forever ago. Yesterday, Leann Jessup had been a vital young police officer and a dedicated if foolhardy midnight jogger. Today, she was a crime victim, a surgical patient at the Barrow Neurological Institute, fighting for life itself.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Joanna pulled the out of her purse and handed it over to Jenny. “‘This was on the news the other night. You may want to see it. Leann said I was on it. We both were.”
Jenny stopped in mid-stride and looked her mother full in the face. “Do you think your friend is going to be all right?” she asked.
Joanna gave her daughter a rueful smile. “I hope so.” After a pause she added, “You’re a spooky kid sometimes, Jennifer Ann Brady. Every once in a while, it feels like you can read my mind.”
“You do it to me,” Jenny said.
“Do I?”
Jenny nodded. “All the time.”
“Well, I guess it’s all right, then,” Joanna said. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Cute kid,” Carol Strong said, leading the way down a long, narrow hallway. They had left Jenny in the Peoria PD training room, happily ensconced in front of the opening credits of
“Thanks,” Joanna replied.
“Your husband was the deputy who was killed a few months back, wasn’t he?”
Joanna nodded.
Carol turned into a small office cluttered with four desks. On entering, she immediately kicked off her shoes. Shrugging off her tweed blazer, she turned to hang it on a wooden peg behind her chair. Only then did Joanna note both the slight bulge of the soft body armor Carol wore under her cream-colored silk blouse as well as the Glock 19 resting discreetly in its small-of-back holster in the middle of the detective’s slender waist. Joanna had
considered purchasing an SOB holster for herself but had nixed the idea because she thought it would be too uncomfortable. The gun and holster didn’t seem to bother Carol Strong, however. Crossing one shapely leg over the other, she massaged the ball of first one foot and then the other.
“Pardon me,” she said apologetically to Joanna. “In this business somebody my size needs all the help she can get, but these damn shoes are killing my feet.”
For several moments, neither woman said anything while Joanna studied Carol Strong. Her age was difficult to determine. Her skin was generally smooth and clear, although dark circles under her eyes hinted at a world-weariness that went far beyond simple lack of sleep. Here and there a few strands of gray misted through the feathery cloud of black hair that surrounded her face. Her sharply tapered nails were lacquered several layers deep with a brilliant scarlet polish. Everything about the way she looked and dressed seemed to celebrate being female, but there was an underlying toughness about her as well. Joanna sensed that anyone who mistook Carol Strong for just another pretty face was in for a rude awakening.
“Dick Voland told me you had great legs,” Joanna said.
“Who the hell is Dick Voland?” Carol Strong asked in return. “And why was he talking about me.”
“He’s one of my chief deputies,” Joanna explained. “He was the one who helped you when you came down to Paul Spur to pick up Jorge Grijalva. I had planned to come talk to you about that.... “
Carol Strong’s easygoing manner changed abruptly. “About what?” she demanded.
“About Serena and Jorge
