Read Online Don't Look Away (Veronica Sloan) by Leslie A. Kelly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leslie A. Kelly
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skirmish, knowing she had to pick and choose her battles when it came to megalomaniacs who liked to throw their weight around.
Once the room had been emptied of half its occupants, leaving just those in law enforcement, plus Tate, his son, and the victim’s boss, the chief of the electronic forensics team began to speak. “In evaluating the data from the identification implant in the victim’s arm, plus preliminary findings at the scene, we are able to extrapolate a good deal of information about the crime. The victim’s heart rate accelerated from its standard rate at eight minutes after two o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
Shortly after two o’clock. Just when things were gearing up in a frenzy. What would have made the woman come down to the White House when one of the biggest events of the decade would soon be getting underway further up on the square? And what made her nervous—what made her heart beat faster? Had she ventured down into the basement, realized how dark it was, begun to wonder if she’d been lured there for some ruthless purpose?
“At approximately two-ten, a surge of unidentified energy reverberates through her body.”
“A stun gun,” Ronnie murmured.
The officious little forensics guy, who obviously liked the sound of his own voice, spared her an annoyed glance. “The clenching of her muscular tissue could indicate that type of device.”
Yeah. So could sticking a metal hanger into an electrical socket, but she doubted Leanne had done that.
Zipping her lips, she nodded a conciliatory go-ahead to the expert.
“Her heart rate continues its accelerated rate for several minutes, and her blood pressure surges, then suddenly begins to drop at approximately two-twenty-five.”
She’s bleeding.
The cutting had begun.
“Her respirations also follow this pattern, short, quick inhalations of oxygen for several minutes, growing more shallow as time progresses.”
Gasping in fear. Until her lungs had begun filling with her own blood?
“The pressure eventually slows to a level barely high enough to sustain life, then the respirations cease. The heart’s final contractions occur at approximately three-twenty with all electrical impulses in the brain ending shortly thereafter.”
Eighty minutes .
God in heaven. The woman had survived for nearly an hour and a half of the assault, experiencing every second of it. Initial adrenaline had given way to fear, then terror. Pain, then incoherence and finally death.
Closing her eyes briefly, Ronnie let her mind suck in the images, and her experience and imagination fill in the blanks. She could almost see the killer watching intently as he split the woman’s flesh apart with his blade. Had he leaned close enough to feel her terrified breaths fall warm upon his skin? Had he delighted in breathing deeply to inhale the unmistakable scent of her blood as it gushed hot and hard out of her wounds?
Yes. Yes, she believed he had.
He would have begun slowly, wanting to savor his victim’s terror as an appetizer. When he had consumed every morsel of that, he’d have started in on the main course: Her physical pain, with her continuing fear adding spice to the meal. And the post-mortem mutilation had been his dessert.
Opening her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, instinctively certain of one thing. Their suspect had not merely caused this woman’s death, he’d made a banquet of it.
Everyone remained silent, absorbing the details…imagining the implications. Even the smooth, self-assured Philip Tate had grown a little pale during the report.
It was Tate senior who got back to business first. “Well, it appears in this instance that the implanted microchip was of some assistance in establishing the scene for all of us.”
The forensics guy leaned forward and finally showed some genuine emotion. He sure hadn’t spared any for the victim. “It’s brilliant, Dr. Tate. If I may, sir, please allow me to thank you. Your invention has enabled those
Once the room had been emptied of half its occupants, leaving just those in law enforcement, plus Tate, his son, and the victim’s boss, the chief of the electronic forensics team began to speak. “In evaluating the data from the identification implant in the victim’s arm, plus preliminary findings at the scene, we are able to extrapolate a good deal of information about the crime. The victim’s heart rate accelerated from its standard rate at eight minutes after two o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
Shortly after two o’clock. Just when things were gearing up in a frenzy. What would have made the woman come down to the White House when one of the biggest events of the decade would soon be getting underway further up on the square? And what made her nervous—what made her heart beat faster? Had she ventured down into the basement, realized how dark it was, begun to wonder if she’d been lured there for some ruthless purpose?
“At approximately two-ten, a surge of unidentified energy reverberates through her body.”
“A stun gun,” Ronnie murmured.
The officious little forensics guy, who obviously liked the sound of his own voice, spared her an annoyed glance. “The clenching of her muscular tissue could indicate that type of device.”
Yeah. So could sticking a metal hanger into an electrical socket, but she doubted Leanne had done that.
Zipping her lips, she nodded a conciliatory go-ahead to the expert.
“Her heart rate continues its accelerated rate for several minutes, and her blood pressure surges, then suddenly begins to drop at approximately two-twenty-five.”
She’s bleeding.
The cutting had begun.
“Her respirations also follow this pattern, short, quick inhalations of oxygen for several minutes, growing more shallow as time progresses.”
Gasping in fear. Until her lungs had begun filling with her own blood?
“The pressure eventually slows to a level barely high enough to sustain life, then the respirations cease. The heart’s final contractions occur at approximately three-twenty with all electrical impulses in the brain ending shortly thereafter.”
Eighty minutes .
God in heaven. The woman had survived for nearly an hour and a half of the assault, experiencing every second of it. Initial adrenaline had given way to fear, then terror. Pain, then incoherence and finally death.
Closing her eyes briefly, Ronnie let her mind suck in the images, and her experience and imagination fill in the blanks. She could almost see the killer watching intently as he split the woman’s flesh apart with his blade. Had he leaned close enough to feel her terrified breaths fall warm upon his skin? Had he delighted in breathing deeply to inhale the unmistakable scent of her blood as it gushed hot and hard out of her wounds?
Yes. Yes, she believed he had.
He would have begun slowly, wanting to savor his victim’s terror as an appetizer. When he had consumed every morsel of that, he’d have started in on the main course: Her physical pain, with her continuing fear adding spice to the meal. And the post-mortem mutilation had been his dessert.
Opening her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, instinctively certain of one thing. Their suspect had not merely caused this woman’s death, he’d made a banquet of it.
Everyone remained silent, absorbing the details…imagining the implications. Even the smooth, self-assured Philip Tate had grown a little pale during the report.
It was Tate senior who got back to business first. “Well, it appears in this instance that the implanted microchip was of some assistance in establishing the scene for all of us.”
The forensics guy leaned forward and finally showed some genuine emotion. He sure hadn’t spared any for the victim. “It’s brilliant, Dr. Tate. If I may, sir, please allow me to thank you. Your invention has enabled those
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