“And there he is.” She slid lower in her seat, waiting for Ronnie to step out of the house.
“We should wait for backup.”
“No. I’m not letting him go.”
Dana gave her The Look.
“Don’t. You saw what he did. I want him off the street where he can’t hurt anyone else.” Bree reached for the door handle as Ronnie came out of the house and closed the door behind him. “I’ll do the running. You head him off in the car.”
“I don’t like you going off on your own.” Dana shifted into drive.
“You will be right behind me. You just had bronchitis. You won’t be able to keep up.”
They both knew that Dana could never keep up with Bree anyway.
Dana grumbled in agreement. “When you get a newbie to train, make them do all the running.”
Bree didn’t want to think about taking on a new partner. Trust didn’t come easily to her.
Dana sobered. “Be careful, Bree. Ronnie is a dangerous little shitbag.”
“Yep.” Bree slipped out of the car. Dana drove away to circle the block. Bree peered around the hedge. Ronnie was heading up the alley. As if he knew she was behind him, he broke into a hard run.
Shit!
Bree sprinted after him, but he reached the end of the alley, turned right, and disappeared behind a wooden fence. Fearing an ambush, Bree stopped at the corner and put her back to the fence. Drawing her weapon, she rounded the corner gun-first. Her heart hammered against her breastbone. Despite the cold, sweat ran down the center of her back, soaking her shirt. But Ronnie wasn’t in sight.
Emerging on the next street, she caught her breath and scanned the surrounding brick rowhomes for her suspect. Where is that little bastard?
“Bree!” Just ahead, Dana had angled the Crown Vic across the intersection. She pointed out the open vehicle window to the alley on the next block. “That way!”
Following her partner’s direction, Bree pivoted on a patch of ice and ran. Behind her, she heard the peel of tires as Dana turned the car. She’d try to cut off Ronnie’s escape on the next block, and she’d call for more backup. No doubt there were additional units in the area.
Bree slogged through a snow bank and ran past a dumpster just in time to see her suspect climbing over a six-foot chain-link fence.
She bolted forward. “Stop! Police!”
As she expected, Ronnie ignored her and kept running. Bree didn’t bother to yell at him again. She’d save her breath for the chase.
In her peripheral vision, she caught the swirl of red-and-blue lights as a black-and-white unit passed the intersection. Her black athletic shoes skidded on the salt-dusted blacktop. She jumped onto the fence, and it rattled under the impact. Hooking her hands at the top, she hoisted herself over and dropped to the asphalt on the other side.
Spying Ronnie just twenty feet ahead of her, near where the alley dumped onto the main street, Bree stayed on him. She ran three days a week. The initial sprint had been painful for her cold lungs and muscles, but now she was warming up. Her stride lengthened, and she gained on Ronnie.
Dana should be at the other end of the alley to block his escape. But Ronnie looked over his shoulder, saw Bree right on his tail, and made a hard right, jumping onto a square bin next to a rickety wooden fence, poising to leap over it.
Bree was barely five feet behind him. She lunged forward and reached for the back of his jacket.
Almost.
Ronnie’s hands hit the top of the fence. She grabbed his hood just as he gathered his muscles to vault over the top. A heavy body hit the wood on the other side. The deep bark of a large dog echoed. Ronnie couldn’t stop his momentum in time, but Bree’s grip on his hood clotheslined him. Grabbing at the fabric at his throat, he fell to his knees and hit the fence face-first. Bree slammed into the fence next to him. Her cheek smacked the top board. The giant head of a white pit bull appeared as the dog leaped a second time. Its powerful jaws snapped inches from her eye. She felt the dog’s breath on the side of her face, and dog spit splattered her cheek before the big beast hit the ground again.
A memory intruded, teeth sinking into her flesh, the phantom pain bright and sharp as if thirty years had not passed. Terror jolted her heart, and she flung her body backward off the fence. She slipped off the bin and landed on her ass in six inches of snow. Ronnie fell on top of her in a pile of sprawled limbs. Something jammed hard into Bree’s gut, knocking the wind from her. But she barely registered the ache in her ribs.
Where’s the dog?
The pit bull hit the fence again. The weak boards rattled, creaked, and shifted as the dog threatened to break through. Bree heard low growling and heavy breathing. Dog tags jingled as the animal raced back and forth along its side of the fence. Approaching footsteps pounded on the pavement. Backup was here. But Bree’s adrenal system didn’t believe the danger had passed. Her pulse pounded through her veins. She fought to catch her breath and stem the panic scrambling through her chest, gathering momentum like an eighteen-wheeler barreling down the PA Turnpike.
The fence will hold.
But Bree couldn’t breathe. She tried to roll to her side, but Ronnie’s heavier body pinned her to the ground. A pair of big, black cop shoes appeared next to her face, and the weight was lifted off her. Still her lungs were locked up, and she gasped for air.
“I got him, Detective Taggert,” a voice said. “You can let go now.”
Bree inhaled, her lungs inflating, her eyes focusing. The shoes belonged to a beefy uniformed cop. A second patrol officer appeared next to the first. The dog huffed, but it was safely behind the fence.
“Bree!” Dana’s voice jolted her. “Let. Go.”
Bree blinked down at her hand. Her knuckles were scraped and raw from the impact with the fence, but her fingers were still clenched tightly in Ronnie’s hood. The fabric pressed against his windpipe, and his head was craned backward at an unnatural angle. She opened her fist and released him.
“Shit, Taggert,” Cop Number Two said. “You ran him down.”
The two uniforms flipped Ronnie onto his face, handcuffed him, and hauled him away. Another black-and-white parked behind the first.
Dana extended a hand. “You OK?”
Nodding, Bree let her partner pull her to her feet. Her knees trembled, but she sucked it up and forced them to straighten. The other cops would blame her breathlessness on the chase. She hoped.
Dana’s face was serious as she raked her eyes over Bree. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
Bree glanced around, aware that the other cops were watching her. Their scrutiny felt hot on her face. She rubbed her solar plexus. “Got the wind knocked out of me. I’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.”
“OK.” Dana steered her out of the alley to where she’d parked the car and opened the passenger door for her. “Sit down and catch your breath.”
Bree sat sideways, her feet in the street, and sipped from a water bottle she’d left in the car. Then she wiped her clammy palms on her thighs. Now that the incident was over, impending bruises were making themselves known. Her tailbone throbbed with every beat of her heart. But it wasn’t the aches and pains that rattled her, and it wouldn’t be the killer she’d chased that gave her nightmares.
It was the dog and the memories its snapping teeth evoked.