Read Online Blood on the Tracks by Barbara Nickless - Free Book Online Page A

headphones and gestured for Nik and me to do the same so that we could talk over the sound of the rotors.
    “Be just a minute,” he said. “Checking our clearance with Denver Approach.”
    “That train’s chewing up iron,” Nik said.
    “Won’t be long.”
    Cohen dropped back into his seat and busied himself writing notes in his large spiral book. Up front, the pilots shared a laugh on their private channel. The smell of hydraulic fluid rose from the floorboards, and the chill air held the stink of jet fuel. In an instant, my skin grew hot, my pulse jumped, and sweat beaded at my temples as memories from Iraq burst like mortar fire across my brain.
    The Sir. The bomb. Gurneys full of the dead.
    I pressed my hands to my face. PTSD. The gift that keeps on giving. I’d been furious with Nik because of Elise’s ghost. But it looked like the helicopter ride was going to be a bonus.
    Clyde pushed up against me. He’d been trained for helicopters, but he didn’t look happy, either. He laid back his ears and furrowed his face.
    “Easy, boy,” I said.
    I held out some kibble from the bag in my pocket and stroked his head, leaning over to whisper into his ear.
    “We’re still good.”
    He ignored the kibble and watched my face. Dogs sniff out fear and anxiety the way a street thief finds a mark—quickly and without effort. I had to convince myself we were okay before I could convince Clyde.
    Still holding out the treat, I relaxed my shoulders and drew in deep, regular breaths the way the VA counselor had taught me. I looked into Clyde’s anxious eyes and envisioned sitting with him in a mountain glen somewhere far away, the two of us basking in the sunlight, watching clouds drift overhead.
    We are here, we are here, we are here. Nothing can harm us.
    After a minute or two of silent interrogation, Clyde’s ears came forward and his brow smoothed out. He took the kibble from my hand then settled himself on the floor near my feet.
    I scrubbed behind his ears. “Good boy.”
    One small victory.
    I straightened and looked over at Cohen. “Detective?”
    He kept jotting notes. “Yeah, Parnell?”
    “We were just doing our job. Down at the camp.”
    Cohen lifted his head; his eyes met mine like a fist to the face. “That how it seemed to you? Because it seems to me that was my scene. My case, my scene.”
    Nik broke in. “We couldn’t be sure we had anything,” he said calmly. “Time was wasting. I made the call.”
    “My sympathy for your loss, Lasko. But it was a bad call.”
    “Could be we pushed the line a little. But if we’d waited for you to drag your ass down there, we wouldn’t be after Rhodes now.”
    Cohen ignored the jibe. “You think how it will look if this goes to trial? You think about what the judge is going to say, you digging around the camp of the man who—”
    “Look,” Nik said, “we weren’t trying to piss on your hydrant. But we’ve got to catch the guy before we can try him. We were there. You weren’t.”
    Cohen’s face went harder. “Why bring a perp in if you can’t keep him?”
    “You sound like a DA.”
    “And you’re what, the Lone Ranger? Or did I just miss the memo? When did you become a murder cop?”
    “Around the time you decided to sit on your ass while a killer got away.”
    “Stop,” I said.
    Nik looked at me. Cohen kept his eyes on Nik.
    I glared at both of them. “Can we quit with the territory crap and focus on Tucker Rhodes?”
    “Right,” Nik said softly.
    “Right,” said Cohen. Still pissed.
    The pilot’s voice came over the line. “We’re cleared to go.”
    The sound of the rotors deepened as they bit the air. Clyde gave a soft whine, and I pulled him close. Together we stared out the window as the chopper got light on her skids then lifted into the snow-dappled air.
    Denver dropped beneath us. Distance swallowed first Cohen’s partner in his dark overcoat and then the bright gleam of Elise’s hair. The tents and tarps of the hobo camp