Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
The red Honda appeared unassuming—far too normal—as it sat in the parking lot behind the ambulance hub.
The company that owned the hub—and the parking lot—provided ambulance services county-wide.
Debra had informed them that the company employed over fifty responders, and one of those responders was the owner of the Honda Accord.
A Honda Accord with a white, mountain-shaped decal on the right, rear window.
“We found a shovel in the trunk,” Debra revealed as they stood about fifteen feet away from the Honda.
Preston watched as a tech carefully examined the interior of the vehicle. A silent Sloane was at his side.
“There was fresh dirt on the bottom edge of the shovel. No one inside the office here…” A wave of her hand toward the long building nearby. “They can’t remember seeing the vehicle’s owner in the last few hours.”
The vehicle’s owner—that would be Bridget Russell. Debra had told them that news, too, back when they’d been at his house. He’d insisted on coming to this scene, along with Sloane. Sloane’s watchful gaze seemed to take in everything around them.
“Jada Taylor is the office manager here.” Debra’s hand waved again toward the building.
“She remembered seeing Bridget head out of the hub after her shift—they do twelve-hour rotations here. Jada thought she’d left and gone home.
Didn’t even realize Bridget’s car was in the lot until the deputies and I arrived. ”
“The car did leave.” Sloane’s certain voice. “That is the vehicle I saw at the sheriff’s office. That’s the decal. It was there, but then it was brought back here.”
Yeah, he thought the same thing. Exact car. Exact positioning of the decal. So Preston had to ask, “How do we know…” The tech in the car was now easing back. Frowning at the driver’s side door. “How do we know that Bridget is a potential victim? What makes you think she’s not the perp?”
“She’s too small,” Sloane replied.
Debra grunted.
“She was in the ambulance with us,” Sloane added. “The EMT with the tats on her hands who treated you while Adam East worked on me.”
He remembered the woman. His focus had kept returning to Sloane as the EMT tried to check him out. He’d kept telling the EMT that he was fine. She’d kept telling him that she had to do her job.
Late twenties, short hair. Quick smile. Professional. Just doing her job.
“I remember seeing her ID badge. That’s how I recognized her name when Debra came to your house. She was petite, about four inches shorter than me. Maybe ten to fifteen pounds lighter.” Sloane raked her gaze over Preston. “There’s no way she could drag you into the grave.”
Not on her own.
“I saw a man attack you, Preston. A man. Big, with wide shoulders.”
“Maybe he was working with her,” Debra tossed out. “Maybe they’re a team. Maybe I was wrong about her being a vic.”
The tech called for Debra. She hurried for the car.
“I don’t think so,” Sloane said softly.
Preston started to follow Debra, but Sloane touched his arm. “He was trying to catch our attention.”
He frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”
“The bullets at the station weren’t aimed at us, specifically.
You were right out front. As you pointed out before, if he’d wanted to shoot you, he could have.
He could have shot you in the head or the chest. Instead, he sprayed the area because I think he wanted us to see him.
Like a big flag waving.” Her gaze darted toward the Honda Accord.
“I think he wanted us to see the car. To know what he’d done. ”
“We’ve got blood!” Debra yelled. “Liam just found blood on the driver’s door!”
Preston rushed to her side. Sloane chased after him.
Liam—the tech—had what looked like a Q-tip in his hand. The tip of the Q-tip had turned a darkish pink.
“Found blood along the top of the driver’s side door,” Liam said. “Didn’t see it at first. Think someone tried to wipe it away.” He inclined his head toward Debra. “We have to get this vehicle to a secure facility. Check the whole thing. Every inch.”
Blood on the driver’s side door. A shovel in the trunk. And a missing EMT.
Fuck, fuck, and fuck.
“We need to find her.” Sloane’s shoulder brushed against Preston. “And we need to find her fast.”
His head swiveled toward her.
“We got away.” Fear shone in her dark eyes. “But I think he decided to take someone else in our place.”
The woods weren’t quiet. Insects buzzed. Voices rose. Yellow police tape flapped in the wind even as thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was coming in. Fast. Preston could smell the impending storm on the wind.
He approached the grave slowly, his gaze sweeping over the piles of dirt. He’d been buried in that dirt. He’d crawled out of that grave. Now he was back. This time, looking for clues. Clues that might help them find the perp. And the new victim that he’d taken.
