Bolting for his truck, he cranked it and peeled out of the parking lot, earning a few disapproving and irritated glances from other hospital patrons as he squealed to a stop at the front doors. Robert was already waiting.
He climbed in the front, wincing only a little as he tugged the door closed. “What did you find?”
“Her phone. The son of a bitch has her.”
Robert cursed.
“Where would he take her?” Nash demanded.
The former Chief of Police considered. “Drive back to my house.”
“You think he’d take her there?”
“I don’t know. He’s already proved he can get inside, and if he’s convinced no one else will be coming around, he might.”
Nash threw the truck into drive. “And if they aren’t there?”
“Then I can at least get some proper shoes and my gun.”
Nash could’ve reiterated that the recoil from a pistol would be far greater than the five to seven pound weight limit he was still under, but he had a feeling it would’ve been like arguing with a brick wall. So he held his silence and drove. On the way, Robert took to the radio himself, passing the details on to Inez Barlow, the dispatcher who’d worked with the department almost as long as he had, and asking her to pass it on to the other officers, as well as sending out a BOLO to the surrounding counties.
“What kind of vehicle did you say he was in?” Robert asked.
“Two weeks ago it was a dark blue or black truck with a camper top. Same plates I had her run this morning. But I don’t know if he’s in the same thing this trip.”
Robert relayed the message to Inez.
“Just a second. I’m getting another call.”
The silence grew taut as they waited. When the radio crackled again, Nash almost jolted.
“Chief, I don’t know if this is coincidence or not, but I just had somebody call in a complaint about a reckless driver about eight miles out on County Road 473. A black truck with a camper top. Was speeding and nearly hit the guy on his bike.”
Nash hit the brakes and made a quick U-turn, flipping on his dash lights and turning on the siren as he headed toward that side of town.
“We’re en route, Inez. Send whoever is on duty as backup.”
“Yes, Chief.”
Nash shot him a look. “You’re staying in the truck when we get there. Anything happens to you, Rowan will kick my ass.”
“Anything happens to her, I’ll kick my own. Drive, son.”
Chapter 12
Rowan’s muscles were cramping, but the pain from the taser had faded. Her wrists had been bound with a zip tie. The plastic dug into her skin, rubbing it raw. But she was grateful he’d gone with this instead of cuffs. Under the right circumstances, she could get out of this. As Voss currently had a gun trained on her where she was folded like a rag doll into the floorboard, these were not the right circumstances.
“Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?” he demanded. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Really? Because it sounded a whole lot like you wanted Morales to shoot me.”
“It would’ve been simpler that way. But Morales has a type and he wanted to play with you. Trust me. Death would’ve been the better option.”
“Cheery thought. But I know what I heard, Voss.”
“Yeah. You never wavered on that. It’s a shame. A damned shame. You’re a good cop. An asset to the department. You’d have made a good detective someday. If you’d just fucking let it go.”
Rowan’s blood chilled at the past tense. “You should know that’s exactly why I couldn’t let it go.”
Voss snorted with disgust. “You know, you and Reyes were well matched. He got in the way, too. It’s just too damned bad you’re going to have to meet the same fate.”
“What are you saying?”
“Come on now, Beale. You’re smarter than that. Reyes stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. So Morales and his people took care of him.”
The call had been a setup from the beginning. David’s death had been deliberate, not just a bust gone sideways. Rowan’s gut began to cramp. She’d known. Somewhere, deep down, she’d suspected this. And it had been part of why she couldn’t let things go. Why she’d endured ostracism and ridicule and risked the job that she loved rather than let this piece of shit walk away unscathed. She was doing this for David.
“Why would you do it?” Tears thickened her voice, and she didn’t bother fighting them back. Let him think she was overwrought. A weak, defenseless woman. She twisted her head to look at him, so he could see the tears. The gun was still on her, but it wavered a bit on the bumpy road. “Why would you betray the badge?”
“I never wanted to do that. I became a cop to be one of the good guys. But guess what? Being one of the good guys doesn’t pay for shit. It doesn’t come with the kind of benefits that will pay for all the cancer treatments for my wife. I was desperate. She needed more than we could afford or she would’ve been in the ground two years ago. She was already stage four when they found it.”
“So you did what? Made a deal with Morales to be their guy on the inside? What exactly are you doing for him?” He was planning to kill her anyway. Why not ask for the details?
“Tipping him off about busts, roadblocks. Quietly making evidence disappear so his key people would walk. In exchange, I got the kind of money we needed to get her into better treatment. The kind of money we needed so she’d survive.”
As he spoke, Rowan shifted, curling tighter into herself until she could get her feet under her. They screamed at the angle, but that was good. That meant she had some feeling in them instead of total numbness. “So you’re doing this all for love.”
“Yeah.”
“How do you think your wife would feel about you crossing that line? She married the good guy with the badge. The one who upholds the law. How do you think she’d look at you if she knew what you’d done?”
“She’ll never know. And at least she’s still around to look at me at all.”
She’d never know because Rowan was the only one who could tell her, and Voss was going to kill her. For all his protestations that he hadn’t wanted to hurt her, he’d clearly gotten over whatever reservations he had.
“How does Dr. Powers fit in with this? Why is she helping you?”
“Tisha and I have an arrangement. She helped provide me with the best means of getting to you.”
“And in exchange?”
“She gets to comfort me and play out that Florence Nightingale fantasy on the emotionally wounded patient.”
“You’re sleeping with her.”
“A means to an end. And a man needs comfort.”
Had he always been this deluded? Or had he actually begun a legitimately good man and been twisted into this by desperation and circumstance? It hardly mattered. She wasn’t dealing with a good man now. She was dealing with one she’d pushed to the edge, and if she didn’t do something, she was dead.
“Tell me something…the gunshots last night. There were no casings, no slugs. Were you just firing into the air?”