Detective Silva stepped forward, gave her a nod. “I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Ms. Dillon. I was hoping—”
The door opened, and Ellie walked in with the pitcher of ice water. “Let me open the blinds so you can see. You’re probably going to want to take notes.”
Julia took out a pen. “Thanks, Ellie.”
Ellie walked to the window and raised the blinds, daylight spilling into the room. “Let me know if you need anything else, Sasha.”
But Sasha didn’t hear Ellie, her gaze fixed on Detective Silva—or rather his eyes. They were gray like slate with long lashes, his gaze direct and piercing, his brows dark. His face was just as intense—square jaw, hollows beneath high cheekbones, full lips, and a straight nose. Such a handsome face—but so hard.
“I was hoping to ask you some questions.”
It took Sasha a moment.
“She’s got a concussion.” Ellie’s voice brought her back. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Right. That’s fine. Thank you.”
Julia motioned to a chair, and Detective Silva sat.
“I know you’ve already answered a lot of questions, so you’ll probably feel like you’re repeating yourself. I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what happened from the beginning. Take your time. No detail is too small.”
While Detective Silva took notes, Sasha went through her ride moment by moment. Texting Nicole to let her know where she was going. Cycling through town to the highway toward the road to Caribou. Hearing the SUV’s engine behind her. The guy on the passenger side flipping her off and yelling at her.
“Who else knew where you were going?”
She had to think. “I posted on my social media that I was going to ride the Caribou loop. My German friend Maritza Braun knew, too, but she’s in Slovakia. She’s an elite climber, also, and we share details about training with each other all the time. She and I were messaging each other right before I left.”
“Did you recognize the men in the vehicle?”
“I couldn’t see their faces, just the arm and the hand.”
“What did he yell?” Those gray eyes looked into hers.
Sasha cleared her throat. “He shouted, ‘Suck my dick.’”
Detective Silva’s brows drew together in a frown, his gaze on whatever he was writing. “Did you react in any way—shout back, flip him off, take out your phone?”
“No. I had both hands on my handlebars. I didn’t really have time to react because they disappeared around the corner.”
Sasha told him how Austin had passed a few minutes later in his patrol vehicle. “I waved, and he waved. I kept riding. Then I went around another curve and saw the SUV sitting in a vehicle turnout. I was sure they’d harass me again, so I crossed to the other side of the highway. The turnoff for Caribou wasn’t far ahead.”
“Did you shout at them or flip them off or do anything to provoke them when you passed? You might have felt safer then and believed you could fight back.”
Did he think she had brought this on herself?
“No. That would only make things worse. I just wanted to ride in peace.”
Sasha described what happened next, fighting a growing sense of panic as she recounted the ordeal in detail. “I heard their tires squeal and looked over my shoulder to see them crossing the centerline. They were headed straight toward me. I turned my bike toward the forest, but they were faster. The next thing I knew, they hit the bike, and I went flying over the handlebars.”
Sasha drew a breath to steady herself, then another.
“What happened then?”
“I… I felt myself hit the tree and fall, and then I heard one of them shout, ‘Die, bitch!’ Then they drove …. They drove away.”
“Did the person who yelled those words sound angry or amused or drunk? Did you recognize the voice at all?”
“Angry, I think. N-no, not drunk.” Sasha’s chest felt so tight, her heart thudding, adrenaline making her blood go cold.
Julia leaned down. “Are you okay, honey?”
“It’s hard … to breathe.”
“She’s having a panic attack.” That was Detective Silva. “Call the nurse.”
A panic attack?
Sasha had never had a panic attack before.
Then Detective Silva was there, sitting on the bed beside her, his voice soft, soothing. “Look at me, Ms. Dillon. Try to slow your breathing.”
Sasha looked into his eyes, tried to do what he’d told her to do, the fingers of her good hand instinctively closing around his wrist.
“In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Nice and slow. You’re safe. No one is going to let anything happen to you. I promise. In and out. That’s it.”
The door opened, and Ellie hurried in.
Julia spoke softly. “She’s having a panic attack.”
“I’ll be right back with medication.”
Sasha heard them, but she was focused entirely on those gray eyes and the soothing tone of his voice. By the time Ellie returned with meds, the sharpest edges of her panic had receded, the tightness in her chest lessening.
Ellie pointed toward the door. “Enough questions. Sasha needs rest. Those are nurse’s orders.”
Julia nodded. “Sorry about this, Sasha.”
Detective Silva stood. “I hope you feel better soon, Ms. Dillon. We’ll do all we can to find these guys.”
Sasha couldn’t ask for more than that. “Thank you.”
Ellie injected something into her IV. “This is just a little sedative to help you relax. You survived a terrible attack. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk with Esri.”
Esri Tsering was a trauma therapist who volunteered for the Team, helping members deal with the emotionally challenging aspects of search-and-rescue work.
“Yeah.” Sasha’s worries seemed to melt as the drug took hold, and she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 4
“Why did you ask Sasha stuff that is already covered in my report?”
It took Darius a moment to register Deputy Marcs’ question, an image of Ms. Dillon’s panicked blue eyes fixed in his mind. She’d grabbed his wrist, her touch giving him an unwelcome jolt. He could still feel the heat of—
“Detective Silva?” Deputy Marcs drove out of the hospital parking lot.
“Sometimes people remember things differently later. Besides, you didn’t cover all of it.” Darius glanced at his notes. “She says she didn’t react in a way that might have provoked a response, so we can rule that out as a motivation—at least for now.”
“Are you trying to blame her for this?”
“No, of course not.” The note of irritation in Deputy Marcs’ voice told Darius she was too close to Ms. Dillon to be objective. “I’m trying to understand the attackers’ motivation. They passed her once without trying to hit her. If their goal was to harm her, why did they wait to strike? If she had flipped them off or told them to fuck themselves when she’d passed them, it might explain it.”
“Maybe they knew that Austin Taylor wasn’t far behind them. His ranger truck looks like any other law enforcement vehicle with overheads and takedown lights. Maybe they waited until he’d passed, and they were sure the coast was clear.”