Free Night Eyes (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 2) by Claire Stibbe Page A

falling to the ground. There was a duffel bag nestled against Ramsey’s foot with a Police patch embroidered on the side.
    “Things we might need,” Ramsey said as if he could read his mind. “There’s an old man in these woods. Tortures boys. It’s a slow death.”
    For a long moment Adam stared into those narrow eyes and he began to feel queasy. Like the queasy he felt when he saw Ramsey for the first time. He felt the hand loosen at his wrists, saw it hover over the pistol in Ramsey’s belt.
    “He tied a kid up to a tree a few years ago. Cut him real deep. Left him for the wolves. Want to see what he did to him?”
    Adam shook his head. He already imagined a skeleton in the woods with tattered clothing hanging off its bones and eye sockets picked clean by birds. He wanted to shout, to scream, anything to raise an alarm. He was muzzled like a dog and all he could do was struggle against strong arms, kicking and punching thin air until he was exhausted. The bandana pinched his lips and his jaw felt sore from all that clenching.
    Ramsey began to cuss. Told him to stop whimpering. Took off that backpack and the coat he was wearing and wrenched Adam’s hands through one sleeve and then the other. He pulled the zipper up to Adam’s throat. It was warm in that coat even though it was two sizes too big.
    “Be quiet. You can breathe can’t you?” Ramsey looked dead serious when he said it. Looked like he was afraid of something. “You don’t understand. If he finds you, he’ll kill you. Probably eat you and all.”
    Adam took a deep breath and made his mind up to stay quiet. The forest began to seem smaller, trees bending in and out, and he tried to fend off a wave of nausea at the fetid stench of fumes and something sweet. If it wasn’t for the cold, he knew he would have vomited.
    Ramsey hauled the backpack on again over a thick sweater and picked up the gym bag. “Let’s go.”
    Adam felt strong fingers around his arm, gripping, dragging, steering through the trees. He heard Ramsey’s voice, thick and grating and warm against his ear.
    “Don’t look back.”

TWELVE
     
     
    Malin tried to look away, tried not to look at the charred remains of the officers. The mesa seemed alive with all that popping and sizzling and she could see the tremor of fuel in the air. It wasn’t until now when she caught a sweet and putrid stench that she realized it had really happened. Covering her face with her scarf, she walked with Temeke towards the car. He put an arm around her, told her there was nothing they could do.
    The dog was sitting on the front seat. It was the howling that got to Malin, that baleful sound like the animal could smell death. Like he knew exactly whose remains were in that thick clinging undergrowth. He whined when he saw her, shook his big black head.
    “Whatever you do, don’t let him out,” Temeke said.
    “He’s on a leash,” Malin muttered. She didn’t need to be told something as basic as that.
    “When you radioed Hackett, what did you tell him?” Temeke bunched up Adam’s tee shirt and pressed it under Murphy’s nose.
    “He asked if we had detained the suspect. I said no.” Malin hated giving him the next piece of news. “He told us not to go after him. Told us to wait.”
    She heard Temeke give a long drawn out sigh and she knew how he felt. Every minute was too precious to waste on top of those they’d already lost.
    “I can’t stand around and watch this, Marl.” Temeke covered his nose. He didn’t want to smell it either.
    He turned on his radio. All they could hear was friendly static and then a few snarls from the chief.
    “Seen them yet… crazy-ass fools. I told Temeke not to go after him. But no… He only had to flash his headlights and now he’s dead. Do you know how much it costs to train a detective? Ninety-eight grand so they tell me. All gone up in smoke. It’s those damn Indians I’m telling you…”
    The crackling cut out a string of cuss words and the