Kansas City Cover-Up. Julie MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
heard it, too. The double click of a door opening and closing. Footsteps in the stairwell below their position.
Running footsteps.
Even the pretense of listening to his outpouring of information had ended. She was in full cop mode now. Olivia pulled her hands from his chest and chin and plucked the radio off her belt. “This is Detective Watson. Has the building been cleared?” While other officers in the building responded, she pulled a ring of keys from her jeans and unlocked his cuffs. Her next question was to him. “Did you bring any of your reporter friends with you?”
Gabe shook his head. He shrugged his corduroy jacket back onto his shoulders and zeroed in on the sounds of huffing breaths and hurrying footfalls below.
There was the punch of another door handle and a muttered curse before Olivia got back on the radio. “I’ve got activity in the south stairwell. Maybe somebody who shouldn’t be here snuck in.” Her gaze tilted up to his. Okay, so she could do the subtle dig thing, too. “Or our perp is trying to sneak out. I’ll get eyes on it. Watson out.” She pushed open the door marked with a three and pointed into the main building, dismissing him. “Can I trust you to find your way to the front door all by yourself?”
She must have accepted his silence as an agreement because she put away her handcuffs and radio and pulled her gun in the same fluid movement. Then those long legs were booking it down the stairs.
* * *
OLIVIA PUSHED ASIDE the charged energy that hummed through her system after trading words with Gabe Knight and focused on her pursuit of the unknown subject. She saw the second-floor door swinging shut and pressed her back against the concrete block wall, keeping her attention on both the door and the stairs, uncertain which way the intruder had gone until she heard the deep, ragged panting of a man trying to catch his breath from a location below her. He’d heard her coming and had ducked into a corner to hide.
“KCPD. You on the stairs—show yourself.” She crept down to the midfloor landing, her gun leading the way. “Hands up where I can see them.”
She smelled the sweat of fear and desperation coming off the intruder as she neared the rear exit on the first floor. Maybe this was just a homeless guy who’d wandered in off the street. Nothing like discovering a hoped-for haven swarming with cops to make a guy nervous. “I’m Detective Watson with KCPD. My goal isn’t to hurt you, but you’re trespassing. I’d like you to identify yourself, and I need to ask you some questions.”
For a few seconds, the heavy breathing stopped. Olivia focused in on the body odor wafting from the recess between the rear exit and the side of the stairs and turned. There was a guttural roar and a flash of gray before the intruder’s arms swung over the railing with a metal folding chair and knocked her down the last couple of steps.
Olivia pitched forward, landing on her hip and shoulder, hitting the floor hard. Her knuckles banged against the concrete. She lost her grip on the gun and the weapon slid beyond her reach.
Instead of capitalizing on his advantage and hitting her again, the perp in the gray hoodie ran past her. But Olivia wasn’t about to ignore an opportunity to take control of the situation. She kicked out her feet, twisted her legs through his and tripped him.
In a tumble of clanking metal and furious curses, her attacker went down. For the split second he was stunned by the impact with the unforgiving concrete, Olivia went after her Glock. The attacker extricated himself from the chair and pushed to his feet while she rolled toward her weapon and scooped it up.
“Hey! Stop!” A blur of denim and corduroy shot past her.
Olivia flipped over, bracing her gun between her hands. But the only shot she had was Gabriel Knight’s back as he shoved her attacker against the door. “Son of a...”
She scrambled to her feet, hating that any man thought he had to save her.
“He’s got a gun!” Gabe shouted.
Ah, hell. She saw it, too. “Move!”
Adrenaline or stubbornness kept him from obeying her command. With his forearm wedged against the other man’s throat, Gabriel grabbed her attacker’s wrist and slammed it against the wall. Once. Twice. The small Saturday night special popped free and skittered across the floor. The pesky reporter was taller and broader than the other man, blocking out any chance to get a good read on the perp beyond faded jeans and the sweatshirt. Olivia picked the snub-nosed semiautomatic up by the barrel and tucked it into the back of her belt.
She was about to put her shoulder into the reporter’s ribs and knock him away from the perp when she saw the flash of steel arcing between the two men. “Knife!” She raised her gun again. “Drop it!”
Gabe Knight cursed as the smaller man shoved him into Olivia, knocking them both against the rack of folding chairs. The storage rack shifted and they wound up tangled on the floor beneath an avalanche of more chairs. The attacker flung the door open and charged into the alley behind the building before she could push Gabe off her and roll to her feet. “Get out of my way!”
“Damn it. Olivia!”
She left Gabe’s outstretched fingers behind and flew out the door after the man with the knife. “Police. Stop!”
Why was it that skinny guys could always fly?
She shifted into high gear, her boots crunching gravel and debris against the asphalt. But it was no good. Even running at full tilt, he easily widened the gap between them. And she couldn’t fire off even a warning shot without a clear line of sight to the cars driving past on the street beyond and whoever might be walking along the sidewalk and accidentally step into her line of fire. In a matter of seconds, like a shadow swallowed up by the bright afternoon sunlight, the perp shot around the corner and was gone.
Olivia lowered her gun, skidding to a halt as she reached the sidewalk. She glanced up and down and across the street through the beginnings of rush-hour traffic. “You lousy, lucky chameleon.”
He’d either ducked inside a nearby shop or had a ride waiting for him. At the very least, he’d dropped the hood and merged with the crowd of pedestrians crossing the street as the light turned green. Since she hadn’t seen his face, she had no way to identify him—not even by hair color.
“Damn you, Gabriel Knight.” Breathing deeply from the wind sprint, her voice was barely a whisper. But the gun and the badge made shocked and curious passersby walk a wide berth around her. She put up her hand to reassure them she meant them no harm and holstered her gun.
But the would-be rescuer who’d gotten in the way of her doing her job was another story. Olivia raked her bangs off her forehead, blew out a heated breath and decided to tell Gabe Knight exactly where he could stick his machismo. Maybe she’d even take him in for interfering with a police officer and allowing the person she wanted to question escape.
With a decisive nod, she spun around...and plowed into the middle of Gabriel Knight’s chest. There was a brief bombardment of sensations—soft corduroy and unyielding muscle; long, sinewed fingers; the faint scents of coffee and soap; heated skin beneath starched cotton—before she jerked back into her own space and shored up her defenses with the frustration and annoyance still sparking through her. Olivia planted her hands at her hips and tipped her face to his. “You followed me?”
“Are you hurt?” Gabe asked, dropping his hands from her shoulders, ignoring the accusation.
“Am I—” His nostrils flared with what must have been a fast run for him, too. The lines beside his eyes etched with concern as that piercing blue gaze swept over her. But her irritation with the man dissipated when she saw the blood dripping from his sleeve onto the asphalt at his feet. Shaking her head at the injury that could have been avoided if he’d just done what she’d said, she moved to his side to inspect the clean slice through the sleeves of his coat and shirt. “He cut you.”
“I’m fine.”
She’d tended enough scrapes with her three older brothers growing up that she knew that was a