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After an uncomfortable night filled with either nightmares or memories of the man who’d come to her rescue, Lori gave up on her intentions to get some sleep and decided to put on the TV. Sure enough, every news channel had the video of her playing superwoman, overpowering a young, scared kid who looked as if he’d been under a spell.
Sweet Jesus. How could they portray the irresponsible kid, who never even got a shot off, as a devil? Sure, his actions were indefensible but what made him turn to such extremes? Something in his life had led him down this path. As a profiler, Lori found that part of the morning’s events to be the most interesting.
And the girl? She looked about the same age; Lori figured in their late teens. Obviously in cahoots, they had intended on a killing spree that both had to know the chance of either escaping would be little to none. The likelihood of them dying had a much bigger probability.
What drove kids like this to such extremes? She pondered the question as her eyes closed and exhaustion took over.
The banging on the door hours later woke her from a night spent mostly in discomfort. She should have taken some of the pain pills while she’d done her pilfering.
Chapter Eight
Beau wasn’t absolutely sure he had the right address. The bus driver who’d been quizzed about the day before had admitted to picking up her female passenger at the stop close by and had seen her running from this direction. The decision to investigate her father’s last known address had brought him here.
Only the fact that it was midmorning let him make as much noise as he did, trying to get the attention of the person inside. That’s if she really had returned home after bolting from the hospital.
Following hours of a futile search, he’d found her by pure luck. Joyce Sager, one of the agents at the office, recognized Loretta Page from the video. They’d spent time together in Quantico. Happy to have an audience for her stories of the young recruit, she chatted on, supplying what little info she knew.
“Lori was a hoot in Virginia, always up for a good time. Four of us had taken specialized profiling classes while at Quantico, and she outranked the lot of us… had instincts that were kind of unbelievable, except they were mostly dead on. Last I heard, she worked in San Francisco until her father got cancer. Then she disappeared off the radar. Haven’t seen or heard from her in over a year.”
Using that information, it didn’t take long for Beau to track Loretta Page down. After the bogus cross-examination he’d gone through with the girl from yesterday’s shooting, Jessica Boland, he’d made up his mind to find the female vision he couldn’t shake loose.
Not only did he want to personally thank her for Mellie’s sake; he wanted to get to know her better. Any female who would put her life on the line the way this woman had done, got his whole attention. Besides, he’d never held another in his arms who fit so perfectly. That needed looking into too.
Bonus would be if she could get Jessica Boland, yesterday’s shooter, to move on her position of closed-mouth behavior. He’d seen the shock on her young face the day before when the policeman had been rough, and Beau’s unexpected partner had called him on it. The cop might not have seen the reaction, but he had. And he’d understood the reasoning.
Had no one ever stood up for the kid before? The staggering remorse on the teen’s face had moved Agent Page… him too.
He’d witnessed that by voicing her disapproval of the officer’s rough behavior, she’d gotten the teen’s attention. Now, that same prisoner had shut down completely… refused to talk. Over the years, he’d seen individuals with that exact look on their uncaring faces and dead eyes. They just didn’t give a rat’s ass what happened to them.
Maybe if he hadn’t recognized the type of tattoo on her wrist when he sat across from her, he wouldn’t be so worried. Except, it looked suspiciously like one he’d seen before. That time, it had been a gang affiliation marking.
He’d found the same tattoo on Tyler Jonas, and it made his stomach churn. The thought of there being a bunch more kids out in the city intending on creating the same kind of havoc made him sick to his stomach. Had him visualizing nightmare scenarios of shot-up schools filled with murdered kids.
Banging again, he suddenly heard a voice yelling her disapproval of his noise.
“Stop it, you fool. Stop makin… You!” The door yanked open, and a sleepy, irate, tousle-head appeared, still wearing her pajamas. “What the hell is wrong with you, making so much noise this early?”
“Early! Lady, it’s mid-morning and time for normal people to be up and around.” He forced his way past her as he spoke and turned to see her making a face at his back and a gesture with her hands that said – sure come right in. He had to smile.
“Wipe that stupid grin off your face. I’m in pain.” Cranky as hell, Loretta Page stalked into the kitchen area of the tiny condo and began clanking pots around, filling one with water. When she looked at the clock on the wall, she groaned, dropped her head to her chest, and muttered, “It’s almost eleven. Lord Jesus, I should have been up hours ago.”
“Is it safe to ask for a cup of your brew?” He waited to see her reaction and chuckled when she muttered, “Sure, after I add my witch’s spit in it.”
“Will that turn me into a prince?”
“More like a slimy, green frog.” She made a quirky grin as if the mental picture pleased her. Once she had the coffee jar in place and her French Press maker rinsed out and sitting on the counter, she forced her hands through her long messy waves where one could see the braids from the day before had been released. The tips of her thick hair reached her waist and gave her an old-fashioned appearance.
What she didn’t see was that when she raised her arms with her figure in silhouette, it made a man’s mouth water. Naked under the t-shirt top of her pajamas, her ample breasts pushed at the flimsy white material.
While the flannel plaid shorts rode high on her lovely legs, he mentally slapped himself to stop from reaching and touching.
As if she sensed his thoughts, she suddenly scurried into the other room and slammed the door, her parting words floating in the air. “I’ll be back in a few secs.”
He didn’t bother to answer, instead he checked the place out and realized there was very little that looked like a woman lived here. He’d have bet the condo had been a man’s home due to the fact that it was utilitarian to the point of being stark.
Two over-sized recliners that sat in front of the big-screen TV didn’t match. One looked to be relatively new while the other had seen a lot more wear and tear.The small bureau in-between held a crossword puzzle book, a pencil, and a dish filled with peppermints. dresser
The well-used wooden table against the wall had two matching chairs and space for another, which he supposed could be a wheelchair. Most of the normal pieces one might find in a living room weren’t in sight. A large clock occupied the wall over the table and could be seen from anywhere in the area.
