Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls #3)(43)

He rolled and swung a wild haymaker at Stella’s head. She ducked, but the blow glanced off her jaw. Bright spots flashed in her vision.

She shook her head to clear it as a backhand flew at her face. She blocked the strike with two open palms and grabbed his wrist. Pressing the bone of her forearm into the hollow of his elbow, she arm-barred him to the ground.

He wriggled. “You bitch.”

Placing a knee on his spine to pin him to the ground, she wrestled his hands behind his back and cuffed him. A pat down for weapons yielded a wallet, a pack of cigarettes, matches, a small knife, and an oval medallion on a chain.

She collapsed onto the ground next to him and sucked in oxygen.

Lance limped into the alley. “Are you all right?”

Huffing, Stella nodded, rubbing her jaw. “You?”

“Fine.” But his face was lined with pain. “Just took a wrong step back there.”

She hoped he hadn’t hurt his bad leg on his first week back on duty.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep up.”

Stella sat up and forced three deep breaths in and out of her lungs. “I got him.”

“You did.” But the frown on Lance’s face told her he was unhappy with his own performance. He held out a hand.

Taking it, she let him help her stand. “Seriously, stuff happens, Lance. I could have tripped just as easily as you did.”

“But you didn’t.” Self-reproach flashed in Lance’s eyes as he grabbed the suspect by the bicep and hauled him to his feet.

Stella cupped her aching face.

Lance’s frowned deepened. He swung the suspect around. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and his face slammed into the brick exterior of the building.

“This is police brutality. I didn’t do anything,” the man screamed.

The hood had fallen off his head during the chase. In the light of the streetlamp, Stella got her first full look at the man she’d pursued. He was about thirty and as thin as an aging rock star.

“You assaulted a police officer.” Lance jerked the suspect’s arms high up his back.

The suspect rose onto his toes and screamed, “You’re gonna break my arm.”

Lance’s body tensed even more.

Stella grabbed him by the shoulder. “Back off, Lance. We got him.”

“I’m gonna sue your asses,” the suspect screamed into the bricks.

Lance spun the man to face him and leaned closer to his face. The cords of his neck went as taut as steel cables.

“Lance!” Stella grabbed Lance’s arm, her effort barely budging him. His chest heaved, and his jaw muscles twitched. He wanted to hurt the man. Stella could see it in his eyes. He wouldn’t take his eyes off the suspect’s. Stella forced her body between them, pushing on Lance’s chest with both hands. “I’ll take him from here.”

Lance jerked his gaze from the suspect’s face to Stella’s. He blinked and took a step backward, frowning as if the level of his own aggression surprised him.

“I’m gonna sue this whole city.” The suspect licked his bleeding lip. A small cut on the side of his mouth dripped blood, as did an abrasion on his cheek. Rotten lettuce from a broken-open garbage bag hung from the shoulder of his hoodie. “I did nothing to warrant this treatment.”

“Then why did you run?” Lance picked up the wallet from the asphalt and opened it. “Noah Spivak.” Lance thumbed through the contents. “This is impressive. He has six hundred dollars in his wallet. That’s a lot of cash, Spivak.”

Spivak’s arrogant glare set off a warning in Stella’s head.

“Let’s take Mr. Spivak down to the station for questioning.” Stella steered him toward the street.

Lance was still limping as they escorted the suspect to the car and put him in the backseat. Stella turned around in the parking lot. She stopped the car and stared through the windshield. An older model blue Toyota Corolla sat in the light-puddle of a streetlamp. Stella used her computer to run the license plate. “That Toyota is registered to Missy Green.”

They got out of the car and walked around Missy’s Toyota. The doors were locked. Stella doubted there was any evidence in the car. Missy obviously hadn’t made it back to her vehicle after the meeting. “This is where she was abducted.”

Lance pulled out his phone. “We’ll get forensics out here to check the vehicle and have it towed to the impound lot.”

Sliding back into the vehicle, Stella looked over the seat at Spivak. “Does that car look familiar?”

He shot her a f*ck-you smile but didn’t answer.

At the station, they secured Spivak in an interview room and posted a uniform to keep an eye on him. While Lance searched for his criminal history, Stella spot cleaned some oily substance from her jacket and pants. From the Italian spice smell, she guessed it was salad dressing.

She met Lance in the hallway. His face still looked pained, his lips pressed white. His gait was stiff, as if he was making a great effort not to limp.

“You OK?” she asked.

He nodded and opened a file folder in his hand. “Spivak isn’t our typical scumbag. He has a degree in chemistry. After college, he moved to Albany, where he was brought up on charges three different times: once for assault, once for domestic violence, and once for statutory rape. The assault charge went away when the victim refused to testify. The domestic violence case was dropped when his girlfriend disappeared—she’s never resurfaced. The Albany detectives think he did her, but they weren’t able to prove anything, which means he’s no dummy. He did serve eighteen months in the state prison for the rape. He returned to Scarlet Falls to live with his parents after his release from prison.”