“Stop!” I called just as George turned and slipped behind the curtain. The other man, his brother, lifted his hands like he was surrendering to the cops and stepped back, allowing me to walk behind the counter toward the curtain. “Who’s back there?” I asked.
“No one,” he muttered.
I pulled out my gun and held it up as I shoved the curtain to the side. The hooks rattled and I saw no movement beyond the curtain at all. No movement was never a good sign.
Light suddenly flooded the room and then a door at the back of the supply room clicked shut. Shit. He was going to get away. I dodged around boxes, bags, and what appeared to be a casket on wheels. You could find some crazy shit at a pawn shop. I hip-checked the bar on the door and shoved it open, holding my gun high, braced by my other hand. I didn’t plan to use it, because I just wanted to talk to the guy, but I also knew I needed to protect myself, particularly in this neighborhood. I scanned left and right, but no one was there. Damn it.
I holstered my gun and walked quickly around the building. And that was where I found Shelly. She stood over George, who was sprawled on the sidewalk, clearly incapacitated. How that had happened, I had no idea. “What did you do?” I bit out.
“He ran around the corner of the building, and I assumed he was running from you.”
And what if he hadn’t been?
I bent down next to him and checked for a pulse, gratified when I found one beating strong. “What did you do to him?”
“He tripped.”
“Over you?”
“Over his own two feet.” She held up a hand like she was swearing on a bible. “I swear it.” She pointed toward the cameras above us. “Check the surveillance footage. I was just standing guard. I promise.”
I called 9-1-1 and asked for an ambulance. Then I called the station to let my former boss know I had the man he was looking for. Unconscious. On the ground.
“I got him,” I said into the phone.
“I’ll meet him at the hospital.”
Just then, a couple of detectives pulled up. “Clark,” one of them said, with a nod of his head. He helped the ambulance driver get a good parking spot, and then got in to ride with George to the hospital. He looked back at me. “Thank you.” The door closed behind him and the ambulance pulled away.
I looked at Shelly. She leaned against the building, her hip resting against the brick, her feet crossed beneath her.
I motioned for her to follow me to the car.
I pulled my cap from my head and she did the same, shaking her ponytail free. Her hair was a little darker than Lynn’s, but not by much.
“You want to tell me what really happened back there?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She stared straight ahead.
“George didn’t trip over his own feet.” That much I knew for sure. He was wily and nimble as a cat. He’d led me on many a merry chase in the past few weeks. The first night Shelly showed up at my office was only one of the times I’d tried to chase him down.
“Does it really matter what happened?” Shelly asked. She finally turned her head so that she faced me, her blue eyes startling in their intensity.
“When he files a suit against us for harassment or endangerment, it will matter.” I put the car in drive and pulled out into the street.
“Oh,” Shelly said quietly.
“Is there anything I need to know?” I heaved in a sigh.
“George didn’t trip over his own feet,” she muttered, her mouth barely moving.
“What?” I asked. I was afraid I’d just heard her say George didn’t trip over his own feet.
“G
eorge might have sort of kind of just a little bit tripped over my foot.”
“Why did he trip over your foot?”