Page 72 of Dirty Valentine
“Can you track it?”Jack asked, his voice tight.
“Already on it.”Doug’s hands moved with lightning precision across multiple keyboards.“Margot, I need you to access the vehicle’s dash cam footage.Pull everything from the last two hours.”
“Accessing vehicle recorder,” Margot replied.“Downloading dash cam files now.”
The seconds stretched like hours.I could feel Jack’s tension radiating across the room, a coiled energy that spoke of a predator sensing danger to his pack.Outside, the storm continued its relentless assault on the windows, each lightning flash illuminating the gravity etched on our faces.
“Got the files,” Doug announced, fingers flying across the keyboard.“Fast-forwarding through the footage now…here, about forty minutes ago.She’s making a traffic stop.”
A window opened on the largest monitor, showing the dash cam’s forward view.Rain streaked across the windshield, and through the downpour we could see another vehicle pulled over on the shoulder ahead.The time stamp showed the footage was from earlier that evening.
“She’s approaching the vehicle,” I said, watching the empty view as whoever was driving the patrol car—presumably Potts—got out to make contact.
Jack leaned forward, every muscle in his body coiled tight.“Doug, can you get the license plate on that car?”
“Working on it.”Doug enhanced the image, zooming in through the rain and darkness.The luxury SUV sat with its hazard lights blinking, brake lights bright red in the storm.“Partial plate visible…running it now…”
The color drained from Jack’s face before Doug even finished typing.
“That’s my parents’ Escalade.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
“Keep it running,”Jack said, his voice stripped of all emotion—the kind of flat, deadly calm that made seasoned criminals confess just to avoid whatever was building behind his eyes.
On the monitor, the dash cam footage continued.Jack’s parents’ Escalade sat motionless in the rain, hazard lights pulsing against the storm-darkened asphalt.The time stamp showed 7:23 p.m.Less than two hours ago, they’d been driving home from what they’d thought was a safe haven.
Doug’s fingers trembled slightly as he advanced the footage.“Here…she’s approaching the driver’s side.”
We watched the empty view as Potts moved toward the luxury SUV, invisible to the forward-facing camera.The Escalade’s driver’s window rolled down with mechanical precision.Through the rain-distorted footage, we could see movement inside—Jack’s father leaning toward the window, probably reaching for his wallet like any law-abiding citizen during a routine traffic stop.
Then everything went to hell.
A muzzle flash erupted from beside the patrol car.The brief, brilliant flare was followed by the Escalade rocking slightly on its suspension.From this angle, we couldn’t see inside, couldn’t tell what damage had been done or who might have been hit.
“No,” Doug breathed, his face pale.
Jack went absolutely still.Years of SWAT training had taught him to compartmentalize, to push personal feelings into a locked box so his tactical mind could function.I watched him make that shift in real time—from son to law enforcement officer.
“Can’t determine the target from this angle,” he said, his voice clinical.“Need to see movement, assess casualties.”
The driver’s door opened.Jack’s father emerged with careful movements—hands visible, no sudden motions, the practiced compliance of a man who understood exactly what kind of danger he was in.
“Dad’s mobile, responsive,” Jack observed with professional detachment.“Following commands.Means the shooter’s got him under control.”
Richard Lawson moved toward the rear of the Escalade, maintaining visibility of his hands.The rain continued to pour, turning the highway into a river.Potts had chosen her location well—isolated, dark, with perfect sight lines and no witnesses.
The rear door opened, and Richard began to climb inside.That’s when Potts struck—a swift blow from behind.We couldn’t see the weapon from the dash cam angle, only Richard’s body jerking forward before he collapsed into the back seat.
My stomach clenched.Even after all my years in medicine and forensics, watching someone I cared about being brutalized made bile rise in my throat.
“Textbook takedown,” Jack said, maintaining his clinical tone.“Nonlethal force, immediate compliance.She’s maintaining two hostages.”
The Escalade rocked as Potts secured her prisoner.Then she walked directly toward the dash cam, moving with purpose through the rain.Her dark hair was plastered to her skull, water streaming down her face.But it was her expression that made my blood run cold.Even through the rain and grainy footage, her smile was clearly visible—wide and bright and absolutely insane.The smile of someone who’d been planning this moment for a very long time.
She looked directly into the camera with focused intensity.Her lips moved, forming words we couldn’t hear over the storm, but the malicious joy in her expression was unmistakable.She was talking to Jack, knowing he would see this, knowing it would tear him apart.
“She knows,” Doug said, voice tight with realization.“She knows we’re watching.She wants us to see.”
