by Laura Scott
“Where did you end up?” The question popped out of her mouth before she could stop it, curiosity getting the better of her.
A grin flashed across his features. “The Ohio State University School of Medicine,” he answered. “Go Buckeyes.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “No way. Michigan State is much better.”
“Now you sound like everyone I work with,” he joked. “Being a Buckeye fan when you work at Sparrow Health in Lansing, so close to Michigan State, is viewed as some sort of crime.” He paused, then asked, “Is that where Steve ended up? I remember he was planning to attend college after working that landscaping job for a couple of years. He told me he intended to run his own business someday because he didn’t like working for others. He intended to be the boss, not the other way around.”
Trina’s smile faded, and she slowly shook her head. “No, Steve didn’t make it to Michigan, or any other university.”
“Why not?”
Their server arrived with their food. Trina stared at her chicken sandwich, having lost her appetite. When they were alone once again, she met Jeremy’s gaze. “Because Steve passed away six years ago.”
“What?” Jeremy’s jaw dropped as the incredulous news hit hard. The horror in his eyes made her feel bad for being so blunt.
Still, she felt that Jeremy should have known. Okay, maybe he had been distracted with being accepted into medical school. With his college life and his career. But couldn’t he have at least called her brother? Tried to keep in touch?
“What happened?” Jeremy’s hoarse voice brought her out of her memories. “Was it a car accident? Or an illness like cancer?”
“Not a car accident.” She had to push the words past her tight throat. “But he did have an illness.”
Jeremy surprised her by reaching across the table to take her hand in his. He held it tight as if he were trying to reassure her. “Tell me, Trina. What kind of illness did he have? I swear if I had known, I would have pulled every string in the medical community I had to get him the best care possible.”
She stared at their entwined fingers for a long moment before meeting his gaze head-on. “Steve didn’t die of cancer but of a drug overdose. He was an addict, Jeremy, and if you want to know the truth, I’m convinced his addiction started that day ten years ago when I watched the two of you drinking in front of the campfire.”
“Wait, what?” He shook his head as if he hadn’t heard her clearly. “Drugs? You’re saying Steve was addicted to drugs?”
“Crystal meth to be exact.” She subtly pulled her hand from his grasp, ironically missing the warmth of his touch. “And if you had been any kind of friend, you would have known this a long time ago. Now it’s just too late.”
4
Drugs. Crystal meth. Drinking beer around the campfire.
Trina’s words bounced around in his mind like ping-pong balls. He couldn’t seem to wrap his brain around the news. The Steve he remembered had been fun, carefree. Not at all the type who would succumb to drug addiction.
Then again, he knew that behavioral health issues, including substance abuse and addiction, could strike anyone. Rich or poor, young or old, it didn’t matter. Anyone could find themselves in that situation.
And while he knew Steve could have reached out to him, he needed to own his own actions. Or lack thereof.
“I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate, and he finally understood Trina’s clipped attitude toward him. Garth’s comment about why he cared about finding the meth lab made sense, too. Garth had assumed that he’d known about Steve’s addiction and subsequent death and that it was the reason he was determined to help out.
But he hadn’t.
Humiliation burned deep. Trina was correct. He had no one to blame but himself. “You’re right. I should have known.”
She didn’t say anything in response. The silence between them stretched long and uncomfortable. He forced himself to pick up his burger even though his previous hunger had vanished.
Trina took a bite of her chicken without enthusiasm. He wished they’d saved the heavy conversation until after they’d eaten. He’d been looking forward to having a Bombay Burger.
Now he wondered if he’d ever enjoy one again.
“Is that why you’ve returned to McNally Bay?” he finally asked. “As a way to take on the meth labs?”
“Yes.” Her simple admission touched him. “I know there isn’t anything I can do to bring Steve back, but I can work hard to prevent others from being pulled down into the same quicksand.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I understand you’re upset with me, and I wish I could go back and do things differently. But I can’t. If it helps, I wish I had known. That I’d at least attempted to do something to help.”
“I know.” The corner of her mouth tipped up in a sad smile. “I’ve played the what-if game over and over in my mind until I think it will drive me insane. There’s no point. What happened, happened. Nothing more we can do to change it.”
Learning of Steve’s death from a drug overdose was a hard blow, and it made him glance down at his scarred hands once again. He knew he was lucky to be alive after the crash, even if it hadn’t felt that way at the time.
The best hand surgeon on staff at Sparrow Health had done a series of surgical procedures in an effort to repair his shredded tendons, and honestly, he knew that Overman had done a phenomenal job. He could use his fingers for everyday activities, which was important to him. But there was a persistent numbness especially in the first two fingers of his right hand that prevented him from picking up a scalpel.
He knew he couldn’t live with himself if he injured someone else by trying to maintain his career. So, he’d walked away.
It was the hardest decision he’d ever made.
Trina surprised him by reaching out to touch one of the scars. “What happened? Looks painful.”
