Shoot: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 1) Page 5

  Part of him wanted to hangout by the restaurant, but that could alter the behavior of the attacker. What if the guy spotted him and left only to go two blocks over and attack someone else? Even if the thug had a thing for nurses, he might just go up the street closer to the ‘L’ platform and hide there. CJ wouldn’t have a clue until the time passed and nothing happened. Not wanting to chance that scenario, he pulled his car around the corner, and parked. He scrunched down to get out of sight.

  From his vantage point, he could see the street and would be able to spot the woman as soon as she descended the ‘L’ platform. That would leave him enough time to ditch the car and make his way to the restaurant before she reached it. An alley cut down the center of the block and he’d be parallel to her.

  He rolled down the windows to hear better as he hunkered down and checked his phone every few minutes for the time and for any texts from Mark. So far, there had been none, and CJ resigned himself to doing this alone. As the time neared, he sat straighter, checking for any sign of the attacker. He hadn’t been thirsty when he’d ordered his drink, but now he was glad to have it as nerves pulled the moisture from his mouth. As he wiped his hands on his thighs, he figured his body had just rearranged the distribution, but wished it would go back to normal.

  After a last sip and swipe of his palms on his jeans, CJ slipped out of the car when the rumble of the train went by. A few seconds later, he spotted the woman matching the woman in the dream separate from a group of commuters who headed in the opposite direction. As he headed to parallel her route, he felt like some kind of stalker as he darted into the shadows of the alley.

  It occurred to him that the attacker could also be lurking in the alley, so CJ kept his hand on the hilt of his knife. Cautiously, he tried to keep to the shadows, ignoring the scurrying he assumed came from rats. He’d seen his share of the rodents in D.C. so they didn’t faze him. He paused when he saw a shadow move in the alleyway ahead of him. Should he continue this way? Or cut through the side of the business beside the restaurant and come up behind the woman? He decided on the latter, wanting a chance of putting himself between the attacker and the woman. If he came up behind the attacker, the man could grab the woman before CJ had a chance to reach her.

  CJ made his way down the narrow passageway, freezing when his toe hit something that bounced off a wall with a clatter. Shit! To his ears, it sounded as loud as a gunshot, but in reality, it was barely discernible over the sound of a car heading down the street. CJ bit his lip as he navigated the debris-strewn minefield that was the passageway. Broken bottles, crinkly newspaper and crumpled cans were the mines, but no less deadly despite their benign appearance.

  He picked up his speed in a clear patch of pavement, trying to make up lost time because he saw the scene in his head and knew the woman would try the doors of the restaurant just before the thug would grab her. Deciding maybe the debris could be used to his advantage, he listened again, hearing the soft crunch of glass to his right. That would be her crossing the mouth of the alley. That left just the business on CJ’s left for her to pass before she reached the restaurant.

  CJ crouched as he inched around the corner. The streetlights cast enough light for him to easily spot the woman. Her pale scrubs seemed to glow under the orange light cast by the ground lights illuminating the bushes of the sparse landscaping at the front of the building.

  The woman tugged at the handle of the doors. CJ’s heart accelerated and his stomach twisted. He suddenly wished he hadn’t finished off the soda. It was going to happen in the next few seconds. He glanced around, not seeing anyone else at the moment, but the guy had been quick in the dream. One second not there, the next, attacking the nurse. Should he let the man grab her? He hated that he’d probably have to allow the attacker to make the first move in order to claim he was defending the woman. Otherwise, the asshole could claim that CJ was the attacker.

  His heart galloped in his chest as though he’d just run the last leg of a relay race. He thought about drawing the knife, but wanted both hands free to try to disarm the other man.

  He visualized a series of maneuvers. It was something he’d always done before a match in competitions. At the woman’s strangled cry, CJ held back, waiting for the man to drag her into the dark passage along the side of the restaurant. He knew the man would have his back to CJ as he wrestled with the woman. It wasn’t ideal and he just hoped she wasn’t injured yet. He didn’t think she was, at least, not seriously. Probably some bruises and scrapes though.

