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“Eric!” Jaclyn was shrieking. Her voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well, distant and echoing, but it rapidly became much clearer.
“What?” he finally managed to say, and he sounded grumpy even to himself. Jesus. The interior of the car was full of the white air-bag propellant that looked like smoke, as if the car was on fire, but he knew it wasn’t. Cars didn’t burn as easily in real life as they did on television.
“Are you crazy?” Jaclyn yelled as she continued jerking on the door. She looked to
her right. “Come over here and help, you asshole!” she bellowed.
“Maybe,” he said, in answer to her question. “Just a little.” Okay, things were snapping back into place. Damn, that had been some impact.
He’d radioed in as he chased the car that had run the red light, and patrol cars were beginning to arrive on the scene, boxing the driver in—not that her car was drivable. She had an air bag of her own—too bad—but from what he could see she hadn’t moved yet. Other sirens, far away but getting closer, were added to the mix.
“Taite Boyne?” he asked.
Jaclyn nodded her head. “I saw her when she tried to shoot me—this time.” Tears shone in her eyes as she struggled with the door, and Eric pushed away the deflated air bag and reached out a hand. He caught one of Jaclyn’s hands, and she let him hold on. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. She can’t try to hurt you anymore. It’s over.”
Jaclyn swiped the back of a hand across her face and yanked the other hand away from his. “That’s not why I’m crying, you … you stupid, moronic idiot!”
Oh. She was crying for him. That was okay, then. “I’m fine,” he said, trying not to smile because he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t like it.
Her blue eyes flashed. Tears hadn’t dampened her anger. “You rammed your car into hers. You could’ve been killed!”
She looked so pale, mascara was running down her cheeks, and even though he was no longer touching her he could see the way she was shaking.
“Police issue. They’re built like tanks,” he explained, but she didn’t look mollified.
She kept jerking at the door, and some guy—must have been the one she called an asshole—came up and started jerking on it, too. Eric sighed and unlocked it—they could have reached through the broken window and unlocked it themselves, if they’d thought of it—and the guy managed to tug the door open far enough that Eric could unclip his seat belt and squeeze out. He was only a little bit unsteady. Okay, maybe more than a little, but even as he stood there he could feel the world steadying itself again. Blood dripped down his face, his shirt, from both his nose and a cut on his forehead. His nose felt numb; he hoped it wasn’t broken, but if it was, it wouldn’t be the first time. No, he was breathing through it semi-okay, even though it was bleeding.
Jaclyn wrapped both arms around him, lending him her support, and even though he no longer needed it he didn’t think it was all that important to share that information with her right now. Holding on to her was nice.
She leaned into him, held on, and he watched as the Atlanta P.D. assisted Taite from her car. He’d radioed that she was armed, and they were treating her as armed and dangerous, which she was, which meant they weren’t being very solicitous of her. Her nose was bleeding, too, and he felt a rush of satisfaction because, unless he missed his guess, her nose was broken. He hoped it healed crooked.
He’d have liked to coldcock the bitch, but he kept his distance. For one, he wasn’t about to offer her the chance for a civil lawsuit, and it was more important to stay with Jaclyn. And two, if he decked her, the paperwork would damn near kill him. The car was going to be bad enough.
Taite wiped the blood from her nose, squared her shoulders even though her arms were being wrenched behind her back, and called to him, “I want to make a deal! I can give him to you. I can give you the man who killed Carrie!”
“Of course you can,” Eric said softly, and smiled.
Eric couldn’t help but smile, even though it made his face hurt. This time around, Senator Dennison was on his turf. Earlier in the day a warrant had been issued for the car Dennison had been driving the day he’d killed Carrie Edwards, and Taite Boyne was singing like a birdie. She still thought she could cut a deal and get off with probation, but she’d soon be disabused of that notion. With the blood evidence in the car, the district attorney didn’t really need her testimony to make the case.
The senator fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair in the interview room. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet, but he would soon. Eric was doing his best to make sure the senator was comfortable, for the time being. Maybe he’d say something that would make this process easier.
He gave a sigh and shook his head. “I guess I can kind of understand how it happened,” he said in a sympathetic tone. “From everything I’ve heard, Carrie Edwards could be hard to get along with.”
“Yes,” Dennison said nervously. “She was.” He glanced toward the closed door. “Is my wife out there? She really shouldn’t be here, but when you called she insisted …”
“Sergeant Garvey is taking care of your wife, Senator. She’s in good hands.” Poor woman. She was about to get the shock of her life. She might’ve suspected that the dirtbag she was married to was unfaithful, but Eric doubted she’d had a clue that he was capable of murder. On the other hand, she was also a strong woman, and this wouldn’t break her. “What did Carrie do? You aren’t the type of man who commits cold-blooded murder.”
“No, of course not!” the senator said, jerking back.
“She had to have done something, something that made you so mad you lost your head for a minute.”
The senator paled. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well, I’m just going by what Ms. Boyne has told us, so far, but of course she wasn’t there. You were.”
Eric hadn’t thought it was possible for Dennison to get any whiter, but he did. “I don’t know what Taite’s told you, but she’s just as unstable as her friend. You can’t believe a word she says.”
No, but they could definitely believe the smears of blood that had been found in the senator’s car. Someone had cleaned that car well, but not well enough, because Taite hadn’t told them to use bleach—and the tests could even work around bleach. It was harder, but it was possible. A detailer wouldn’t have used bleach on expensive leather, anyway.
