Shoot: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 1) Read online

  “Here it is.” She pointed to her building. “My door is right there, so I’m fine from here. Thanks again.”

  “No problem. Take care.”

  Blanche nodded, feeling guilty for snapping at the man. “If I remember anything more about the attacker, I’ll contact you.”

  He nodded, and Blanche was grateful when he didn’t drive away until she was safely inside her apartment.

  Once inside, she turned on every light and checked all the closets. She felt silly, knowing the attacker wouldn’t likely be lurking here, but she checked anyway. What if someone had found a way in?

  Finding everything safe and secure, she went into her bedroom and tossed her purse on the bed and stripped out of her scrubs, throwing them on the end of the bed. She didn’t want to mix the torn pants in with her laundry as they’d have to go in the trash. She turned her arms, looking down to see if she could see bruises where he had grabbed her. A bath. That’s what she needed. A nice, hot soak to take away the feel of his hands on her skin. She took her bathrobe from the back of her door and carried it into the bathroom.

  Once the water was running hot, she poured in a generous amount of her favorite bubble bath and made sure her scented sugar scrub was handy. The aroma of mint and rosemary was already relaxing her as it filled the small room.

  As she waited for the tub to fill, she studied her reflection. Surprisingly, she didn’t look any different than usual, except for the scratch on her neck. Leaning in, she peered at it. It wasn’t bad and probably would fade by morning. Good. She didn’t want to have to explain it at work tomorrow night. No doubt Elena would scold her about not having a car, but really, the attack could just have easily happened in front of her building. It wasn’t exactly the best lit street in the city. Her friend wouldn’t see it that way though. When they worked the same shift, Elena insisted on giving her a ride home, but she hadn't been scheduled tonight.

  Blanche turned off the water and leaving her hair in a ponytail, eased into the tub. With a sigh, she rested her head on the edge, sliding into the steaming, silky, water up to her neck. The heat seeped into muscles. She bet she’d be sore tomorrow. If only she could stay in the tub all night. Closing her eyes, she tried to think of anything but the attack.

  She mentally created a to-do list for her day off tomorrow. Shopping, laundry, and studying. Her eyes popped open as she remembered a final at the end of the week. Did she have all of her study materials here? Sometimes she left a book in her work locker to study on break, but she was pretty sure she had brought it home yesterday. Why had she thought she could go to school part-time and still work? Granted, it wasn’t as if she had a choice. Bills didn’t pay themselves and she needed to finish school so she could be a nurse practitioner.

  How pathetic that the only things she had to take her mind off the attack were work and school. This sure wasn’t the life she’d imagined when she moved to Chicago from the suburbs. It had seemed glamorous and sophisticated, but mostly it was noisy and crowded. And lonely. She’d thought she’d have time to go to a club now and then, but not only did she not have time, she found that the idea of going to a club was more appealing than actually going. She wanted to have a good time, but usually left early. It just wasn’t her thing. She yawned as the heat did its magic. If it wasn't for the intrusion of thoughts from the attack, she'd be well on her way to slumber-land.

  Okay, what else did she have coming up, besides tests? There was her cousin Ellen's wedding, but that was two months away. She'd be done with classes by then and could finally have a little fun. Too bad she had nobody to take to the wedding. That was the problem with family weddings. Half the men there were related to her somehow.

  She tried closing her eyes again and relaxing, but all she could see behind closed lids was the attacker and the guy who helped her, wrestling in the alley. And the knife. Shivering, she sank lower in the hot water. She remembered the flash and the clatter when it hit the ground. Would the attacker really have used it on her?

  Her line of thought wasn’t helping her relax and she gave up trying. A glass of wine should do the trick. It would help her get to sleep.

