Witness Pursuit

“Hi, this is Cassie. I can’t take your call right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back. Have a blessed day.” Beep.

“Cassie, it’s Chief Walsh. I’ve asked Harvey to stop by and check on you and your mom. I didn’t want you to be alarmed when he arrived.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else, something like everything was going to be fine, or how much he admired her for surviving a brutal childhood disease. “Okay, well, have a nice evening.” He ended the call.

Maintaining his professionalism was key with Cassie McBride. Wasn’t that why she called him Chief instead of Nate? It was a reminder to both of them that they didn’t have a personal relationship. No matter how often she pestered him with questions for her blog, or seemed to show up whenever he was hurt on the job, Nate would never cross that line, a line his partner had crossed, which had cost him.

It could put her life in danger if Nate lost focus because of his attraction to Cassie.

His attraction to Cassie? Whoa, where had that come from? Well, who wouldn’t be attracted to her? She was kind and engaging, independent and optimistic. Which made him wonder why she wasn’t in a serious relationship.

When Nate asked Aiden about Cassie’s social life, her brother said she blamed her family for scaring away suitors because they were so overprotective. Aiden countered that she was too picky—either that or she didn’t want to get involved because of her travel plans. No one in Cassie’s family approved of her taking off on her own to see the world. On one hand, Nate could understand why, yet he couldn’t fault her for wanting to explore life outside of Echo Mountain.

Fifteen minutes later, Nate arrived at Whispering Pines cabin to check in with Detective Sara Vaughn. Before he went inside, he glanced at a text message from Cassie: Thanks for sending Harvey. Mom is excited for more company. J

Nate texted back: Glad to help. He hit Send and considered sending another text, something like Have a good night or I’ll see you in the morning.

“I’m losin’ it,” he muttered and went into the cabin. He found Detective Vaughn conferring with a forensic specialist.

“Hey, Chief,” she greeted.

The forensic officer retreated into the bathroom where they’d found the body.

“Initial cause of death looks like blunt force trauma, but there were no defensive wounds, no sign of a struggle, no evidence he restrained her. Nothin’.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “So, what? She let him whack her head against the side of the tub? It makes no sense. We’ll know more once they get her on the table.”

“How about identification?”

“License reads Marilyn Brandenburg of Moscow, Idaho. We found an emergency number in her cell phone for a sister. I’ve called, but it keeps going to voice mail.”

“Did you find Cassie McBride’s purse on the premises?”

“There’s a purple bag on the kitchen counter, why?”

“The killer came after her at the hospital. I’m trying to figure out how he knew who she was since she claims he didn’t see her face.”

“Wait, so she saw him, called for help and took off with a dog in her arms?”

“That is correct. I’m wondering if the perp took her wallet, which was how he identified her.”

“I saw a wallet on the counter.”

Nate went to the kitchen where Cassie’s wallet, made from colorful duct tape, lay next to a bright purple bag. Cassie probably made the wallet herself, he mused. A few inches away he spotted a key chain with small charms: silver cross, flower, Union Jack flag, Eiffel Tower and kangaroo.

Fingering the keys made him wonder about the killer.

“Vaughn?” he called.

She popped her head out of the bedroom. “Sir?”

“Are we thinking the suspect escaped on foot? There were no cars in the area other than Cassie’s.”

“Someone spotted a black sedan at the Snoquamish trailhead. We’re looking into it,” Vaughn said.

“Good.” He redirected his attention to Cassie’s wallet.

He started to analyze the contents. Her round face smiled back at him from her driver’s license. The killer would only have to glance at the license to determine Cassie’s name and address.

Nate’s fingers dug into the plastic wallet.

The address on her license was the farmhouse.

FIVE (#ulink_57148e3f-09ba-5af2-b28f-7e291a91ec0a)

Cassie tossed and turned in bed. Couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t spent the night at the farmhouse in months. Being back here, staying in her old room, brought back memories of a darker time, a time when she felt weak and helpless.

As she glanced out the window at a familiar tree, memories rushed back, bringing with them the irrational and paralyzing fear of being stuck in bed for the rest of her life.

She hopped out of bed, put her fleece on over her pajamas and grabbed her phone. A sip of water would stop this line of thinking. It always had in the past.

Heading toward the stairs, the sound of voices drifted from the first floor. Her mom and Harvey were talking in the living room.

Cassie hesitated at the top of the stairs.

“You should try and go back to sleep,” Harvey said.

“I can’t. I keep thinking about my daughter finding a dead body. She must be traumatized,” her mom said.

“She’s a tough cookie, Margaret.”

“But she’s not talking about it, at least not to me. I don’t know what I ever did to put such distance between us. We were so close when she was a child.”

Cassie gripped the cherrywood railing. If only she could articulate how her mom’s overprotectiveness made Cassie feel like she couldn’t breathe. But she struggled to find the right words. She’d never want to come off as disrespectful, and she’d certainly never want to hurt Mom’s feelings.

“Kids go through awkward stages, then they grow out of it,” Harvey offered.

“Yeah, when they’re sixteen, not twenty-six,” her mom answered. “I wish she would open up. I could help.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to worry you.”

“Too late for that.”

A moment of silence, then, “How about some more coffee?” her mom offered.

“That would be great.”

“And cookies?”

“If you got ’em.”

“I always have cookies.”