Quick Note: Thanks for all the words of encouragement! Here's the next part.
Part Two: Alone in the Night
Steve and Cheryl moved quickly and cautiously across the uneven ground, ducked low behind the minimal cover of the tall grass. It wasn't until they reached the edge of the wooded area that Steve caught sight of something moving near ground level.
He squinted, trying to make out what it was and continued to creep carefully forward. The faint sound of plaintive gasps reach his ears, and then suddenly, horrifyingly, his mind registered what he was seeing.
His blood ran cold.
Entangled among the trunks of two close-growing trees and thick, bushy undergrowth, he saw a pale neck with a dark scarf wrapped tightly around it. Grasping fingers clawed desperately at the relentlessly tightened material. Shadow and greenery prevented him from seeing either the victim or the assailant's facial features, but somehow he knew that the victim was a woman.
Despite the initial shock of the situation, years of police training and experience asserted itself and he reacted. Standing, his gun pointed where he thought the assailant -- though hidden by bushes -- would be.
He called out a warning. "Stop! Police!" There was no surprise that Cheryl was in the same position and yelled the words almost simultaneously.
The shadowy form of the attacker jerked, apparently startled at having an audience. And then, with a rustling of bushes, fled.
"Call for back-up!" Steve cried over his shoulder, already headed after the perp. Adrenaline pumped through his system, sending him pressing onward between the trees, jumping over fallen limbs and ducking beneath low hanging branches.
The ground began a decline off to one side. He could make out the glow of the man's pale arms as he continued, crashing through the woods. As the perp started down the slight incline, Steve saw his chance.
With a flying tackle, he drove the suspect to the ground. They hit the forest floor and slid several feet atop the slippery bed of fallen leaves. The man, much shorter and more slightly built than Steve, tried to wriggle away from him. But Steve grabbed him by an arm, and with slightly more force that was necessary, flipped him onto his stomach, flattening him into the dirt while he clamped handcuffs around his wrists.
"Don't hurt me, man! Don't hurt me!" The man beneath him cowered, sniffling as his cheek lay pressed against the ground.
"Are you Joshua Brine?" Steve demanded, disgusted by the man's whimpering. Anger and righteous indignation rose within him, and all he wanted to do was to throttle the other man senseless. But he knew that such action would make him no better than the animal that he held firmly to the ground.
"Yeah! Just don't hurt me!" Brine replied, his sobbing sound even more pitiful.
"Get up!" Steve ordered, not even trying to hide his feelings of distaste. Locking a hand behind one of Brine's elbows, he helped him to his feet. Halfway up, Brine suddenly spun, sending a shoulder hard into Steve's abdomen. The force of the blow caused Steve to lose his footing on the already precarious hillside and he slipped backward, falling against a tree.
Brine took immediate advantage of the situation. Not content to simply try to run away, he planted a vicious kick into Steve's side.
Steve grunted at the blow and curled protectively inward in an attempt to protect his mid-section. He allowed himself to go slightly limp.
"Not so bad, now? Are you cop?" Brine demanded with a nasty sneer. He then drew his foot back for another kick.
Steve caught the leg and yanked it out from beneath him. Brine went down as if he'd been pole-axed. Steve was quickly on him, grinding him roughly into the ground. He spoke in a soft, dangerous voice, "If I wasn't one of the good guys, you wouldn't be leaving these woods alive, Brine. But, please, do try something else. Just because I am one of the good guys doesn't mean I wouldn't mop this place up with you first." With a forceful jerk, he yanked the man to his feet and pushed him forward. "Start walking."
Moving along behind the other man, refusing to acknowledge the pain that ground through his chest and ribs, Steve thought he saw real fear as Brine glanced back over his shoulder at him. Brine wasn't to know that Steve had no intention of doing anything that might prevent him from being prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
"I think you broke my nose," Brine murmured.
"File a complaint."
The man muttered something offensive under his breath, which Steve ignored as he began to inform the cuffed man of his Miranda Rights.
Apparently heeding the portion about the right to silence, Brine didn't speak again during the rest of the walk back to the edge of the woods. Steve wasn't sure how much time had passed, but felt certain that their back up would be arriving soon. Hopefully they would be there by the time he reached Cheryl and the would-be victim. A good thing since he had a feeling that next time Brine decided to try something, there would be more than a bloody nose.
They were nearing the area where he was certain he had left Cheryl. He spotted the two trees where he had first noticed Brine attacking the woman, but his partner was nowhere in sight. And neither was the other female.
He looked across the field of tall grass, in search of flashing lights which would indicate that an ambulance or a patrol car had arrived. There was nothing. Only the return of the quiet of the night. This time though, there was a light breeze, and it blew at the fringes of his hair, rustled in the tall grasses and the leaves of the trees.
"Where's your partner?" Brine cackled under his breath.
Steve pushed Brine toward a tree and slipped his gun from its holster. "Sit!" he ordered, both his tone and his stance threatening violence. Brine obeyed, but the leer never left his features.
"Cheryl?" Steve called out into the night for his partner. Her disappearance didn't make any sense at all. Why would she leave the scene of the crime? He was beginning to wonder if he'd made a wrong turn at some point.
"Detective Banks!" he yelled, keeping watch on Brine as he did so. He then refocused on the trees, checking the ground for tracks or some clue as to where they might have gone. He didn't imagine that the woman who had been attacked would be able to go very far under her own steam, nor did he think that Cheryl would encourage her to without a very good reason.
Continuing to weave between the trees, he came to an abrupt stop when he saw a pair of leather-clad feet poking out from behind a bush, their toes pointed skyward. Based on size and style, he immediately recognized them as belonging to Cheryl. Fear arrowed through him, its icy fingers clamping viselike about his insides.
"Cheryl . . . " The word was barely a croak as he rushed around the thick bushes, both anxious and terrified of what he might find. Amid the greenery, he found his partner laying in the dirt and leaves. She wasn't moving. And the grass and leaves around her were slick with what could only be blood.
He had no time to react to the confirmation of his worst fears. Between one pounding heartbeat and the next, he felt a sharp flash of light and pain. The world spun in a wicked kaleidoscope. There was a vague awareness of the ground rushing forward to meet him, and then there was nothing.
(to be continued)
