Chapter 38
"Her hyoid was broken," the medical examiner said.
"That tells me she was strangled. I found traces of cocaine and alcohol in her system, but I don't think that was the cause of death.
She died from acute asphyxiation as a result of strangling.
I also found trace DNA under her fingernails.
If you'd like, I can let you know if we get a match on those DNA results. "
"I would appreciate that."
"Will do," he said before ending the call.
I slid the phone back into my pocket and updated JD.
It wasn't long after that when a desert beige 4x4 truck pulled up to the coffee shop. It sure looked like the same truck that shot us off the road in Stillwater.
Two beefy guys hopped out and strutted inside. They were late 20s, early 30s with rugged looks. Both with close-cropped hair, one rocked a horseshoe mustache while the other had a day's worth of stubble. They glanced around the place and clocked us immediately.
They continued up to the counter and placed an order with the barista.
I never got a look at the guys who tried to kill us in Stillwater, nor did I get the vehicle’s plate.
But these weren’t artsy fartsy types hanging out in Yucca Flats to find their inner child or contemplate the meaning of the universe.
These guys were former military. Killers.
No doubt about it. They had done a threat assessment upon entering the building.
Had they followed us here? Or was this a coincidence? More likely, they had access to Brooke’s burner phone’s data. The same intel we had.
After placing their order, they moved to a table by the window across from us and took a seat.
My hand found the grip of my pistol, ready for anything. I didn't have to say anything to JD. He was already onto them.
With a casual glance, I surveyed the truck, looking for confirmation that these were the guys from Stillwater.
Horseshoe looked familiar. I was pretty sure he was in the crowd the night Jonathan Edwards was killed aboard the Mystic Voyager.
According to Brooke’s cell records, she had stopped into this coffee shop at least once a day between the hours of 10 and noon. It was bad tradecraft, but then again, she wasn't a trained professional.
Never get into a routine.
Always change it up.
Always watch your back.
We hung out in the coffee shop, waiting. The two meatheads gave us a few glances. They knew damn good and well who we were. They sipped coffee and didn't have much to say to each other. Despite trying to look inconspicuous, they stood out like sore thumbs.
My phone buzzed with a text. I pulled it from my pocket and looked at the screen. Isabella messaged: [Brooke’s burner is on the grid and Oscar Mike. Heading your way.]
[Keep me posted]
Isabella continued to give me status updates as Brooke approached.
A few minutes later, Brooke pulled into the lot and parked in a space not far from the entrance. As soon as she stepped out of the car, I had confirmation.
Brooke was a smart girl. She had dyed her hair red and wore a ball cap and sunglasses. A sports bra and tight yoga pants drew the eye. She was either on her way to, or coming from, yoga.
I hopped up and rushed out of the coffee shop before the goons.
JD followed.
I flashed my badge to Brooke. "I spoke with Autumn. I'm here to help you. There are two men inside waiting for you.”
Brooke’s face tightened, and her skin went pale. She glanced at the goons in the coffee shop.
By that time, they had spotted her.
Brooke spun around, ran back to her car, and hopped inside. She fired up the engine and backed out of the space.
The goons rushed out of the coffee shop, scrambling for their vehicle.
I put an elbow into Horseshoe’s face as he tried to run past me.
It shattered his nose and staggered him back.
I spun toward him and followed with a body blow that doubled him over. An uppercut finished him off.
Jack took care of his friend.
With both of them on the ground, we hustled back to the Porsche, hopped in, and chased after Brooke.
It would take the goons a second to get back on their feet, but I'm sure they wouldn't be far behind.
Jack stomped the gas, and the engine howled as we barreled down the highway. It may have been an SUV, but it was still a Porsche. The GTS had some get-up-and-go and, in sport mode, pretty good handling.
There were a few cars between us and Brooke. I'm not sure if she knew we were following her yet. It was a four-lane blacktop with a middle turning lane. Nothing but desert and hills for miles.
Jack weaved through slower traffic. Before long, we were on Brooke’s bumper. Jack flashed the high beams and honked the horn, while I held my badge out of the window. It's too bad we didn't have a megaphone or sirens.
Brooke wasn't about to slow down. I didn't blame her. We could have been anybody with fake badges.
I glanced through the rear window. In the distance, the beige 4x4 turned onto the highway.
I bet those guys were pretty pissed off.