Edge of Tomorrow (12 page)

“How are you, Mr. Lincoln? Mike Croce, in
case you forgot. Thanks again for the turkey. The old lady was
really very happy!” the cop said, shaking Hatch’s hand. “What’s the
story here?”

“Paramedics! Over here. This man may still be
alive,” Hatch yelled. Then more calmly he answered the cop.

“Well, Mike, these two on the ground
assaulted this young lady here,” he said, pointing to Sydney
Steppe. The paramedics were each checking a man on the ground.

“No pulse here,” stated the paramedic
checking the man with the broken neck.

“Got a faint one here,” said the other.

The paramedic who had checked the man with
the broken neck stood up and looked at Sydney Steppe, seeing the
blood on her.

“How about you, ma’am? Where are you hurt?”
he asked.

“Not my blood, theirs. I’m fine,” she
answered with a shrug, looking over at Hatch.

Who is this gorgeous man who just came into
my life? He saves my life, snapping that prick’s neck like a match
stick. The cops know him, and are deferential to him. Hmm. I love
the hint of gray in his beard and hair. I wonder how old he is. But
who in the hell is he, really?

While the paramedics started yelling orders
to get the stretchers and IVs, and spouted other medical jargon,
Hatch looked up and saw a man in street clothes approaching. He had
a badge pinned on his jacket. Hatch let out a sigh of relief and
waved at him. This was Lieutenant Jerry Jackson of the Collier
County Sheriff’s Department; he and Hatch knew each other from a
previous incident.

“Well, Mike, it looks like the heat has
arrived, so I’ll wait and explain everything when he gets over
here—so I won’t have to repeat it so many times,” said Hatch to the
big cop as he motioned toward Jackson.

“Well, Mr. Lincoln, what exactly do we have
here—this time?” the lieutenant asked, surveying the killing
field.

Sydney’s thoughts were racing.

This time? What sort of man is this hunk?
I’d better watch what I say until I know what he is all about. I do
wish I looked a little better. My hair’s a mess, blood all over me.
I’ve made better first impressions!

“Glad you pulled this assignment, Jerry. I
would hate to have to break in a new detective,” laughed Hatch as
he shook hands. “What we have here are two guys who assaulted and
tried to kidnap this young lady over here. Ms. Sydney Steppe. Ms.
Steppe, meet Lt. Jerry Jackson.”

As she shook Jackson’s hand, Sydney
thought,
That’s the second time that he
has called me ‘young lady.’ I think I should be flattered, but I’m
not sure. I
am
thirty-three.
I wonder how old he thinks I am.

The homicide detective peered at the bodies
and shook his head. He looked Sydney over, noticing that not only
did she have a great body, but she had blood on her left knee and
on her shirt. It appeared to have been quite a battle.

“It looks like that was a fatal mistake on
their part. What is their condition?” he asked, directing his
second remark to the paramedics.

Paramedic number one looked up and answered,
“This one with his head at a funny angle was dead when we arrived.
The guy with the knife in his chest just died. Massive internal
bleeding. He bled out before we could do anything.”

The detective shrugged and again faced Hatch
Lincoln and queried, “Can you explain to me how the bad guys came
out so badly in their assault on Ms. Steppe?”

“Well, Lieutenant,” Hatch replied
deliberately, “I can give you my version, but that lady over there
came out of the Ladies’ Room just as the attack started. I haven’t
talked to her, so I don’t know how coherent and under control she
is, but maybe she can give you an independent account of what
happened.”

Hatch was interested in hearing how the
witness would describe the incident. It could influence how he
related his version.

“All right. Let’s go see what she has to
say,” the lieutenant said.

Hatch and Sydney Steppe followed him over to
where the distraught woman was being comforted by a woman with a
badge pinned on her coat.

“Is this our witness, Sergeant?” Jackson
asked the woman detective.

“Yes, sir. This is Mrs. Clara James. Mrs.
James, this is Lieutenant Jackson. Are you up to answering some
questions for him?” she nearly cooed to the old woman, who was
wringing a handkerchief in her hands.

“Yes, I think so,” she replied as she wiped
her eyes with the damp handkerchief.

