2. Asher #2
I held onto the door as we sped toward our destination, lights on but siren off so we wouldn’t spook the suspect if he was home.
Local police were already waiting for us, parked across the street.
Hunter pulled up to the curb and we jumped out.
I shook out my legs a bit and walked around to the back of the car, where Hunter was already waiting, pulling his vest over his shirt.
He held mine out, and I tugged it over my head awkwardly.
Before Hunter, I was stuck waiting in the car as my partners would go in to take down the suspects.
Hunter didn’t let me sit things out, and I appreciated the ability to analyze the crime scene with my own eyes, instead of having to wait for the crime scene photos.
I checked my gun before stowing it back in the holster, and then I studied the house in front of us while Hunter talked to the officers waiting for us.
A hand tugged on my arm, and I met Hunter’s eyes. He was all business now, no trace of the easy-going partner who liked to poke fun at me. “Look between the house and the garage.” I pointed, and he looked, his eyebrow going up.
“Is that your Russian blue?” he asked me lightly, and I pursed my lips.
“Shagbark hickory,” I replied automatically, and he smirked.
Okay, the easy-going partner was still there, just hidden beneath his professional persona.
He motioned for me to stick behind him and took the lead, his gun drawn as he approached the house, the other officers not far behind.
I followed, drawing my own gun and keeping it at my side.
I listened as Hunter yelled out about a warrant, and then the door was kicked in.
I stepped over the wreckage of the door as we entered the home, and the officers quickly went room to room, yelling clear every time.
I looked over the inside of the home, cataloging everything in my brain, filing it away for later review.
The symmetry of his shelves, the antique dolls lining the walls, each perfectly positioned with not a hair out of place.
I followed Hunter down the stairs to the basement once the main floor was cleared, and let him focus on finding someone to shoot while I took in the scene in front of us.
There was a cozy den space, complete with an old recliner facing a newer high-definition TV.
Hunter kicked in the door nearby, swearing when he realized it was only a closet.
I turned on the TV, and instead of a normal channel it was a security camera view instead.
The view showed a small room, with the bed being center stage.
There was a woman on the bed, lying face-down, and my heart stopped when she didn’t move.
Where was she? Had we gotten the wrong house?
I looked around the room; it was small, and oddly proportioned.
Hunter walked out of the closet, holding up a pair of dresses that could’ve been from a movie set.
I nodded distractedly, studying the dimensions of the room we were in.
I walked over to the far wall, knocking on it lightly, then I moved to the side where there should’ve been more room, knocking again.
The hollow sound wasn’t right, and I followed the wall until I hit the bookcase.
Checking the floor in front of it, I noticed a wear pattern on the concrete, and I hooked my fingers along the back of the bookcase and pulled.
It swung out easily, opening to reveal a door that was bolted with three different padlocks.
Hunter whistled loudly and the officers came down, one of whom had bolt cutters.
They made quick work of the locks, but we were still missing the key to the deadbolt, so Hunter started kicking the door in.
I checked the TV and was relieved to see movement, our noise causing the woman to stir.
The door flew in with a bang, and I quickly followed them into the room, going straight for the woman as one of the officers radioed for EMS. “We’re the police, you’re safe now,” I told her, walking toward her.
She covered her ears and looked terrified, so I shoved my gun back in my holster to try to look less intimidating.
She lunged forward abruptly and began to fall, so I caught her arms to steady her, and she grabbed me so tightly I thought her nails would rip through my shirt.
“Can you hear me?” I asked, her eyes unfocused and full of fear.
“Can you tell me your name?” I knew her name, her face was burned into my brain forever.
This was Dahlia Porter, our eighth victim, and she was alive.
Her mouth opened like she was going to answer me, but then she clamped it shut, despair painting her features.
I looked down at her neck, my gaze catching on the metallic device pressing into her skin.
“It’s okay,” I told her gently. “You’re okay now.
” Her eyes met mine for a split second, then she slumped forward so suddenly I nearly dropped her.
I cradled her shoulders and lowered her to the ground as Hunter came around to kneel beside us.
“Did she say anything?” he asked, looking her over, probably assessing for injuries.
I shook my head, half-listening to one of the officers sending instructions to the EMTs who must’ve arrived outside.
I heard footsteps on the stairs, and two people with a stretcher arrived, quickly shoving us out of the way to assess Ms. Porter.
“Watch out, there’s some kind of device on her neck, I think it’s a shock collar,” I told them, and the one closest to me, an older woman with short black hair, quickly moved Dahlia’s hair out of the way to assess the device, her face twisting in disgust. The skin under the prongs looked damaged; no wonder she hadn’t said anything.
“We’ll have a tech look at this before we try to cut it off,” she told me, and I nodded, stepping out of the way as they strapped Ms. Porter onto the stretcher.
She was pale, and her face was pinched, even asleep, her cheeks sunken from lack of nutrition.
There were bruises on her arms and legs, some faded, and some newer.
I knew they’d check her out at the hospital, run a tox screen, blood panels, probably a CT to check for internal damage.
Physical damage was only half the problem though, it wasn’t just physical scars she’d carry.
“You go with them, I’ll oversee the crime scene techs here. I’ll meet you at the hospital when we’re finished,” Hunter instructed, eyeing me curiously. I frowned at him, confused by this change in procedure.
“Shouldn’t you be there? She might wake up,” I replied immediately, shoving my hands in my pockets.
Hunter handled the people aspect of the job, while I dealt with the paperwork, that was how it always worked.
Sometimes I sat in on the interviews, or participated in the interrogations, but I never led them.
I wasn’t good with people, or maybe they weren’t good with me, whatever the case may be, he usually dealt with this part.
I solved the puzzle in the background, and Hunter dumbed it down and explained it to the people around us.
“We still need to find Curing, I can’t manage that from the hospital,” he told me, which felt like a lie.
I’d seen this guy manage SWAT and local PD in a tactical assault while taking fire and hiding behind a dumpster.
“Plus, if she does wake up, she’s our best bet for some quick answers.
You can interview her, try to pry out any details she might have that will lead us to this asshole.
” I couldn’t argue with that, at least not quick enough to change anything.
The EMTs were already taking her upstairs, and Hunter gave me a final look that left no room for discussion.
I gave him a half-hearted wave and ran up the stairs to catch up with the EMTs.
I stopped by the car on the way and grabbed my bag before I hopped into the back of the ambulance, bracing as we took off toward the hospital.