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She glanced over her shoulder—
A car horn snapped her attention to an SUV careening toward her, brakes screeching. Before she could react, it hit her, slamming her to the pavement and knocking the wind out of her lungs. As she struggled to breathe, all she could think about was how disappointed Mom would be. After all, it was Robin’s job to make her parents doubly proud in order to ease the pain of losing a child.
Robin glanced up at the dark sky, hoping her brother would be the one to take her to heaven. Suddenly, her view was blocked by a man’s blue-green, intense eyes.
“Don’t move,” he said. “Everything will be okay.”
She closed her eyes, and a tear trailed down her cheek. I’m coming, Kyle, I’m coming.
Jake Walters paced the emergency room like a man waiting on the birth of his first child—only the woman he worried about was a complete stranger.
He couldn’t shake the terrified look he’d seen in her eyes.
Or the look of surrender before she’d closed them.
He’d thought for sure she was dead, killed running away from him and into the path of a moving vehicle.
But he’d meant her no harm. He’d been on a stakeout for his cop buddy Ethan Beck when he’d seen the petite woman flee the building as if she’d just seen a ghost.
Or a murder.
Minutes after the ambulance arrived at the scene, Ethan, a detective with the Seattle P.D., had called Jake to let him know a report of shots fired at the Chambers Building had been called in by a cleaning crew, and Ethan was on his way with backup.
Jake had told Ethan about the woman fleeing the building, and Ethan had asked Jake to stay with her until the ambulance arrived. Yeah, like anything could have ripped Jake away from the woman’s side? He’d felt responsible for her condition.
Now, an hour later at the hospital, Jake paced the E.R. waiting area and fisted his hand. The brunette was a stranger, and Jake had no legitimate reason to be here, but he’d stay close until he knew she was okay.
He leaned against the wall next to the E.R. doors and waited. He’d done his share of waiting with Mom as she’d fought the cancer that had taken her life.
Waiting drove him nuts.
“Jake?” Ethan said, walking toward him. Two of his men trailed close behind. “Hey, man, thanks for hanging around.”
They shook hands. Ethan and Jake had grown up together, fought off bullies in their Seattle neighborhood together, and joined the army together. Although they’d been split up in Iraq, they’d reconnected after they’d shipped home and had ended up in similar fields: Ethan, a detective for the Seattle P.D., and Jake, a Homeland Security agent, recently turned private investigator.
“How is she?” Ethan asked.
“They’re not telling me anything. I’m not family.”
Realization colored Ethan’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to hang around a hospital. Go on. Take off.”
“I’d rather stay, thanks. I feel responsible for this woman.”
“Yeah?”
“She was running from me when she got hit.”
Ethan eyed him. “Was she running from you or someone else?”
“She tore out of the building like it was on fire.”
“I’ll bet she witnessed it,” Ethan said, his voice low. “Detective Cole Edwards was shot and killed tonight.”
“Man, I’m sorry.”
“Did she say anything, give you any indication she saw what happened?” Ethan pressed.
“She whispered a name—Kyle, I think—then fell unconscious.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Ethan slapped Jake’s shoulder. “I’ll take it from here.”
“I don’t think she’s in any shape to talk to you.”
“Oh, she’ll talk.”
Ethan nodded to his men to stay in the hall and pushed open the E.R. door.
“E,” Jake called after him, but Ethan had disappeared. Jake didn’t like that Ethan might plan to pressure a fragile woman.
Robin Strand. Jake had looked at her ID in her wallet so he’d be able to give the hospital a name to go with that adorable face. There, he’d admitted it. The woman was adorable with her round face and subtle freckles dotting her nose. He glanced at the E.R. door. He hoped Ethan was being gentle with her, but considering a cop had been murdered, Jake wouldn’t be surprised if Ethan had a hard time being sensitive to her condition.
“You’re Beck’s army buddy?” asked a tall cop with a crew cut. He had a scar running across his right eyebrow.
“Actually, we’ve been friends since grade school.”
“Long time.”
“Yep.”
“I’m Detective Henry Monroe.” They shook hands. “This is Gabe Dunn.”
Gabe nodded and shook hands with Jake.