Detective Jackson used a soothing voice.

“Just tell us what you saw, in your own
words. I know it was a terrible incident to witness, but just think
back and tell me what you can remember.”

She wrung her hands some more, and then
started talking in a low voice.

“I was just coming out of the Ladies’ Room
when I heard a woman’s voice scream, ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ I
looked in the direction of the voice and I saw those two men over
there,” pointing at the two bodies as she paused, “grab this young
lady here,” pointing at Sydney Steppe, “and they started pulling
her that way.”

She indicated the archway leading to the
parking lot.

She continued, “I think I must have screamed
at that point, because the two men both looked in my direction.
Maybe I distracted them for an instant, because this lady jerked
loose from the one man and turned and kneed the other man. Just
what he deserved! How dare he! He doubled over, and I think she
must have kneed him again, because I remember seeing blood splash
on her. But I was really watching the other man because he pulled
out this big knife. I was terrified! I wanted to scream and warn
her, but my throat wouldn’t make a sound.”

She looked at Steppe and whined, “I’m so
sorry, dear. I wanted to warn you!”

“That’s OK, Mrs. James. Your first scream
helped me a whole bunch!” Sydney Steppe replied gratefully. She
smiled at Mrs. James, trying to put her at ease, wanting to soften
her guilt.

“Thank you, my dear,” Mrs. James went on.
“Then, that man behind her grabbed her hair and put the knife
around like he was going to cut her throat.” She paused, wiping her
eyes again.

Hatch thought,
So far, so good. Let’s see what she says next. It could be
critical. I’ll interrupt her if she says the wrong
thing.

“Go on, Mrs. James. What happened next?”
prodded Jackson.

“Well, then this gentleman,” she continued,
pointing at Hatch, “came running around that corner and grabbed the
man and pulled him away from her. The man let go of her hair and
dropped his knife and fell to the ground. I expected him to jump
back up, but he never did.”

She wiped her eyes again and looked at
Steppe.

“You poor thing. I was so frightened for you!
I was so happy when this man showed up to help you.”

Sydney reached over and patted her hand.

“So am I, Mrs. James,” consoled Sydney.

“What happened next is hazy. I know the
bloody man picked up the knife and stood up. He started towards the
lady, who had her backed turned. Then this dear man,” indicating
Hatch again, “yelled to her to look out, that the other man had the
knife. The man raised the knife to stab her, and then—this is
hazy—the lady grabbed at the knife hand, and the next thing I know
he was on the ground with the knife in him. He must have slipped,
or something, and fell on it. I don’t know. It happened so fast. I
was just so glad she was safe!”

She can stop now!
Hatch hoped.
We don’t need any more
detail. Her version so far could not be better.

Jackson stroked his chin and looked at the
two bodies again, then at Steppe.

“Sounds like you handled yourself quite well,
Ms. Steppe,” said Jackson.

“I took an ordinary housewife self-defense
course,” she replied, glancing at Hatch slyly.

This Ms. Steppe sure had a
lucky day,
mused Jackson.
Two
men grab her, and then by luck the old lady steps out of the can
and screams. This lets her break loose and clobber one. Then, just
as she’s about to get her throat cut, this mysterious Mr. Lincoln
shows up and pulls the bad guy off of her. This guy falls down and
breaks his neck, somehow. Then when the other guy tries to stab her
again, he falls down on his own knife, stabbing himself. These must
have been two of the most inept, accident-prone crooks in Florida!
What am I missing? I will be interested in how many prints show up
on that knife.

Then, aloud, he said to Mrs. James, “Can you
think of anything else we should know, Mrs. James? Like, did you
see anyone else witness the attack?”

“No. Just me and the gentleman who came to
her aid. And he’s the one who told the waiter to call 911.”

“Fine. We’d like you to come downtown and
make a formal statement, if you are up to it. While the whole thing
is fresh in your mind. The Sergeant will drive you, then take you
wherever you want to go. Do you need to call anyone?”

“Yes, I would like to call my son and let him
know where I am,” she answered.

“Sergeant, could you take care of that.
Please?”