  The second the man’s back was turned, CJ rushed forward and grabbed the guy by the hood of his sweatshirt. He pulled the man up, and at the same time, swept his foot beneath the thug’s, tripping him.

  The guy shouted, but the protest was cut off when his face hit the pavement. An instant, later, CJ’s knee crashed into the attacker’s back. The thug flailed, one arm reaching back for CJ. Avoiding his clutches, CJ grabbed that arm and tried to capture the right arm too, but felt a burning pain on the side of his calf. He lifted his leg out of instinct, which forced all of his weight upon the knee pressing into the thug’s back. The attacker swore, but there was no force behind it. Pain fueled CJ’s anger at the guy as he caught the man’s knife hand and gave it a savage yank. He bent it up against the thug’s back until it was almost between his shoulder blades. CJ grunted as the burn in his leg flared and hot liquid soaked into his sock. He gave the hand another violent push against the attacker’s spine. The man screamed and finally dropped the knife. CJ wanted to kick it away, but his stance wouldn’t allow it. Now what?

  CJ cursed that he hadn’t considered this part of the save. He had the guy down, but had no way of keeping him there for long.

  The woman scrabbled to her feet and looked as if she was going to race away, but CJ needed her to call police. It was the one thing he forgot to do. Shit. “Miss…don’t go! Do you have a phone?”

  She looked at CJ, her eyes like saucers. CJ grunted as he strained to hold the struggling attacker. “I can’t hold him much longer!” His foot slid, and his stomach churned as he considered the source of the liquid that pooled around his shoe and made the pavement slippery. The wound couldn’t be that bad. Just a cut. He hoped. “Come on! Call the cops already!”

  That snapped her out of her mute panic and she stuttered, “I…uh…in my purse.” She cast a wild look around. “I don’t know where it went.” The young woman spun in a circle, her eyes on the ground, then looked past CJ and pointed. “I think it fell behind you.”

  “I’m kind of busy here. You’re gonna have to get it.” The thug must have sensed an opportunity to get away as his struggles to break out of CJ’s control intensified and he managed to free the arm that wasn’t bent like a pretzel against his back. He couldn’t reach CJ with it, but he was trying to push up from the ground. If he managed to gain leverage, CJ would lose his advantage.

  Gritting his teeth with the effort, muscles straining with fatigue, CJ ground out, “Just get the one I have in my back pocket!”

  As she hesitated, casting a fearful glance at the would-be attacker, CJ said, “I got him! Get the damn phone!.” With that, he exerted more pressure on the man’s arm and pressed his knee harder. The sound that came from the guy should have alerted someone in the area, but CJ couldn’t count on anyone else calling the cops. A stream of profanity poured out of the man’s mouth, calling him every filthy name in the book and some CJ had never even heard before.

  The woman pressed against the wall of the fast food joint and skirting the man, reached into CJ’s pocket, tugging out the phone. She scrambled away as if the two men were a bomb set to explode any second, and made the call to police. As she closed the phone, she started to hold it out to CJ, then realized he couldn’t take it, so she clutched it to her chest.

  His leg burned as the first rush of adrenaline wore off. Grimacing, he fought to maintain his grip on the man’s hand. Sweat slicked the thug’s arm, and CJ’s grip slipped. He regained it after leaning hard on the gu
y’s back with his knee.

  CJ ground out, “Move again, and I’ll break your arm, asshole!” It would only take…just… a…little more…pressure. Sirens sounded close and he just needed to hang on a few seconds longer until help arrived.

  The thug kicked with his legs. It would have been ineffective with him face down, but one lucky kick hit CJ’s wounded leg.

  “Ow! Shit!”

  Surprise and pain distracted him for only an instant but it was enough. The thug jerked his body to the left and CJ lost his grasp on the guy’s left arm. With another twist, the guy pulled free. CJ lunged for him, but caught only a handful of cloth as the guy bolted down the alley.

