“You do that.” He gathered up the items that fell out before coming around to the driver’s side of the van.
“I’m sorry. I— This was such a mistake,” Francesca said as he got in.
He made no comment. “You okay?”
She wiped her wet cheeks again. “I think I might need a few stitches.”
“How many times did he bite you?”
“J-just once.” She couldn’t seem to stop her teeth from chattering. “I don’t know how bad it is. I c-can’t see well enough in this light. B-but it hurts.”
“Let’s hope he’s had all his shots.” As he turned the key in the ignition, the starter made a grinding sound but the engine didn’t catch. Pumping the gas pedal, he tried again.
“What—what about you?” Worried, she watched him closely. “You’re injured, t-too.”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine. Let’s get out of here and find you some help.” The van’s engine finally revved, but it died and wouldn’t start again, which meant they had to endure the red-hot glares of Butch and Paris, and more filming from Dean, as they waited for an ambulance.
“Dogs are more dangerous than cats. But some cats can surprise you,” Dean said, as if anyone wanted to hear what he had to say.
Was that the meds talking? Francesca wondered as she struggled to recover from the shock and adrenaline rush of what she’d just been through. How could Dean be going on about cats in the aftermath of everything that’d taken place?
The paramedics and the police arrived at virtually the same time, and Francesca heard Butch’s version while she received medical attention. He spun a fabricated story, but Paris and even Dean backed him up. His in-laws were in the yard by then, too, playing up their grief over the dog, although it wouldn’t be dead if not for its owner, and venting their outrage at what had happened for the benefit of Dean’s camera.
“I can’t believe this,” Francesca grumbled to Jonah. She felt like a rag doll, so spent she had no energy left to argue her case.
Jonah was refusing to let one of the paramedics look at his knee. “Ignore it,” he said to her.
She wished she could. But Finch and Hunsacker were glaring at her with such rancor that she knew this wouldn’t end well.
Butch screamed that he planned to go on television and alert the public to the “abuses” he’d suffered and how the police and their “representatives” had infringed on his rights. No doubt the county investigators felt she’d jeopardized the reputation of the sheriff’s office, as well as the integrity of the investigation.
Or had Hunsacker told Butch to slip that ace up his sleeve?
It was an insidious thought, but Francesca couldn’t help recalling Finch’s earlier words, when he’d expressed concern that Butch might sue the department. Had he and Hunsacker discussed it, too? She knew from what she’d overheard Paris say earlier that Hunsacker was doing a little coaching on the side. Maybe he was actively working against the investigation….
That idea was so disconcerting she hated to even consider it. This case was difficult enough to solve.
“You hanging in there?” Jonah touched her shoulder as the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll have Finch drop me off at the hospital.”
With a nod, she closed her eyes.
It wasn’t until later, after she’d received a tetanus shot and twenty-four stitches and had been released from the emergency room, that she remembered the panties. Jonah was waiting for her in the lobby but, at that point, she wasn’t sure she wanted to tell anyone she’d taken them from the yard. Her actions had caused enough problems for one night. So, hoping that what Paris had said about “Julia” might make a difference, she told him everything she’d overheard at the salvage yard but left out one small detail—that she might have possession of physical evidence. She didn’t want to see how he’d react to learning she’d taken something that would now be inadmissible in court.
Seeing the Department 6 number on his call display, Jonah rolled out of bed and hit the answer button but carried his phone into the motel bathroom before saying hello. It was past eight, but he wanted to let Francesca sleep as long as possible. The emergency room had been so packed last night they hadn’t gotten to bed until after two.
“What have you got for me?” he asked whoever was on the phone.
“Shit. It was right here. Where’d it go?” Nate Ferrentino. Although Nate wasn’t generally on desk duty, Jonah recognized his friend’s voice. They both preferred being in the field, doing undercover work or, at the very least, some good old-fashioned, beat-the-pavement investigating. But Nate’s wife, Rachel, another operative at Department 6, was due to have their second son any day, and Nate wasn’t about to risk missing the big event. Jonah hadn’t seen him so excited since a little over a year ago, when they’d had their first child. He wouldn’t go anywhere if he couldn’t reach her within fifteen minutes.
Fortunately, the office was close to home. They were currently short-staffed in Los Angeles and needed some backup for the operatives who were on assignment. Milton Berger, the owner of the company, was opening an extension office in Tucson with Roderick Guerrero, Jonah’s closest friend in the company, and was spending most of his time there.
“Here it is.” Nate came back on the line. “I don’t know how it wound up clear over there.”
“You’re not much of a secretary,” Jonah said.
“I’m not a secretary at all, so kiss my ass,” he responded.
Jonah chuckled. “How’s Rach?”
“Uncomfortable and impatient. She’s also eating me out of house and home. But that’s to be expected at eight and a half months. It happened last pregnancy, too.”
“Dylan ready for his new brother?”
“Hell, yeah. Now he’ll have someone to pound on.”
They hadn’t planned on having children only sixteen months apart, but they didn’t seem unhappy about it. “With the size of that kid, I feel sorry for the new arrival.” Picturing Rachel as he’d last seen her, looking swollen and harried as she dragged Dylan through the office in search of his father, Jonah continued to smile. “You sure you’re ready to do this all over again?”
“You kidding? There’s nothing like it, man. Someday you’ll understand.”