Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(88)

“Need to find Chet,” he said.

They limped toward the lights.



Mac rode shotgun in Officer Dane’s patrol car. They were flying on the rural straightaway that led to the abandoned rail yard. Lights flickered around them, but the sirens were off. They didn’t want to spook the suspects.

She stared straight ahead. “You’re really a wildlife biologist?”

“Yes.”

“What do you study?”

“Otters.”

Her brow lifted. “Otters?”

“Yeah. Otters.”

“Interesting.” Her tone sounded more puzzled than curious. “How do you know the rail yard so well?”

“I spent considerable time out there as a teenager.”

The quick glance she cast in his direction was surprised. “Sex, drugs, or underage drinking?”

“Yes,” he said.

The cars pulled through the sagging-open gate. Cops spilled out. With Mac’s input, a quick and dirty search plan had already been agreed upon in the conference room of the police station.

“You stay here.” Dane pointed at him.

“But I know this place.”

“Do I need to handcuff you and put you in the back?”

“No.” Mac hung back, leaning on the car and crossing his arms. His memories of handcuffs and the backseats of patrol cars were not pleasant. Nor were the bad decisions that had put him there.

Dane hesitated, glancing back at him. “We’ll find her.”

Mac nodded. “You’d better.”

“Don’t you go running off into the dark the minute my back is turned,” she warned. “You’ll get shot.”

Hm. Mac wondered how the cop knew he was going to do just that.

“There they are!” someone shouted.

Two figures limped toward them. Mac ran past the cops. His sister was banged up but on her feet and walking. Relief nearly took him to his knees. He folded her into his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“I’m all right, Mac,” Hannah said.

He took his first full breath in hours. What if she hadn’t been? He would have been too late yet again. He would have put work ahead of his family for the hundredth time. He hadn’t been around to help Lee. Hell, he hadn’t even known Lee was in trouble, which was totally inexcusable. Lee had saved Mac, and in return, Mac had abandoned him.

He tightened his grip on his sister.

Their childhood had been messed up, but what Mac did with his adult life was his responsibility.



Brody zipped up the winter jacket one of the patrol cops loaned him. Vehicles crowded the yard. Flashlight beams crisscrossed the ground. Every available body had been called in to search for Chet.

Hannah strode next to him. Mac was teamed up with Stella. His knowledge of the yard’s layout had proven useful. But two hours into the search of the rail yard, Chet hadn’t been found.

“Over here,” someone yelled. Brody picked up the pace. A black Dodge Charger was parked behind a rusted engine. A cop shone his light inside the vehicle. “Nothing.”

He opened the vehicle door and popped the trunk. Brody surged forward and peered inside. A hand protruded from under a tarp. No!

With a silent prayer, he reached down and moved the tarp. Please let him be alive. But it wasn’t Chet. The face was slender, young, and badly beaten. Shock paralyzed Brody for a second. “It’s a woman.”

Brody leaned in and pressed two fingers to her throat. A weak pulse tapped against his fingertips. “She’s alive.”

He tugged off his jacket and draped it over her. Her eyes opened, white-rimmed with fear.

“It’s all right. You’re safe. We’re the police.”

A tear ran from her eye.

An ambulance was already on-site, waiting. EMTs rushed in. Brody backed off and returned to the search. Hannah took his hand. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I’m all right.”

“You don’t look all right. You look terrible.” She took his hand. His devotion to his friend only deepened her feelings for him. Brody was the kind of man she’d been waiting for her whole life. However long he wanted to keep searching, she’d be here with him. “But let’s keep looking.”

“Found him!” A shout floated over the yard.

Brody’s breath fogged in front of him as he turned toward the voice.

“He’s alive!”

They jogged toward the commotion in front of a freight car. A patrol cop handed Brody up. Chet was on his back, three navy-blue SFPD jackets draped across his body.

“Chet?” Brody knelt.

“He’s breathing, Brody,” a cop said over his shoulder.

Barely.

Within minutes, the EMTs were in the car, starting an IV, draping Chet with blankets. One of Chet’s eyes opened. His fingers made a small motion, gesturing Brody closer.

He leaned over, putting his ear close to his friend’s mouth.

“There was an e-mail,” Chet rasped. “About Teresa. Follow up. Please. I don’t care what she wants. Promise. If I die, you’ll find her.”

“Done.” Brody squeezed his arm and backed away, giving the rescue crew room to work. The EMTs’ movements were urgent. Had they found him in time?