Split Second (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 1)

“That was a bad judgment call. I wouldn’t have slept with you before a shift no matter how tempted I might have been. Not that I would have been.”

“Thanks. That’s good to know… Mick.”

“In fact,” Michelle continued boring in, “your being distracted I can accept a lot more than your sleeping around before going on duty.”

“This is all really interesting. Now, do you want to check this place out, or do you want to continue dissecting my life decisions?”

“I tell you what, why don’t we just leave?” she said abruptly. “I’m suddenly sick of the atmosphere here.”

She strode off, and King, shaking his head wearily, slowly followed.

Outside the room, she was already out of sight. King called after her and shone the light and finally picked her out of the shadows. “Michelle, wait up. You’ll kill yourself getting out of here without a light.”

She stopped, her arms crossed over her chest, and scowled back at him. Then she stiffened, and her head snapped in the other direction. King saw a blur come from out of the darkness, and Michelle cried out. He rushed forward as the two men came into the beam of his flashlight and descended on Michelle.

“Watch out!” yelled King as he raced forward. Before he could get to them, a gun one of the men was brandishing went flying away, the result of a precise kick executed by Michelle. Next her left foot crunched the face of the other guy, and he flew against a wall and slumped down. Like a dancer practicing a carefully choreographed routine, she spun and dropped the other guy with a wicked snap kick to the kidney. Both men tried to get back up, but she laid one of them out with an elbow smash to the back of his neck, while King knocked the other one out with his flashlight.

Breathing hard, he looked over as Michelle searched in her bag. She produced two pairs of Tie-Tights and ingeniously bound the unconscious men together. The woman hadn’t even broken a sweat. She looked up at King and his inquiring look.

“Black belt. Fourth-degree,” she said.

“Of course,” King said. He shone his light on the pair still dressed in their blue inmate jumpsuits. “Looks like our friends the escaped prisoners. Guess they couldn’t find any new duds.”

“I’ll call it in, do the locals a favor. Anonymously, of course.” She pulled out her phone.

“Hey, Michelle?”

“Yeah?”

“I just want you to know that I feel very safe with a big, strong woman around to protect me.”

After she called the police, Michelle and King hustled to her Land Cruiser, getting to it about the time the chopper came soaring over on its way to the hotel. Michelle followed the path of the aircraft and then the swath its light cut through the woods. When she saw him, she gasped.

Revealed off on a side road was a truck, and sitting in the truck was a man, sharply exposed now by the light. And then in an instant the light was gone and so was the man. Michelle could hear the truck being started, and then it sped off.

Michelle jumped into her truck, screaming for King to follow.

“What is it?” he yelled, closing the door after him as she fumbled with her keys.

“There was a man in a truck. Didn’t you see him?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Didn’t you hear his truck take off?”

“With that chopper going over? Who was it?”

“He looked different, because he must have been wearing a disguise when I saw him the first time—and maybe he’s wearing one now—but I could see his eyes clearly. The eyes don’t lie. It was him, I could swear to it.”

“Who!”

“Officer Simmons, the rent-a-cop at the funeral home, the man who kidnapped Bruno and killed Neal Richards.”

King looked at her, bewildered. “Are you really sure?”

She put the truck in gear. “Sure enough.” She turned the truck around and was about to head down the side road after the other vehicle when a number of police cars appeared and blocked their way.

Michelle slammed her fists against the steering wheel. “Damn it, what a time for the local cops to show.”