December Frost (A Southern Romance Monthly) (5 page)

But the detective watching the event caught him.
 

They didn't like each other. Mutually.
 

She didn't answer him and continued staring at the screen. Before he could look at it, she hide the database and picked up her phone.
 

"So I hear you caught an important person. And you were wearing a one of your hooker dresses. Did you let him get a peek? That's how you got him?"
 

Cecelia pressed a number in her contacts and put the phone to her ear. "Drop it, Jerry."
 

"Why? You should be proud. I mean, you run in and catch him red handed, didn't you? Statue was saved and you're the flavor of the month."
 

She turned and faced him. If there was one thing about Jerry Keidis, he was a pussy. A small man with a small penis. The biggest thing about him was his temper.
 

Cecelia stared him down, waiting on the phone to ring.
 

He stared back.
 

Three…two…one…

And he looked away. He took his coffee and went to his desk.
 

"Georgia Crime Lab. Deb Proctor speaking."

"Hey."
 

"Well where the hell were you last night?"

"I told you I had a case happen right there. Did you catch it?"

"My assistant did. Still nothing on the suspect's finger prints. We came up with dozens of prints from the scene—I mean it
is
a museum. We've ruled out two sets, but they belonged to the Curator and his assistant." She lowered her voice. "Is it really that guy in line? The hottie in the nice suit?"

"It's him. And he's still protesting he's innocent. I pulled up Thomas Carr. The photos don't match, but all the other info could be his. The address is nearby. In fact he told me—" Cecelia caught a movement to her right and turned. Jerry was walking away.
 

Had he been standing beside her? Listening to her? What for?
 

"Hey? What's wrong?"

"Eh…Jerry."

"Oh that creep. Did you know he was here this morning when I got in?"

Cecelia sat up. "Keidis was?"
 

"Yeah. Was asking me all kinds of questions about this guy. Wanted to know what I'd found."

"What did you tell him?"

"To kiss my ass and show me where he was the detective that collared him. I'm not required to show him any information. I couldn't figure out what he was looking for." Deb paused. "You don't think that's him, do you. That this guy's this notorious thief?"
 

"No. I honestly don't. I mean, up until last night I've never heard of him. So I spent all night and this morning doing research. The guy's international. I mean Interpol couldn't catch him. So why is he in a small time museum in Atlanta, Georgia, lifting a small statue that has such a small value in comparison to what he's taken before—and he gets caught by me?"

"You're selling yourself short." Deb laughed. "It's because you wanna fuck him, don't you?"

Cecelia blushed and faced away from everyone. "Sshh…what the hell are you saying that for?"
 

"Because of the way you both reacted to each other. What did he tell you? You started to tell me."
 

Cecelia looked around. Jerry was gone but she didn't feel comfortable. She knew Mister Phantom would remain in holding until they got some kind of positive ID on him so stepping out wouldn't be a problem. Especially since she'd been there all night. "You got a break?"
 

"Lunch break."
 

"I'm going to give you an address. I want you to meet me there at noon." She gave Deb Thomas Carr's address.
 

Once she disconnected, she printed out the ID profile she had on file and tucked it into her jacket pocket. She grabbed her gun, her badge and logged off her computer. If Jerry Keidis was that nosy, let him just sit and wonder.
 

She had some questions to answer.
 

CHAPTER EIGHT

Thomas sat alone in the holding cell, still handcuffed to the bench. He had a paperclip in his free hand and was working furiously on getting the handcuff off. After that—he wasn't sure how he was going to get out of the cell. He'd work on one thing at a time. He needed to pee, and he needed to get out of there. Something was very…very wrong.
 

For one, he'd never really been caught like that before. Mostly because he was the one that usually did the catching. And second…why weren't they able to verify who he was?
 

He thought about Detective Inzmann.
 

Cecelia.
 

It was a name he loved to think about.
 

He recalled the look in her eyes, the set of jaw. She was having trouble with the events too. He was sure of it. But would she be able to help him?
 

Would she?

It was a long shot. He'd used his one call to the company lawyer and left a message with the secretary. But so far, nearly twelve hours later, no call back, and no sign of the lawyer.
 

He had a bad, bad feeling.
 

Just as the handcuff snapped off, the outer door clanged open. He remained where he was, faking being handcuffed to the bench. He heard footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. Who ever they were, they were wearing dress shoes…mens…not high heels. Those gave a different clack.
 

"Hello?" he called out. Maybe it was his lawyer? "Anyone there?"
 

The uniformed officer that locked him up came into view. Just behind him was a short man in a suit—

And a hoodie.
 

"No Mister Phantom," the familiar voice box said. "There is no one there."
 

Thomas couldn't breathe. Damn! This guy was in the police precinct? The officer's stiff back was a good signal the Phantom had a gun in his back. Thomas tossed the handcuff away and went to the bars. "Let him go, Phantom. This is apparently between you and me."
 

"I have no intention of carrying my purpose any further." The Phantom kept his profile turned to Thomas as he took a step back and raised the gun.
 

"No!" Thomas yelled.
 

He reached through the bar and tried to grab for the Phantom. Thomas managed to grab the guy's arm before he fired. But the bullet still dropped the officer where he stood.

The Phantom turned and fired the gun at Thomas. He felt the impact and tumbled back.
 

Thomas lay on the floor, panting, still refusing to believe this was really happening. He looked up at the mask. His vision blurred a few times but he managed to stay awake. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?"
 

"I told you. You became a thorn in my side. You needed to be put down."
 

"So you stole my identity?"
 

"For starters." There was a pause. "Now I am here to steal your life."
 

