Page 144 of One Wrong Move
“His voice was gravelly,” Randy said, “which applies to hundreds of guys out there, but the one with the gun to my sister’s head told her to shut up when she whimpered. His voice was different.”
“Can you describe how it was different?” Harper asked, her tone back to her gentle, soothing self.
“He had a hint of an accent.” Randy rubbed his arm faster.
Sheesh, this guy looked like he was going to jump out of his skin. But if someone had Riley ... Rage boiled hot in Deckard’s chest.
“What kind of accent?” Deckard asked, simmering his flaring temper. “Was it regional like Boston or Georgia? That type of thing?”
“I think it was Eastern European.”
“Okay, so two men. One with a gold ring and gravelly voice, which is a great detail,” Deckard said. Randy had been FBI. The level offear in his eyes indicated how dangerous what they were about to learn was. “I’m guessing they returned your sister safely?”
Randy nodded.
“Did she recall anything about them?” he asked.
Randy straightened, his voice rising in pitch. “Nothing. She was terrorized by the experience.”
“Did you alert the Bureau?”
“No way.” Randy shook his head. “The men made it crystal clear they’d kill her if I did.” His face paled. “You have no idea what it’s like seeing your baby sister...” He hiccupped on a sob but contained it.
“And after she was safe?” Harper asked. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I got her out of there. As far across the country as I could.”
“She lives here too?”
“No. She lives in an undisclosed location.”
“I understand.” If it were Riley, that would be the extent of his answer as well. “Okay,” he said. “And there’s nothing else you remember about the men?”
“No.” Randy shook his head. “Not from then.”
Deckard narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, not from then?”
Randy raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll get to that, but first you have to understand ... to know ... how it started.”
“Explain it to us,” Harper said, compassion brimming in her eyes.
So empathetic. Sometimes he wished he were like that, but it wasn’t in his makeup.
Finally, Randy cleared his throat. “They told me to take the shirt or they’d kill her. I...”
Deckard shifted, working to make his body language nonthreatening. Who were these people?
“So I took the shirt out of the evidence box and slid it into my messenger bag. I have a back flap where I keep personal items, and I left at the end of my shift.”
Randy looked at Harper. “I’m so sorry, but I changed the evidence bag number in the logbook. I know that hurt Miranda, and I didn’tmean for it to, but these men ... I feared they’d come after Debbie again if I said anything. Their threats weren’t empty.”
“Debbie’s your sister?” Deckard said, clarifying, and Randy nodded.
Harper’s jaw clamped, clearly holding back what she truly wanted to say.
“Then?” Deckard said, before Harper lost her restraint and reamed out the guy for hurting her best friend.
Randy stood. “I need more coffee,” he said, moving around the island to the kitchen space.