  She got out of the tub and dried off, shrugging into her favorite robe. Thick and soft, it enveloped her like a cocoon of terry cloth. A safe, warm cocoon. Padding into the kitchen, she poured a small glass of wine. She wasn’t much of a wine drinker, but Elena liked a glass now and then, so she kept a bottle on hand for when her friend stopped by. She claimed it helped her study. Smiling, Blanche sipped the chardonnay. Sure it did. It was their running joke. Hey, whatever got them through their boards. Taking the glass into her bedroom, she set it on her nightstand and searched for the TV remote under her pillows. She hoped it hadn’t fallen between the headboard and the mattress again.

  She jumped when a loud buzz sounded just beneath her. The coverlet vibrated. Heart racing, she froze. It came again, and she looked at her purse. Her phone didn’t usually buzz, but maybe she’d put it on silent by accident. The buzz came again, but this time, she saw her scrub pants move. Puzzled, she picked them up and fished in the pocket and pulled out a cellphone. It took her a moment to place it.

  It was the guy’s. Maybe he was trying to call it to get it back. She looked at the screen. It wasn’t a call, it was a text. It took her a moment to find a way to retrieve the text messages as it was a different model from her own cellphone, but she figured it out and saw that there were several missed texts.

  She bit her lip. Should she read them? It was probably the guy waiting for her to reply so he could get his phone back. Blanche opened the first missed text.

  “Finished up my job. Need help with the nurse thing? Can probably get there in time. Need to know your location.”

  A chill swept her as she noted the time of the text. It was right around the time she had been attacked, maybe a little before. She mentally calculated the time her train let her off, and added a few minutes. No, it was definitely before she had been attacked. What the hell? Had this guy planned the attack? Was he the one who had gotten away? Could they have been working as a team? But why fight each other? It didn’t make sense. Her hands shook as she scrolled to the next message. This one was closer to the time of the attack.

  “How did things go with the nurse attack? Let me know asap.”

  Who was the guy doing the asking? She saw the number was labeled ‘Mark’. No last name. She grabbed her purse and dumped it on the bed, finding a pen and small notebook. She jotted the number down and Mark’s name. The next two messages were just a couple of brief inquires about how things had gone. Both had been sent while she had been in the tub. Her skin crawled thinking about it. But the cops had checked the guy out and said he was clean. No record. Maybe the time was off on the phone. Where was he from? The officer had said something about checking with the guy’s hometown police department.

  She scrolled through a few more texts writing down numbers and names. The most recent ones on the calls received, she wrote first. Other than ‘Mark’, there were a couple from ‘Dad’ and ‘Dad-work’. Those all had Chicago area codes, but most of the numbers in his cell had an unfamiliar code. She almost went to her computer to look up the area code, but glanced at the clock, astonished to find out it was near three am. Scooping everything back into her purse except for the notebook and the phone, she went to bed. Tomorrow she would call the police and see what they thought she should do.

  * * *

  “So let me get this straight-a guy stops some kind of attack. You ended up with his phone and now you want me to arrest him because of some text messages?”

  Blanche had hoped the officer who had driven her home would be at the precinct, but he didn’t come in until later in the day. “I know it sounds ungrateful, but if you knew what they said, you’d be suspicious, too.” She opened the phone and started to lean over to show the cop.

  The cop looked over his shoulder before peering at the screen. “I see a conversation mentioning a nurse being attacked, but you sa
id you were attacked and the guy receiving the message jumped in and prevented any harm from coming to you, right?”

  “Yes, but the timing is all wrong. The call came in before I was even off the train.”

  “Well, look here. The time on the screen is an hour ahead of us. Eastern time. That explains it.”

  “But that would mean it should read later than what took place here in Chicago, not earlier.” It was confusing, but she knew she was right.

  “Whatever. It’s not enough for an arrest. Listen, Ms. Harlow, I pulled up the report and it looks like the man was questioned and cleared by your own account of the attack.”

  “Yes, I know, but that was before I read the text messages.”

