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Suddenly, the playboy faded and Charli faced the man behind the badge, the professional who’d earned the right to supervise a large department. This man had charisma, sure, because of his handsome face and well-formed physique, but more importantly, he had a no-nonsense manner that anyone faced with his powerful presence would respect and obey.
He interrupted her unsettling reflection. “I’m becoming very fond of Kayla. I’d hate to see her being returned to the system.”
Backing off, her respect for the man taking a sudden upward curve, she changed the subject. “Is there any word on Dylan Ross?”
“The trail is as cold as my favorite maple-walnut ice cream. Interpol’s now involved, along with all the local agencies where he’s managed to make a kill and get away. No one’s had any sightings. I’ve got a file so big it’s overflowing, yet there’s nothing concrete we can check. It’s frustrating as hell.”
Charli felt her nerves begin to react. “That son of a bitch is a menace. Look, there’s no doubt he’d be after a witness who can ID him. He’s gotta be trying to find out where Kayla’s hiding.”
“I know. It’s eerie. Other than a mass shooting in the industrial section near the airport yesterday that caught my attention, nothing’s happened out of the norm.”
“A mass shooting? Was it a professional job?”
“It had all the markings. The cold-blooded shooter eliminated three men in a bar, but it made no sense.”
Blake’s perplexing comment urged Charli to request more details. “What happened?”
“Well, this guy walked into Freddie’s, a kind of honky-tonk hangout for bikers, and shot three people. The only thing tying the massacre to your case was that all three bullets were targeted in the forehead.”
“Any witnesses?”
“One man, an accountant-type doing the books in the back for free drinks, didn’t see anything, he only heard the shots.”
“And, no doubt, dove for cover.”
“Seems to be the case. Says he hid in the closet they use as a filing cabinet until he knew the coast was clear. Then he called 9-1-1.”
“And he had no idea why these people were killed?”
“Nope. But he admitted that Freddie, the bigot who owned the pub, made enemies from being a racist prick who’d often tell people he didn’t want to serve to fuck off. His guess was that the killer could have been a black man who didn’t take kindly to being called names and told to leave.”
“A black man?”
“That’s what he figures.”
“Well, shit!”