  Sprawled on his belly, CJ pushed up, but his toe slid on gravel, and his knee banged against the ground.

  The woman held out her hand. “Here!”

  Swearing, he grasped her hand, pulling himself to his feet. He took a limping step after the attacker.

  “Freeze!”

  CJ almost ignored the command as the attacker disappeared around the corner. He took another step, but froze when the woman screamed, “No!”

  “Hands on your head!”

  “But-!”

  “Do it!”

  He clasped his hands behind his head.

  “On your knees. Now!”

  CJ dropped, grimacing as his leg scraped the pavement.

  A hand patted him down and then a cuff snapped around one wrist, then the other. The cop yanked CJ to his feet and pushed him towards a police car angled against the curb.

  CJ twisted to see the cop. “Hold on, I’m not the bad guy.” He jutted his chin towards the alley. “He just took off! If you hurry, you might still catch him!”

  “Shut up! Lean over the hood!”

  CJ took the humiliating position with his chest against the hood as the cop completed a more thorough pat down, pulling CJ’s knife out of the sheath. Turning his head, he saw another cop talking to the woman. She pointed towards the alley and he hoped like hell she was vouching for him.

  The cop ordered him to straighten and turn around. The man gave him a hard look, and pulled something from CJ’s wallet. His license. Good, then maybe they could get this all straightened out.

  “What’s your name?”

  CJ answered him and all the other identification questions, explaining that he was in Chicago visiting his father. The cop shoved the license back in the wallet. “So, what’s going on here? That your girlfriend?”

  “What? No! I never saw her before.”

  “So why were you trying to drag her down the alley?”

  “I wasn’t! The other guy was!”

  “What other guy?”

  CJ narrowed his eyes. “The one who got away while you were busy frisking me.”

  “Right.” The cop shook his head and grabbed CJ’s elbow, steering him into the backdoor of the cop car, opening it. “Wait here.”

  He slammed the door, locking CJ in. Twisting, CJ saw the cop approach the woman and the other cop. It seemed like forever, before the cop returned and opened the door.

  “All right. Here’s the deal. The woman says someone grabbed her, and then you were there jumping that guy. I gotta tell you, it sounds like a crock. I think she’s covering for you. Even said she had never seen you before. Did you work that out before we got here?”

  “I don’t know her! I swear it.”

  “Yeah, well, we have a knife we found in the alley, and you seem to have a fondness for knives.”

  “That’s the other guy’s knife!” CJ lifted his foot. “See? He got me with it!”

  The cop clamped his mouth shut, his eyes boring through CJ as though weighing whether to bother looking at CJ’s leg. Finally, he dropped his gaze to CJ’s leg, pulling out a flashlight.

  CJ’s stomach did a flip at the sight of the torn denim, soaked purple in the light, and bright red showing through the gash in the material. He swallowed hard.

  “Okay. Hold on.”

  The cop left again to speak to the woman. CJ watched as she shook her head at in response to some question. She looked at CJ while she spoke to the cop but he couldn’t read her expression. It was the first good look he’d had of her other than in his dream or photos, and but she’d been scared out of her mind or dead in those. She was much prettier alive and calm.

  It struck CJ then. He’d done it. She wasn’t dead. He grinned. Her eyebrows knit in puzzlement when she looked his way, but then she turned to the police officer again, listening as he said something to her. She nodded. With a last confused look at CJ, she left, getting into a car that had pulled up.

  The cop ambled over towards the car again. “The young lady seems to corroborate your story. Step on out here.”

  The cuffs came off, but CJ didn’t receive any kind of apology. Instead, the cop warned about how the outcome could have been much worse. His knife was returned, but the officer made a point of how he was letting CJ off easy by not arresting him for carrying a concealed weapon. Shoving his wallet back in his pocket, CJ muttered, “Thanks.”

  “Here’s the case number. “

  CJ took the slip of paper and glanced at it. “Case number?”

