K.J. was just steps behind him.
At a full run.
36
Dom had just arrived backat the TSP to finish up for the night when a call came in that he had to take. K.J. Miller was waiting outside Brett Naylor’s hospital room when Dom arrived—he’d been at FCGH—of course this call was to FC County. The pretty blond was obviously still running on adrenaline. Or anger. Maybe a mix of both. She was definitely agitated. Angry.
That’s what it was, she was pissed.
And bloody. The blood was hard to miss, all over her uniform polo and arms, as it was.
“What happened?” Dom asked. Patrol officers were leading a cuffed man around Dom’s age, height, and near his size to a nearby patrol car. “Who the hell is he?”
“He refuses to identify himself,” Miller said, then let out a hiss, as a nurse pulled back the white bandage pressed to the injury on her arm. There was a mobile supply cart next to them now.
K.J. had refused to leave Brett’s door until someone from Major Crimes arrived. To guard.
Dom understood.
But they had the bastard now. “Good work, by the way.”
K.J. Miller wasn’t even thirty yet, maybe one hundred fifty pounds, athletic and fast, and stood around nine or ten inches shorter than Dom’s own six-four. She’d been officially transferred to Major Crimes now. He thought it was about time. Miller was good at what she did. And trustworthy. Around Finley Creek, that was a rare commodity. “From what I heard, it was one hell of a tackle.”
She smirked at him, but he could see the stress in her big green eyes. “Flag football practice. Play in a ladies’ league on my days off.”
He’d believe it, she was a highly athletic woman. He’d always liked her. She was calm, cool, and definitely good at her job. “So…official statement?”
She looked back toward the open door behind her. Where her partner rested. “Really not much, Detective Acardi. I have been stopping by, sitting with my partner, whenever I can. He was sleeping when I arrived, and the room was dim, so I left it dark. Fifteen minutes later this guy came in. With the knife. Not exactly the kind the doctors around this place use, I hope.”
Dom looked at the weapon an evidence tech had in a large envelope. No. It most certainly wasn’t medical in nature, that was for sure. In fact, it looked like it could slip between the ribs and kill very, very quickly. Professionally.
Imagine that.
It looked just like the type of weapon one could use against a prisoner in the nearest jail, actually. If one could be smuggled in.
They still hadn’t found the weapon used to kill Jaylon Tuell.
“I identified myself, then the chase was on. Took him down in the lobby.” She smiled, a rueful smile. “He protested a bit, though. Got in a good slice or two.”
The guy was bigger than Miller, and had probably been desperate to escape. “How bad is the damage?”
“I’ll live. And so will Brett.” Her expression darkened. She stared at the entrance to the hospital room. “It was a hit; I’m sure of it.”
“So am I. The TSP, everyone involved in that night with Kimball and with what happened with the Barratts—we’re under attack, K.J. Watch your back. None of us are safe now. I just came from talking to the M.E.—one of the Barratt perps was offed this morning. Professional hit. Knife between the ribs.”
“Interesting.”
The nurse insisted that the worst of the injuries on K.J. needed stitches. Dom assured her that he would stay close. He wasn’t leaving until guards he trusted were on Naylor’s door. He just wasn’t. But K.J. needed medical attention, and she needed it soon. “Go. Direct order. I’ll stay here.”
But there was mistrust in that woman’s eyes when she looked at him. Dom wondered just exactly how long it was going to take for the Finley Creek TSP to be able to trust itself again.
If it ever could.
Too much had happened. Too much betrayal. And far too many of the good guys had been hurt now.
Good guys—and the innocent. And that just pissed him off.
He was outside Brett’s doorway when the man’s older brother, head of the patrol division of the Finley Creek TSP, came storming in. Bryant Naylor favored his younger brother a great deal, but was a bit taller. A lot harder. He wasn’t any smaller than Dom, and the anger in his green eyes was difficult to miss. “Acardi, what in the hell happened now?”