I think he decided to take someone else in our place.
They’d left the parking lot behind the ambulance company. They’d gone straight to their crime scene. Sloane had been tense and edgy, and he understood.
Bridget Russell could be in the ground right now. Every moment that passed was one less breath that she could have. They needed to find her. Time was running out.
“Y-you can’t go past the yellow tape!” Eugene’s cracking voice. The deputy wasn’t alone at the site. A tech was there, too. And a female deputy. Lucinda Chambers.
Preston pretty much knew all the deputies by sight.
“The sheriff told me you could look around, but you aren’t supposed to get too close.
” Eugene wore a bright yellow raincoat. Even though no rain had fallen.
Not yet. A brown deputy’s hat with a wide brim covered his head.
“She thinks…thinks that the FBI will be here in the morning. We’re supposed to preserve things as much as possible for them. ”
Lightning streaked across the sky.
Moments later…
Boom.
“Not gonna be much preserving with the storm coming,” Sloane murmured.
No, there wouldn’t be. Lucinda was trying to pull out a blue tarp from the back of her patrol car.
Sloane edged right up to the yellow tape. She peered over the tape. Down into the giant hole. So did Preston.
Broken boards. Light brown wood. A handmade coffin. Dirt. Hell.
“We didn’t find anything useful here,” Lucinda said as she came forward. Her hair was in a bun at the nape of her neck. The style she typically preferred. “No tire tracks. No tools.” Her stare shifted to Sloane. “Heard you saw a delivery van at Preston’s house, right before he was taken.”
Sloane nodded. “Any lead on that vehicle?”
“Not yet.” Her lips thinned. “Priority is currently on finding our missing woman. Our department is small. We are stretched thin as paper.”
Yes, they were.
He looked back at the grave.
“It’s a secluded spot.” Sloane almost touched the flapping tape. “Not a trail that tourists would take. Hidden. Private.”
More lightning flashed.
The scent of the approaching storm grew stronger.
“Why did he pick it? How did he pick it?” Sloane walked away. Stared at some of the nearby trees. Her gaze had turned considering.
He eased away from the hole in the ground. His eyes narrowed on her.
Sloane had begun to weave between the trees. Where in the world was she going? “Sloane!”
A boom of thunder.
He’d lost sight of her. Too many trees. Too many bushes. The location was isolated. “Sloane!”
“Here.”
His head whipped to the right. The faintest touch of rain slid over his cheek.
Fraser firs, oaks, maples—all kinds of trees filled the area, but Sloane had stopped near one particular maple. One about twenty feet away from their grave. She seemed to be staring very intently at something on the tree.
He hurried to her side. “You’re supposed to stay close. Close as in…I want my eyes on you, Sloane. Every moment.” Especially out there. Near the spot where they had nearly died.
Frankie had driven them to the grave. First, the bodyguard-slash-driver had taken them to the ambulance company, then he’d rushed them over to this site. Preston’s second bodyguard had tailed them. Noble had orders to stay close.
Both men also understood that, even though he was paying their salaries, he was not their priority. Sloane was. If anything bad happened, if any attacks were made, Sloane came first. They were to get her away from danger, to remove her from the scene.
And then I’ll take care of the sonofabitch.
He didn’t intend to let the killer escape.
Preston had made a point of instructing both Noble and Frankie on Sloane’s importance. Not in front of her, because she would have argued with him. So a simple text had gotten the job done.
Her hand reached out and touched the tree’s thick trunk. Automatically, his gaze followed her hand. Wait. Something had been carved into the tree. Letters…
PB + SA
What the hell?
It almost looked like the kind of old carving that kids would make. Sweethearts, carving their initials with a pocket knife. Except…
PB. His initials.
SA. Her initials.
This wasn’t some sweetheart memento bullshit. It was more like a headstone. “The Last Breath Killer didn’t do that.” He hadn’t marked the spots where he’d buried his victims.
“No.” A faint tremble in her voice.
The rain drops began to fall harder.
“He knew who I was.” Soft. A bit shaky from Sloane. “I thought he just grabbed me because I interrupted, but…he knew?”
Preston ducked his head closer to hers. “What made you look for this? How did you know?”