Page 3 of Vision of Justice
Agent Nilsson leaned in and whispered something to the runner, and the woman opened her mouth, then closed it. After saying something to the victim, the woman took a couple of steps back. He hadn’t realized how small she was until she nearly backed into him. If she stood five feet tall, it was only by a hair. The image of the broken chain flashed in his head. How had she managed to break it?
“She’s in good hands,” he said as the woman whirled around to face him. Her left hand held her elbow close to her body, the right formed into a fist over her mouth. He understood the conflicting emotions the woman was probably facing. She had to be scared out of her mind—a discovery like the one she’d made could easily shake a seasoned veteran of law enforcement. It said a hell of a lot that she wanted to ride in the ambulance with the kid. She’d found her after all, and now was experiencing a sense of responsibility.
“I’m Detective Gus Lambert,” he added when she looked back at the ambulance doors as they closed shut.
Her cheeks puffed as she blew out a long breath. “Sasha Frost, and I hope you’re right.”
“One of the agents at the scene said her parents were already on their way to the hospital.” He sized her up, looking for anything off about her body language, the way she spoke. He assumed everyone could be guilty of something until fact told him otherwise.
“Good. That’s good.” Her teeth chattered on the last word.
“Did the EMTs check you out?” He narrowed his eyes, searching for lacerations, bruising.
“I’m fine. The sweaty workout clothes are making me cold, that’s all.” She wrapped her hands around her waist, shrinking down even more.
“And you’ve experienced a traumatic event. They shouldn’t have gone until they looked you over.” He was surprised his voice actually remained calm when all he wanted to do was berate the ambulance crew. “Your hand is bleeding,” he ground out. “Hey, Ricardo, can you grab the first-aid kit from my car?”
“Sure thing,” he called, already loping down the drive.
Another tremor shook Sasha’s shoulders. “I wasn’t the one in that h-hole,” she shivered.
“You witnessed something disturbing. Enough to send you into shock. You should connect with a therapist in the coming days. It might help to talk to someone. I’ll give you some names.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Thanks.”
Behind them, the red and white strobes flashed as the ambulance pulled away from the scene, leaving them open and vulnerable. He instinctively stepped in front of the witness, blocking her from the media’s view. “Inside,” he said, continuing to shield her with his ample frame. She shot him a worried glance before marching straight toward the porch.
As they walked toward the house, an uneasy feeling made him glance toward the woods. He hated the feeling of being watched, but all he could see were trees. That meant nothing though, and he usually trusted his instincts more than any of his other senses. Even if the woman walking in front of him didn’t fire up all his protective instincts, the goosebumps puckering over his arms would make him ensure the next shift sent a cruiser or two to check on her house throughout the night.
“Is there someone I can call for you?” he asked when they were in the foyer with the front door firmly shut behind them. Something flashed over her face, a crumpled expression that was gone nearly as quick as it came. He took a step closer, an odd feeling in his chest. This was a woman who was guarded, who had secrets or a painful history. He knew because he had one, too. Whether that had something to do with Melissa Fletcher remained to be discovered. The FBI would speak with her as well, get her take on things, but his gut told him she’d saved that kid’s life. Going by his initial impression of her, he doubted she could be an accomplice to the abduction. If he hadn’t observed her with the girl, seen the clear horror on her face, maybe, and that was a big maybe, he might entertain a scenario where she could be a suspect.
“No.” Her word was clipped, and she looked away from his gaze.
He wondered if she really had no one to call, or if she didn’t want her calling someone on her behalf. “I need to ask you some questions, but first I want to take a look at your hand. Do you want to change into something warmer before or after?”
“Before. If you don’t mind waiting.” She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms before gesturing to the living room that opened up at the end of the foyer. “I’ll just be a minute.” She turned and jogged up the steps to the second floor, leaving him to survey the open space. A couch and a loveseat formed a turquoise-colored L in front of a gray-and-white braided rug that was settled beneath an iron and wood coffee table.
Loud was the first word that came to mind with the table’s splashes of pink, blue, and green paint. It was one of those pieces that looked scrapped together, but probably cost a fortune. And the throw pillows. How did one accumulate so many different colored pillows? What was the point if you had to move them all to make space to sit? He crossed the room to the only other piece of furniture, a velvet-upholstered armchair in a shade that was somewhere between pumpkin and rust.
There were plenty of pictures on the walls, gorgeous oil paintings, but not one of another person. Maybe she really did have no one, but there had to be friends, a boyfriend maybe.
“Thanks for waiting.” Sasha stood beneath the doorframe for a moment before entering the room. She’d swapped her leggings and tank top for sweatpants and a hoodie that simply swallowed her up. She looked adorable—and no, he wasn’t going to go there in his head or in real life, for that matter. He’d been on the force for a decade and never once had this sort of emotional reaction to someone he came across in the line of duty.
She padded silently across the glossy wood floor in thick, stocking-clad feet. He didn’t like that there was still a small tremor in her shoulders when she sat on the edge of the loveseat closest to the armchair. If she still didn’t look well in a few minutes, he was going to urge her to go to the nearest emergency clinic to get checked out.
The knitted throw draped over the back of the sofa caught his eye. “Blanket?” he asked, already in motion to grab it. He fluffed it out and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Now let’s see that hand.” He stood back to get the medical bag his colleague had dropped inside while she was changing. When he turned back to face her, it struck him that the room no longer looked loud with her sitting on the couch, her springy curls falling over her shoulders. She added a warmth to her surroundings, a coziness that wasn’t there before. He shook his head, thoroughly annoyed at his train of thought. He was a professional, and this was only a call.
The medical kit was already open on the coffee table, so everything he might need was at the tips of his fingers. “How did you get cut?” he asked, holding one hand out to her. She lightly rested her palm against his. Her hand was positively tiny in comparison. He got to work cleaning the largest scrape along the side, using antiseptic and gauze.
“Right before I found the door to the place where Melissa was … kept, I was feeling around beneath the leaves. The metal must’ve nicked me.” The volume of her voice had dropped, and her eyes still appeared overly bright.
“Yeah, the door. How did you manage to break the chain?” He wanted to get her talking but didn’t want to rush her.
“I just got really lucky. There was a rock nearby, and after pounding the chain for what seemed like forever, one of the links separated just enough for me to unravel. Thanks,” she said, looking at the hand he’d just finished bandaging.
He nodded and sat back on his heels. “Can you walk me through how you found her?”
“I had ended my workday and went for a run. It’s my routine. I went my usual route around the path, but I wasn’t ready to turn back, so I ran straight, thinking it would be easy to double back.”