“Yes, sir. Right away. Come with me, Mrs.
James. You can use my cell phone.”

The two of them walked off toward the parking
lot where several police cars were parked.

Hatch spotted Danny in the crowd and nodded
his head slightly toward the bodies. Danny nodded back and moved
inconspicuously to a position where he could get clear shots with
his telephoto lens.

“Is that about the way you saw it, Mr.
Lincoln?” asked Jackson.

Hatch stroked his beard and replied, “She
pretty much summed it up. She saw more than I did. I was just on my
way to the head when I stumbled in on the incident. I don’t think I
can add very much, except that I am glad Ms. Steppe is safe
now.”

“Have either of you seen these two
before?”

They both shook their heads in the
negative.

“Have you met Ms. Steppe before?” This was
directed at Hatch.

“No. And this is a terrible circumstance in
which to meet such a lovely lady. I’d like to offer my assistance
to you in any way I can, Ms. Steppe. This has been a dreadful
ordeal for you,” Hatch smiled.

She smiled back—that gorgeous smile—at
him.

“Thank you, Mr. Lincoln. That is so gracious
of you. My nerves are shattered, so I would like to go and finish
my drink, if nobody minds. Maybe you could join me? Lieutenant? Any
objections?”

“We’re going to need statements from both of
you. Go have your drinks. I’ll send a uniform over to get your
contact information. Now, I need to take control of this crime
scene. I’ll be talking to you later.”

He began barking orders to his men.

Sydney retrieved her purse from the ground
where she had dropped it, then she and Hatch walked back to her
table and sat down. Her wine was warm now.

“That wine looks dead. Let me get you a fresh
one. I was drinking wine, too, but after that little shindig, I
think I’ll switch to something stronger.”

He saw Carlos staring at them. She was a
sight. Her hair was mussed, and her shirt was bloody. Hatch
beckoned for Carlos to come to the table.

“Carlos, I need a double gin on the rocks—my
usual brand. How about you, Ms. Steppe?”

“Please call me Syd. After all, we just
faced death together.
My
death! Give me the same, Carlos.”

Lord, he’s a handsome man! Reminds me of
Harrison Ford, and with that beard, more like Indiana Jones. He
does have gray in his beard and hair. I’m no good at guessing ages,
however. He sure saved this girl’s ass today! I’ll have to figure
out a good way to thank him for that.

She ran her hand through her hair, trying to
smooth it.

“May I call you Van, Mr. Lincoln? I feel fate
has intertwined our destinies today,” she asked.

“No, you may not.”

She looked shocked, and then embarrassed.

“You may call me Hatch. Absolutely
nobody calls me Van except business people who try to get close to
me. My
real
friends call me
Hatch.”

She relaxed, and gave him
the
smile. He smiled back, a tingle
running up his spine.

“Well, thank you, Hatch. I was stunned for a
moment at my rudeness in asking. But you have a way about you that
had put me so completely at ease. Again, I apologize.”

“No apology necessary, Syd. Also, I hope you
are right about what fate has in store for us.”

It was his turn to try
the
smile on her, and he unknowingly
turned her giddy inside.

Who is this man? He has no wedding ring, but
that never means anything. Some lucky woman must have dibs on him.
I need to make sure I see him again, soon! I haven’t had a date
since I got to this place! A little male companionship would be
welcomed.

Carlos delivered their drinks. Hatch picked
up his drink, and as she did the same, he clinked his against hers
and said, “Here’s to survival—of the fittest!”

“
And to Mrs. James, bless her heart! I
hope she sticks to her story,” Syd added to the toast.

Hatch started laughing, so hard that he had
to put his drink down to keep from spilling it. When he caught his
breath, he said, “You mean the story about those guys falling down
dead?”

She started laughing with him and they both
were wiping tears out of their eyes. They sipped the straight gin
for a moment, and finally stopped the laughing. He felt it hit
bottom in his stomach, then spread. She felt it, too, but in a more
sensual way.

This seems so natural, sitting with this
hunk, laughing, drinking. I’ve only known him thirty minutes, but
it is so comfortable. I must see him again under better
circumstances, when I look my best—not like a bloody hag!