Lisa Scottoline - Daddy's Girl

She took off, barreling through the field. Maybe it was a barn. All these horses had to live somewhere. Maybe there would be a barn manager. A cell phone. A car. Rain thundered down. She couldn't see her hand in front of her face. Where was the shooter? Why had he told her to run? Was he coming after her? She ran closer to the structure. The roof had a peak like a star. A barn, Amish-built. New hope drove her forward, half sprinting and half falling. There had to be a house, didn't there?

She ran across the field, reached the barn, and caught her breath under the overhang. She hurried through an empty horse stall, rolled aside the door, and hurried into a center aisle. She looked right, then left. Rain pounded on the roof. She darted down the aisle, looking for civilization. She opened a closed door. A line of trash cans glimmered in the faintest light. She ran out, found another door, and flung it open. It felt warm inside. The smell of old leather filled the room. Saddles sat on racks on the wall. How could one family have so many saddles? Then she realized. It was a riding school. That's why no one was here. There would be no house. She almost burst into tears.

She bolted out of the room, down the concrete center aisle, and round no more doors. She went back to the last stall because its window overlooked the dark pasture. She'd have a clear view if the killer had run after her. In the corner of the stall, a large horse lay still in a bed of hay, its gray white coat glowing softly in the dark. "Ho fella," Nat said softly, surprised that the horse didn't move.

She entered the stall. She could see the Volvo through the window, not far from here. The horse nickered, and she heard congestion in its breathing. No wonder it hadn't moved. She stroked its muzzle, and it leaned against her hand like a big dog, begging to be scratched.

"Are we gonna be okay?" Nat scratched the hard bone between its dark eyes, feeling herself begin to calm down and think more clearly. The killer wasn't coming after her or he would never have let her go. It could be a while before anybody drove along and found the trooper. Getting back to her car was her only hope. She gave the horse a final pat, then let herself out of the stall.

She plunged back into the storm, racing for the Volvo. She pounded through mud and slush, her heart pumping hard against her chest. There was no noise but rain. She ran until she couldn't run another step, up the hill to the road. The Volvo was parked, its engine still running. She could see the murdered trooper, his arms lying askew in the street. She intentionally didn't look at his head. She darted across the street to her car, flung open the door, jumped inside, and hit the locks, shaking and dripping.

She floored the gas and reached for her purse at the same time, digging for her cell phone as she tore down the road. She found the phone and pressed speed dial for 911, but in the next minute, the Volvo interior was bathed in headlights. Police sirens erupted behind her, and she almost cried for joy. She slowed to a stop, parked, and threw open her door.

"Help! Police!" Nat practically popped out of the car.

"Hands in the air! Get your hands in the air!" Two troopers jumped from the police cruiser, one from each door. Suddenly, a second cruiser careened around the corner and sprayed to a stop in front or the Volvo, sandwiching her in between. Sirens screamed. High beams blinded her. Two more troopers jumped out of the second cruiser.

"Hands in the air!" they shouted, advancing toward her with guns drawn.

"Don't shoot!" Nat shouted back, raising her arms. "I was calling you-"

"Against the car!" a trooper bellowed, and two others grabbed her by her forearms and threw her facedown against the Volvo, wrenching her wrists behind her back.

"No, wait!" Nat yelped in pain. Steel handcuffs were clapped onto her wrists. Hands ran up her legs to her crotch, then down her hips and waist. She tried not to panic. "This is crazy! I was just calling you! This man came out of nowhere-"

"What's this, a knife?" The trooper bumped her against her car and shoved a hand in her coat pocket.

"Scissors. What are-"

"We're taking you in for questioning in connection with the murder of Trooper Shorney."

"The trooper?" Nat felt her heart beginning to pound. "No, wait, I saw the guy who shot him. I can tell you-"

"And for the attempted murder of Barbara Saunders."

"What?" Nat felt stricken. Rain thundered down. She couldn't believe she'd heard him right. "Did you say, Barb? What happened to Barb?"

"Do we have your permission to search your car?"

"Go ahead, just tell me what happened to Barb."

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of-"

"Wait, why are you Mirandizing me? I didn't do anything!" Nat shouted. "I saw the man who killed the trooper! I would never-"

"-law. You have the right to a lawyer and to have a lawyer present during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you."

"I didn't do it! I didn't do anything!" Nat shouted louder, as the other troopers searched the front and backseats of her car.

"Let's go!" Two troopers flanked her and hustled her to the patrol car. Two others were searching her backseat, shining their flashlights inside.

"You're making a mistake! I'm a law professor!" Nat howled against the rain, and she didn't stop until they shoved her into the backseat of a cruiser.

And sped off into the dark, drenched night.

An hour later, Nat found herself at the Avondale barracks of the Pennsylvania State Police, chained to a wall. It was unreal. She was in a small, windowless room that looked like a normal office-except that one entire wall was covered with stainless steel from floor to ceiling. She sat on a stainless steel bench built into the steel wall, with her wrists handcuffed to a steel rail at arm height, and her legs, in boots, manacled to each other and looped through another steel rail, at ankle height. She was filthy, wet, and exhausted, and could barely process that the trooper had been killed before her eyes, and that Barb had been shot.

Be good for your aunt. One candy apiece, and that's it.

Nat couldn't get her thoughts together. She felt tears come to her eyes and didn't try to wipe them away, even if she could. Barbara was a mother of three. Her boys could be orphaned. Who would have done that? Why? Was it connected to the burglary? To the prison riot? It had to be, but Nat was too stunned to piece it together. Water soaked her coat, mud covered her boots. Her hair dripped filthy water, and the warmth that she'd felt spatter her face was the trooper's blood.

Please, step outside the car, Ms. Greco.

Nat tried to think. This would turn out all right. The troopers would come in and unlock her cuffs and leg irons, understanding that she'd had nothing to do with either of these crimes. They couldn't seriously suspect her of murdering a cop. They would realize their mistake in bringing her in. She would go home to Hank. She closed her eyes but his wasn't the first face that came to mind.

Natalie, listen.

Suddenly the main door opened, and a heavy-set man in a brown suit jacket, brown print tie, and khakis came in, smiling at her in a professional way and pulling over a metal chair. "Hello, Ms. Greco," he said warmly. "I'm Trooper David Brian Mundy." He sat down and gestured to the manacles. "Sorry the patrol officers had to lock you up like this. I know it's uncomfortable."

Nat felt her temper flare. "Trooper, new shoes are uncomfortable. Handcuffs and leg irons are another thing entirely."

"Fair enough." Mundy nodded. "Sorry about that, but it's procedure. Security." His voice was unusually soft for such a large man, and he had shoulders as wide as a defensive lineman's. His face was open and honest, with the heavy cheekbones of a Native American, and his eyes were brown, his nose short and wide, and his complexion uneven. He asked, "Would you like some coffee?"