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Their biggest lead now barreled down the street in the opposite direction, and Cassie slumped against the cold façade of whatever building she’d landed against, not even caring that the snow was seeping into her jeans, freezing her to the bone.
8
If Harris had her handcuffs, there was no way the guy on the floor would’ve escaped.
But she didn’t have them, and he was a slippery son of a bitch. Freeing one arm, he whipped it around, connecting with her shoulder where she’d been shot a couple days prior. Pain flared down her arm, and the man took advantage of her distraction, jumped to his feet, and dashed to the door. He slammed it shut behind him, forcing her to take time wrenching it back open. Once she made it outside, he had a sizable lead on her.
She refused to give up. They were so close to some sort of answer. Unfortunately, the man in front of her seemed to be fighting for his life. Whether he thought she was a cop or not didn’t matter. He was willing to run instead of fight, and that gave her two assumptions: He was a coward, or the information he had was more important than his pride.
Despite his thin legs, the man was fast, and Harris had trouble keeping up, especially in the slush-filled alleyway. Once they hit the sidewalk, she had better traction, but so did he. No matter how much she pumped her arms, he pumped his faster. Not many people could outrun her at a dead sprint, but this guy looked like he’d been a track star in his youth. The cigarettes apparently hadn’t done any damage to his lung capacity.
As they neared the next corner, Harris saw Cassie slumped on the ground, her head leaning back against the outside wall of a building. Harris’s heart shuddered to a stop, then started beating in double time. The kid hadn’t seemed like that big of a threat—he’d looked too afraid to be dangerous. Had she underestimated him? Harris hadn’t known Cassie for very long, but the thought of losing her after having just lost David sent her into a spiral. Her vision darkened along the edges as Cassie’s body became the sole focus of her tunnel vision.
The man never stopped running. Launching himself over Cassie’s outstretched legs, he veered into the street. A white box truck slammed on its brakes, and the man jumped inside. The door hadn’t even closed before they took off again. Her closest lead disappeared down the road in a haze of exhaust.
Harris knelt next to Cassie. Now that she was closer, she could see Cassie’s eyes were open and focused. She was breathing hard and rubbing her chest, but otherwise seemed fine. Harris was relieved and frustrated and angry all at once. More at herself than anyone. How had this happened?
Cassie looked up at Harris, her red hair frizzy from the winter air and her sprint down the sidewalk. Her cheeks were flushed, making her freckles stand out even more than usual. There was the quirk of a smile on her lips, masking her pain. “Hey.”
Harris felt a bubble of laughter try to escape her mouth. Clamping down on it, her lips still twitched upward ever so slightly. “Hi. You okay?”
Cassie pointed to her chest. “Ouch.”
“What happened?” Harris scooped her arms under Cassie’s and pulled the other woman to her feet. “Anything broken?”
“Not broken. Just bruised.” She still sounded out of breath, but it was returning to normal. “He elbowed me as I came around the corner and I fell.” Cassie looked around like she expected to see the other guy hog-tied on the sidewalk. “Where’s yours?”
Harris gestured toward the truck, which was just a white speck in the distance now. “Gone.”
“Least it wasn’t just me.”
“Not just you,” Harris said, and this time she couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Back to square one.”
“Not exactly.” Cassie raised her hand, grasping her cell phone. On the screen was a grainy but legible picture of the white van’s license plate. When Harris looked back up at her with wide eyes, Cassie grinned. “I win.”
“Yes, you do.” This could be enough to get them back on the right path. Harris pulled out her own phone. “Now we just have to call it in.”
“Aren’t you suspended?”
This time Harris let the smile spread over her face. “I have my ways.” Then her smile dropped as she realized how she’d have to get the information they needed. “But this is something I need to do on my own.”
If Cassie had questions, she didn’t ask them. Rubbing her chest, she said, “I need a distraction, anyway.”
Rather than standing on the cold street, Harris dropped Cassie back off at the Chicago History Museum. Harris had nothing against museums, but she didn’t revere them the way Cassie did. Most people didn’t.
But this was as good a place as any to make her phone call. Harris walked down the paths surrounding the museum, where she had met Cassie earlier that day. The brisk air felt good on her flushed faced. But the flush was from more than embarrassment. It was shame. She hadn’t mentioned this to Cassie—or anyone, for that matter—but Harris had burned a lot of her bridges already. Following David’s death, she’d called in as many favors as she could. She hadn’t exactly asked nicely, which meant more than a few of her contacts told her not to call again. At least she still had one person guaranteed to pick up the phone.
But even his kindness was running thin.
Harris found a bench but didn’t sit. It was too cold for that. Pulling out her phone, she paced back and forth, staring at the Montana area code and wishing she were home. She missed her family and friends. The ones who still talked to her, anyway. But out of everyone on the entire planet, she missed Hector the most.
When he picked up, his soft voice was cold. “What do you need, Adelaide?”
“Can’t a lady just—”
“No.”
Harris pictured Hector leaning over his keyboard, his head ducked low, hoping no one would catch him on his cell. At one point in time, they had been best friends. She had moved to Savannah for a promotion, and he’d stayed in Montana. He had always known who he was, had always seen what his future held.
