She caught up to Bret’s battered old Sedan, which she now saw had two completely destroyed tires at the back.
Around the suburban street corner, Ella saw nothing but parked cars and trash cans. No sign of Bret, no sign of Paige.
“Goddammit,” she shouted. She moved into the middle of the road for a better view but couldn’t see anything animated. Just lifeless, man-made creations in every direction. No bodies hiding beside the cars, no crouching suspects behind garbage containers.
But back in the direction she’d come from, Ella spotted movement again. A figure dressed in a black t-shirt and brown trousers, about a quarter mile away, ran in the opposite direction, back towards Kenny’s house.
The son of a bitch had done a one-eighty.
But if she could get back to the car, she’d have an advantage, even if this man clearly knew these streets better than she did.
Ella began the long journey back, the sudden lack of oxygen slowing her down. The minor injuries she’d suffered during her past three cases reared their head: a pierced shoulder, a lacerated forearm, a burned hand. She began to feel a little light-headed, and the chance that this suspect might evade capture became a very real possibility.
The scenery changed again, but the distance between her and Bret did not. He was too far ahead, too far out of reach.
Shoot? A warning shot to scare him into submission?
Ella grabbed her pistol and aimed up ahead, praying no curious individuals invaded her line of sight.
But then she sheathed her pistol.
Something bizarre had taken place up ahead, right near Kenny’s house.
Ella found the energy to run again, unconcerned with the pain and exhaustion weighing her down. Ten seconds later, she was again outside the amateur drug den, and in front of her was Bret Styles, lying in a crumpled heap on the pavement. Face pressed into the concrete, arms held behind his back.
He looked a sorry state, and it took Ella a few seconds to piece the events together.
Paige looked at her partner from her triumphant position and smiled. Barely a bead of sweat on her forehead, looking like she’d just finished a casual round of golf.
“They always come back. That’s what you said.”