Page 49 of Savior
Colson sighs. “Not good. She’s in surgery now. We won’t know anything for a few more hours at least.”
“Was she able to identify her attacker?”
“She was unconscious when another jogger found her and scared him off.”
“There is a witness?”
Colson nods to a pair of officers interviewing a young woman. “She didn’t see much. They’re hoping she saw enough to provide a sketch to help identify the sick bastard.”
“Any trace?”
All we need is one piece of physical evidence to link the guy, either to Sienna’s ex or otherwise, but Colson shakes his head.
“This guy isn’t an idiot. He’s smart. Very smart. Based on that and the fact that he’s been able to successfully target these women in such a short time frame tells me this isn’t his first rodeo. But sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake.”
I don’t say it aloud, but he already has. The moment he came back to target Sienna, he signed his own death warrant.
* * *
Hours later, the results from her background check land in the empty tray of the printer. I snatch them up in my spare hand as I pound back a cup of old coffee, and I pull a face at the tar-like taste. It’s a sludge-or-nothing night as the part-time communications officer/ receptionist went home a couple hours back, leaving the on-duty patrolman and me to fend for ourselves as we work the graveyard shift.
Colson gave me the go-ahead to take the rest of the night off after a long evening of interrogating possible witness in the investigation, but I brushed him off. After working as a sniper in the Marines, I’ve learned to pay attention when a case gives me an itch between my shoulders. And there’s something off about this one. Something that’s making me real fucking itchy.
As I cross the small bull pen filled with cluttered desks crammed together, my phone begins to ring across the room. I choke back the rest of the stale coffee as I weave though the heavy scents of burnt food, antiseptic cleanser, and the lemon air freshener the lieutenant prefers. Tossing the background check info onto the desk, I snatch up the landline and bark, “Blackwell,” into the mouthpiece.
“You gonna come by when you get off work? Momma’s making her famous ham and cheese omelet’s for breakfast.”
At the sound of Diane’s voice, I relax into my rickety old office chair with its customary beleaguered groan. “Only if I can see your pretty face,” I reply.
“I’d be just brokenhearted if I didn’t get to see your ugly mug first thing every day.”
“Then I’d hate to disappoint you. Make sure to have a cup of coffee ready for me, pretty please. The shit I’ve been drinking for the past couple hours will more than likely kill me.”
“Would serve you right,” Diane says, and I can hear the teasing in her voice over the line.
I lean back in the chair, rubbing a hand over the scruff on my cheeks. “Oh, no. What’d I do now?” I ask.
“You know I don’t like to meddle,” she says, and I respond with a snort. She ignores me and continues, “It’s not my business how you run your life or do your job.”
“Then why do I have the feeling you’re about to stick your nose in it?”
“Logan Elias Blackwell, I’ll not have you mistreating that girl.”
Her fierce tone makes me scowl and I sit up straight and hang my head in defeat automatically. “Aunt Diane, I’ve been grown for over a decade. Way passed time for you to meddle in my love life.”
She snorts. “I’ll interfere any time I damn well please, and I won’t hear a word from you until I’ve said my peace.” I know better than to argue with a riled woman, so I hold my tongue. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that girl’s been through hell, and now with this on top. It’s enough to test even the strongest person.”
“That may be true,” I say when she takes a breath, “but it’s not my intention to hurt her. Now, I love you, Aunt Diane, but it’s none of your business.”
“I’m not interfering, but you listen to me when I say you take it easy on her. That girl wouldn’t hurt a fly, if you’ve been paying any attention.” There’s a pause of the line, and I can hear the familiar sounds of the household coming to life and my Grandma Rosie chatting up a storm as she cooks in the background. “And don’t tell me you haven’t.”
Realizing she’s about to go off on a tangent about me remarrying, I start to tune out the conversation and glance over my desk for a distraction. My eyes land on the results of her preliminary background investigation, and I pin the phone between my ear to reach for it. While Aunt Diane chatters on in the background, I begin to read.
Piper Sienna Davenport, 26, formerly a resident of Miami, Florida attended Southern University until she was attacked by a Gavin Lance who’d raped and murdered five co-eds before his last victim, a Paige Davenport. Until three years ago, she owned and operated a very successful travel agency that catered to the rich and influential. Around that time, she relinquished control of the agency to her manager, a Chloe McKinney—Ben’s cousin—and has been traveling ever since, never staying in one place for longer than a couple months.
“Are you listening to me, boy?” Aunt Diane demands.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say without a pause.