’re right. Fuck me.” Marshall stuffed his notebook into his chest pocket. “I’ll call you when I have preliminary autopsy findings or if anything else interesting turns up.”

“Appreciate that,” Ethan said. “I’ll do the same.”

Ethan’s boots crunched across the dry lawn. He’d offered to put Abby in his truck with the heat on, but she hadn’t wanted to be in the front of the property, in full sight of the neighborhood gawkers. In a fifty-five-and-over development, the residents had an abundance of free time.

Her face was bloodless, her eyes still horrified.

Here in the backyard, she also didn’t have to watch the medical examiner’s staff wheel out the black-bagged body.

He crouched in front of Abby and took her gloved hands in his. “We can go.”

“OK.” She sniffed and stood, steadier than he expected. But then, she was tougher than her slim body and delicate features suggested.

They walked around front. Onlookers, bundled into their heaviest gear, gathered in driveways. Ethan shielded Abby with his body as they walked to his truck. He pulled away from the curb. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She picked up a bottle of water in the console cup holder and sipped. “So I guess it wasn’t Faulkner.”

“I don’t know.” Ethan drove toward the Garden State Parkway. “My question is, why are they both dead? Did they know something about your case? And who has something to hide?” Taking the northbound entrance ramp, he glanced at Abby. “Are you sure it was Abrams’s fault that you weren’t found?”

Abby’s eyes snapped to his. “That’s what the prosecutor said.”

“And he’s dead too, right?”

“Yes.” Abby chewed on her thumbnail. “You can’t think his death is related too. Whitaker said he had a heart attack.”

“Who the hell knows at this point.” Ethan lifted his phone and dialed the detective in Harris who was handling Faulkner’s homicide. The call went to voicemail. He left a message asking for a return call, then called Chief O’Connell. The file on Abby’s kidnapping hadn’t arrived at the Westbury police station yet.

“You’re sure he’ll give them to you?” Abby asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Ethan accelerated to merge into traffic. “We’re on the same side.”

“Won’t he want to protect Abrams’s reputation?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I didn’t get the feeling that Abrams was that well liked.”

Abby’s fingers tapped on her thigh. “What else can we do?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “Nothing makes sense.”

“I’ll need to stop at my place.”

“We can do that tomorrow.” Ethan was in no rush to leave her alone.

“Eventually I have to go home,” Abby said.

“As soon as it’s safe.” Ethan’s gut twisted. He didn’t want her to go home, and it wasn’t just because she was still in danger. He liked being around her. He liked talking to her. He liked kissing her.

And there were a thousand other things he could think of that he wanted to do with her.

Midday traffic was light. They made the drive back to Westbury in a few hours, arriving just in time to feed the horses. Abby went with him into the house.

Ronnie’s assistant, a college-aged brunette, was in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. Zeus was sleeping at her feet. The dog heaved to his feet and greeted them with messy snorts.

“How’s the bay look?” Ethan asked.

“Better. The vet stopped by an hour ago. Fever’s down. Doc thinks he’s on the right track.” She put her mug in the sink and grabbed her coat from the back of the kitchen chair.

“Thanks for your help,” Ethan called after her.

“You’re welcome.” Her long brown ponytail swished as she bounced out the door with the energy of a kid.

Watching her, Ethan could feel every hour of sleep he hadn’t gotten over the past few nights. Long hours of driving and standing out in the weather hadn’t helped. His bones ached with cold exhaustion.

“I’m going to feed the horses.”

“Would your mom mind if I rummaged around the kitchen for dinner?” Abby asked.

“Not at all.” Ethan headed for the back door. “There’re usually leftovers in the freezer.”

With the drop of sunlight came the raw damp of night. Moisture on the air suggested precipitation was on the way. The bay did look better. He greeted Ethan and nosed his hay with interest. The roan attacked his meal. By the time Ethan returned to the house, his hands were stiff and frozen. Zeus was at the door. Ethan held the door open. While the dog did his business in the yard, Ethan toed off his boots and left them by the back door. His hands and face burned as he stripped off his gloves and coat in the mudroom. Zeus woofed, and Ethan let him back inside.

The microwave dinged as they entered the kitchen. The scent of something bread-like baking wafted across the room. Ethan’s stomach growled. He headed for the sink and scrubbed his hands. The warm water thawed his frozen skin.

“I found a container of some sort of stew in the freezer.” Abby lifted a bowl from the microwave and stirred its contents. “And I threw some biscuits in the oven.”

“You made biscuits?” Ethan shivered. The chill had followed him into the house.

“It’s not hard.” She smiled. “The horse is all right?”

“Yeah. He looks good.”

“Are you going to sleep in the barn tonight?”

“No.” Ethan’s tone was pointed.

Abby froze.

And the knowledge that they were alone in the house buzzed between them.

“I’m going to start a fire.” Ethan went into the living room. Nothing short of flames was going to thaw him out completely. Logs, kindling, and newspaper were stacked on the hearth. In a few minutes, a small blaze crackled. He held his hands out to the fire. Heat soaked into his skin.

Abby carried a tray loaded with bowls of beef stew, a basket of biscuits, and a bottle of wine. Ethan cleared the coffee table.

“My mother makes a mean beef stew.” And why was he talking about his mother? Ethan stirred the logs then joined Abby on the sofa.

“It smells fabulous.” Abby poured a glass of red wine and handed it to him. “I hope you don’t mind. I helped myself to the wine rack.”

“You can have anything you want.” And he meant anything. The wine and beef warmed Ethan from the inside out. He leaned back on the sofa, content.

Abby set aside her glass. The food and fire had brought color back into her face. Firelight played across her smooth skin. Ethan moved closer. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. A few strands of hair drifted across his hand. He twirled them with a finger.

She tilted her head to look up at him. Her brown eyes were soft from the wine, but wariness still lurked in their depths.

Ethan lifted her chin with a finger. “Abby, you know you can trust me. I would never hurt you.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I’m an excellent poker player, and my favorite color is blue.”

“What?”

“This afternoon you said you wanted to know more about me.”

“I do.” Longing unfurled in Ethan’s chest. He wanted to know everything about her. “Tell me more.”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “I think we’ve done enough talking today.”

Ethan dropped his head. He caught her lips in a tender kiss. She opened for him, her mouth tasting of wine. He worked his way from her mouth to her jaw and trailed kisses into the hollow of her neck. Her soft sigh quickened his heartbeat. Under his lips, her pulse throbbed. He returned to her mouth, licking his way inside. His palm trailed up her arm, past her shoulder, and cupped the back of her head. His fingers trembled as they threaded through her silky blonde hair.