“It was for me.” She gestured to the floor. “There was duct tape, a hypodermic needle, and a gray handcart, but they obviously picked those up on the way out. They also took the night-vision goggles that I knocked off the man in the hallway. I guess they were in too much of a hurry to take this thing.”
Metcalf crouched next to the drum. “They knew it would have been a giant marker identifying them as the people we’re looking for. We might be able to get some prints off it.”
“Well, we do have DNA for both of them.”
Lynch slanted a glance toward her. “How do you figure that?”
Kendra stepped toward the uniformed cops. “Officers, I need two plastic, evidence-collection bags. Can you help me out?”
The police officers pulled clear plastic bags from their pockets and gave them to Kendra. She placed her hands inside each one and pulled the adhesive seal taut around her wrists.
She held up her plastic-wrapped hands. “I scratched the hell out of both of those guys. I have their skin under my fingernails. Attacker A with the right hand, attacker B with the left.”
Metcalf nodded approvingly. “If either of them has been in jail in the last decade or so, their DNA should be in the CODIS database.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Well done,” Lynch said quietly.
She grimaced. “Not pleasant. But my options were limited. I was feeling pretty helpless. It’s all I had.”
Metcalf pulled out his phone. “Tell you what. Suppose I get some forensics people out here so that you won’t have to walk around with those bags on your hands for the rest of the evening.”
“Great idea,” Kendra said grimly. “I don’t need any reminders. I have more than enough.”
*
AS PROMISED, A CRIME-SCENE tech arrived within thirty minutes and scraped the skin from Kendra’s fingernails. After giving a statement to Metcalf and the police officers on the scene, Kendra left with Lynch.
Metcalf appeared clearly disappointed when she refused his offer of a lift to her home. But he smiled back at Kendra and waved as they walked away from him.
“See?” Lynch said as they walked across the parking lot. “The guy has a major crush on you. Even you can’t be so socially impaired that you don’t see it.”
She smiled. “Okay, you may be right about him.”
“Of course I’m right. The only question is, what are you going to do with that information?”
“Nothing. Metcalf is intelligent and handsome, and I’m sure he has his choice of women.”
“Not the one he wants.” Lynch leaned closer to her as they reached their cars. “So what are you waiting for? Who are you waiting for?”
The heat of his body was radiating, touching her own. She had to hold her ground against his sudden intrusion into her personal space. She wouldn’t let him know it disturbed her. “What business is it of yours?”
“Consider me a concerned bystander.”
“That doesn’t answer the question. It’s your business because—?”
“I care. Isn’t that enough?”
That could be a barbed or enigmatic question coming from Lynch. But she wasn’t going to be anything but honest. “Sure it’s a good reason. Fine. Those years after I got my sight, the wild days, I was with a lot of guys just because I cared enough about them to do it.”
“Even with our funny-looking noses?”
“Yes.”
“Just out of curiosity, what would constitute ‘a lot’?”
She gazed at him in disbelief. “If you really think I’m giving you numbers…”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“I was so determined to experience everything and everyone I could that I don’t think I ever stopped to truly appreciate any of it. Then, somewhere along the way, I realized it’s important to have a good reason to experience the things in my life. Not just because they’re there.”
“It was good enough for Sir Edmund Hillary.”
“It’s not good enough for me. Not anymore.”
“Makes sense. Come home with me.”
“What?”
He leaned even closer. “It’s the one place you can be safe. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to lure you out here and try to grab you. They’re not going to just give up. Especially when it’s painfully easy to find out where you live and work.”
“You’re inviting me to your house for my personal safety?”
“Yes.”
“Kind of an abrupt segue.”
“Was it?”
“By design, I suspect. In any case, I’m not going to your house.”
“It worked for you before.”
“I can’t run to your suburban fortress every time things get a little dicey.”
He chuckled. “You would classify attempted kidnapping as a little dicey?”
“No, it was flat-out terrifying. Which makes me even more determined not to run away.”
“Sometimes running is the smartest thing to do. Running, regrouping, plotting your next move…”
“I’m going home. My home.”
“Fine. Then I’m going with you.”
“Like hell.”