Chapter 19
The factory floor was loud. Injection molding machines stood everywhere. Pierce had been in factories before; each one had a different feel all its own. This just felt hot and dusty and a little on the cheap side. He tried to tune out the sounds of pressurized doors opening them slamming shut.
Knight walked beside him. They’d spent the hour-long drive that morning through the southern Indiana countryside discussing every aspect of the case possible.
Then from every angle. Knight was a very analytical man, who based his opinions on statistics.
Pierce had always been more of the type to go with his gut.
Still, he liked the other man. Knight was one who didn’t mess around.
And he’d researched the guy over the past week—Knight was supposed to be really good at what he did. So was Dr. Miranda Talley.
The receptionist had the manager waiting on them. He led the way to the loading dock. Snow was plowed out of the paths, piles everywhere. Walkways were cleared, but not much else. And it was damned icy.
He hated ice. And always had.
At least in Texas ice wouldn’t be too much of a problem going forward.
There were trucks being loaded by men and women operating half a dozen forklifts now.
"That’s him, there.” The manager pointed toward a man loading the fourth forklift from the front. He matched the photo and description they had of Peter Graves.
A man in a hard hat walked toward them. “Can I help you?”
"We’re looking for Pete Graves," Pierce said, showing his ID.
“What's this about?"
"We just need to talk to him about a few things,” Knight said, flashing his own badge. The guy’s eyes widened seeing the FBI emblazoned there. “If you can pull him over here, please? We’d appreciate it, and will let you get back to what you are doing. We know time is money.”
The foreman nodded. “Will do. Pete! Get your ass over here! Cops want to talk to you!”
Graves looked up. He saw Pierce and Knight walking toward him across the lot.
Something changed in his face. Pierce tensed. He’d seen that kind of look before.
Graves stood there for a second, watching them approach.
Pierce was about twenty feet away when Graves made his decision.
He ran. Of course he did. Pierce’s day couldn’t get any better than an idiot moron running.
"Damn it," Knight said. "I hate it when they make me run."
Graves took off toward the far end of the lot, cutting between stacked pallets and parked trailers. Graves was fast for such a little guy. Pierce went after him, Knight right beside him.
Graves dodged around a parked forklift. Lurched left toward a gap between two trailers. Pierce jerked toward him. That was all it took. To make Pierce’s morning a really shitty morning. Pierce's foot hit a slick patch and twisted, almost bringing him down. He caught himself, kept going.
Fifteen feet behind Graves now.
Ten.
Knight pulled ahead. Guy could run, even in that business suit. No denying that.
Graves just kept going; if anything the little asshole just ran faster.
"Get the bastard!"
Someone nearby was yelling encouragement.
Eight feet ahead. Graves hit the gap between the trailers and disappeared into the narrow space.
Pierce went in after him; somehow, he’d gotten in front of Knight again.
Graves came out the other side and headed right toward a row of delivery vans.
Graves's feet shot out from under him. The man went down.
Pierce saw the ice too late. Shit.
Knight leapt over him. Like the guy was a damned track star in a former life or something.
Knight almost tackled Graves straight down to the icy pavement. Graves yelled out.
Somewhere nearby, a crowd cheered.
Pierce pushed himself up onto one elbow. Knight had Graves face down, knee in his back. He grabbed Graves's left wrist, yanked it behind him. Reached for the right.
Knight stopped.
The right sleeve of Graves's jacket was empty below the elbow. Nothing there. Just fabric, folded and pinned. Knight held Graves's left wrist against the small of his back. “Well, that complicates things a bit.”
Hell, had the man even broken a sweat? Miranda had griped that Agent Knight was a machine, Pierce was starting to wonder.
“Here.” Pierce tossed his cuffs to the other man. Knight caught them one-handed, then cuffed Graves’s wrist to Graves’s own belt.
"You good?" Knight asked.
"Fine. Mostly just my pride. Payton always was a better ice skater than the rest of us Ashers. Used to skate circles around us all and laugh like a little demon.”
Graves wasn't struggling. Just lying there on the ice.
Pierce got to his feet.
Workers were coming out of the loading dock doors. Stepping away from their forklifts. A dozen people now, watching.
"Got 'em, didn’t you? Good job, coppers! Got you a little weasel today!"
A woman's voice, coming from one of the docks. Graves cursed.
"Why'd you run?" Pierce asked. “We could have done this a whole lot differently.”
Graves just smirked. "Guess I just wanted to ice skate. Fuck, what do you guys want now? I am too old for this shit."
“We just have some questions.” Knight’s voice was as cold as the ice around them. The guy wasn’t even breathing heavy. Well, the only reason Pierce was winded was because he’d hit the ground hard. Damn it. He’d ripped the knee of his pants.
"Whew." The older woman watching from the dock just had to comment again. "I should have gone into law enforcement. Those copper boys are getting better looking by the day."
Someone whistled. More workers had gathered on the dock now. Probably half the damned factory.
"Look at that one's hiney," a woman almost old enough to be Pierce’s mother said, fanning herself. "I do love a well-dressed man in a suit."
Well, Pierce wasn’t wearing a suit. Guess she liked Knight’s ass better. Should he work on not being offended here?
"You can have Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Dangerous. I'll take the walking blond fantasy!"
Well, he’d never been called that before. The calls just kept coming after that. Pierce almost thought he and Knight should take a few bows or something.
"Cut it out! I'm trying to decide who's hotter!"
"Honey, at my age, I don't have time to decide. I'll take both. I can keep up with those two just fine!"
"Don't be shy, blondie! I don't bite!"
"Much!"
“Hell, I don’t care how they look, I’m just glad they’re taking little Petey Perv away!”
Applause came next. Interesting.
Knight hauled Graves up off the concrete.
“They like you that much, Pete?” Pierce asked. He had a brother that went by Peterson. Peterson never went by Pete. Peterson would make two of this guy, easily. Pierce was the runt of the Asher litter, after all.
Graves looked at him. Then at the dock full of women. "Shut up, you bitches!”
"Oh, honey, we ain't talking about you! You couldn't get me going with a jump start and a prayer!"
"Yeah, Pete, sit down! We're busy appreciating the view!"
"The only thing you ever got going was my gag reflex!"
Graves's face went red. "Fuck all of you!"
"You wish, sweetheart! Line's too long and you ain't in it!"
Okay, that was just going to keep escalating here, until people got out of hand. Or fired. But it told Pierce just exactly how Petey fit in around here.
Pierce looked at the man who had caught up with them now, huffing and puffing while he stood there. "We're going to need to borrow an office."
The foreman had appeared at the edge of the crowd. "Yeah. Sure. This way."
They marched Graves toward the loading dock stairs. Right through Petey’s crowd of admirers.
The office was small. A desk and a couple of chairs. The foreman closed the door behind them, shutting out the noise from the dock.
"What's this about?" Graves asked.
Knight started to say something then stopped when his phone buzzed. He read the text quickly. Then looked at Pierce. “Pete here is going for a little ride with us.”