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That was the best news he’d had all night.
He took off at a jog for his car. “Tell the responding officers to hold back until I get there. If Oliver took Lindsey to a place like that, the situation could go downhill fast. We have to assume he’s armed.” And cornered people weren’t always rational.
“I passed that along once I saw the connection. There’s more. The citizen who called this in provided the license plate of the car he saw parked behind the warehouse. Get this. It belongs to Heidi Robertson.”
What?
Jack’s pace faltered.
Heidi Robertson was with Oliver?
What in the world was that all about?
He picked up his pace again. “I’m trying to make sense of that.”
“We can sort it out later. First priority is keeping your witness alive. I’ll put a hostage negotiator on standby. Keep me apprised.”
“Will do.”
Jack ended the call and sprinted toward his vehicle.
The connection between Heidi and Oliver was a mystery. One that would take a while to untangle.
But if Oliver had been behind all the incidents designed to undermine Lindsey’s mental integrity, he was eminently suited for the job. He knew her history—and could use that to cast doubts on the credibility of any details she might remember about the killing.
It was diabolically clever.
It was also beyond sick.
A man who had chosen a profession dedicated to helping people deal with traumas had instead created one for a patient in order to save his own neck, causing untold mental anguish.
But why had he decided to end her life rather than continue his campaign of subversion?
Another question without an answer.
For now, though, the when and the how were more important than the why.
Jack waved over one of the officers assisting at Oliver’s house and gave him a fast recap. Then he slid behind the wheel of his car, checked the location in the text from Sarge, and hit his flashing lights. He’d shut them off once he got close to the warehouse, but they’d allow him to maneuver through traffic faster. At this hour, flooring it, he ought to arrive in less than ten minutes.
Yet every minute counted when someone’s life was in danger.
And being one minute too late could mark the difference between life and death.
THE DANK COLDin the cavernous warehouse seeped through Lindsey’s sweater, and she shivered as Dr. Oliver propelled her forward, into the shadowy space lit only by the moonlight filtering through the large perimeter windows at the top of the high walls.
“This spot is as good as any.” Heidi, in the lead position, spoke over her shoulder as she paused to examine the space.
Lindsey’s heart stuttered.
The end was near.
Beside her, Dr. Oliver’s labored breathing either indicated illness or anxiety—or perhaps both. “I’m not certain I can pull the trigger.”
At least one of them still possessed the remnants of a conscience.
“I know it will be hard, but she left us no choice, Anthony.”
“Shooting is dangerous. Guns can be traced.”
