Ricochet. Jessica Andersen

yesterday morning, they were both alive.”

      A ripple of energy ran through the room at the news. New purpose. Strengthened determination. They had to find those girls.

      “As for Lizzie’s captor,” Alissa spread her hands, “I did my best, but she was understandably distraught.” And putting the girl through the description had made her feel faintly slimy, as though some of the evil had rubbed off on them both. There was motion at the back of the room as the door opened and the desk clerk passed a stack of pages to McDermott. Alissa gestured, “As you’ll see from the sketches Tuck—Detective McDermott—is passing around, our suspect is a white male, under six feet tall, with a round head, either bald or wearing a skull cap. Lizzie said he didn’t talk much, and when he did, exclusively to threaten her, he pitched his voice in a low growl.”

      She saw the other officers frowning over her sketch and felt a slide of professional embarrassment. “I’m sorry it’s not more detailed. I’ll talk with her again tomorrow, and I’ll reinterview her friends, the ones who might have seen the guy outside the MovieMogul 10.”

      But instead of the eye rolls and sneers she half expected, she got nods and eye contact. Tracy Mendoza, Piedmont’s partner and another of the less-than-welcoming cops, said, “It’s more than we had earlier. Thanks.”

      It wasn’t until the rumble of agreement rolled over the room that Alissa realized how uncomfortable she’d been since starting work at the BCCPD.

      And how much the faintest hint of acceptance meant to her.

      She retook her seat on numb legs as Chief Parry called on Cassie to discuss the skeleton and the explosive device, both excavated from the ice tunnel.

      The room cooled back to studied indifference or outright hostility as Cassie swaggered up to the front, chipped shoulder firmly in place. “Lizzie’s clothing is next on my list for examination, but a preliminary scan suggests we won’t get much. Between the wet and the dirt from the tunnel, it’s going to be tough to tell the trace evidence from the rest. The explosive-device fragments have been forwarded to an FBI expert.” She didn’t acknowledge Trouper and she certainly didn’t look happy about the interdepartmental cooperation as she continued, “and the skeleton has gone to the ME for examination. A preliminary scan indicates that we exhumed a complete skeleton, with a couple of the smaller bones missing. No cause of death was immediately apparent.” She shrugged. “We’ll know more in a day or so.”

      Chief Parry frowned. “How quickly can you get the skull to Wyatt for facial reconstruction?”

      “She’ll have it first thing tomorrow.”

      “Good. See that she does.” Parry waved Cassie back to her seat and called another officer to report.

      The rest of the meeting amounted to a whole lot of negatives. The suspects questioned to date all had solid alibis, including Lizzie’s neighbor, Bradford Croft, whose name had dinged on the sex offender registry, making him an immediate suspect. A few other names were kicked around, including a longtime local named Michael Swopes, who had a string of low-level juvenile priors, and had done custom cabinet work for the families of the first and third kidnap victims.

      It was near 10:00 p.m. when Parry closed the meeting. “Okay, people. Night shift, you know what you’re doing. Day shift, go home and get some rest.” His eyes slid to Alissa. “You all look like you could use it.”

      No kidding, she thought. The aches of the day sang through her body and left her nearly limp. But she forced herself to her feet and headed for the door. Cassie and Maya stayed behind to talk to Captain Parry, but Alissa couldn’t bear to wait for them. She wanted food, aspirin and her bed, not necessarily in that order.

      She was so tired that she wasn’t even surprised to see Tucker waiting for her out in the hallway. “You want a ride home?” he asked.

      A ride home, a shoulder to lean on. Hell, even just a hug. Yeah, she could use all that. And because she wanted it so badly, she shook her head. “I’m fine.” When he fell into step beside her, she slanted him a look. “I said I’m fine, Tucker. Shift’s over. You don’t have to play nice with me anymore on Chief’s orders.”

      They exited out to the shadowed parking lot, where the number of personal cars sitting beneath the sodium lights attested to the big case. The cop shop wouldn’t sleep until the girls were home—safe, God willing—and the kidnapper was in custody.

      Tucker growled low in his throat. “Don’t be a pain. You’re all done in and I don’t think you should be driving.” He waved to his SUV. “Get in. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

      She turned to face him, noting how the bare lighting threw his hard-cut features into stark relief and darkened his eyes to jet. When he stepped closer—too close—she felt a tug of nerves. “Look. I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter, okay?”

      They stared at each other for a beat before he dipped his head. At first, she had the insane notion that he was going to kiss her. At the thought heat blazed through her body, a raging, unwise, uncaring inferno that recalled the flash and flame they’d created together once before.

      Then she realized he was only nodding. “I got it.” His voice rasped on the words, as though he was restraining a curse, or something else.

      He stepped back, and she felt as if they’d just ended an embrace, though they hadn’t touched. Her lips were tender and swollen as though they had kissed. Her body revved and begged as though they had done even more than that.

      He lifted an eyebrow. “You going or not? If you fall asleep on your feet in the middle of the parking lot, I’ll be obliged to drive you home.”

      “I’m going.” She spun blindly and nearly tripped over her own feet as she hurried to her VW, painfully aware of her own thoughts, and painfully certain he’d read them in her face. Why else had his eyes been dark, his expression cloaked with a fierceness that bordered on passion?

      She fumbled for her keys and unlocked her car, only then noticing a single sheet of paper trapped beneath the wiper blade. Thinking it was a menu, or a flier for the grunge club down the street, she grabbed for it.

      The block-lettered words took a moment to register.

      You’re getting warmer.

      She heard a click and saw a curl of plastic-coated wire beneath her wiper blade. She turned to run and scream a warning, but her feet moved in slow motion and her voice failed her.

      She heard another click. A dull whump! of detonation.

      Something hit her from behind, driving her to the ground and pressing her flat.

      And the night erupted in searing, choking flames.