Page 7 of Capture My Heart

Once she punched in, her day filled with calls and patrol. Gus stayed on the fringes of her thoughts all day. At noon, she drove by his house. She’d been so caught up in doing her job last night, she hadn’t taken time to assess the scene. Other than the tire ruts in the yard, it appeared the same as when she arrived yesterday. One thing she noticed the scene lacked—skid marks. The driver hadn’t tried to stop.

No crime scene tape, but the markers of evidence still clung to the blacktop, circles indicating a cigarette butt or a scrap of paper. Anything that could give Daniels and Peterson a clue to what happened here.

She exited the vehicle to take a closer look. Gus’ blood still marked the ground.

Why? Who was afraid he’d talk?

Her radio squawked. She surveyed the site one last time. What a shame. He didn’t need to die.

Back in her car, she jotted down her thoughts before putting the vehicle in drive.

A drunk and disorderly took up most of her afternoon.

It was almost end of shift. Sweat rolled down her back as she drove across town. She cranked the AC. Nothing happened.

She banged on the dash with her fist. Hot air blew out.

No! She pounded on the dash. This vehicle was one breakdown away from the scrapyard. “Piece of shit.”

Good thing she only had thirty minutes left on the clock. Enough time to finish up some paperwork and turn in a service request for the patrol car.

She pulled in the lot and parked in her usual spot two down and across from her personal vehicle. Only the new vehicles fit inside the garage. A barely-there breeze caused a white piece of paper under her wiper blade to flap. She grabbed her work phone from the dash, her bag, and crossed to her Fiat.

“Probably a pancake breakfast at the church down the block this Sunday.” She pulled the slip of paper free. The typed words weren’t an invite, not unless a death threat wrapped up like a warning constituted an invitation.

Let the past die. You don’t want to end up like old Gus.

She started to crumple the paper in her hand and stopped. Canvassing the area, she pulled out an evidence bag and slid the threat in. Everything looked normal. Amy picked up her bag and made her way to the station’s back door. Once at the desk, she connected her laptop to the docking station and documented the incident. No way would she let someone scare her off. The trail must not be as cold as they’d like her to think if someone’s sweating enough to threaten her.

Obviously, they didn’t know her well enough if they thought a note on her car would make her tremble with fear.

She snorted. All it did was piss her off. Her blood simmered as she reread the note. With those two little sentences, they didn’t quench her curiosity but fanned it.

Her eyes canvassed the squad room before she closed the doc and opened the video of Gus West’s last moments.

She watched it through twice then looked at the note.

It was obviously connected to Gus, so it had to be connected to her father and the case that got him killed.

His death was no accident. That was clearer now more than ever.

She dropped the bagged note and opened her case notes. After jotting down her thoughts, she closed her computer and shoved it in her bag. She took one last look at the note before locking it in her file cabinet. Some twisted unsub thought they could make her tuck tail and run. They didn’t know she was made of sterner stuff than that. An evil smile tugged at her lips.

“You want to play? Bring it on.”

Second day back, and Trey already wished he’d retired. He grabbed a water bottle from the cooler and glanced around at his retirement plan. He still wasn’t sure if it had been the pain meds he’d been on or being shot that made him do it two months ago. His get-out plan had consisted of sinking his life savings into this old building and exercise equipment.

He made his way around the boxing ring to the treadmills—a new installation since he took ownership. The building held all the old school gym charm but to cater to the millennial, he needed to add modern amenities.

He nodded a greeting to some of the hardcore boxers as he passed the free weights and punching bags. There had been a resurgence of interest in boxing over the last couple years, but after a few weeks in the ring, most people wanted to go back to their treadmills and cycle machines. So, he added them.

He rubbed his shoulder.

At one point, he’d envisioned working at the Bureau until he could retire with his thirty years in. That was before. So now, he was investing in his future. A new future.

Hell, he’d thought he’d have a family of his own by now too, but he learned the hard way that not everyone stuck around when life threw you a curveball.

After a few hamstrings stretches, he plugged in his earbuds and stepped onto the machine. He set it to a brisk walk and warmed up. His brain always functioned best as he worked his body. Trey read through the files on Ashwood PD. Indeed, several of the officers had memberships here. Flipping the page, he scanned the photos. He knew Jim and Jordan Swenson, but Ryan Daniels’ face didn’t spark any memories. Neither did Ian Brannon. They were on the member list, but he couldn’t recall seeing them in the building. Not everyone used their gym memberships regularly. He needed to let it percolate.