Free Drop Dead Perfect (An Ellen Harper Psycho-Thriller) by Rick Murcer

Joannie. Don’t struggle so. I’ll take care of you as I promised.”
    The soft, reassuring voice spoke next to her ear. She stopped.
    Kyle?
    “You’ll only be like this for a time. Just until you calm down. Then we’ll talk. You’re so beautiful, and I want to spend my life with you. I’d never hurt you. But I have to make sure you’re ready.”
    The needle entering her arm made her jump, and she tried to cry out. The gentle kiss on her forehead made her jump more. But that wasn’t all.
    Just before the darkness enveloped her, she thought about the smooth, comforting voice that sounded like Kyle Black’s. At first.
    But it wasn’t her perfect man.
    It belonged to another.

    CHAPTER-13
     
     
    “Come on , Brice; kick this thing in the ass.”
    She didn’t try to mask the anxiety in her voice. The unknown involving Oscar was driving her crazy.
    Keeping his eyes on the road, he nodded, then stomped the accelerator.
    Ellen felt the cruiser surge forward as he flipped on the siren and lights. She wrung her hands.
    Could there be a worse feeling in the entire world than to think someone you care for may be in danger, or worse?
    When her stress level rose like this, anger wasn’t part of the program. Angst ruled the nest. Anytime she was remotely close to a situation that mirrored her mother’s death, her heart rose to her throat and a sense of dread threatened to steal her remaining sanity. It had been five years, but no one forgets the news that your mother was dead, and how it happened. Ever.
    Brice whipped around one car , honked at an old pickup, and then pressed the accelerator even harder. He was doing his best to get them there; she had to do her best to keep it together. Gritting her teeth, Ellen pushed away any thoughts of Oscar being hurt, or worse, and concentrated on what to do when they got there.
    “We have no idea what ‘shots fired’ really means, right? I mean, it could be anything, right?” she asked, searching for some logic that would ground her.
    “Not always. On this end of town at this time of night, it could be a drunk, a gang hassle, or something else. Who knows? In this business, I keep seeing the unexpected just after I think I’ve seen it all,” said Brice.
    She glanced at him. Despite the situation, it was difficult not to notice the change in his demeanor. His voice had been mostly friendly earlier in the day and for most of the evening. She’d say, at least a moment or two, more than friendly. But now his tone had devolved, and he was all business, cold even. She now understood why he’d gotten a reputation of no-nonsense from his peers. Or at least a glimpse of why. It seemed that Detective Brice Rogers, Superman, had a side that was not as pleasant to be near. But then again, who didn’t?
    As if he felt her gaze, he looked at her then averted his eyes back to the street.
    “What’s on your mind, FT Harper?”
    She cocked her head. There it was again, that Arctic voice. She’d gone from Ellie to FT Harper in the time it had taken to receive the call. His face was expressionless, almost devoid of emotion entirely. Cops had their coping mechanisms, their “thing,” and she wondered if this cold, efficient cop mode was Brice’s way of dealing with the hell this job sometimes brought. She understood about doing what it took to make it through the day, and God knew, the night. She got that. Maybe Miss Rage wouldn’t pop up so often if she would spend a little more time practicing some coping mechanisms of her own, keeping her emotions a little tighter to the vest.
    Still, she wondered about what haunted Superman. What chased him to the icy persona he was so famous for? What gave him nightmares that made sleeping a distant desire?
    “Oscar’s on my mind,” said Ellen, shifting in her seat. “And I’m wondering what to do when we get there. It’s been a while since I’ve been a part of one of these mad dashes to a live crime scene. And never one involving my