“Which free clinic?” Tripp asked. “Where was she hurt? Why the stitches?”
“The one west on King Street.” Tucker made a slicing motion across his neck. “Same type of cut to her throat. Took twenty-three stitches. Plus, a couple over her right eye where the bastard hit her. Buckler also said her forearms were bruised. She was scared to death. Buckler hated to see her leave. But her description of the attack matches the other three, all except for the way it ended.”
“Isn’t there at least a police report?” Jameson asked.
Tucker shook his head. “See, that’s why I have Keller climbing through APD’s files. There’s no record of this assault anywhere. All he’s come across so far is the name of the nurse, and all we’ve got is her word.”
“Which is only hearsay,” Mark murmured. “Thank God victim four got away.”
“A fat lot of good it does for the other six,” Tucker grouched. “If she’d at least given her name that day, we’d have someone to talk with. Christ, all we need is one gawddamned witness, and we could break this case.”
“Can’t blame a survivor for hiding,” Tripp said thoughtfully. “She panicked. What woman wouldn’t after being assaulted? At least she got the medical help she needed. That’s what counts.”
“She paid cash,” Tucker hissed. “Five-hundred forty-four dollars. We don’t even have a money trail or insurance records to follow. Shit.”
Jameson cocked his head. “She was attacked during the day? Was every other attack at night?”
“Yes. All of them.”
“Why did our killer change his MO? Or did he? Why carry out most of his work at night, then deviate that one time? Does time of day even mean anything to him?” Tripp asked, his heart on the timid woman he’d left sitting with Mother. Ashley’d had one helluva panic attack today, and she’d been scared to death Friday night. He could only imagine—
Exactly what he was imagining right damned now. Son of a bitch! What if she was the woman who’d escaped this same serial killer two years ago? What if Friday night wasn’t the first time she’d been assaulted? It’d be the biggest coincidence in the universe, but her need to hide sounded eerily familiar. Those tells of hers fit a survivor of a vicious attack. Tripp bolted to his feet, needing to make sure that missing victim number four was not Ashley Cox.
“Hey! We’re not done here. Where are you going?” Chase called after him.
“To talk with someone,” Tripp yelled over his shoulder. Chase could wait. Ashley could not.
Shoving Mark’s office door open, he flew down the short hallway to Mother’s counter and ended up nearly running over her. “Where’s Ashley?” he demanded.
Mother swiped a finger under her red nose. “I thought she was with you. I asked her to order dinner, but it already came and—”
That was no damned help. Tripp had no patience for Mother’s attitude. Stalking past her, he took quick stock of the work bay. Most agents were laid back, eating sub sandwiches and soup. Talking. Taking a break. But no Ashley.
Out of that mess of men and women agents, Connor stood. “You lose someone, Tripp?”
“The woman I came with. You seen her?”
Connor jerked his head toward the elevator. “Think she left. You need help looking for her?”
Tripp didn’t answer, just ran for the elevator, and stabbed level one. Why didn’t she do what he’d told her?
Chapter Fifteen
Ashley blinked in surprise at the two men squared off across from her. Who would’ve guessed there was a boxing ring in the basement of an office building in downtown Alexandria? No wonder the guys upstairs were all physically fit. She’d intended to sneak away after that emotional scene between Alex and Mother. She’d used the restroom first, hoping no one would notice when she made her escape. But when she’d hit the call button for the ground floor, the elevator brought her here, to the basement. But what a basement.
Curiosity got the best of her. She stepped out of the car and into the most unexpected world she’d ever seen. A high ceiling extended throughout this level. All walls were a bright, glossy white, some darker where the lights weren’t on. To her left stood a full fitness gym in muted darkness, complete with treadmills, recumbent bikes, elliptical machines, weight benches, barbells, an impressive set of heavy-duty weights, and other equipment she couldn’t begin to name.
An impressive parkour workout course, complete with various sized wooden platforms, vertical beams, as well as horizontal beams that literally climbed one entire wall, filled the expansive, dimly lit room to her right.
She could smell the chlorine of a nearby swimming pool, but couldn’t see it. Straight ahead, dancing on his toes inside a full-size boxing ring, with ropes, a bell, and everything, was Tripp’s boss. Alex Stewart must’ve come straight down while she was in the restroom. There he was, bobbing and ducking, dancing, and pummeling the heck out of the extra-large, bronzed, bald man in the ring with him. Neither man wore protective head gear, but the other guy was heavier muscled and a tiny bit taller than Alex.
Both of their white, short-sleeved t-shirts were darkened with sweat. Alex was in red boxing shorts, the other guy in black. They grunted like sweaty, angry bears, both hitting the other’s chin, belly, shoulders, and, well, everything. Alex ducked a wide swing from his opponent that should’ve connected with his head and might’ve knocked him out. The other guy growled something she couldn’t quite hear. But the sound of their leather gloves smacking all that skin and muscle like they meant to kill each other...? Ashley cringed at the pain they eagerly inflicted. How could men stand to do this?
Tripp’s boss had the other guy in the corner against the ropes. It looked like Alex was winning, until the man ducked his punch. When Alex’s glove skimmed the bigger guy’s head, the guy’s left glove came up under Alex’s chin and nearly