Thomas wasn't sure if he'd received a fatal shot. It hurt worse in his left shoulder. It burned. And it wasn't hard to breathe. But if Phantom shot him again like this—it could
be
a fatal blow.
 

Movement was hard but he had to put it behind him to move. He had seconds to act, and luckily a brain that loved puzzles. He'd seen the officer's gun still in its holster. The Phantom hasn't disarmed him. And it was there…
 

Just a foot away through the bars.
 

He had to focus on a goal and the face of Detective Inzmann came back to him. He wanted to see her again, and he wanted more than anything, to prove to her that he wasn't the criminal she believed him to be.
 

With a deep breath, Thomas rolled to his right and shoved his left hand through the bars just as the Phantom fired again. But Thomas wasn't there anymore and the bullet hit the concrete floor and took a piece of it with it.
 

His hand wrapped around the grip of the gun and he pulled it out. The safety was on! And it wasn't a left handed gun!
 

Thomas had to move again to duck out of the way but couldn't get the gun through the bars. The Phantom fired again. The shot went past his head.
 

He put his hand through the bar and that's when the pain crippled him. He yelled out again as he switched the gun to his right hand, thumbed the safety off and fired at the Phantom. A few of the shots went wild, but one of them struck the target. The voice box amplified the fucker's cry as he went down.
 

Thomas smiled to himself. The sounds of the officer's gun would bring more cops, and this mother would be caught.
 

Pounding in the outer door told him the Phantom had locked it when he'd led his captive officer in. Thomas maneuvered the gun into the cell with him and aimed it at the Phantom as the bastard staggered to his feet. The mask was gone, tossed off on the floor, but the face still wasn't visible.
 

Without a word the Phantom half-stumbled around the downed officer and disappeared into lockup. Thomas wasn't sure if there was another way out that way, but he was sure the Phantom had no intention of being caught. So following him was a good plan.
 

He put the safety back on, slipped the gun into his back pocket, and then reached through the bars to the officer's belt. He yelped when the cop grabbed his hand. The grip wasn't strong, but it scared the crap out of him.
 

Thomas looked into the guy's eyes. The cop took in a deep breath. "Catch that…sonofbitch…" and then he relaxed back.
 

"Oh damn…don't be dead." Thomas found the key and unlocked the cell. He tossed it into the cell and grabbed the officer's spare magazine. When he checked to make sure the man had a pulse. The adrenaline fueling his escape lessoned and he felt a wave of nausea and dizziness nearly take him out.
 

He stood and looked down at himself. He'd been hit in the right shoulder. He couldn't tell if the bullet went through or not, but he was losing blood, and that was bad. He couldn't afford to go into shock before he got out of there and cleared his name.
 

Thomas ignored the Phantom's gun—that gun was what shot him and the officer. He wasn't about to touch it. Instead he started off down the lockup in the direction the Phantom had taken.
 

CHAPTER NINE

Cecelia sat in her car, watching the weather with a critical eye. The overcast cloud cover never burned off and by noon, and now it looked thicker than ever. It was white gray.
 

And it cold. She checked the thermometer on the car. It registered the outside temp at 32º. Cecelia believed it, with the icy cold in her fingers and toes. All she had with her were her boots, socks and a short jacket. If it snowed—

Eh. She didn't want to think about that nightmare.
 

The clock turned over 12:00 and Deb's car pulled up a second later. The woman's talent for on time arrivals was unnatural. Last night's after seven entrance had to have been an aberration.
 

Deb was bundled in a thick coat, gloves and a hat. She looked like the muffin man to Cecelia. But as she got out of the car, she could appreciate her friend's precaution. A gust of wind whipped her hair about and she folded her arms over her chest and ran up the front steps of the house.
 

"You are going to freeze like that." Deb was such a mother. "You do know it's going to snow. It's already snowing in Alabama."
 

"Are you saying we have a snow storm coming? In Georgia?"
 

"Don't give me that look, and point that unibrow somewhere else." Deb glared. "Why are we here?"
 

Cecelia pulled a key ring from her pocket and cycled through a few keys until she found one that fit the lock.
 

"Is that legal? Do you have a search warrant?"
 

"Why do a I need a warrant?" Cecelia pushed the door open and pulled her gun from the back of her jeans. "He gave me the key. Stay here. I'll check it out."
 

"Why do you have your gun out?" Deb's eyes were wide.
 

"Just…" Why
did
she have it? Was it her spidey sense? Was it the look in the guy's eyes, the worry she saw there. Yeah it could be worry about going to jail for the rest of his life, but she thought she saw something else. "Stay here."
 

Cecelia went inside and followed procedure as she checked behind the door, in the closets, each room, and then upstairs she did the same thing. Once she was sure the house was empty she called out. "Clear!'

"What?"
 

Oh. Yeah. Right. She always forgot Deb wasn't a cop. She came down the stairs and pulled Deb inside. After locking the door back, she pulled a pair of gloves from her back pocket. "Don't touch anything."

"Cece—what's going on?"
 

"Deb I honestly don't know. It's just that everything in my bones tells me this guy isn't guilty. That it's all wrong." She started looking through the living room, then the kitchen, with Deb right behind her.
 

"Nice house," Deb commented. "You sure it's just not your libido talking? You don't want him to be guilty so you're looking for something to prove he's not?"
 

Cecelia stopped by the fridge and turned to face Deb. "He told me he had evidence in his car that would prove what he was telling us was the truth. A laptop and a tablet."
 

"Then why are we in his house?"
 

"Because of this," she pulled the folded print out of the ID profile for Thomas Carr and handed it to Deb. "The picture's not the same. But all the other evidence says it's him. Look at that address."
 

Deb did. "That's this address."
 

Cecelia held up the keys. "He gave me these. And one of them fit the front door."