“No,” Rowan protested. “He came with me to help my sister. Brent didn’t break in and shoot Heather.”
“It’s okay, Rowan,” he said, voice mild even though he was ticked off. Yeah, he got it. Brent was an unknown danger in the middle of a crime scene. Still, didn’t these guys listen to their superiors? If his operatives did that, he’d send them back through training or fire them. That was better than the alternative—dying because you refused to listen, not something Brent wanted on his conscience.
A brush of fabric told Brent that his friend, Cal Taylor, had arrived. About time. “Get those cuffs off him,” the detective snapped.
The officer unlocked the handcuffs and stepped back, face flushed.
Brent rolled to a crouch, gaze locked on the cops who were still twitchy. He shifted into a better position to protect Rowan. “Tell your boys to lower their weapons and I want my Ruger back, Cal.”
His former SEAL teammate motioned for the uniforms to lower their Glocks. “As soon as the ballistic test rules your Ruger out as the weapon used to shoot our vic, I’ll make sure it’s returned. Of course, I might do some target shooting with it first.”
Brent scowled. “Get your own, buddy.”
The sandy-haired six-foot detective shifted his gaze to Rowan. “Rowan Scott?”
“That’s right.”
“Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” He knelt beside her, avoiding the pool of blood. “I can take over here if you want to go wash your hands.”
Rowan glanced down at her hands and noted the blood staining her skin. She paled. “Thanks.” Rowan stood and hurried into the bathroom across the hall.
“Sit rep,” Taylor demanded of Brent.
“We arrived five minutes ago, found Heather. She has a six-year-old daughter I haven’t been able to locate. Heather regained consciousness for a minute and told Rowan someone took Alexa.”
“Did she identify them?”
“Slipped back under before she could say.”
Rowan gave the uniforms a wide berth as she returned to the room and rushed back to her sister’s side.
Taylor grabbed another towel. “Simmons, start searching this house for the child. Blanchard, go wait out front for the ambulance. Should be here in a minute.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rowan, do you know what happened here? Was this a domestic dispute gone wrong?”
“I don’t know.” She sandwiched Heather’s hand between her own. Cold and clammy. That couldn’t be good. “Heather didn’t say. But if it was a domestic dispute, Jay wouldn’t need to kick down the door.”
“If he was angry enough, a locked door could have triggered the aggression.” Brent almost hoped Jay Maxwell was to blame. At least then, they’d know where to start looking for Alexa. “Heather may not have admitted they’d been fighting. Her pattern has been to conceal the truth from you.”
“The Maxwells have marital problems?” Taylor asked, glancing from Brent back to Rowan.
“Heather hasn’t been happy, but she won’t say a bad word against her husband, Jay.”
“I’ll run a check, see if we’ve logged a domestic disturbance call from this address. What’s your opinion of the husband?”
“He’s sleazy. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jay was hurting Heather.”
Again, Brent wondered just what this creep Jay had done to Rowan. Though she’d promised to tell him if Jay touched her again, he didn’t know that he altogether believed she would. He had a feeling the lady preferred to handle things on her own. Not an option with man like Jay. If he didn’t treat is own wife with the respect and care she deserved, Brent doubted Rowan’s complaints or confrontation would be received well.
Blanchard returned with the EMTs and Taylor moved out of their way. “Wait here,” he said to Brent. “Blanchard, go back out front and set up a perimeter. I don’t want the neighbors to destroy any possible evidence in the yard.” He left, returned a minute later with clean hands and stood to the side, watching the medical personnel work on Heather and placing a call to request a crime scene team.
Brent helped Rowan to her feet. “Come on.” He nodded toward the wall where Taylor waited. “Let’s move so the EMTs have room to work.” When she turned that direction, he circled her waist with his arm for support. She looked shaky to him, though she wouldn’t appreciate him saying that out loud.
“She has to be all right,” Rowan whispered, her gaze locked on her sister. “Alexa needs her. Can you image what would happen to that sweet baby if her father was responsible for her upbringing?”
“You said he never abused her.”
“That I know of. I could be wrong.”
Taylor clipped his phone to the holder on his belt. “Rowan, I need an updated picture of the child.”
“Her name is Alexa,” Rowan said. “Heather has a picture of her that was taken last month. Will that work?”
“That’s perfect. Children grow so quickly, the more recent the picture, the better.”
The EMTs lifted Heather to the stretcher and strapped her down.
“What hospital?” Brent asked.
“Southern Hills is the closest.”
“Will you take me?” Rowan asked Brent. “I need to be with her.”
“After you give me information about Alexa,” Taylor said. “The faster I get what I need, the quicker we’ll have her description over the air and every cop in the city looking for her. You can’t do anything for Heather, but you might make the difference in helping us find Alexa.”
After a lingering glance at her sister as the EMTs pushed the stretcher into the hall, Rowan said, “Come with me. Heather has several pictures that will work. I’ll let you choose which one is the best for reproduction purposes.”
Taylor motioned for her to proceed.
With his arm still around her, Brent accompanied Rowan to Heather’s room where he’d searched for Alexa earlier. He’d noticed that the room only contained Heather’s belongings. Guess Heather and Jay didn’t share a room. Lent credence to Rowan’s belief there was trouble in the marriage. Unless the room contained Heather’s overflow of belongings that wouldn’t fit in the master suite. He was more inclined
