“Just shut up and listen to me.”
Incredibly, he shut up.
“Braddock is the one investigating Shelley’s murder. All you have to do is tell him where you were and who you were with when Shelley was murdered. Then you’re off the hook. If you didn’t do it, you have nothing to worry about.” No response. CJ checked to ensure the call was still connected. “Hiding out is only making you look guilty.” She took a breath, grappled for the composure that had fled the instant she heard his voice. Prayed she had convinced him that she wasn’t the enemy. If she could get him to come out of hiding, the cops would get thetruth out of him. He wasn’t nearly as badass as he wanted everyone to think.
“Is that what you think? That all I have to do is explain myself and I’m off the hook? What the hell you been smoking?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
Keep your cool just a little bit longer
. “Just . . . tell me where you are.”
“Right behind you.”
Before CJ could whip around, a strong forearm clamped around her throat. A sweaty palm slapped over her mouth. Her phone hit the ground. She kicked, twisted, tried to jerk free.
“Be still,” he growled between gritted teeth.
Like hell! Her shoe heel connected with a shin. “Goddammit!”
He slammed her against a brick wall. She kicked him again. Got her head banged against the wall for her trouble.
“Be fucking still!” he growled, bracing his forearm against her throat.
Since the gun in his hand wasn’t pointed at her, she stopped moving.
See what he has to say
. Air sawed in and out of her lungs, propelling the racing blood already roaring in her ears.
“I did not kill her,” he said, his nose no more than an inch from CJ’s. “I can’t go to the police because he’ll kill me if I open—”
“Who’ll kill you?” she challenged. If Shelley’s murder involved more than him, she wanted to know.
“I ain’t getting dead for nobody.” He pressed his arm harder against her throat. She couldn’t breathe. “If you know what’s good for you—”
“Hands up, Banks!”
The pressure on her throat eased enough for her to drag in a lungful of air.
“Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air.”
In an effort to see who’d shouted the orders, CJ craned her neck as far as Ricky’s hold would allow.
Banks twisted to get a look as well.
Tall guy. Civilian clothes. Big gun.
The idea crossed her mind that she’d obviously pissed off Lady Luck, since guns were suddenly everywhere she turned.She saw them in the ER now and then, but the last twenty-four hours had been a little over the top.
The instant the big-ass gun aimed at his head registered in Ricky’s brain, his arm fell away and his gun dropped to the grass.
“Ricky Banks”—the man stepped forward, gun still leveled on its target—“you’re wanted for questioning in the death of Shelley Patterson. Back away from the woman and let’s do this the easy way.”
Another man, this one dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, too, moved in, grabbed one of Ricky’s raised arms, and twisted it behind his back.
Before CJ could ask, the first man who’d spoken flashed his badge. Huntsville PD. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
CJ nodded. Took her first decent breath since her cell had vibrated with Ricky’s call.
“You set me up,” he snarled.
Her gaze collided with Ricky’s. She’d set him up all right, but not with the police. He’d grabbed her before she had a chance. But if that was what he thought, she couldn’t care less. “Maybe I did,” she tossed back.
“You’ll be sorry,” he warned. “You don’t even fucking know how sorry.”
CHAPTER NINE
815 Wheeler Avenue
Huntsville Police Department
8:50 PM
CJ paced the interview room where Braddock had insisted she wait. The coffee one of his colleagues had delivered sat untouched on the table. She’d asked to observe the questioning. Back when she’d had time to watch television, they did it on
Law & Order
all
Incredibly, he shut up.
“Braddock is the one investigating Shelley’s murder. All you have to do is tell him where you were and who you were with when Shelley was murdered. Then you’re off the hook. If you didn’t do it, you have nothing to worry about.” No response. CJ checked to ensure the call was still connected. “Hiding out is only making you look guilty.” She took a breath, grappled for the composure that had fled the instant she heard his voice. Prayed she had convinced him that she wasn’t the enemy. If she could get him to come out of hiding, the cops would get thetruth out of him. He wasn’t nearly as badass as he wanted everyone to think.
“Is that what you think? That all I have to do is explain myself and I’m off the hook? What the hell you been smoking?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
Keep your cool just a little bit longer
. “Just . . . tell me where you are.”
“Right behind you.”
Before CJ could whip around, a strong forearm clamped around her throat. A sweaty palm slapped over her mouth. Her phone hit the ground. She kicked, twisted, tried to jerk free.
“Be still,” he growled between gritted teeth.
Like hell! Her shoe heel connected with a shin. “Goddammit!”
He slammed her against a brick wall. She kicked him again. Got her head banged against the wall for her trouble.
“Be fucking still!” he growled, bracing his forearm against her throat.
Since the gun in his hand wasn’t pointed at her, she stopped moving.
See what he has to say
. Air sawed in and out of her lungs, propelling the racing blood already roaring in her ears.
“I did not kill her,” he said, his nose no more than an inch from CJ’s. “I can’t go to the police because he’ll kill me if I open—”
“Who’ll kill you?” she challenged. If Shelley’s murder involved more than him, she wanted to know.
“I ain’t getting dead for nobody.” He pressed his arm harder against her throat. She couldn’t breathe. “If you know what’s good for you—”
“Hands up, Banks!”
The pressure on her throat eased enough for her to drag in a lungful of air.
“Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air.”
In an effort to see who’d shouted the orders, CJ craned her neck as far as Ricky’s hold would allow.
Banks twisted to get a look as well.
Tall guy. Civilian clothes. Big gun.
The idea crossed her mind that she’d obviously pissed off Lady Luck, since guns were suddenly everywhere she turned.She saw them in the ER now and then, but the last twenty-four hours had been a little over the top.
The instant the big-ass gun aimed at his head registered in Ricky’s brain, his arm fell away and his gun dropped to the grass.
“Ricky Banks”—the man stepped forward, gun still leveled on its target—“you’re wanted for questioning in the death of Shelley Patterson. Back away from the woman and let’s do this the easy way.”
Another man, this one dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, too, moved in, grabbed one of Ricky’s raised arms, and twisted it behind his back.
Before CJ could ask, the first man who’d spoken flashed his badge. Huntsville PD. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
CJ nodded. Took her first decent breath since her cell had vibrated with Ricky’s call.
“You set me up,” he snarled.
Her gaze collided with Ricky’s. She’d set him up all right, but not with the police. He’d grabbed her before she had a chance. But if that was what he thought, she couldn’t care less. “Maybe I did,” she tossed back.
“You’ll be sorry,” he warned. “You don’t even fucking know how sorry.”
CHAPTER NINE
815 Wheeler Avenue
Huntsville Police Department
8:50 PM
CJ paced the interview room where Braddock had insisted she wait. The coffee one of his colleagues had delivered sat untouched on the table. She’d asked to observe the questioning. Back when she’d had time to watch television, they did it on
Law & Order
all
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