“Hold still.” She stepped closer, slowly holding out a hand. His gaze shot to hers, his eyes wide in alarm. “I’m just touching your coat,” she stated. She moved in slow motion, not wanting to startle him, and patted his jacket under his arm. An empty shoulder holster.
“They took your gun. Now tell me what the hell really happened.”
His story was crazy.
“How well did you know the victim?” Ava asked. Her mind sped through his tale, and she agreed with him. Someone was out to get him.
“She’d been a CI for two years. I probably met up with her a dozen times. I’d like to think she trusted me.”
“Prostitutes don’t trust anybody. A druggie probably trusts everyone. You think she was hooked on something the last time you saw her?”
“Something changed. She might have been a casual user to start with, but the dead woman I saw had the physical appearance of a die-hard addict—the weight loss, the facial sores, the teeth. I didn’t know things could change so fast.”
Pity for the dead woman was plain on his face. Ava could also see some self-blame going on for not recognizing Josie’s problem. “Nothing you could do.”
His gaze met hers; he didn’t believe her.
“Don’t tell me you think you can save the world. Haven’t you been on the job a little too long to believe that? I thought that mentality disappears within six months of being hired,” she joked.
He gave a small smile. “Gotta keep some faith. Otherwise, it gets to you.”
An optimist. He acted like a pessimist, but at heart he wanted to see the good in everything. Something she ached for, too.
Ava nodded. Damn it. Why’d he have to be a cop?
She didn’t get involved with cops. She’d played that game before. It might take someone on the job to truly understand what she went through every day, but dating cops was a no-no. They thought with their dicks. Women loved the uniform and threw themselves at it. Talk about an ego booster. She’d dated one for eighteen months in LA. She’d heeded the warning not to get involved with a man in blue, but she thought she’d found the exception. She hadn’t. He’d cheated, twice.
First time, shame on him; second time, shame on her.
She put in for a transfer.
This guy is different. She fought an urge to laugh.
“What? You find my attitude amusing?” Mason asked.
She snorted. “No. Thinking of something else. It’s good to know you’re still optimistic when your department thinks you kill prostitutes.”
“Ouch.” He thumped his hand on his chest, but his eyes wrinkled in a faint smile.
“I don’t think you’re a killer.”
“Good to know. And I return the sentiment.”
13
Ava gazed at her date in the romantic restaurant. The lighting was dim, the crowd was festive, and they had a sweeping nighttime view of the sparkling Willamette River from their table near the window. On the river walk outside, the second bench was in their line of sight, where an agent sat waiting with a black backpack.
Ava glanced at her watch. Nearly seven. The agent would walk away at seven, leaving the backpack tucked under the bench next to the legs. ASAC Ben Duncan sat across from her, his gaze glued to the agent, his phone at his ear. She tried to look calm, but felt hyperaware, as if she needed to memorize the movements of every diner in the restaurant and every passerby outside. Two other agents sat in the restaurant, taking up another prime table. The restaurant must have hated to lose it this last weekend before Christmas.
Tonight the Christmas Ships were out. Private yachts and sailboats paraded up and down the river, decked out in Christmas lights. Fans made reservations at restaurants with river views months in advance, the beautiful sight a Portland tradition. The ships paraded in December and sailed a few different routes, but tonight was a prime viewing evening for this seafood restaurant.
Walkers and shoppers strolled the twenty-foot-wide walkway in front of the restaurant. The concrete path continued north along the river and deeper into the city. On the west side of the walk stood the shops and restaurants; on the east side, the landscaped bank sloped gently down to the river and marina. Tiny white lights covered the trees that lined the walk. Die-hard diners sat at outdoor tables along the east side of the walk as waiters dashed between the outdoor tables and the restaurant. Huge propane heaters kept the diners warm. Supposedly. Ava saw a lot of scarves, bulky coats, and steaming drinks. She was thankful to be assigned indoors.
