He nods. “CSU is en route.”
I think about Tomasetti, wincing inwardly at the thought of his finding out what happened from someone else.
“Just make sure everyone knows Kester is armed and dangerous.” The image of him flashes in my mind’s eye. “He looks like he’s been up for a few days—”
The deputy nods. “We got people on it, Chief. Everyone and their uncle’s out looking for this guy.”
I nod and start toward the kitchen to call Tomasetti on the landline. He picks up on the first ring. “Kate?”
I can tell from the tone of his voice that he already knows. “I’m okay,” I tell him.
“What the hell happened?”
“Kester broke in. After you left.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Was he armed?”
“With a handgun.”
“Jesus Christ, Kate.”
“Tomasetti, I’m okay.” I hear static in the background and realize he’s already in his vehicle. “Where are you?”
“Fifteen minutes away. Do me a favor and don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll be here,” I tell him, and the line goes dead.
*
I’m standing on the back porch, talking with a Wayne County sheriff’s deputy, when I hear the crunch of gravel beneath tires. I look up to see Tomasetti’s Tahoe barrel down the lane, make a slight right, and then skid to a halt behind my borrowed Crown Vic. I have no idea how he made the drive from Richfield so quickly, but I don’t care. All I know at the moment is that I’m glad to see him.
His face is grim when he exits the vehicle. He walks around the rear with long, assured strides, nodding at the deputy as he approaches. His face doesn’t change when his gaze flicks to me. I think I see the flash of emotion in his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly I can’t be sure.
“You okay, Chief?” he asks easily.
I roll my eyes and sigh but don’t manage the cocky attitude I’d intended to project.
He reaches me and stops a scant foot away. His gaze finds mine, and he runs his hands over my shoulders and down my arms as if he doesn’t quite trust what his eyes are telling him.
“You got here fast,” I say.
“One of the agents heard the call and recognized the address, then called me straightaway.” He glances from me to the deputy and back to me. “They get him?”
I shake my head. “We’ve got three agencies looking. Glock and Holmes County went to talk to Paula Kester’s father, but he says he hasn’t seen them for almost twenty-four hours. Wayne County SO set up a perimeter. Skid and a bunch of deputies are searching those woods.”
“Vehicle?”
“No.”
“We think he got out before the perimeter was set up,” the deputy interjects. “Nick Kester is the RO of a white 2008 Toyota Tacoma, so we added that to the BOLO.”
Tomasetti glances toward the door, his eyes taking in the broken pane and beyond, the glass on the floor. “What happened?”
I tell him everything, hating the way it sounds, because a little voice inside my head keeps reminding me that I’m a cop and I should have been able to stop him. “It happened fast, Tomasetti. I just … walked up on him, in the living room. My radio and sidearm were upstairs. I couldn’t do anything, so I chucked the cell at him and ran.”
I can tell by the way he’s looking at the door that he wants to go inside to see everything for himself. But until the CSU arrives and processes the scene, neither of us can risk contaminating any possible evidence.
“You didn’t hear anything?” he asks.
“Nothing.” But we both know I’ve been sleeping like the dead.
“Any idea how long he was in the house?”
“No.”
He looks away, and I know he’s wondering how much time elapsed between his leaving and Kester making entry and about all the things that could have happened in between.
As if realizing we need some privacy, the deputy slides his smartphone from his pocket. “Excuse me,” he says and leaves the porch.
I watch him walk down the steps and stroll over to his cruiser to make his call.
“He fired one shot?” Tomasetti asks.
I nod. “It went into the wall. Upstairs hallway. CSU should be able to dig out the slug.”
“Goddamn it, Kate.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Shooting at a cop? This guy’s fucking nuts.”
“I know.”
“Any idea how he found out where we live?”
I shrug. “You can dig up just about anything online these days.”
“Kester doesn’t seem like the digging type.” He thinks about that a moment. “You think he could have followed you home?”
I should have thought of that, but I didn’t, and a creeping sense of dread slinks up my back. “Tomasetti, I’ve been careful. I mean, I’m a cop. I would have noticed.” But even as I say the words, I silently acknowledge that I’ve been distracted and probably not as cautious as I think.