Page 30 of The Perfect Betrayal

Samantha Collins, even dressed in just a t-shirt and yoga pants and wearing no makeup, was an attractive woman. Her raven-colored hair extended down to her elbows. Her porcelain skin seemed to glimmer in the early afternoon light, as did her terrified eyes. She’d left her apartment in such a hurry that she was barefoot.

Seeing Jessie pull up in front of her, she spun her head around, looking for someplace to escape, and darted through the closest door. Jessie got out and gave chase. She glanced through the glass door of the establishment and, seeing Samantha running toward the back, pushed it open.

She was in a hair salon. About a dozen women—some stylists, some customers—stared open-mouthed at her and her weapon. Only one young woman, sitting under a dryer with earbuds in and her eyes closed, was oblivious to the proceedings. Jessie ignored all of them as she rushed after Collins.

A door toward the rear was open. Jessie, feeling winded, slowed down slightly as she approached it, not wanting to get taken by surprise. She poked her head around the corner to find that she was looking at a small business office. Its back door was open.

She rushed over and noted a broom standing against the wall near the door. An idea came to her, and she snagged it as she reached the door. She peered outside and saw Collins about ten feet ahead of her, once again running down an alley.

Jessie wasn’t about to chase her much more. Instead, she switched her weapon to her left hand and grasped the broom over her head like a javelin. Then she flung the thing toward Collin’s legs. Her aim was true, and the wooden pole landed in between them as Collins took a big stride. Her rear foot clipped it and she went down, landing hard on her front. Jessie jogged after the woman, keeping her weapon at her side.

“Stay down,” she ordered raspily. “I’m an armed law enforcement officer. Any sudden moves would be a bad choice.”

Collins, groaning softly, didn’t look like she had any intention of moving.

“Slowly put your hands behind your back,” Jessie instructed.

The woman did as she was told. Jessie was just starting get out her cuffs when she heard a voice behind her.

“You want me to take over?”

She glanced back to find Riddell emerging from the door of the salon. Apparently, he hadn't been as far behind the action as she thought.

"Be my guest," she told him, hoping she didn't sound completely breathless. "You're the cop."

He stepped forward, and she happily retreated. As Riddell knelt down to cuff Samantha Collins and began reading her rights, Jessie moved back to the salon doorway and leaned into the office so she couldn't be seen.

Then she silently retched. Nothing came out, but that didn't make her feel any better. She was wiped out. But in large part due to an adrenaline shot, she was definitely thinking clearly now.

She swore to herself that she would never take that pill again, even if it meant she lost control and killed someone. The way it had messed up her thinking and stamina, she was lucky she hadn’t encountered someone who could have taken her out.

Better them—whoever “them” was—than her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

They used the hair salon’s back office as an interrogation room.

Jessie didn’t say as much, but she didn’t want to conduct an interview back at the Sheriff’s station, where she’d have little control. And she could see that Riddell was too impatient to go anywhere. So, after getting the reluctant consent of the salon owner, they agreed to do it here.

They sat Collins down in the owner’s swiveling desk chair and cuffed her right hand to the armrest. Riddell was champing at the bit, but before he started in, Jessie pulled him aside.

“I know she ran from us,” she whispered, “but she wasn’t aggressive. Let’s at least start this on simmer before we take it to boil, okay?”

“What do you mean by that?” Riddell growled.

“Give me a minute to calm her down,” Jessie explained. “If she’s our killer, we’ll get there. But if not, she could be a valuable information source. Let’s not turn her into a crying heap of tears until we have to.”

Riddell didn’t look happy, but she could tell that he saw some merit in her suggested strategy.

“Fine,” he muttered, “but if she starts playing games with us, I’m going to amp it up real quick.”

"Fair enough," Jessie said, though she didn't really think it was. She turned her attention back to Collins, whose t-shirt was grimy from where she'd fallen. The tops of her toes were also raw from scraping on the alleyway gravel. She was wincing as she held her left hand to her chest.

“Detective Riddell is going to call for an ambulance so EMTs can you check you out, Samantha,” she said, nodding at Riddell to do that, before adding,” is it okay if I call you Samantha?”

The woman nodded faintly. As the detective reluctantly pulled out his phone and stepped to the corner of the room, Jessie noted that Collins seemed to be whimpering.

"Okay, Samantha, my name is Jessie Hunt," she began. "I'm a criminal profiler with the LAPD. This is Detective Riddell. You may remember that he already identified himself at your apartment. But while we wait for the EMTs to arrive, we wanted to ask you some questions, which is all we ever wanted to do anyway. Keeping in mind the rights that Detective Riddell explained to you earlier, are you willing to speak with us?"

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