  The officer rubbed a hand over his bald head, stopping to scratch behind his ear. “Okay, here’s what I can do. I can call the number labeled ‘Dad’, and report the phone as found. We can request that the young man…” he squinted at the computer screen, “Christopher Sheridan, come in to pick up the phone. When he gets here, we can say we have a few more questions we forgot to ask last night, and since he’s here already, why not clear it all up.” He crossed his arms and sat back. “That’s about the best I can do and honestly, I’m not even sure about the legality of reading the texts.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Blanche that she might have committed a crime. Her face heated with shame, but she hadn’t intended to snoop. She was only trying to find out how to return the phone. She pulled the notebook from her purse. At least she had the number written down so they wouldn’t have to go through the phone again looking for it.

  “Here are a couple of numbers I’ve written down, Officer,” she glanced at the name plate on the front of the desk, “O'Keefe. There are two for ‘Dad’.”

  He took the paper and picked up the phone. After thirty seconds, Hawthorne left a brief message about the found phone. He hung up and looked like he was finished, but Blanche raised an eyebrow. “What about the other number?”

  “You want me to call his father at work?”

  “Why not? Phones are expensive. They might be looking for it.”

  “Fine.” He jabbed the numbers and sent her a sour look. A second later, a look of surprise crossed his features and he straightened in his chair. “Uh, yes sir.” He cleared his throat. “Hello, this is Officer O'Keefe with Chicago P.D. I was just calling because we have a phone here we believe might belong to your son. Is his name Christopher?”

  He glared at Blanche before he replied to whatever the dad said. “Of course, sir. We’d be happy to release the phone to you, but I should also mention there was a little incident last night involving your son-no! No, he’s not in trouble or anything. We just have some follow-up questions. I’m sure you know how that is.” O'Keefe grimaced but Blanche got the impression that it was supposed to pass for a smile. He gave the precinct number and hung up. Then he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed. “Do you know who that was?”

  Blanche shrugged.

  “That was Jim Sheridan.”

  The name meant nothing to her. She shook her head. “I’m sorry…”

  “He’s Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Division of the FBI, Oh, and he’s rumored to have ties to the C.I.A as well.”

  Blanche swallowed hard. “I see. But you’ll still talk to him?”

  O'Keefe sighed. “Yeah, but I gotta tell you, I’m glad he’s coming in after my shift is over. Your officer from last night, Hamilton, can deal with it when he comes in at three. Sheridan said he’d be here around six. Man, Hamilton is going to kick my ass for this.”

  O'Keefe started to put the phone in a bag, but Blanche covered it with her hand. “Maybe I should return it myself. I must have made a mistake in my interpretation.”

  O'Keefe looked at her hand, then up at her. “Listen, I just called the head honcho at the FBI about a found phone, and I sure as hell am not going to call him back and say, ‘Never mind.’”

  Blanche removed her hand from the bag. “I feel like an idiot now.” She sighed. “Can I have my notebook back, at least? I have some of my notes for class in there.”

  O'Keefe handed it to her, his expression softer. “Hey, don’t worry. The guy thanked me for letting him know about the phone. I don’t think he was angry or anything. Besides, you never know-even cops’ kids get in trouble with the law sometimes.”

  Blanche gave him a weak smile. “Sure.”

  Chapter Five

  “You want me to go in with you?”

  “No. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  “That’s good because I’ll probably have to circle the block since I can’t see any parking spots out here. If I’m not in front when you get out, just wait for me, I’ll come back around eventually.”

  CJ approached the tall desk as he entered the precinct. “Hi, my name is Chris Sheridan. I got a call that you have my phone here.”

  “I think that was Detective Hamilton. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  A detective? That seemed like overkill to return a found phone.

  “Chris?”

  CJ recognized him from the night before. “Yes, sir. You have my phone?”

  “I believe I do. Why don’t you come with me to get it?” He opened the gate and ushered CJ down a hall into a small office with a plain desk. “Wait here. I’ll get it.”

