Calculated Risk (An Aroostine Higgins Novel Book 3) by Melissa F. MILLER

Author:Melissa F. MILLER [Miller, Melissa F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: non lu
Publisher: Brown Street Books
Published: 2017-01-21T23:00:00+00:00

17

Fred was three quarters of the way back to the office from his trip to the Community Market grocery store when his radio crackled.

“Chief?” Officer Soldan’s tentative voice broke through the static of the radio and the purr of the motorcycle’s engine.

“I’m here.”

“Sir, I ran that number you told me to track down.”

He waited for Soldan to stammer out the information. Although Fred didn’t imagine himself to be overly intimidating, his young officers didn’t seem to share his view.

“Uh, it’s coming back as assigned to the manager’s station over in Bayou Teche.”

“The wildlife refuge?” Fred mused more to himself than to Soldan.

“Yes, sir. That’s what the phone company’s telling us.”

“Good work, Soldan.”

Fred stopped at the red light and considered his options. He was within ten minutes of his office and a decent cup of coffee. His brain was bursting with theories that he needed to commit to paper. And he really didn’t want to take his bike out to the refuge.

But he couldn’t ignore the fact that Annalise Beaufort’s body had been found on refuge land. The news that the call to Cal came from the manager’s station out there, too—well, it was too cute by half. He was not a man who believed in coincidences.

He executed a neat U-turn, now wishing he’d driven his department car after all. A motorcycle ride through the wildlife refuge meant nothing but mud splatters and kicked up pebbles that would scratch the paint. He’d probably end up spending the next two weekends detailing his baby but his dismay at the thought of trashing his personal ride was outweighed by the familiar thrum of adrenalized anticipation. It started as a drumbeat in his chest then rose into his throat.

If Annalise Beaufort had been meeting her lover regularly out at Bayou Teche, the fact that her body was found there made all the sense in the world. It didn’t explain her banking habits or her grocery shopping habits, and nothing could explain the skinning, but it was a start. He’d learned a long time ago that closing an investigation was like unraveling a sweater: all it took was one loose thread; you just kept tugging on that thread until you were left with either an unwound skein of yarn or a closed case.

At the next and last red light before he turned onto the road out to the wildlife refuge, he radioed Soldan. “I’m headed out to Bayou Teche to investigate the Beaufort woman’s death. I consider it an active crime scene, so until you hear otherwise from me, keep your radio handy. I may be calling for backup. Do you copy?”

“Yes, sir.” Soldan’s voice cracked with excitement—or maybe from the last stages of puberty, who knew.

Fred’s rookie officers seemed to get younger with every passing year. He figured in another couple, he’d have police officers who still had their learner’s permits and hadn’t yet started shaving. He tried to handle as many investigations as he could. His men were good, he knew; he’d trained them himself.

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