“Not anymore.” He shrugged, then decided there was no point in avoiding the incident. She’d told him about Steve’s drug addiction and overdose, it seemed only fair that he should share his sad tale. “I was hit head-on by a drunk driver about nine months ago. I was wearing my seat belt but had my hands low on the steering wheel. I don’t even remember why I was gripping it that way, but when the airbags deployed, my hands took the brunt of the crash. The steering wheel broke, and the edges ripped the tendons in my fingers.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her voice was low, husky with emotion, and he found himself mesmerized by the way she was tracing the length of his scar with her fingertip. “Are you still able to perform surgery?”
He wondered where she’d learned he was a surgeon, then assumed Garth must have mentioned it at some point. “No. They put me to work taking care of medical patients instead, and as the newbie, I do a lot of third shifts. They also recently offered me a promotion, being in charge of all the medical docs.” He didn’t let on about how much he missed being a surgeon. Not just working in the operating room but being on call, taking care of trauma patients. Sparrow Health was a level one trauma center, and there was always something new rolling through the door.
His job had been interesting and fulfilling, and while he knew he was still helping to care for sick people, it just wasn’t the same.
“That’s why you don’t drink.”
He met Trina’s gaze. “I was never much of a drinker anyway, but yes, being in that crash made me realize there was no reason to drink at all. Especially because I had two glasses of wine the night of the crash. Not enough to put me over the legal limit but possibly enough to slow my reaction time.” That was the true crux of the matter. He’d always wonder if the two glasses of wine he’d consumed had contributed to his crash.
There was no way to know for sure.
She drew her hand away and took a bite of her sandwich. “I feel the same way.”
He glanced back to see that George was in the process of buying another beer. He thought about how hard it must be for Trina to be he
re, in a pub of all places, and wished they’d waited for a table at Daisy’s Diner.
“Don’t,” she said as if reading his mind. “I still care about George, even if I don’t agree with his decisions. He was Uncle Ricky’s friend, after all. And I can’t avoid every place where there may be drugs or alcohol. I’d never be able to do my job.”
“I get it.” He finished about half his burger, then pushed his plate aside. “Do you have any idea what kind of trailer you’re looking for?”
She lifted a brow. “One that has a kitchen, likely powered by propane. Crystal meth is baked in the oven, which sounds crazy in the heat of the summer.”
“You don’t have any other identifying information?” he pressed.
“We’ve heard a variety of answers.” Her tone was wry. “Drug addicts aren’t the best witnesses. It could be white, yellow, gray, green, or anything in between.”
He nodded and leaned forward. “Okay, great. What can I do to help?”
Trina blinked. “Excuse me? Help with what?”
“Finding the meth lab.” Now that he knew what was driving her desire to shut it down, he felt more compelled than ever to offer his assistance. “Put me to work for the next few hours. I don’t have to be back at the B and B until five thirty. The wedding rehearsal is at six, with dinner afterward. That gives us roughly five hours to search for the whatever-color trailer.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Trina pushed her half-eaten meal away, too. “There’s nothing you can do to help; we have plenty of deputy support working the case.”
“Really?” He didn’t bother to hide the doubt in his tone. “Seems to me that you’ll be awfully busy with tourist issues. Last time I was here, Garth mentioned that keeping the tourists from hurting each other was beginning to feel like a full-time job. Especially after bar time. Besides, I don’t have anything better to do, why not let me help?”
“Because you’re not a cop.” Her exasperation was clear. When he opened his mouth to argue, she put up a hand to stop him. “No, Jeremy, it’s not going to happen. The best thing you can do to help is to stay out of our way.”
He spread his hands. “When have I gotten in the way? Admit it, you found it helpful that I was there as a witness when that idiot assaulted you.”
“Yes, but this is different. You’re asking to be involved in a formal search for ongoing criminal activity.” She shook her head, tucking a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “Not changing my mind, so just let it go.”
He remembered what Garth had said about his presence possibly causing more harm than good. That made sense if he was actually inserting himself into an active crime scene. Obviously, he wasn’t equipped to handle a crime scene when something bad went down. Yet he couldn’t understand why his looking for a white, yellow, gray, or green trailer would cause a problem.
But even more importantly, he didn’t want this brief time he’d spent with Trina to end. He was attracted to her, in a way that made a mockery of his feelings toward Phoebe. Ten years ago, Trina had been a cute seventeen-year-old, but he’d been an adult at twenty-one. He’d thought she was pretty, but he’d never ever crossed the line, except maybe in his mind. Partially because of Steve, but more because she wasn’t even eighteen.
But now, things were different. She’d grown into a beautiful, strong, capable woman. A deputy who was clearly more comfortable with a gun on her hip than without.
She signaled for the check, but he quickly pulled out his wallet. “My treat.”
“Why?” Trina frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with each of us paying for our own meals.”
“Please.” He couldn’t explain his need to pay for the meal he pretty much ruined.
She looked as if she wanted to argue, but their server returned with a padded billfold and set it next to Jeremy. It was a sexist thing to do, but he gratefully snatched it up and slipped his credit card inside before handing it back.
