Where the hell is Warring?”
Bran spun in his desk chair, surprised by the edge in his boss’s usually rock-steady voice. “Break room, to get a drink from the machine. What’s wrong?”
“Armed robbery at Snoqualmie Community Bank. First responders are on the way. I want you and Warring on it. The caller says she saw a loan officer shot in the head. If they’re still in there...”
Bran tossed the sandwich on the desk and jumped to his feet. “How did somebody manage to call out?”
“She didn’t. She couldn’t understand why the doors were locked midday, so she looked in the drive-through window.”
“Where is she now?”
“The Walgreens across the street.”
“We’re on our way.”
He caught Charlie Warring just as he emerged from the break room carrying a can of Pepsi. Seconds later, they jumped into an unmarked sheriff’s car and rocketed out of the parking lot, Charlie still groping for the seat belt as he tried to keep from spilling his drink.
“What the hell?”
Bran told him what he knew. During the drive, they both listened to the chatter on the radio. By the time they screeched to a halt outside the bank, they knew that the robbers had been gone when the first deputies arrived. An ambulance rolled up behind them. Two patrol cars with flashing lights were outside.
Charlie and Bran walked in to find the expected chaos. The uniforms had corralled customers and employees in one area, where two women sobbed and everyone else appeared distraught. One of the deputies saw Bran and jerked his head toward the counter that normally separated tellers from customers.
He stopped at a swinging half door. On the other side, two bodies sprawled on the carpeted floor. It wasn’t instantly obvious how the man in the suit had been killed, although blood soaked the carpet to one side of him. The woman’s body was another story. Blood, brains and bits of bone spattered the wall beyond her. The information had been accurate; no question, somebody had shot her in the head, and from close range.
“Jesus,” Charlie murmured. “I bank here. I think she’s the loan officer. Pretty.”
She wasn’t pretty anymore.
Bran pointed to the pile of cell phones, which suggested the robbers had had some foresight. They’d made sure no one texted out or snapped a photo of them.
Another uniform approached. Despite his attempt at stoicism, he appeared shaken. “My partner and I were the first responders. I hope the lady who called this in saw something, because nobody else did. They all agree that two masked men shoved through the doors yelling and waving guns. Customers and tellers were herded behind the counter and made to sit on the floor, facing the far wall—” he nodded in that direction “—and told to clasp their hands on their heads. They could hear what went on, but didn’t see anything. I didn’t even ask questions, and they started to babble. They tried to be helpful, but they all had different estimates of height, weight, race...” He shook his head. “Don’t think you’ll get a lot of help there.”
“Thanks,” Bran said.
Charlie offered to get things started there while Bran went looking for the witness who’d called 911. Charlie Warring was about Bran’s age. With any other detective in the department, Bran would have refused, but he and Charlie had developed a trust.
“You suppose the lieutenant has already notified the FBI?” Charlie asked.
“Undoubtedly,” Bran said with resignation. He’d never worked with the feds before, but he’d have his chance now. They were all over any bank robbery.
He found the pharmacy doors locked. A man peered at him from a distance away. When Bran held his badge up to the glass, relief appeared on the man’s face and he hurried to let him in. With a nod toward the back, he said, “The lady who saw what happened is with the manager. Should I keep the door locked?”
“No need now. The robbers are long gone. But locking up was smart.”
Bran took a moment to determine that no customers had been present when the witness came tearing in. Then he strode down an aisle and, at the back of the store, found an unlocked door marked “Employees Only.” Past a restroom and what appeared to be a break room was an office. He knocked and identified himself as police.
A woman called, “Come in.”
There were two women inside, one with her back to him, the other behind the desk. She rose to her feet at the sight of him. From the nice suit, he guessed she was the store manager. “I’m Laverne Dailey,” she said.
“Detective Bran Murphy.”
“Are the robbers still in the bank?” she asked.
“No, they were gone by the time the first unit arrived. I can assure you we’ll do everything in our power to identify and arrest them.” He heard the coldness in his voice.
The sight of those bodies had hit him harder than usual, maybe because of the location and the identity of the victims. This wasn’t a domestic, or the fallout from a bar brawl. The dead weren’t drug dealers or gang members. The bank was the kind of business where people expected to be safe. To the best of his knowledge, there’d never been a bank robbery in this county. And bank robbers didn’t usually kill.
“A uniformed officer will be stopping by to ask some questions, just in case an employee noticed activity by the bank.”
During his speech, the woman sitting with her back to him hadn’t turned around. In fact, she hadn’t given any sign she’d even noticed his arrival. She hunched over, her arms crossed as if she was hugging herself. Traumatized, and why wouldn’t she be?
Honey-colored hair was bundled on the back of her head. His gaze fastened on it. Some people’s hair was all one color. Hers had threads of pale gold, brown and red amongst the predominant dark blonde. He bet if he studied it long enough, he’d identify a dozen or more colors that together added up to a gorgeous, heavy mass of hair that...he knew.
No. It couldn’t be.
He grabbed the second chair in front of the desk, pulled it to face hers and sat down. “Miss—”
She looked up and his mouth went dry. The woman who had haunted his dreams for months looked at him with red-rimmed, puffy eyes.
“You,” she said flatly.
So she had recognized his voice. Bran let his gaze move over her, and what he saw made his heart stop beating.
She was pregnant. The curve of her belly was unmistakable. Bran wasn’t an expert on pregnancy, but she had to be past the first three months or so, when women didn’t much show. She wasn’t swollen so big he’d worry about her going into labor right now, either. If he had to guess—
Jesus. If he had to guess, he’d put her at five or six months.
Six months ago, almost to the day, he’d made love to her without using a condom. He’d worried about that for a long time, even as remembering what it felt like to have her without the irritating barrier of latex heated his blood.
When he lifted his stunned gaze to her face, he found wariness had joined the grief and myriad of other emotions already there. Bran opened his mouth but had just enough self-control to close it before he said the obvious. Did you plan to tell me? Later, when they were alone, he’d be asking that question. Right now, he had a job to do. And she’d seen something horrific enough, he wasn’t about to kick her when she was down.
“Ms. Dailey, may we borrow your office or the break room?”
The manager understood what he was asking. “Please, stay here,” she said, coming around the desk. “Lina, are you sure I can’t get you a drink?”
“That’s a good idea,” Bran said. “Something with sugar. She’s in shock.”