Imperiled by Melissa F. Miller

Author:Melissa F. Miller [Miller, Melissa F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781940759753
Publisher: Brown Street Books

8

Jake glared at Officer Halloran and Chief Joe Markham through the miasma of red-hot pain that spread out over his skull like a cap. At least his vision had returned to normal. More or less.

The police chief seemed unwilling or unable to maintain eye contact with Jake. It’s possible that was a result of the low rumble of a growl that Jake couldn’t quite seem to suppress.

The chief turned to Trent and spread his hands wide in a gesture of appeasement. “Look, we can take a report about Ms. Bishop’s disappearance. I’m willing to do that even though she hasn’t even been missing a full twenty-four hours yet.”

Trent’s jaw hinged open. “The last confirmed contact with Chelsea was the emergency dispatcher. She called in a break-in in progress, Chief. Respectfully, the logical conclusion is that she interrupted the intruder and he grabbed her ….” He paused and cast Jake a sidelong glance, then said softly, “…or worse.”

Markham shook his head. “That’s a helluva leap, and you know it.”

Standing a foot behind and out of his chief’s field of vision, the rookie Halloran pulled a face as the response. Jake silently agreed.

He broke in. “Is it, though? Her client took off with four million dollars. Thugs came all the way down from Boston to track him down and, presumably, kill him. You processed those guys. They’re dangerous. And they certainly aren’t working alone.”

Markham opened his mouth to respond, but Jake steamrolled over him. “Vance Asher apparently checked himself out of the hospital AMA.”

“AMA?” Halloran’s pen hovered over his notepad.

“Against medical advice,” Trent supplied.

Halloran’s head bobbed, and he resumed his scribbling.

“When Officer Halloran here went to the outfitters to get Chelsea’s statement about the break-in, she wasn’t there.”

“The sign said ‘Closed for Lunch,’ didn’t it, Halloran?” The chief pivoted to the side and eyeballed his officer.

“Y-yes, uh, yes, sir.”

He turned back to Jake and Trent. “She’s allowed to eat, isn’t she?”

Jake ignored the disingenuous question. “I already told you, Chelsea’s cousin stopped by the store this morning. Chelsea wasn’t there. Asher told her Chelsea asked him to cover for her.”

“See? Ms. Bishop’s last contact was just this morning with Vance.”

Trent’s jaw tightened. Jake knew the feeling. They weren’t accustomed to being stonewalled by the local PD. If anything, the department usually bent over backward to assist Potomac. So, why the stiff-arm now? What was Joe Markham’s problem?

Jake switched gears. “According to Vance.”

“And we just told you, Chelsea’s car is hidden under a tarp on Asher’s property. That’s probable cause,” Trent insisted.

Markham scoffed, “Probable cause for what?”

Jake stared at him for a long moment. The crowded office was silent save for the scratching of Halloran’s pen across paper. Markham’s eyes flitted away again, this time over Trent’s shoulder and to the clock on the wall. He was getting ready to boot them out.

“For a warrant to search Asher’s property,” Jake replied in the most even tone he could muster.

“There’s not a snowball’s chance in Hades that a judge would sign a warrant on your say-so.

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