Page 11 of Lock ’N’ Load

“I drove into the lot just after midnight,” she recounted, pausing to watch the ambulance roll out of the lot.

It took only a few minutes for her to relate what she knew, and it took all her resolve not to look at Sgt. Connors, who’d come to stand next to Detective Sorensen. Even the dim light cast from the passenger compartment’s overhead light was enough to make the thick muscles of his forearms stand out in vivid detail.

“When I got here,” he said, pointing behind them to the woods, “some assho—” He paused and cleared his throat. “Some guy had his arm around her, a knife to her throat, and was dragging her into the woods.”

Detective Sorensen scribbled on his pad. “Can either of you describe him?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I never saw him. He was always behind me.” She put a hand to her throat, running her fingers over the bandage covering the knife wound.

“Matt?” The detective turned to Sgt. Connors.

“About five-eleven, one-eighty, dark hair, wearing gloves, and he reeked of cigarette smoke.”

“You saw all that?” She widened her eyes at the specificity of his description. And she couldn’t even remember the cigarette smell.

Probably because he had a knife to my throat, and I couldn’t breathe.

“I got a look at him. You didn’t.” Sgt. Connors then proceeded to recount his observations, including him tackling her attacker to the ground.

“You saved m-my life.” Her words came out a harsh whisper.

He shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

“N-no, really.” She locked gazes with him, only now fully realizing how close she’d come to dying. Or worse. “Thank you.”

The sides of his mouth lifted briefly in a reluctant smile, and again, she was struck by how incredibly gorgeous he was. Especially when he smiled.

“Does Sgt. Connors’s description sound like anyone you know?” Detective Sorensen asked. “An old boyfriend, current boyfriend, enemies?”

“No. I don’t have any of those.” Definitely not a boyfriend, not even an old one. At least, no one who’d lasted very long.

“Did he try to grab your purse?” Detective Sorensen asked.

“No.” She shook her head.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No.”

Detective Sorensen looked up from writing. “He didn’t say anything about what he was going to do to you?”

“No. He never said a word. Like I told you, he pulled me from my car, grabbed me from behind, then dragged me to the woods. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground.” Helpless and unable to do anything, including breathe.

“Did he say anything to you?” Detective Sorensen turned to Sgt. Connors, who shook his head, then frowned.

The detective tapped the pen on his pad, pursing his lips. Whatever both men were thinking, it wasn’t good.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Neither man responded, just exchanged suspicious looks. “I may work for the CIA, but I don’t like secrets. If there’s something I should know, say it.”

Detective Sorensen shoved the pad and pen into his pocket. “On the surface, this seems like either a robbery or a sexual assault. However, he didn’t go for your purse, and granted, he may not have had the chance to assault you sexually, but he didn’t say anything to you.”

“I hadn’t realized rapists carry on lengthy discourse with their intended victims.”

The detective nodded. “Normally, they say something.”

“Some use words designed to lull you into a sense of safety,” Sgt. Connors said, his jaw hardening. “Some ask if you need assistance. Others use outright profanity. Some like to tell you exactly what they plan to do to you.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she shuddered at what an easy victim she’d made. Parking in a darkened section of the lot probably hadn’t been the brightest thing to do. She might have a kick-ass analytical mind, but when it came to practicality, she was as dumb as a stump.