“Get out of there!” Layla shouted.
She wriggled and writhed in Amanda’s grasp. She was wiry and quick, and Spenser suddenly understood how she’d managed to slip past Summers and Berman. Amanda deftly spun Layla around and shoved her belly first against the lockers on the other side of the aisle then used her body to keep her pinned there. Berman and Summers stepped forward and with each of them grabbing hold of Layla by an arm, they dragged her backwards, kicking, screaming, and cursing the whole time.
As she continued shouting invectives, Spenser dug through the locker, tossing articles of clothing and shoes onto the ground behind her. A sliver of panic lanced her through the heart as she continued to dig but wasn’t finding anything incriminating. Logic told Spenser there had to be something in there.
The pile of clothes and shoes behind her was growing larger but still, nothing. Other than a few toiletries—a stick of deodorant and a hairbrush, the locker was empty. Confusion and frustration made her brain spin, and she turned to find Layla staring back at her with a feral snarl on her lips. Her eyes glittered darkly, and Spenser could tell the woman wanted to tear her apart.
“Where is it?” Spenser asked.
“Where is what?” Layla replied with faux innocence.
She turned back to the locker and stared into its empty confines again, shutting out all the noise around her.
Amanda sidled up next to her and looked at the empty locker with open skepticism in her eyes. Spenser couldn’t blame her for it. Behind them, Layla laughed.
“Shut your mouth,” Summers growled.
“Make me,” Layla fired back.
“Lane, it’s all right,” Spenser said. “Let her keep laughing. She’ll stop soon enough.”
“And how are you going to make that happen, Sheriff?”
Spenser ran her hands along the back of the locker, then down the sides. With the toe of her boot, she kicked at the bottom and froze in place when she saw it move.
“You’re kidding me,” Spenser whispered.
“What is it?” Amanda asked.
As if on cue, Layla started howling in rage, trying to pull away from the deputies who managed to hold her tight. Crouching down, Spenser grabbed the false bottom that covered the floor of the locker and pulled it off, revealing the hollow beneath it.
“No way,” Amanda gasped.
Spenser reached into the hollow and pulled out a small, black nylon bag. Her stomach churned wildly and her hands trembled as she unzipped it. When she laid the small kit open, a profound sense of relief and satisfaction settled down over her. She took a moment to quell the rising tide of emotions.
“Well, well, well,” Spenser said.
She opened the kit wide enough for Layla to see the syringe and the empty bottle of eyedrops she’d stashed inside. Layla fell silent and her entire body sagged, forcing Summers and Berman to bear the full weight of keeping her upright. Good thing she was a tiny little thing.
“I told you she’d stop laughing,” Spenser said.
“Right you were, Sheriff. Right you were,” Amanda replied.
“I don’t get it. Why didn’t she just dump the kit?” Ryker asked.
“She said she was going to when the heat was off. She was afraid of somebody finding it in the trash or something,” Spenser replied. “It’s like I kept telling everybody, she’s highly intelligent, but she’s not a smart criminal. She doesn’t think that way. I really believe that underneath it all, she’s a good person, and she just let herself get caught up in her emotions. Let them make her do something profoundly stupid.”
“I think most of us have been there.”
“I know I have.”
With Layla Li safely ensconced in a cell down at the office pending transport to Seattle where she would be incarcerated pending trial, and the syringe/bottle sent off for DNA/blood tests (which would inevitably come back with Seth’s blood on it), Spenser decided to take the night off. She’d earned a night to relax and decompress. And to celebrate a successful end to her case, Ryker had brought the dogs down to the town center and laid out a nice picnic. They shared a meal and a bottle of wine on the green as they listened to the string quartet on stage.
Candles and dim lighting on stage softly illuminated the players, casting a soft nimbus onto the ground around the bandstand. The night was dark, and the gentle breeze carried a hint of summer warmth. There were a few dozen other couples and families on the green around them, picnicking and taking in the beautiful music.
“This is absolutely perfect,” Spenser said. “Thank you for putting this together.”
“You’re welcome. I thought you deserved to celebrate a win.”
“I appreciate that.”
Spenser threw a piece of meat from her dinner to Annabelle and one to Mocha. They both snatched the treat out of the air and swallowed it whole then looked to her for more.
“You two need to learn to savor your food,” Spenser said with a laugh.
“Good luck with that. These two are absolute chow hounds,” Ryker remarked.
Annabelle laid her big, blocky head on Spenser’s lap as she closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. She savored every note with a peaceful smile on her face. Nights like these nourished her soul every bit as much as the company nourished her heart. Spenser was grateful to have somebody like Ryker in her life. He was so kind and thoughtful, and he was always surprising her with gestures both big and small. More than that though, Ryker gave her a sense of peace. The sense she as protected. Those things had been rare in her life since Trevor died.
Spenser looked over at Ryker and the emotions bubbled up inside of her. She opened her mouth to give voice to them when her phone rang. She let out a low grumble, irritated at having the moment ruined, and gave thought to ignoring it. But her sense of duty was like a millstone around her neck. Even when she was off the clock, she wasn’t ever really off the clock.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Ryker offered her an expression of understanding. “Nothing for you to be sorry about.”