  Why hadn’t he brought it with him when he came to the front desk? CJ shoved his hands in his pocket as he glanced around the room. There was no computer, just three chairs around the desk. With its beige walls, unadorned, and thin navy carpeting, it looked like rooms he’d seen for questioning suspects, which made sense in a police station. Of course, he was sure they used it for general questions too, for people filing complaints. Could they have caught the attacker? Or maybe they wanted him to go through mug shots to see if he could identify anyone.

  He didn’t have to wait long before Hamilton returned, CJ’s phone in hand, but no book of mug shots.

  CJ reached for his phone, but Hamilton pulled it out of reach. “Hold on a second. I have a few questions to ask you first.”

  “My number is-”

  “Oh, it matches the number registered to you.”

  CJ took a half-step back. “You checked that?”

  “Yes, because, you see, I had to make sure it belonged to you. The person who returned it had, naturally, looked through the stored numbers to find a number to call to return the phone.”

  CJ nodded. “Yeah.”

  “But not knowing how to operate your model of phone, they also stumbled into your text messages.”

  Confused, CJ said, “So…? I’m sure she was just trying to get the phone back to me.”

  Hamilton’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t say who had returned the phone.”

  “I just figured it was the nurse, or whatever she was, from last night. I handed it to her to call 911. In all the confusion, she forgot to give it back. No hard feelings.”

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Chris.” Hamilton swept a hand towards the chairs, angling one for CJ.

  “CJ. I go by CJ.” Wary of the sudden request to sit, he complied, but sat on the edge, his back stiff. “This isn’t going to take too long, is it? My dad gave me a ride and he’s waiting outside.”

  “No, not at all. I wouldn’t want to have to deal with the FBI over this matter.”

  “You know my father?”

  “No, but I spoke to him on the phone. The number on your phone connected to his Chicago office of the FBI. Even a lowly Chicago detective can figure that out.”

  “I didn’t mean anything, just thought you knew him from working with him or something.” CJ felt heat creep into his cheeks. He wiped a hand across his brow. Was it hot in here or was it just him? Hamilton looked comfortable enough.

  “I wouldn’t want to keep your father waiting, so I’ll cut to the chase. You’re right, it was the young woman from last night who returned the phone, and she came across some texts that alarmed her. Now, I haven’t been able to confirm them as I have
n’t looked through your phone, but with your permission, I’d like to take a look now. We can clear this all up in a matter of moments.” He smiled, but his eyes looked cold. Almost angry.

  “Texts? What texts?”

  Hamilton held CJ’s phone up, his finger poised over the ‘On’ button. “May I?”

  CJ lifted a shoulder. “Sure, go for it.”

  Hamilton pushed the button, then took a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket and perched them on his nose, looking down at CJ’s phone as he scrolled through the menu.

  “Here. I let me.” CJ reached for the phone, but once again, Hamilton pulled it away, giving him a stern look over the rim of his glasses.

  “So you can erase them before I get a chance to read the evidence?”

  “Hey, hold on a second. I was just going to show you where the messages are stored, but whatever. You may end up deleting them yourself with the way you’re fumbling around with the buttons.” Crossing his arms, CJ sat back.

  “Ah, okay. Here we go.” His lips stretched into a formation that resembled a smile. “I found them. It says, ‘How did the attack go?’ It was sent by a number labeled, “Mark” and the time it was sent was right about the time we were handcuffing you-so my question is, who is Mark and how did he know about the attack?”

  Shit! CJ licked his lips. “I was sitting in my car when I saw something suspicious in the alley right about the time the nurse was walking by. I happened to be on the phone with my friend, Mark, and mentioned it to him. I got out and followed the nurse to make sure she was okay.”

  It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was pretty close.

  “So, if I check, I’ll see a record of an incoming or outgoing call to this ‘Mark’ shortly before the incident?”

  “Uh, maybe.” CJ shifted on the chair, clasping his hands in his lap. The room was stifling; like being in a blast furnace. It was probably a technique to make a suspect sweat it out. “Listen, sir-Detective Hamilton- I know it sounds suspicious, but I’m sure it was just a joke. I haven’t even seen the texts or anything.”