He tightened his grip and dragged her across the parking lot toward his police car where Abby stood waiting. “Open the door,” he growled at her.
Even in the dimly lit parking lot, Callie could see the fear etched in Abby’s face as she jerked the door open. Anthony pushed Callie inside and slammed the door. She slid across the seat and reached for the handle on the other door, but she couldn’t find it. Then she realized her predicament. She was in the backseat of a police car used for transporting prisoners. Those cars weren’t equipped with door handles on the backseat.
The front doors of the car opened, and Anthony slid behind the steering wheel. Abby climbed into the passenger side. Without speaking, he started the car, pulled around the building toward the street and waited for several cars to pass.
Callie glanced out the window and hoped he would turn left. If he did, they would pass the street where Seth sat waiting for her in his car. By some stroke of luck he might be able to see her in the backseat. That is, if he even noticed the car.
Anthony drove the car into the street and turned right.
As they sped down the street away from the shelter, they left behind a wounded Marty Weaver and Seth, the only person who knew she was undercover in the shelter. How long would it be before he checked on her? And what would anybody there tell him?
She stared out the window into the dark night, and her body began to shake with fear. She had no idea where Anthony was taking her, but one thing she did know. He planned to kill her, and at this point she didn’t know anything that could stop him from doing just that.
* * *
Seth squirmed in the car seat and tried once more to find a comfortable position, but it was no use. His back ached, and the muscles in his legs cramped. Surely Callie would be back soon.
He glanced at the clock and frowned. Eight-fifteen p.m. He didn’t realize it had gotten so late. She had only done a three-hour shift last night, and he’d assumed tonight would be the same. What could be keeping her? Maybe he should call her.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and was about to punch in her number when his phone rang. He pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello.”
“Seth? This is Anne Riley from the TBI office.”
“Mrs. Riley, when I left you a message earlier, I thought you had probably gone home for the night. I didn’t expect you to call me until tomorrow.”
“No, I hadn’t gone home. In fact, I’d been away from the office for a doctor’s appointment. I came in a little while ago to check my messages, and I got yours. I thought I should call you right away.”
Seth straightened in the seat. “Why?”
“It just seemed so strange to me that I would have two calls within a week’s time about that DNA sample.”
“Somebody else called you? Who was it?”
“Judge Lattimer,” she said. “He called almost a week ago.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I checked the records carefully and found nothing. When I told him that there was no record of the DNA being entered for that victim, he became very upset.”
Seth frowned. “What happened? Had he thought he entered it, but then he forgot to do it?”