She knew teams were located at both ends of the walkway, and another team was down at the edge of the river in case their suspect had a water escape planned. Would their note writer come? Or were they sitting around waiting for nothing? She fought the urge to jump up and physically check the status of each team of agents. She could hear light chatter in her earpiece, but she felt blind. This was the hard part: waiting and trusting each person to do their job.
She was surprised the ransom note specified such a public drop. Granted, the writer may have believed the masses of people gave good cover. She took a sip of water and tried to slow her heart rate as she felt the minutes crawl by. Agents had been staking out the area since they’d received the note. The rest of the teams had arrived an hour ago. Ben hadn’t planned to include her, but she’d put her foot down. She was the eyes for the family, and the FBI needed every available set of hands. Or feet. Depending what the suspect decided to try.
The suspect could grab the cash and go north or south, assuming he didn’t head straight for the water. North offered a solid wall of shops and restaurants along one side of the walk. He’d have to go at least a hundred yards before he could leave the walkway. Heading south on the walk would offer him better options. Open streets, parking lots, and other freestanding buildings. Lots of nooks and crannies to lose someone in. Somewhere in that area were two cars with agents with a good sight line on the bench.
The bag held a small amount of money. Anyone who looked quickly would see stacks of hundreds. Anyone who took the time to dig through the money would find stacks of ones.
Ben reached across the table and took her hand, his gaze telling her to loosen up. She blinked and then relaxed. They were supposed to look like any other married couple out for a special dinner before Christmas, but she was probably putting out the vibes of someone who was ready to run a marathon. She’d layered a slinky top with a gold jacket and even worn flashy earrings and bracelets. The holiday look was compliments of Robin, who’d seemed to enjoy dressing her up. The bottom half of her outfit was her own. Sensible black slacks and black flats that worked for sprinting. She knew that because she’d put them to the test. Ben looked his usual business self in a jacket and button-down shirt.
He needed to put down his phone. Anyone watching them must feel sorry for her because her husband had been on his phone for their entire dinner. They both wore earpieces, but Ben had also made a half-dozen calls.
The agent at the bench gave the backpack a shove with his foot, tucking it farther under the bench. He stood, glanced around, straightened his jacket, and walked south. A young couple had sat on the bench with him for a solid ten minutes, cuddling and pointing at the water. Ava had breathed a sigh of relief when they’d left moments ago. The backpack seemed totally obvious to Ava, when in reality it probably went unobserved by most. The lighting in the area wasn’t the best; a casual passerby shouldn’t notice the bag. She squeezed Ben’s hand, and he gave a slow nod, ending his call.
Go time.
Minutes ticked by. Shoppers continued to stroll, people at the tables outdoors continued to eat and drink, and Ava sat straighter and straighter in her seat.
“Relax,” muttered Ben. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your chair.”
She forced her shoulders to slouch. A bit.
A busboy with a water pitcher filling glasses at an outdoor table did a double take at the backpack.
No. Leave it alone.
He glanced around the area and back to the pack. He filled glasses at the next table and then headed for the bench.
Damn it. A do-gooder.
He bent over and pulled out the pack, paused, and looked around again for the owner. He headed for the front door of the restaurant.
“Shit,” said Ben.
“An employee has picked up the backpack and is headed into the restaurant,” came through her earpiece.
Ava lost her view of the employee.
“Wait! He’s running for it!”
Ava and Ben leaped out of their chairs in unison with the other two agents in the restaurant and dashed for the front doors. Other diners looked up in surprise and jerked in their chairs as the agents thundered past.
They must think we’re dining and dashing.
She followed Ben, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a ruckus outside the restaurant. They pushed through the heavy front doors in time to see a black figure running down to the river.
Yes!
He was going to run straight into the arms of their agents at the water. Shouts filled the air, and Ava felt adrenaline pump through her system. She followed Ben past the bench and down the rough slope. Ahead, she could tell two agents already had their man on the ground, an agent’s knee in the center of his back.
She slid to a stop, trying to get a look at the face of their kidnapper. He struggled on his stomach, fighting the two men who held him down. Both agents yelled at him to hold still, and she heard one ask where Henley was.