Cache a Predator Read Online Free PDF

off. It’s not healthy living like you do—this ain’t right, man.”
    Brett’s radio cracked with static before he heard the dispatcher. “Base to twenty-five, base to twenty-four. Possible assault and battery at 1246 Ditch Rd. EMS is on the way.”
    Brett set his coffee down and hurried to the front door.
    Clay followed and paused. “My wheels are in the shop. Can I hitch a ride with you?”
    Brett nodded and pushed out the door, summer’s heavy humidity enveloping him in a sauna. He unlocked the car door. “Hop in.” They climbed in and Brett cranked up the air. The clock in the sedan showed 9:10. Maybe he’d get the chance to stop at home after this call. Ditch Road wasn’t far from Ali’s.
    When Brett pulled in front of the house on Ditch Road, the ambulance had just arrived, its lights flashing in the driveway. The front door of the house stood open. Neighbors gawked from their porches and in the street. Brett and Clay hurried to assist.
    Three feet inside the door, the victim lay on his back, naked from the waist down in a heap, writhing and screaming. As the EMTs wheeled their gurney into the house, they fired questions at the man. “What happened?”
    “Are you blind? My dick is missing. Someone whacked it off.” He flapped his arms above his groin.
    Clay knelt at the victim’s side. “What’s your name?”
    “Jake”—he paused to catch his breath—“Hunter.”
    Brett had seen a lot as a cop, but nothing like this. Hunter’s pecker was gone, and in its place was a short stub covered in blood with a thin strip of rubber knotted and dangling from the end. Brett’s stomach lurched. “Do you know who did this?”
    “How the hell would I know? It’s not like I gave them permission.” Spittle flew from Jake’s mouth as he spoke, the alcohol on his breath filling the room. “I wasn’t awake when it happened. Someone drugged me and then sliced it off.” He winced and groaned as the techs lifted him onto the gurney and inserted an IV needle into his arm.
    Brett said, “What do you remember?”
    Jake took a deep breath. “Nothing. I was lying on my bed last night”—he pointed to the bedroom—“and woke up this morning … dickless.” He sucked in another deep breath, clenching his teeth. “It was probably my ex-wife. I’ll kill her.”
    Brett quizzed him about his ex-wife, jotting down her name, phone number, and where she worked. “What time did you get home?”
    “I closed Louie’s bar.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Maybe 2:20. I don’t know.” His face gathered in tight wrinkles as if he was forcing the words to come.
    Brett made a mental note of the guy’s tattoos, his greasy hair and dirty fingernails, and the dried blood on his thighs. “Did you hear, feel, or see anything after you fell asleep?”
    Jake stared at the ceiling as if trying to remember. “He put something like a rag over my face … smelled like some kind of gas.”
    Clay glanced around the room. “Have you seen the rag?”
    Jake, still lying on the gurney, sat up and lunged for Clay, grabbing his shirt in his fist, sticking his face close to Clay’s. “I ain’t had time to look for no rag. I’ve been too busy looking for my dick! You need to find it, you asshole!”
    Clay’s large hands shot out and pushed Jake down on the gurney, restraining him. “Keep your hands off me. We’ll do what we can.”
    “Easy for you to say.” Hunter nodded toward Clay’s crotch. “Yours is intact.” He fell limp onto the bed as the EMTs covered his body and rolled him out the front door and into the ambulance.
    Brett radioed in the report, telling the dispatcher the victim’s name and requesting the crime scene crew. After, he dug out the supply kit from the trunk of the cruiser, and he and Clay each donned a pair of plastic gloves, then unrolled yellow tape around the front door.
    By the time they made it back to the bedroom, Clay couldn’t hold back any longer. His laugh rolled from deep inside and grew