in their brain, and then they thought they saw him at a gas station the next day, when in reality it was some random guy on his way to work. You keep chasing your tail. I’m going to LightPulse.”
The approaching Sergeant Davis blocked DJ’s dramatic exit. He said, “Barker, you and the cowboy here need to get up to the Rose Gardens. Report just came in about some crazy naked woman there that fit Sara Winthrop’s description.”
DJ thanked him, then said to Barker, “Well?”
“Sounds like the game's already started. Okay, you head over to her office, I’ll go check out the Gardens. But this doesn’t mean the mister is off the table, got it? And drop that note off at the lab on your way out, see if they can find some prints.”
He nodded, and offered a curt salute.
Naked at the Rose Gardens? What kind of game are you playing, Sara?
CHAPTER 8
SARA
Sara’s feet pounded the pavement. She ran as fast as she dared down the hill, away from the Rose Gardens, away from her humiliation, cutting through the trees. The shortcut was more dangerous than taking the winding, looping road all the way to the bottom, but it would save her valuable time as long as she managed to keep from rolling an ankle. A sprain would be disastrous, but it was a risk she had to take.
She reached Sherwood Boulevard and found the opposite side blocked by a chain link fence, topped with barbed wire. “Shit,” she said. “Son of a bitch.”
She turned left and sprinted down Sherwood, controlling her breathing on a 3-2 count. Inhale on three steps, exhale on two. Inhale on three steps, exhale on two. Cars crept past and she examined each one, looking for someone that might be watching her, keeping an eye on her progress. Not a single driver gave her more than a passing glance. She risked a look over her shoulder, examining the road behind her for the white sedan with tinted windows. Her only tail was the Gray Line trolley with wooden seats and pink trim.
If the goons in the white sedan were trying to track her, they probably hadn’t expected her to cut straight down the hill, and thus they hadn’t been able to catch up yet.
She passed a parked, City of Portland work truck and then the chain link fence to her right melded into a wrought iron one, painted black. Below it, and on the other side, was one of the many reservoirs stationed around the hill. Once she reached Washington Way, she turned right onto the sidewalk and picked up her pace.
A paved walkway carved a path through the trees to her right. She wasn’t sure where it went, and rather than risk an avoidable delay, she held her course through the mossy pines.
The rhythm of her breathing began to deteriorate as her lungs burned and her quads strained to keep up. A stitch crawled its way into her left side. She backed off her pace, enough to get her breathing under control fifty yards later.
I should ease up. Can’t crash so soon.
No, no whining. Think about what the kids are going through. Push harder, damn it, push harder.
She increased her speed and thought about a video that Brian had shown her about a year before he had gone missing. She’d been suffering through a bout of depression for at least two months. Work wasn’t going well, Jacob was going through his Terrible Twos, she wasn’t sleeping, and many, many more things that she couldn’t remember. A variety of factors had lined up to take their shot at pounding on her and then everything had coalesced at once after a good reaming from Jim when her team didn’t make a hard deadline.
The video itself, the one Brian had dug up on YouTube, was Jim Valvano’s speech from the ESPY awards, back in the early ‘90s. She couldn’t remember all of it, other than the fact that he was dying from cancer and the message he wanted to convey. “Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.”
Those words carved themselves into her memory like a
The approaching Sergeant Davis blocked DJ’s dramatic exit. He said, “Barker, you and the cowboy here need to get up to the Rose Gardens. Report just came in about some crazy naked woman there that fit Sara Winthrop’s description.”
DJ thanked him, then said to Barker, “Well?”
“Sounds like the game's already started. Okay, you head over to her office, I’ll go check out the Gardens. But this doesn’t mean the mister is off the table, got it? And drop that note off at the lab on your way out, see if they can find some prints.”
He nodded, and offered a curt salute.
Naked at the Rose Gardens? What kind of game are you playing, Sara?
CHAPTER 8
SARA
Sara’s feet pounded the pavement. She ran as fast as she dared down the hill, away from the Rose Gardens, away from her humiliation, cutting through the trees. The shortcut was more dangerous than taking the winding, looping road all the way to the bottom, but it would save her valuable time as long as she managed to keep from rolling an ankle. A sprain would be disastrous, but it was a risk she had to take.
She reached Sherwood Boulevard and found the opposite side blocked by a chain link fence, topped with barbed wire. “Shit,” she said. “Son of a bitch.”
She turned left and sprinted down Sherwood, controlling her breathing on a 3-2 count. Inhale on three steps, exhale on two. Inhale on three steps, exhale on two. Cars crept past and she examined each one, looking for someone that might be watching her, keeping an eye on her progress. Not a single driver gave her more than a passing glance. She risked a look over her shoulder, examining the road behind her for the white sedan with tinted windows. Her only tail was the Gray Line trolley with wooden seats and pink trim.
If the goons in the white sedan were trying to track her, they probably hadn’t expected her to cut straight down the hill, and thus they hadn’t been able to catch up yet.
She passed a parked, City of Portland work truck and then the chain link fence to her right melded into a wrought iron one, painted black. Below it, and on the other side, was one of the many reservoirs stationed around the hill. Once she reached Washington Way, she turned right onto the sidewalk and picked up her pace.
A paved walkway carved a path through the trees to her right. She wasn’t sure where it went, and rather than risk an avoidable delay, she held her course through the mossy pines.
The rhythm of her breathing began to deteriorate as her lungs burned and her quads strained to keep up. A stitch crawled its way into her left side. She backed off her pace, enough to get her breathing under control fifty yards later.
I should ease up. Can’t crash so soon.
No, no whining. Think about what the kids are going through. Push harder, damn it, push harder.
She increased her speed and thought about a video that Brian had shown her about a year before he had gone missing. She’d been suffering through a bout of depression for at least two months. Work wasn’t going well, Jacob was going through his Terrible Twos, she wasn’t sleeping, and many, many more things that she couldn’t remember. A variety of factors had lined up to take their shot at pounding on her and then everything had coalesced at once after a good reaming from Jim when her team didn’t make a hard deadline.
The video itself, the one Brian had dug up on YouTube, was Jim Valvano’s speech from the ESPY awards, back in the early ‘90s. She couldn’t remember all of it, other than the fact that he was dying from cancer and the message he wanted to convey. “Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.”
Those words carved themselves into her memory like a
Similar Books