  “Yeah, you might need it as you should probably get that leg looked at. When the doctor asks how it happened, you can explain and give him the number so he’ll know that we are already aware of the incident.”

  “Oh.” CJ took the paper and hobbled back towards his car. As he gingerly climbed in, wincing when his leg brushed against the edge of the seat, he saw his drink sitting in the center console. It was still cold. It seemed like hours had passed, but according to his dashboard clock, only thirty minutes had gone by since he’d left the car. Incredible. He reached in his pocket for his phone. Puzzled when he came up empty, he checked his other pockets. Nothing. Had the cop taken it? He thought back and remembered giving it to the woman. He didn’t even know her name. Sighing, he drove to his dad’s.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Ms. Harlow? You don’t need medical attention?”

  Blanche brushed a few bits of gravel off her purse. “Yes. I mean, no.” She shook her head and slung the purse over her shoulder, folding her arms. “I mean, I’m fine-just a scrape on my knee and one set of ruined scrubs.” She glanced down at the hole in her pant leg. She had just bought these last week, too. Her hands burned where she’d skinned them on the ground, but the skin wasn’t broken. If only she could hold them still. “I’m mostly just a little shaky.” She lifted her arm, palm horizontal to the ground to demonstrate. “What I want is to just go home. My apartment is down the street. Is it okay if I leave now?”

  The officer glanced around. “Why don’t I drop you off and make sure you get there safely?”

  Blanche nodded. She’d never been too concerned before, but even though her apartment was just a block away, the street had taken on a sinister atmosphere after what had just happened. Or almost happened. If that other guy hadn’t been there, would she be standing here talking to a police officer right now? Grisly alternate outcomes flashed through her mind. Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the scenes. A shiver shook her, which was crazy because it was a warm evening. Drawing a deep breath, she let it out slowly. She was fine and there was no sense in dwelling on what might have happened.

  She opened her eyes to find the officer watching her, concern on his face. His expression reminded her of her father. He would have been frantic with worry. For the first time, tears flooded her eyes. What she wouldn’t give to call him and hear his voice. That would calm her for sure. She swiped a hand across her eyes, embarrassed at the sudden waterworks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” A laugh bubbled out. “So embarrassing.”

  “It’s a natural response. You’ve been through a traumatic experience. Come on. I’ll see you to your door.”

  “Thank you, Officer. I’d appreciate that.”

  Blanche sat in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, clutching her purse in her lap. “What happe
ned to the guy who helped me? Why did you hand-cuff him?”

  “We just had to sort everything out. He doesn’t have a record—we even cross-checked with his hometown police department—and he’s clean. Once you corroborated his story, we had to let him go.”

  The officer started the car, but didn’t pull away from the curb immediately. His gaze fixed on her for a moment, studying her, before he asked, “You’re sure you never met him before? It’s okay if you did. You can tell us. You wouldn’t believe how many times girls try to protect their boyfriends, but I can tell you from experience that if he’s roughing you up now, he’s not going to stop. They never do.”

  Blanche pulled back, leaning against the door and glared at the cop. She should have just walked. “I said I’d never seen him before. Why would I lie?”

  “I’m not saying you are….just that it wouldn’t be the first time a girl-”

  She held up a hand and pasted on a smile. She knew he was only trying to help. “I appreciate the advice. Really. I do, but I don’t need it because I’ve never seen the guy before. I don’t even know his name. He could pass me on the street tomorrow and I wouldn’t even recognize him.”

  His face popped into her mind. Dark hair falling across his brow, white teeth flashing when he’d yelled at her to call the police, and a square jaw. Okay, so maybe she’d recognize him, but she didn’t know him. She just wished she had as vivid an image of the attacker. It sure would have helped the police a lot more than the vague description she’d been able to give. He’d been stocky and one of his fingernails dug into her neck, scratching her. That was it. If she could have given more details, the cop might not be accusing her of lying to protect that other guy.