Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(57)

“I’m with a private firm,” Erik said as he got behind the wheel. “You remember what time you got to work Tuesday?”

“I get in every day at oh-seven-hundred,” he said. “Seven a.m.”

His words caught Erik’s attention. The man sounded like former military, which would make him more observant than the average civilian.

“What about other vehicles?” Erik asked.

“What about them?”

“Did you see any vehicle that didn’t belong there? Or any suspicious people hanging around there in the parking garage?”

A pause.

Erik sat behind the wheel, waiting. “Mr. Mathis?”

“There was a black Honda. About ten years old. It was on level three, parked right by the stairwell when I pulled in.”

“You happen to get the model on that?”

“A Civic, I think. Or could have been an Accord. The back bumper was dented—I noticed that.”

“Anyone in the vehicle?”

“Yeah, a guy was sitting there. Looked like he was reading something. Or maybe on his phone. I figured he was waiting for someone.”

Erik started the car. “Listen, Mr. Mathis, are you at work right now? I’d like to swing by and show you a few pictures. It will only take a minute.”

“I really didn’t see much.”

People always said that. And then they were always surprised by how much they did see. An in-person interview would help Erik get details this guy didn’t even know he’d picked up.

With a little more convincing, Mathis agreed to meet, and Erik made a call to notify Trent before pulling back onto Commerce Street. He drove west a block, then got into the left-turn lane to catch the cross street that would take him to the Ames Theater.

Erik scanned the intersection as he waited for the light. The streets were busy with people coming home from work or heading out for the evening. Several sidewalk cafés were filled with happy-hour customers.

A man in a baseball cap caught Erik’s eye. Medium height, medium build. Nothing unusual, except . . . something was off about him. His shoulders were hunched up, and he had his chin ducked low as he stared out from under the brim of his cap.

A horn beeped behind him, and he glanced in his rearview. He took the turn, then watched in his mirrors as the guy walked into the yogurt shop two blocks down from the Atrium. Erik caught a glimpse of his goatee.

The hair on the back of Erik’s neck stood up.

Was it Corby? He looked a lot like one of those police drawings. It was hard to tell for sure at a glance, though. But he made a habit of following his instincts, so he dialed Trent’s number as he turned onto a side street and circled the block.

“Are you with Brynn?” Erik asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re in the apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t leave there.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just stay there until you hear from me.” He hung up and called Skyler. “Where are you? Where’s Ross?” he asked.

“He’s right here. We’re about to pick up dinner. Why?”

“I just saw this guy—”

Muffled screams came over the phone. Erik swerved to the curb and jammed on the brakes.

“Skyler?” He jumped out and ran toward the Atrium. “Skyler, report!”

More muffled screams. Then Skyler’s voice, “Man down! Man down!”





ERIK CUT through the crowd, his gaze locked on a commotion on the sidewalk in front of Bamboo Palace. A knot of people had formed there, and Erik’s heart lurched as he saw Skyler kneeling on the pavement.

Ross lay on his side in a pool of blood, blinking up at the people gathered around him.

“Call 911!” Skyler yelled, shoving her phone at a bystander.

“Skyler!”

She looked up at Erik. “He stabbed him! Then he took off !”

“Which way?”

“East. Baseball cap, black hoodie, jeans.” She stripped off her T-shirt and pressed it against the gushing wound at Ross’s side. “I’ve got this. You go!”

Erik raced down the street, darting around people. He caught sight of the man in the ball cap as he ducked around a corner.

Erik sprinted after him, SIG in hand. He sidestepped a jogger and pushed through a knot of people clogging the sidewalk near a bus stop, then ran around the corner just in time to see Corby disappearing around a building.

Erik raced to the location. It was an alley, and he bolted down it as Corby neared the end, where he grabbed a milk crate and flung it into Erik’s path before ducking around another corner. Erik ran after him, hurdling the crate and pulling the buzzing phone from his pocket with his free hand.

“Where are you?” Jeremy demanded.

“Corby’s fleeing west on Pearl Street! I repeat, west on Pearl.” Erik didn’t take his eyes off his target as he tore after him. Horns blared as Corby dashed through traffic, then slid across the hood of a red Corvette parked at a meter.

“Give me a description,” Jeremy ordered. “We’ve got the marshals on the phone.”

Erik halted to wait for a break in traffic, then sprinted across, sliding across the hood of the same Corvette.

“Brown goatee, blue baseball hat, black hooded sweatshirt and jeans.”