“You were with Homeland Security?” Monroe asked.
“Yep. Took a leave of absence and decided to go into business on my own.”
“How’s that working out?”
“Long hours, but it pays the bills.”
“Your connection to the girl?” He nodded toward the examining area.
“Don’t know her. ID says Robin Strand. Lives in Seattle, Greenlake, I think. I’m guessing she works in the Chambers Tower. She had a building pass.”
Detective Monroe pulled out a small notebook. “What were you doing at the Chambers Building?”
“Stakeout for a client.”
Jake suspected that Ethan hadn’t told his men that he had enlisted Jake’s help. Ethan had called last week asking if Jake had time to keep an eye on the after-hours activity at the Chambers Building, keep track of who came and went and at what times. Ethan knew something was going on in that building after hours, he just didn’t know what.
“What client?” Monroe asked.
“Confidential.” Jake wasn’t giving that up until E gave him permission to do so. When he’d called Jake, he’d said he suspected some kind of police corruption and needed to keep Jake’s involvement on the q.t.
Monroe narrowed his eyes at Jake. “Uh-huh. What time did you see her leave the building?”
“At 9:07.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes.”
“And she was running?”
“She was. I got out of the car and called out to her. That freaked her out even more, and she took off down Seneca. She didn’t get more than a block when the SUV nailed her.”
“We’ve got officers at the scene questioning the driver.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“Perhaps, but there’s a good chance Ms. Strand witnessed the shooting of Detective Edwards and needed to be silenced.”
“Was Edwards working a case?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Where did you find the body?” Jake asked.
“I’m supposed to be asking the questions,” Monroe said.
The E.R. doors swung open and Ethan marched out, worry lines creasing his forehead.
“Well?” Detective Monroe asked.
“She doesn’t remember anything.”
“About the shooting?” Jake asked.
Ethan pinned him with angry eyes. “Anything. As in, she can’t remember her name, where she’s from, what day it is.”
“That’s convenient,” Detective Monroe said, snapping his notebook shut.
Jake eyed the detective. “Convenient?”
“Sure, if she’s involved.”
Not in a million years, Jake thought. Fragile Robin Strand was no more a criminal than Jake was good father material.
“Doctor is calling it traumatic amnesia due to the blow to her head,” Ethan explained. “It’s temporary.”
“How temporary?” Monroe pushed.
“They don’t know,” Ethan said. “We all want this guy, Monroe. We’re just going to have to be patient or find him another way.”
“If the perp thinks she’s a witness and doesn’t know about this amnesia thing, then she’s still in danger,” Jake said.
“Then she should remember quick so we can put the guy away,” Detective Monroe snapped.
“It’s not like she’s choosing to forget,” Jake said.
“No?” Monroe challenged.
Ethan stepped between Jake and Detective Monroe. “Dunn, you stay and watch over Ms. Strand. Monroe and I will get with the crime scene investigator.”
Detective Monroe didn’t move at first. He stared at the E.R. doors.
It was devastating to lose a brother in blue and frustrating to know the eyewitness was unable to help.
Or unwilling?
“Thanks, buddy,” Ethan said, shaking Jake’s hand again. “You’ve done more than enough.”
“Hey, E, I need to—”
“Later, okay?” He started down the hall with Monroe, turned and said, “Go home, Jake. Get some sleep.”
“Hey, I don’t take orders from you anymore,” Jake said in reference to their childhood roles. Ethan had played an army major and Jake a sergeant. Even then, they’d dreamed of serving their country.
Ethan waved him off and disappeared outside.
Jake glanced at Detective Dunn, who stood rigidly beside the E.R. doors pressing buttons on his cell phone. Dunn was tall, husky and angry-looking. Sure he was. A brother had just been killed, possibly a friend. Jake had lost his share of those in Iraq.
“How long have you been a cop?” Jake asked.
“Ten years,” Dunn said, not looking up.
“Before that?”
“Military.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Which branch?”
The E.R. doors burst open and a young nurse glanced at Jake, then Detective Dunn. “Who came in with Miss Strand?”
“That would be me,” Jake said. “Jake Walters.”
“She’s asking for you.”
