“Exactly. Which is why he broke into my house the other night. He wanted to kill me. I’m not sure why he agreed so amiably to coming down to the station but he won’t show, and I’m not going to let him get away.”
“Don’t hang up,” Chase hissed. “Stay on the line while I find out about those bracelets.”
“Okay.” Maybe it was his imagination but she sounded tired, or possibly scared. Chase’s insides tightened as an overwhelming protective instinct damn near kicked his ass.
He reached the counter and put his phone down, the woman behind the counter eyeballing it as if it might leap up and bite her. There wasn’t time to play out the scene. He needed answers now. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and produced his badge.
“Hi, ma’am, I’m Special Agent Chase Reed. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, paling noticeably.
“You sell a thin rope bracelet that has small knots in it,” he began.
She nodded and gestured with her head to a table next to him. “Those,” she said.
Chase looked at a table, covered with a piece of purple cloth with a variety of jewelry on it. He immediately noticed a row of thin, roped bracelets, but there weren’t any knots in them.
“Yes, but these had knots in them.”
“The person who buys them puts the knots in them,” she explained, moving around the table and picking up one of the bracelets. “Usually the knots are made according to a series of accomplishments. They are life bracelets. If there are goals, or events the person needs to leap through to reach their meaning in life, they create the knots for each one.”
Chase nodded. “Have you had a male customer come in and buy several of these in the past month?”
“They are really popular. But other than my carpenter, no one has taken more than one.”
“What’s your carpenter’s name?”
“Danny Surrelli. He’s a wonderful craftsman,” she explained and pointed to a glass-enclosed cabinet along the wall. “He made this for me as well as all of the tables in here.”
Returning to the counter, he pulled a pen out of a colorful cup and picked up one of her business cards. “This is you?” She nodded. “And all of your contact information?”
“Is there a problem?” She frowned at the card in his hand.
“Not anymore. Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been a great help.” Chase grabbed his phone from the counter and stalked out of the store. “Did you hear that?” he asked, turning and heading down the street for his car. Ashley didn’t answer him. “Ash, you there?”
He climbed into his SUV, straining to hear faint background noise coming through the phone. It seemed Ashley had put the phone down, but something told him to hold off screaming into the phone to grab her attention. There was a pay phone halfway down the street and Chase jumped out of his car, digging into his pocket for change as he hurried to the phone.
“Just be listed, motherfucker,” he grumbled, feeling the pain from tight muscles throughout his body. Ashley didn’t have the support of her police force, probably because, although she believed she was doing the right thing, she’d become involved with him. Maybe his work ethics sucked according to every suit in the agency, but he’d be damned if Ashley came out of this case marred in any way.
He dropped the coins into the phone and dialed directory assistance. “Danny Surrelli, Wichita,” he told the animated voice. Then pressing his cell to his ear, he struggled to hear what faint noises sounded through the cell phone while waiting impatiently for directory assistance on the pay phone to search for the number. “Bingo!” he hissed, when the number was repeated by the animated voice.
Writing it down on the back of the card he’d taken from the Crossing, he hurried back to his car and pressed the button on his key chain to unlock all of his car doors. There were advantages to living in an age of modern technology and gadgets. Chase pulled a briefcase out of the back of his SUV, popped it open, and slid out the flat laptop and cord to plug it into his car lighter.
And in spite of modern technology, it still seemed it took forever to boot the damn thing up, wait for the desktop to load, then dig the small gizmo out of his glove compartment that plugged into the laptop and gave him instant access to the Internet. They were tools he didn’t use often, but in a pinch, it sure as hell beat trying to convince dispatch at the local police station that he was an FBI agent who had a right to know where one of their police officer’s ex-husbands lived. By the time reverse lookup provided him with an address, there wasn’t a sound coming through Ashley’s cell phone.
“Hold on, baby, I’m coming,” he whispered, squealing out of the parking stall and heading to Danny Surrelli’s home.
There was a patrol car parked in front of the address he’d written down on the back of the card, and Chase pulled in behind it, cutting the engine and hurrying across the yard
to the front door. He knocked firmly on the door. If the police were here, and not Ashley using a squad car since her car was parked at his house, they would open quickly. Chase pulled out his wallet, flipping it open to show his badge. No one answered. Chase turned the doorknob. It was locked.
“If you’ve hurt her . . .” he growled, not giving it another thought but stepping back, kicking the doorknob and breaking the lock. He pushed the door open, pulling his gun out of his shoulder holster and shoving his wallet back in his pocket as he entered the home. “Ashley?” he yelled.
“Back up, boy toy, and get the fuck out of here,” a stocky blond growled as he slowly rose to his feet.
Ashley lay on the floor, her clothes torn and her face tearstained. There was a wild, frantic look in her eyes as she stared up at Chase, but she didn’t get to her feet when Danny did. Next to her, on the floor, was a shot glass filled with a clear liquid.
“I said leave!” Danny bellowed.