Presumed Guilty. Dana R. Lynn

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СКАЧАТЬ his head back against the headrest, he closed his eyes and tried to recall the voice of Melanie’s mysterious caller. It had been obviously disguised. But still, there was something about it that was familiar. If only he could remember why. Something in the accent. It wouldn’t come to him. Frustrated, he pounded his fist on the steering wheel. His hand slipped and accidentally bumped the horn. The single honk was embarrassingly loud. Jerking the offending hand back, he stuffed it in his pocket. Couldn’t cause him any trouble there. Sighing, his mind returned to the voice.

      He knew that voice.

      But from where?

      He drifted off into a fitful sleep. Several times during the night, he awakened abruptly. At around three in the morning, he decided to take a look around the perimeter of the house. He unfolded his lanky frame from the car, stretching and yawning, and then wincing as his muscles protested. He pulled a face and rubbed the small of his back. Sleeping in a car was never a pleasant experience. He felt almost as tired as if he hadn’t slept at all. Not to mention the tightness that was still knotting his shoulders. He was going to have a monster of a tension headache if he didn’t take measures soon.

      Digging in the glove compartment, he found two pain pills in the first-aid kit and chased them down with yesterday’s cold coffee. Yech. But the only other option was to swallow them dry. Nothing worse than pill paste on your tongue.

      He started around the house at an easy stride. One hand held the flashlight, the other his service weapon. He swept a wide beam across the yard. To his relief, he could see nothing out of place. Sidling up to the window, a frown pulled the corners of his mouth down. The curtains were drawn, but a small sliver was still open at the outside edge. He peered inside. He could barely make out Melanie’s shape under a pile of blankets on the couch. Her face was turned away from the window, but a mop of brown hair was visible.

      He couldn’t do anything about that now. He’d make sure to mention it to her in the morning. He completed his circle around the house and returned to the cruiser. When he drifted off to sleep again, his rest was easier.

      Three hours later, he jolted awake again. A feeling of unease slithered down his spine. Something was wrong. He could sense it. Gathering up his gun and his phone, he threw open the door and loped across the lawn to Melanie’s front door. The entire way he muttered a litany of prayer under his breath. He might not know where the danger lay, but God knew.

      “Lord, You are in control. Help us.”

      When he arrived at the door, his blood froze.

      Attached to the door with black electrical tape were three pictures. Him, asleep in his cruiser. Melanie, out like a light on the couch. Except in this picture, her face was visible.

      The third picture showed Jace and Melanie together as they stared at the mannequin the night before. His muscles bunched and a spasm of rage shot through his gut as he remembered Melanie’s terror. Someone was playing a game, all right. Jace didn’t intend to let them win.

      He ran back to the car and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and a sealable bag from the glove box. Pulling out his cell phone, he took several pictures of the doorway for evidence and sent them in an attachment to Paul. Then, working quickly, he used his pocketknife to scrape the tape holding the pictures off the door. Pulling the pictures free, he placed them in the bag, sealed it and then slipped it into his coat pocket.

      He realized he could procrastinate no longer. The unmistakable sounds of someone moving about inside told him Mel was awake. Reluctantly, he raised his fist and rapped on the door.

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