Chapter 118

Chapter 118
Chapter Title: Lured Away

Reynolds

I looked at Hastings sitting beside me.

She didn't want to stop. I could see it in her face. Her mind was already racing through everything we'd learned tonight, trying to connect pieces that refused to fit together.

But she needed sleep.

A few hours would do her good. By morning, she'd be bright-eyed and ready to tackle whatever lead was thrown our way.

“Hastings, go on. Get some sleep.”

She finally sighed, defeated. “Fine. But call me if you find something.”

“I promise.” I grinned. “Scout's honor.”

She gave me a skeptical look. “I can't imagine you as a Boy Scout.”

“I was one.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Just not a very good one.”

She laughed and pushed the car door open. “Night, Reynolds.”

“Night, Hastings.”

I watched her wave before walking up the steps to her sister's house.

The porch light flickered on as she fumbled with her keys. A few seconds later, the door opened and she disappeared inside.

I waited.

The curtains shifted. Then the lights came on.

I pulled away from the curb.

I was going to drop off the leather clutch at the precinct before heading home myself. I hadn't slept properly in what felt like days, and my body was beginning to remind me of it.

I hadn't gone far when a white van appeared at the end of the street.

I slowed.

Something about it caught my attention. The white van used in Clyde Jones' murder had never been recovered.

And now another white van was cruising through the neighborhood near Kimberly's house in the middle of the night?

I reached out and hit the transmit button on the dashboard radio. I grabbed the corded mic hanging from the dash console.

“Somerset Central, Detective Reynolds. Status update on the suspect vehicle from the Clyde Jones homicide?”

“Negative, Detective. The alert is still active. No local sightings.”

“Copy. Stand by, I've got a visual on a possible match. Preparing to run the plate.”

I waited for the vehicle to pass beneath a streetlight to clear the glare.

“Somerset, check a Maryland tag: One-Alpha-Zulu-Three-Four-Five-Six.”

There was a tense pause, then the dispatcher’s voice cracked through the dashboard speaker, sharper now. “Detective, that’s a hit. Tag matches the white van reported stolen from the marina.”

My hand tightened around the steering wheel. I flipped my hidden dash toggle to activate the unmarked grille lights, keeping the siren off for a split second.

“Somerset Central, I have eyes on. Vehicle is eastbound on Delmarva Drive, closing on the marina. Send me marked units for a high-risk felony stop.”

“Copy, Detective. Units are rolling.”

The van's brake lights flashed, then its rear end squatted as the driver mashed the pedal.

“Somerset, we’ve got a runner. Vehicle is picking up speed, cutting toward Bayview Heights.”

I punched the gas, bringing my interior siren to a full wail.

“Pursuit is active. We are westbound on Main Street, crossing Ninth. Speeds are forty and rising, traffic is light.”

“Copy, Reynolds. Intercept units are moving to block.”

The driver was blowing through intersections now, fish-tailing past the curbs.

“Somerset, suspect is actively fleeing. Requesting marked units to take the lead as soon as they arrive.”

Before dispatch could even reply, two marked patrol cruisers ripped through the cross-streets ahead, throwing their vehicles into a hard block across the asphalt to choke off the channel.

The driver of the white van slammed on the brakes. The tires screamed against the asphalt. The van fishtailed before coming to a stop.

I pulled in behind it and drew my weapon.

“Police! Step out of the vehicle with your hands up!”

The driver's door opened. A man in coveralls slowly stepped out with both hands raised.

I stared at him. “Dorsey? What the hell are you doing driving this van?”

“I got a sick wife,” he muttered.

“On your knees," I said. "Hands behind your head."

He obeyed. “I didn't hurt nobody.”

“Then tell me why you're driving a vehicle connected to a homicide.”

His shoulders sagged. “I was paid.”

“By who?”

“I don't know.”

I stepped closer. “Who paid you?”

“I don't know,” Dorsey repeated. “I got a call from an unknown number.”

“A call?” I glanced toward the van. “What were you supposed to do?”

Dorsey swallowed. “The man said I had to drive the van near an address after midnight and wait for you to show up.”

“And?”

“The van was waiting for me at the junkyard. There was five grand in the glove compartment.”

“Five thousand dollars?”

He nodded. “I thought you'd never show up. I actually fell asleep in the van.”

“If you were asleep, how were you able to pull out just ahead of me?”

“My phone rang,” he scoffed. “The man told me to look behind me.” Dorsey looked up at me. “And there was your car.”

My stomach tightened. We were being watched.

"Then what?" I pressed.

“He told me to drive.”

“Drive where?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

He nodded. “I was told to make sure you'd follow me.”

The world seemed to stop.

“Follow you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Dorsey's eyes dropped to the pavement. “To get you away.”

My blood ran cold. “Away from what?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I don't know. Just away.”

Then it hit me.

Hastings.

Shit.

I spun toward my car.

I had just been deliberately led away from Kimberly's house.

\----------

Kathy

Steam rolled out of the bathroom as I stepped out, wrapped in a damp towel. The scalding water had taken the edge off the physical ache, but the bone-deep exhaustion remained, weighing down my limbs like lead.

I threw on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of running shorts, then gathered my wet hair, twisting it up.

My fingers were just looping the hair tie when the house spoke.

Creak.

I froze. My hands stayed pinned to the back of my head.

The floorboards in the hallway. A heavy, deliberate step.

In a fraction of a second, the exhaustion evaporated. Adrenaline hit my bloodstream like an electric shock.

Dropping my arms, I moved in absolute silence toward the nightstand. My fingers wrapped around the cold, reassuring steel of my Glock.

I reached out and gently clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into total shadow, then pressed my back against the wall flush with the doorframe. The bedroom was pitch-black, save for the weak, amber glow of a streetlight filtering through the blinds.

I raised the weapon, focusing on the dark space ahead. I held my breath, listening for any sign of movement.

Nothing. Just the distant hum of the refrigerator and the steady rhythm of my own pulse.

One minute stretched into two.

Maybe it's just fatigue, I thought. Too many long nights. Too little sleep. The mind can play tricks when it's pushed to the limit.

The tension in my shoulders began to ease. I started to lower the barrel of the gun.

Then, the doorknob began to turn.

My grip locked back into place.

The door moved softly as it pushed inward. A silhouette stepped into the bedroom. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Clad entirely in black, his features hidden behind a dark mask.

I didn't give him the chance to react.

I stepped from the shadows and swung my gun, striking him hard across the back of the head.

The man staggered for a second, then he collapsed onto the floor.

I moved to secure the area, but a sudden, sharp sting flared near my arm.

I gasped, my breath catching.

I turned my head. A needle had been jabbed into my shoulder.

Before I could rip it free, a second pair of hands seized my wrist.

The grip was crushing.

I twisted, trying to break free, but my muscles were already beginning to weaken. My Glock slipped from my fingers and hit the floor.

“We knew you weren't asleep,” a cold male voice whispered behind me.

I fought against the hold. But whatever had been injected into me was spreading rapidly through my bloodstream.

My arms felt heavy. Then my legs.

“But now you will be," he said, as he released me.

The room tilted. The amber light filtering through the blinds stretched into long, distorted lines.

My knees buckled and I hit the floor hard.

I forced my eyes open.

The first man was still unconscious on the floor beside me. Another masked figure stood over me.

Two of them.

I tried to reach for my gun. My fingers scraped against the floor, but I couldn't get any closer.

My vision blurred. The room spun.

The last thing I saw was the second man bending down and reaching for me.

Then the darkness swallowed everything.