Page 64 of Protect My Heart

“No. You don’t have him.” The blood rushed from her face.

He mumbled on the other end of the phone and she heard a yelp, then a growl.

Tigger? But how?

“And Doctor Garcia, don’t try to signal for help or your poor pooch will suffer greatly.”

She scanned the muscle in front of her from head to toe before asking her next question. “What’s to say your associate won’t kill me once I retrieve these things for you?” She loved Tigger, but if she got in the car, she was as good as dead.

“You don’t trust me? I’m hurt.” She could hear the fake shock in his voice. He tsked. “If the poor pooch isn’t enough incentive, we’ll have to sweeten the pot. How is your dear mother Rosa? Is she enjoying her Caesar salad?”

Liz’s heart sank. Her blood chilled at his implication. “Don’t—”

“I will see you soon. Oh, and bring the knife, too.” The line went dead.

“Knife?” Liz gasped. She’d only talked to one other person about the knife besides her mother and Jim. Warden Finden.

Her eyes shot wide open and connected with cold, menacing eyes. They bored into hers as the man stepped closer. His hand outstretched. Liz gulped as she handed over her phone. He snatched her purse from the counter, powered off the phone, and dropped it inside before tucking it under his arm like a football.

Her legs wobbled like Jell-O, and her brain swam through the same consistency as she fought to think. Nothing materialized. No grand plan. No quick-witted ideas. She stood there–– eyes locked with his.

His hand pushed the door open and his eyes narrowed.

She wringed her shaking hands and followed. This felt like a game of wits but deadlier. The point went to them, but the game wasn’t over. She couldn’t concede.

Jim couldn’t concentrate on the file in front of him. He’d spent the morning reviewing Jerome Wilson’s claims about his cousin Reggie’s murder. So far, the other gang took credit. That wasn’t unusual for a gang payback hit, but there was no evidence linking the gang to it. Something about the way this was wrapped up too neatly made him inch. If this was purely a gang hit, why? Nothing in Reggie’s past pointed to a reason the rival gang would take him out. And if Little J’s claim about the murder in prison was true, then who had the connections to get the other gang to do their dirty work?

Jim dropped his ear to his shoulder and cracked his neck. He downed the last of his coffee and closed the file before opening another. This one, Patrick O’Roarke. He skimmed through the original crime, nothing popped. But as he got to the interviews, he stopped. The original investigating officer was thorough. There were interviews with his family, his coworkers, neighbors, and friends.

Jim pushed back from his desk and paced.

CJ glanced up from his computer. “What’s up?”

Jim rubbed his neck. “If what Wilson said is true, why would someone want to kill O’Roarke? Where’s the motive? He was an exemplary prisoner. Other than a couple DUIs and the second-degree murder of his son, he didn’t have anything in his past pointing to someone wanting him dead now.”

CJ tipped back his chair. “Okay, what changed in his surroundings in the last six months? Maybe the inciting incident happened years ago, and something recently tore the scab off.”

Years ago. Jim’s mind circled through the files and news articles he had read. The only thing he didn’t research was O’Roarke’s military days. He plopped down in the chair and searched. When his search found nothing, he shifted gears and checked on personnel changes in the prison over the last year. The records weren’t public knowledge so he put in an urgent request for the information from the prison.

CJ’s chair went sailing backward as he stood. “Fuck. When? Be there in ten.”

The hair on Jim’s arm stood at attention. His insides knotted. Knowing his partner, this must be really bad. Before he could ask, CJ grabbed his coat and motioned Jim to follow. Hustling, Jim had one arm in a sleeve as he rushed to keep up. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Liz. We have to get to the café on Seventh.”

Jim clasped his partner’s arm, staying him. His pulse beat fast and furious in his throat. Taking in air was impossible with the weight of a truck on his chest, but he managed to squeeze out the words. “Is she alright?”

“She’s missing. She was at lunch with my mom and hers. I’ll explain in the car,” CJ said as he sprinted out the door.

Jim pushed his lead-filled legs. This was no time to freeze up. Liz needed him.

The anaconda wrapped around his chest squeezed tighter. God, he prayed she only needed a break from her family. If so, he’d torture her for the heart attack she’d caused him. But his cop senses didn’t think sweet revenge sex involving handcuffs and hot fudge was in his immediate future.

Liz slid into the driver’s seat. With brisk movements, she rubbed the chill from her arms. Her mind processed the situation. Only a truly sadistic person would take a dog as leverage. Her mind ran through the list of characteristics of your garden-variety sociopath. The good news is he’d been watching her and knew her family was in town but didn’t take one of them.

He slid the key in the ignition before leaning back. With the gun in his lap, her escort watched her like a hawk. An internal debate warred in her head as she turned the key: crash the car or stay the course. A third idea popped into her head as she pulled out into traffic. She needed time. If she could get him talking, she might find a way out of this. Slow and steady, she maneuvered the car through traffic, staying just under the speed limit. She didn’t know what he would do if they got stopped by the police.

Liz turned off the main road and took the longest way she could think of to get to Walt’s house. She needed time.