Author's note: Thanks for putting up with the delay. Hope you like this next installment!
4.
If there was anything Eli Loker did not enjoy, it was being called back in to work a mere hour after he'd left. It was disrespectful. He'd just plopped down in front of the TV with a mouth-watering pizza and a cold beer. To say his heart sank at the sound of Lightman's English lilt over the line would be an understatement. But when he heard what the voice sounded like, his attitude changed.
"Meet us back at the Lightman Group, Loker. Now."
It was the "now" that got him. Filled with urgency and concern—it was something he'd only heard from Lightman once before, when the copycat rapist had gone after Foster.
His palms tingled uncomfortably. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
His first thought was that something must have happened between Stanton and Foster. But his logic immediately crossed it off as ridiculous. Stanton might be a sleazeball, but he was way too smart to go after her publicly. He had no reason for being back at the Lightman group after today. They'd all but finished with his client. No matter what his intentions with Foster might be, he had too productive a career to do anything that would jeopardize it or his reputation.
All sorts of scenarios crossed his mind, none of them good. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, his hands had turned clammy and the dazzling police lights only managed to alarm him further. Break in? Impossible. Lightman had the most anal security money could buy. There was no way anyone was getting in… except with a hostage. And there weren't enough cops around for a hostage negotiation.
Accident?
Killing the engine, he jogged up to the squad cars and ambulance, taking in the people gathered in front. Lightman was one of them, posture tense, face uncharacteristically devoid of sarcasm. The other, a lanky policeman taking notes. Off to one side, a frazzled, overdressed Foster was firing questions at someone in the ambulance.
The only one not accounted for was Torres.
Eli's heart gave an uncomfortable flip. Torres was his friend. He'd been with her barely an hour ago. She couldn't be hurt. She just couldn't be.
"What happened?" he demanded.
Lightman honored him with a caustic glare. Apparently the man wasn't willing to let up on his grudge even in times of crisis.
"Torres was attacked. We're still trying to piece it together."
"Where is she?" Lightman's eyebrow shot up, letting Eli know the question had come out more frantic than he intended. "Is she okay?"
"She'll be fine. She's in the ambulance getting checked out."
So that was who Foster was talking to.
Approaching the bus, he took a deep breath and a good long gaze at his superior, trying to prepare himself for what he would find. Thankfully, Foster's formerly frayed demeanor had visibly relaxed, which augured well.
Ria's countenance, sitting on the gurney under harsh overhead lights, could only be described as sour. She had some bruising on her face, bandages on her hands, and was dirty as hell, but seemed otherwise unharmed.
"What happened?" he asked again.
Eli understood Torres. She was the epitome of the gutsy chick—the one who'd had to bring herself up and make herself somebody, in spite of her family and everyone around her. She was stubborn, steadfast and resentful—likely to turn any negative emotion, fear, grief or disappointment, into anger. So, predictably—she looked furious.
"Son of a bitch tripped me up and held me down," she hissed.
"Who?"
"I didn't see," she admitted in frustration. "It was too dark and he caught me unawares."
"What did he want?"
Eli wasn't an idiot. This was no mugging—Torres's purse was right there. The next most likely reason for a man to jump a woman in the middle of the night would be to sexually assault her. From the defiant pout on Torres's face and the relatively appeased expression on Foster's, he guessed they'd already been over that. No sense aggravating her further.
"How the hell should I know? I already told the cops. All he did was hold me down and put a gun to my face and tell me to mind my own business."
She really was pissed. Good thing her hands were otherwise engaged, or she'd probably have used them to clobber anyone in the vicinity. Don't hassle her, Foster's eyes warned him. Let her deal.
He backed off, feeling placated but useless. What was the point of Lightman calling him back to work if there wasn't anything he could do to help? He wasn't a witness, he wasn't law enforcement—hell, he wasn't even equipped to comfort his friend. That pizza and beer were beginning to look real good right about now.
"So what's your take on this, Loker?"
Eli turned and gaped his boss in disbelief. Lightman was asking him for an opinion? Seriously? Lightman?
"Well—c´mon. Cat got your tongue? Spit it out, Loker."
There it was—the legendary Lightman finesse. Its familiarity succeeded in unleashing his tongue. "Sounds like a threat to me."
Lightman rolled his eyes back to the officer. "See? It's not a mugging. I told you."
"We need to look at all the angles, Dr. Lightman," patiently replied the officer. Not for the first time, Eli would have been willing to bet.
"I keep telling this bloke it's personal, that it has something to do with one of our cases," Lightman explained. "But he won't believe me."
It was kind of a long shot though. While Eli had to agree, the "mind your own business" bit had a definite intimidating ring to it—the case Lightman and Torres were currently on hardly warranted that kind of response. As far as he could tell, it was an open and shut deal regarding a family will. There had been some sort of clause to it, and Lightman and Torres were supposed to ascertain if its terms had been met. Where money was a factor, tempers were likely to be short, true, but… physical violence?
"We've had a rash of violent purse-snatchings in the area," the uniform began. "MO fits—"
"But her purse wasn't taken," Eli broke in. "I just saw it."
The uniform shrugged. "Maybe he just didn't get to. They were interrupted when Dr. Lightman walked in on them."
"But I didn't walk in on them," Lightman insisted, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "I got there much later. Bloke was long gone." Giving him a shove toward the building, he went on, "Go on, Loker. Show him the surveillance video. We've got cameras at every door."
So that was what Lightman wanted him for.
Curtly, Eli led Officer Knightley into the building, eerie and unfamiliar in the after-hours dark. Their footsteps echoed down the hall making Eli uncomfortably jumpy. To make matters worse, the videos, when they found them, were disappointing. They had cameras at every door, true—but none of them had a wide enough scope to view the entire parking lot. All they got was an excellent HD shot of both Torres and Lightman exiting the building. Nothing more.
"You really think this was a purse-snatching?" Eli asked at long last. "Were the others this… aggressive? Did the perp threaten those victims too?"
For a policeman, Knightley had a remarkable poker face. "No. They were knocked down. Age and other characteristics match. All young women—all going home from work. All attacked in parking lots."
"How come this is the first time we're hearing about this?"
"It hasn't been going on that long. And no weapons had actually been used, so it was considered strong-arm robbery. Now it's armed robbery. They'll have to assemble a task force."
The uniform seemed certain Torres's attack fit the criteria. Loker didn't see how. There were too many disparities. And threatening the victim wasn't part of any purse-snatcher's profile. It was personal.
They were about to leave when Foster joined them. "Torres is okay. I drove her home. Her boyfriend was there—he'll keep her company."
Her body language exuded something. Anguish? Fear? Even Officer Knightley noticed, pausing all activity as if encouraging her to go on.
"I got some flowers today. Torres brought them in." She swallowed. "Said they were for me. I took her word for it but there was no name on them. The card just said 'thinking of you'. I thought they were from my husband. They weren't. Now I'm thinking… maybe they were for her all along? Part of an intimidation tactic?"
"Show me," Officer Knightley instructed.
Foster stood her ground, still looking uncharacteristically uneasy. "I can't. They're gone."
Eli did a double take. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean someone got them out of here. And it was either Cal… or someone who was in my office after Cal left. Someone with access to the alarm system. Or…"
Or someone who's still in here with us.
The hairs on the back of Eli's neck rose with an unnerving prickle.