“I have to go.” Trina rose to her feet. “Thanks for lunch.”
He stood, even though he needed to wait for his credit card to be returned. “Trina, would you be willing to take my cell number and give me yours, too? I’d like you to call me if you need something.”
She appeared taken aback by his request. “I won’t need anything, I have deputies who back me up, but thanks for the offer.”
He didn’t want her to go, but he had run out of ideas to convince her to stay.
“Okay. Take care, Trina.”
“See you at the wedding.” She tossed that over her shoulder as she made her way through the restaurant toward the door.
The wedding. He sank into his chair, a goofy smile playing across his features. She was planning to attend Garth and Jemma’s wedding.
He was suddenly very glad to know he’d be seeing her the following day.
Trina didn’t know why she’d bothered to mention seeing him at the wedding, other than his request to exchange phone numbers had knocked her off balance. It wasn’t as if their impromptu lunch had been some sort of date.
Crazy to let her mind wander down that path. Jeremy lived and worked in Lansing, and her roots were firmly planted here in McNally Bay.
He was only here for a few days. Once the wedding was over, he would drive his expensive car home.
It occurred to her that she didn’t blame him for the beer-drinking incident any longer. They had been young and sneaking beer wasn’t exactly unheard of. If she were honest, she’d admit that drinking the beer could have been as much Steve’s idea as Jeremy’s.
Easier to blame Jeremy than to look at herself. To realize that she hadn’t known how bad Steve had been, how awful his friends’ influence was on him, until he was far down the path to destruction.
And despite how she’d convinced her brother to get clean, had paid for his rehab out of her own pocket, he always seemed to relapse.
Nothing had worked. Only in death had he found peace.
Trina kept her focus on searching possible locations of the trailer. She wasn’t supposed to work days today, she was scheduled for second shift, but it made no sense to go home to change now only to return in a few hours.
She was off on Saturday for the wedding anyway. As the groom, so was Garth. Some of the guys had been ticked that they hadn’t been invited to the wedding, but Garth had ignored the jabs. In the end, Alex Rhine had agreed to cover her shift, which was nice of him.
Maybe Alex had thought the offer would soften her up. He’d asked her out several times, but she’d always refused, knowing that getting tangled up with a coworker would be asking for trouble. Not to mention breaking policy. Besides, Alex liked to have fun. He was always looking for the next pretty girl. She’d known that was the real reason she’d found him chatting with Emily Hart, the dispatcher working last evening.
Whatever. He was a decent cop, maybe not as dedicated as she was, but few had the same motivation to eradicate the drugs and crime from the area as she did.
She made her way back to where she’d left her squad outside Daisy’s Diner, then slid in behind the wheel. The interior was stifling, so she rolled down the windows and backed out of the parking spot. As she turned onto Main Street, she caught a glimpse of Jeremy strolling casually to his car. She waved, smiling when he returned the gesture, then forced herself to concentrate on her next move.
The dried coffee grounds off to the side of the clearing nagged at her. Was it possible the trailer had been moved in the middle of the night? If so, how could anyone involved in the drug ring have known she had Timothy Eden in custody? He’d been so high, they’d kept him in the cell without providing him a chance to make a phone call until he’d sobered up.
Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she considered her options. She knew the last four locations the trailer had been. Should she check the areas used in the past? Or assume the drug manufacturer had taken the trailer someplace new?
Battling a wave of indecision, she abruptly turned toward the first known location of the trailer
. Maybe it was a fool’s errand, but she couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility that the trailer may have been brought back to that same area or one of the others where it had once been.
She made sure to call in to the dispatcher to notify the department of her location. It was a requirement considering they were mostly investigating complaints and other reports alone.
“Ten-four,” the dispatcher responded.
The first clearing was located a good twenty miles from the site they’d discovered earlier this morning. The location was secluded, similar to the others where they’d learned the trailer had been located. When she arrived, she took a long moment to simply look around without disturbing anything.
There was no sign of the trailer or any evidence of recent activity. Still, she pushed through the brush, waving away the mosquitos until she confirmed the trailer wasn’t in the area.
When she emerged from the woods, she caught a glimpse of a black car, one that looked suspiciously like the kind Jeremy drove, disappearing down the road. The last three numbers on the license plate were 392.
She frowned and reached up for her radio. “This is unit seven, will you please run the registration for Jeremy McNally? I need to know his license plate number.”
“Just a moment.” Trina could hear the dispatcher typing on the keyboard. “He drives a black Audi, license plate AFT-890.”
“Okay, thanks.” Trina disconnected from the call feeling foolish. Apparently, she needed to push a little harder to get Jeremy McNally out of her brain. Not good to be seeing things that weren’t there.
The second location wasn’t as far. She reached the spot in less than ten minutes, once again reporting her location to the dispatcher. But when she got out of her vehicle, she could see the old ruts, made when the trailer had been taken out in the middle of a rainstorm, were unchanged.