Read Online Fractured by Wendy Byrne - Free Book Online Page B

slouch when it came to running, but this guy either had equal stamina or he had a heavy doze of fear or chemical enhancement egging him on. Either way, she found the distance between them increasing.
    She was a block behind him now, with dozens of people in between. His dark wavy hair stood out in the crowd, but it was harder and harder to keep a visual. Her breath hiccupped in her throat as she tore around the corner and stopped.
    There was only a sprinkling of people on the sidewalk. And none of them was Sergio.
    It was like he’d disappeared. Now what?
    As she walked back to her car, a text from the lieutenant popped onto her phone. “Station ASAP.”
    That could only mean trouble.
    Memories from the Ramirez fiasco resurfaced. Six months later, and she still couldn’t get past the humiliation. She’d been so sure and confident about her information, half the department had been involved in what she’d envisioned to be the bust of the decade based on what a very reliable informant had told her. Unfortunately, they ended up scoring nothing but a couple of ounces of weed. Ramirez served a few months on a minor parole violation. She, on the other hand, lived with the humiliation every day for the last six months.
    She touched at the handkerchief in her pocket for luck, walked up the steps and yanked open the station door. Nobody paid her much attention. And, as usual, there was a constant buzz of activity which sounded a little like the drone of a beehive, the hum of disjointed conversations either in person or on the phone, the shuffling of paperwork, the ringing of phones. The smell of coffee, intermingled with the aroma of cigarette smoke, permeated the air.
    She knocked before opening the door to his office. “Hi, lieutenant, what’s up?”
    â€œSit, Sanchez. There’s something I need to talk to you about.” Most times with her, he’d joke around, tell a few stories about the good old days before he got down to business. Today was markedly different.
    â€œIf this is about Stateville, I can explain that.”
    He held out his hand. “I know all about that and don’t care, even though the Feds are all over me about it.” He drew in a deep breath. “The gun at your place matches the murder weapon.”
    â€œWhat?” Her mind switched gears as he hit her with something out of left field.
    â€œYou heard me. Not your service weapon, but the one you had stashed in your apartment, is the gun that killed your father.”
    Her mouth refused to work. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d used it. How could somebody even know where she’d kept it?
    But Lou had access to her apartment. In her absence he could easily find out where she kept her spare.
    With considerable effort, she forced her mind to focus. “I haven’t fired that thing in months, maybe years. I kept it around mostly because I hadn’t gotten around to disposing of it.”
    He shook his head. “It had your fingerprints all over it.”
    A shiver wormed down her back. “Of course. It’s my gun. But I told you I didn’t do it. There’s got to be some kind of mistake.”
    He tsked and took a sip of coffee. “Look, Sanchez, nobody here would blame you if you offed your father. He was a bad dude, killed a couple of undercover cops before they locked him up. I could understand why you might feel threatened by him. Cop to it and you’ll probably only get a slap on the wrist.”
    â€œBut I didn’t do it.” She gulped in some air before continuing. “You know there was no love lost between me and my father. Heck, I told most people he was dead even before he was, but I didn’t kill him. It happened like I said earlier. When Landry and I got to my apartment, he was already dead.” She heard the whiny sound to her voice and didn’t like it, but at the same time couldn’t seem to prevent it. “I’d