The Woman Most Wanted. Pamela Tracy

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      “Nothing,” the female told the others.

      “I told you. I’m a dental assistant. I don’t need a gun. What’s go—”

      They weren’t listening to her. Instead, the woman cop frowned at Tom. “You’re going to have to fill out a report for drawing your weapon, Chief Riley.”

      “You saw everything, right?”

      Heather noted the slight trembling of the chief’s hand.

      The one still holding the gun.

      “Her purse. When she went for it, I thought...” He looked at Heather and his expression shut down, unreadable. Silently, he stepped back.

      “You’ll be all right taking her in?” the cop who’d read her rights asked.

      The chief nodded.

      “Let’s roll,” the female officer said.

      Her mind screamed protests that her mouth didn’t utter. She was so numb that she blindly allowed the chief to escort her into the back seat of the SUV, no questions asked.

      She witnessed the female officer attach an orange sticker to the back window of her car.

      She could consider it impounded.

      All this was for real.

      Chief Riley climbed behind the steering wheel and quickly radioed in a code she didn’t know and then reported both the current time and the mileage on his vehicle.

      She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t believe this was happening.

      “Ex-excuse me,” she said softly. Chief Riley glanced in his rearview mirror.

      Anger came off of him in waves. Wait. Innocent until proven guilty, right? The cops were the good guys, right?

      What if they weren’t cops?

      Yeah, right, only Heather Graves could have such a ridiculous thought after one SUV and three squad cars surrounded her little hatchback.

      “I—I...” Words fought to form but didn’t leave her throat in even the semblance of a sentence.

      Come to think of it, every time she had a nightmare, she lost the power of speech.

      Since this was the biggest nightmare of all, she’d most likely lose a lot more before the ordeal was finished.

      * * *

      FINALLY.

      Tom was almost afraid to take his eyes away from the rearview mirror. She might disappear. She’d done it before, leaving the Sarasota Falls Police Department frustrated and amazed.

      He’d taken it the hardest. The chief of police back then had finally taken him aside and said, “If you intend to keep your job, focus on what you can change and leave what you can’t for another day. Otherwise, you won’t get anything done.”

      Good advice. If he’d taken it, he might still be married. Instead, he’d spent hours driving the back roads, stopping by Rachel Ramsey’s friends’ houses.

      They were all convinced of her innocence. Not him. He continued to drive, even though he knew it was a long shot.

      “I haven’t done anything wrong,” she protested again, eyes wide open, with a little shimmer. Too bad. Tears really didn’t work on him anymore. Still, she continued to amaze him. He’d expected her to be mad, resist arrest, pretend surprise. The only thing she’d done was cooperate and try to get his attention.

      She had that, all right.

      He thought back to when he’d been a rookie and picked up Rachel multiple times. Early on for shoplifting and once for truancy. Tom still remembered trying later to explain to her mother that Rachel just needed guidance. The advice had fallen on deaf ears.

      Still, he’d often helped Rachel return what she’d stolen.

      As a young cop, only a year on the force, he’d been appalled that Rachel Ramsey was raising herself and that he knew little about how to help her. Her mother was negligent, not abusive. Social services had visited twice, both times because Tom had personally phoned. Their report was the house was livable and there was food in the fridge. Rachel had no bruises or complaints. Apparently, those were the core expectations for parenthood.

      He’d actually escorted the social worker once and had realized that Rachel was stealing only what she needed: clothes that fit and school supplies.

      It was still stealing.

      She was dressed pretty fancy now. Her shirt was pale pink with glittery buttons. Her jeans were fitted, without tears, and he recalled her white tennis shoes looked brand-new. She wore a pearl necklace and tiny earrings, too. The phone he’d confiscated was top-of-the-line.

      She’d obviously done all right for herself and had upgraded from a house that was in the middle of nowhere and a delinquent mother.

      He should have arrested Rachel when he’d had the chance back then. Played hardball with the shoplifting and truancy offenses. Maybe a stint in juvie would have done her good. But he’d known a few kids who’d gone to juvie and only learned how to be better criminals. So, even during his third year on the force, he’d continued to take Rachel home, talk to her mother about providing support and drive away.

      Looking in the rearview mirror, at Rachel Ramsey, he tried to see the girl she’d been. It was there. Buried. Her blond hair was still long and wavy. She should have dyed it, curled it, or something. Her cheekbones were still high and her mouth was still lined with a shade of red lipstick that most women didn’t dare wear—not in his experience. His ex-wife sure couldn’t.

      Her blue eyes were the giveaway.

      After almost a decade, Rachel Ramsey had changed very little, apart from her circumstances. Tom Riley, however, had changed a lot.

      “Truly,” she said, clearing her throat, “you’ve made a mistake. I did speed up and was probably over the limit. I admit it. Give me a ticket, but I’ve done nothing else wrong.”

      He could think of only one word in reply. “Nothing?”

      His tone must have had some effect because she sat back, twisting a bit as the handcuffs restricted movement, and stared at him. Boy, she had fake confusion nailed.

      What had she been thinking by coming back to Sarasota Falls? He had a million other questions to ask, but not before every word could be recorded. No chance would he mess up this case, because of his close connection to it. He longed to knock on Max’s widow’s door and say, “Sylvia, we got her. And, I’ll make sure she leads me to Jeremy Salinas. Justice will be served.”

      In the back, Rachel settled and stared out the window. She was pale, and her teeth worrying her bottom lip. She had aged a bit. There were a few lines by her eyes. He’d have called them laugh lines on anyone else.

      Not her.

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