Colin Trine himself appears in the doorway, rooted to the spot and staring at us in shock.
I give him a two-finger wave. “Trine, just the man we wanted to see.” His eyes shift between us. He’s about to bolt.
And there he goes.
I do love a good chase. Does he think he’s gonna get far? I have a good four inches on him, and I never lose a target.
“Spence, wait!”
Too late, I’m already hot on his heels. He conveniently leaves the front door open for me—common sense says to put as many obstacles as possible in a pursuer’s way, and yet they never do.
The small front fence is no deterrent, and I easily vault it, the slaps of my sneakers on the pavement loud. He goes left at the end of the unit block, and then the idiot ducks into a side “alley,” which is just a grass-filled gap between two houses’ fencing. It leads out into an empty playground, but he doesn’t get that far.
I shove him against the green corrugated fence, a hand flat in the middle of his back to keep him from moving. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay there,” I hiss in his ear.
“Get off me!” he cries out. “I’ll call the police—”
“How?” I ask with huffed laughter. “You think I’m going to let you go, so you can?” I wonder what he thinks we are. Home invaders? Killers? The last part is true but only in the strictest sense. Sanctioned murder. The distinction is enough to let me sleep at night. “Lucky for you, you don’t even need a phone call.” I flash him my fake badge. “I think you and I need to have a good, long talk about the sick shit in your apartment.”
“Appreciating someone’s beauty is not sick!” he sputters.
“That’s what you think you were doing? ‘Appreciating’ her beauty?” I drawl. “Is that why you killed her?”
“I didn’t—wait. She waskilled?”
I share a glance with Kendrick as he approaches us. Some people lie with an ease that’s hard to separate from reality. This guy doesn’t seem the type to have it roll off his tongue so easy.
“What thefuck?” Kendrick growls, ignoring Colin. “Do you know what the word ‘wait’ means?”
“Sure I do,” I say casually. Knowing the meaning of a word doesn’t mean I’ll obey it. “But he was getting away.”
“He couldn’t get away from a wet paper bag,” Kendrick says with a snort.
True enough.
“They said it was a… a… an accident,” Colin sputters, grief in his voice that makes me acutely uncomfortable. He’s acting like he has a right to it, toher. “Someone killed her?”
I flip him around so I can see his face. There’s that sadness and terror I heard. A fraction of panic but not the kind that says, “Oh, shit, they found me out.”
What a fucking mess. “Call Greer, get him to come arrest this idiot.” Murderer or not, he’s got more than a few charges we can stick him with, the creepy fucker.
“Why am I under arrest? I didn’t kill anyone!” He tries to push me out of the way, and I tighten my hold, slamming him back against the fence.
“Did I tell you to move? No? Then fucking stay put.”
Kendrick’s already moved a few feet away, phone to his ear, but he’s got his eyes glued to me. I know if something happens, he’ll be back here faster than Colin can say “shit.”
“Why were you so obsessed with her?” I don’t really care, but it gives me something to do while we wait for the cavalry.
“She—she was nice to me. No one is ever nice to me.”
“Can’t imagine why.” How many women has he stalked over the years, based on that kind of logic? Creating a disturbing connection to them just because they smile in his direction? A slippery slope to travel down.
“Greer’s on his way. Let’s take him back to the unit to wait; we’re too exposed out here.”
I don’t particularly want to set foot in that place again, but Kendrick’s right. Being out here in the open is dangerous, in more ways than one. Don’t need anyone to see us here and call the cops. Other cops, anyway, before Greer gets here.
“Tell him to bring boxes.” We need something to pack up all the shit into. I shift my jacket so that Colin can see my firearm. “Try to run, and I’ll shoot you in the back.”
