Maggie K. Black - Cold Case Secrets

But could it really be a coincidence one of the country’s best crime reporters just happened to be in the woods in the exact location where notorious serial killers who’d just escaped prison happened to be? Of course not. Not that he could come up with a plausible alternative theory. Or take the time to figure one out now. So much of this didn’t make sense. Starting with the fact that his mouth hadn’t been able to summon so much as, “Yeah, I know who you are,” when she’d told him her name.

He could still remember the first time he’d seen her walking toward him at the crime scene of a multiple homicide, striding right up to the yellow police tape. He’d hoped she was a detective, a colleague, someone he could grab a coffee and talk over cases with. Not that he’d ever considered looking for a romantic relationship with her or anything. He already had enough people who counted on him, what with two elderly parents, three younger brothers—one getting married on the weekend—three new sisters-in-law and two nephews. But he’d never been opposed to building a new professional and collegial friendship.

He also remembered the first time Warren had spotted her at a crime scene. The fellow detective had just arrived back in Ontario earlier after spending over a decade putting away an impressive array of criminal lowlifes out east. And somehow, just a few weeks on the job, she’d already caught his eye.

“That’s Grace Finch, the reporter, right?” Warren had nodded in her direction through the maze of flashing red and blue lights punctuating the night. “I heard she’s a force and a half.”

Jacob couldn’t even remember what he’d said next. Maybe, “Yeah, she’s pretty tough,” or something like that.

“I was thinking of asking her to a new show at the Art Gallery of Ontario,” Warren had started saying. Then he’d taken in the look on Jacob’s face and added, “Unless for some reason you’d rather I didn’t.”

And Jacob had realized in that moment just how very much he’d rather Warren didn’t. Not that he had any right to ask him not to date Grace. Sure, Jacob had been quick to assure him he had no intention of ever pursuing a relationship with Grace. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d been kind of relieved that Warren hadn’t either.

He paced a few lengths into the woods, slowly, carefully following the broken branches and disturbed ground that told him someone had gone this way. “Hey, Kevin, how are we doing on the fuel situation?”

“I can give you fifteen minutes.” The pilot’s voice came back in his ear. “Twenty at the absolute max.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah.” The sound of Kevin blowing out a hard breath filled his ear. “That was adding in a time cushion just to be safe in case we got delayed by the storm. Now, we’re all out of cushion.”

“Got it. Warren, have you got eyes on me?”

“Heat signature on your own, moving north?” Warren confirmed. “Yup. But I’ve momentarily lost the one you were tracking.”

Jacob frowned. It happened. The camera’s range was not that broad. “How’s our civilian doing?”

“Hang on. I’ve got to move the camera,” Warren said. Jacob waited. “I’ve got no heat signatures near the rock formation. Your civilian is gone. But I think I’ve got two figures on top of the rock ledge to the east of you.”

Jacob turned on his heels. You have to be kidding me! Had she actually decided to ignore what he’d said and take off on her own? His strides turned into a full-out sprint. He reached the crevice. It was empty. No Grace. His jaw clenched. “She’s gone.”

Lord, help me hold it together...

A scream filled the air.

“Where are they?” Jacob shouted into his headpiece. He ran, pressing his body through the dense woods and keeping his weapon at the ready. The screams had stopped, but his heart was still rattled from the sound. No matter how many bloody crime scenes he’d walked through, grisly photos he’d looked at or difficult interrogations he’d conducted, the one thing that somehow always seemed to slip through the chinks in his cast-iron core and take him right back to being fourteen years old was the sound of someone screaming.

His sister, Faith, had fought for her life. That much he knew without a doubt about the attempted kidnapping that had ended her life. She’d thrashed, kicked and clawed at the would-be abductor. Her killer had strangled her and left her lifeless body there by the side of the road. But he hadn’t succeeded in taking her alive. No match had ever been found for the DNA retrieved from under her fingernails. But Jacob had never given up hope that it would and that, one day, he’d would have the satisfaction of knowing that the criminal who’d killed his sister had been sentenced to life in prison because Faith had died fighting him with every ounce of Henry blood pumping through her heart.

Jacob was the one who’d let her down. True, it had been their brother Trent’s responsibility to walk Faith home from school. But Jacob was the eldest and he’d been wrong to trust his younger brother to take care of something that important, instead of dropping out of track-and-field to make sure he did it himself. “Warren, tell me you’ve still got eyes.”

“Straight ahead,” Warren said. “A bit to your right. You should see them any minute now.”

What had he been thinking, leaving Grace alone like that? If she was now on top of the rock face, he imagined that meant she’d somehow climbed up from inside the crevice the moment his back was turned. And then what? And why? What possible reason could she have had for doing that? Did she think she knew better than he did? Grace Finch was more than challenging. She was trouble. And now she was going to get herself killed.

Another scream shook the air. But it wasn’t the desperate and panicked cry of a girl in trouble. No, this sound was determined, furious and angry, and something about it lifted his heart.

“Update?” he all but barked.

“Straight ahead!”

Jacob looked up as the trees parted and the top of the ridge he’d been following came into view. There they were, at least a story and a half above him. A bald and heavily tattooed killer named Victor Driver was holding Grace from behind, with one beefy, tattooed arm wrapped around her waist and the other trying to get around her throat. But she was fighting him, thrashing against his grip with all her might.

“Stop! Police! Let her go!” Jacob shouted. He raised his weapon. He’d aim for the shoulder or torso, hopefully taking the man down in a way that kept him alive to face justice. He’d take a kill shot if he had to and only as a last resort. But he didn’t have any hope of getting a clear shot as long as Grace was thrashing. Frustration burned inside him. Hadn’t she heard him? Didn’t she know he was there? If only she would go limp and give him a clean shot, he could save her life. Then it struck him—even if she knew he was there with a gun trained on her attacker, she might still try to take matters into her own hands.

He aimed high and fired. The bullet flew by barely an inch from Driver’s head. The criminal froze like an animal caught in the headlights. But Grace didn’t stop for a second, almost as if she’d been expecting it. She spun back with her elbows high and struck Driver in the face. The criminal bellowed and grabbed his nose. She broke free and pelted down the rock face toward Jacob.

“Jacob!” she shouted. “He’s got a semi-automatic! He just needs to reload!”

He ran toward her, reaching the rock face just as she got to the edge. She looked down. “How do I get down from here?”

“Jump! I’ll catch you!”