by Laura Scott
Nothing had been brought through this spot recently either.
Trina was hot, sweaty, and frustrated by the time she finished stomping around the second area where the trailer had reportedly been. She’d widened her search area, in case they’d simply moved the trailer fifty yards from the previous spot, but without success.
She opened her trunk and pulled out a mini cooler where she kept water bottles on hand. She downed an entire bottle, then carefully put the empty container back inside the cooler.
Knowing she needed to check the third place, she headed in that direction, keeping an eye out for any sign of a car pulling a trailer. As she drove past the Pine Cone Campsite, she frowned as an idea occurred to her.
Would they try to hide in plain sight? Maybe, but then again, she highly doubted that they’d risk cooking meth around other campers where they might notice the sickly sweet or ammonia smell coming from the trailer. In some cases, she’d heard of meth cookers having a cat along to help explain the ammonia stench, but one cat wouldn’t explain the chemical smell.
At least not to anyone with half a brain.
Then again, there was nothing to say the meth cookers couldn’t have rented a couple of trailer spaces so they weren’t as close to the other campers.
Encouraged by the thought, she vowed to return to the public campground once she’d verified the third location remained unoccupied. It took a while to get there because, of course, she’d caught a guy from Illinois speeding along the way.
After verifying there were no outstanding warrants or other pending cases against the driver, she issued the speeding citation and let him go.
The third location, and the least likely spot in her humble opinion, also appeared undisturbed from the last time they’d checked the area out. She repeated the same sweep around the area that she had on the two previous locations but to no avail.
With a surge of renewed energy, she turned around and headed back to the Pine Cone Campground. This time, she didn’t bother to put out a call through the radio to inform the dispatcher of her intent. Patrolling the campground wasn’t anything unusual, it was something she and the other deputies did without being asked. Especially in the height of tourist season.
The Pine Cone Campground had been the location of a crime over three months ago when Jemma McNally’s young son Trey had been kidnapped. Garth had killed a man during the rescue attempt mere seconds before she’d arrived.
Since that time, the area hadn’t been the source of trouble, but she drove through the windy roads, sweeping her gaze over the tents and pop-up trailers.
There were a couple larger trailers, but they were parked in close proximity to other campers. One had a clothesline strung between two trees with swimsuits and towels hanging out to dry, the other had bicycles parked near the campsite.
Nothing that struck her as odd.
But then she caught a glimpse of something tan or yellow through the woods. She hit the brake and quickly got out of her squad.
There was a dirt road that took a hard right, out of sight from the main campground. She caught a glimpse of a marker labeling the area as fifty-one. She rested her hand on her gun as she walked down the path.
A large, old, yellow, rust-stained trailer was parked deep into the trees, which was unusual. She swept her gaze over the area, looking for signs of anyone being nearby, but the area appeared deserted.
Had the trailer been left here for now, until it was time to move it again? She took several steps closer, lifting her hand to her radio, when she heard a twig snap behind her.
She whirled around a second too late. Something struck her hard along the side of her head.
Pain bloomed, but then there was nothing but darkness.
5
Jeremy felt ridiculous driving around all of Clark County searching for something that looked like a trailer used by meth cookers, but he couldn’t seem to force himself to stop. He was still trying to wrap his brain around the shocking news of Steve’s death.
The happy, free-spirited guy he’d spent summers with had ended up addicted to drugs. To crystal meth.
As a trauma surgeon, he’d seen his fair share of drug addicts coming into the trauma bay. They were more likely to be found down, or involved in motor vehicle crashes, or shot while doing drug deals. In Lansing, heroin was a much bigger problem than crystal meth, but the actual drug of choice wasn’t the issue. The prevalence of drugs in their society was the true problem.
Doctors, especially surgeons, got the blame for that, too. He knew that some providers had more generous prescribing practices than others. He hadn’t been one of them, but he’d known of a few who were. Part of the problem was that all hospitals and doctors were graded on how well they treated patients and making sure their patients were satisfied with their pain control was one of the metrics.
Years of trying to make sure patients weren’t in pain had been the wrong approach. Now they had a full-blown epidemic on their hands.
He glanced at his watch, noting the time was close to three in the afternoon. Maybe he’d cruise around for another hour, then head back to the B&B. Plenty of time to shower and change before the wedding rehearsal.
As he approached the Pine Cone Campground, he wondered if anyone had thought to consider the campground as a potential hiding in plain sight type of place.
He slowed his Audi and turned onto the road that sported a sign welcoming him to the Pine Cone Campground. The site was crowded, filled with all sizes of tents and campers parked relatively close together.
The way the campground was laid out, it seemed crazy to believe that anyone would decide to cook meth here, so close to other people.
His eyes widened in shock, though, when he caught a glimpse of a brown Clark County Sheriff’s Department squad car parked near an overgrown area of the campground. The vehicle was there, but he didn’t see any sign of an actual deputy.
A warning chill snaked down his spine.
Something was wrong.
He pulled in next to the squad and pushed out of his vehicle, sweeping his gaze over the area. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, which was perplexing.
Who was the deputy who’d left the squad behind? Garth? Trina? Someone else?
He moved around the area, looking for a sign of anyone being there recently. When he noticed a path leading through the brush, he headed in that direction.
As he cleared the worst of the brush, he saw the supine body of a deputy lying on the ground. Seeing the glimpse of dark red hair made his breath catch in his throat.
Trina!
He rushed forward, his heart thundering in his chest. Kneeling beside her, he quickly examined her for obvious signs of injury. He ran his hands over her arms, legs, somewhat relieved not to find any broken bones, then leaned closer to examine her head.
“Trina?” He gently palpated her scalp, finding a lump about the size of a robin’s egg that likely hurt like crazy. Was it bad enough to cause a subdural hematoma? He desperately hoped not.
Trina let out a low moan and shifted on the ground.
“Easy now, you have a bump on your head.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “Where else do you hurt?”
“Just my head.” She rolled over onto her back, her eyes squinting against the bright sunlight. “What happened?”
He gazed down at her with concern. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.”
“Help me sit up.” She didn’t look strong enough to manage the feat by herself.
“Slowly,” he cautioned, bracing his arm behind her back and easing her to a sitting position. “Do you feel dizzy? Sick to your stomach? Have any blurred vision?”
“I’m fine,” Trina protested weakly. “But I need to call dispatch, let them know to send someone to search the trailer.”
He frowned, wondering if her head injury was worse than he’d thought. “What trailer?”
“The yellow rusty one.” Raising one hand, she shielded her eyes as she glanced around
the area. “Wait a minute, where did it go?”
“You found the trailer?” He still had his arm around her but looked around to see if he’d missed it. “Where?”
“It was right there.” She waved a hand in the vicinity of an open area. “Where did it go?”
He wondered how long she had been unconscious. “I don’t know, but we need to get you to the closest hospital.”
“For a headache? Not happening.” She gingerly felt along her temple, wincing when she found the lump. “Not happy some jerk managed to get the drop on me.”
“Listen, I’m a doctor, remember? You need to have a CT scan of your head to make sure there is no internal bleeding. We have a whole protocol for concussions.”
She let out a sigh. “Help me up.”
He shifted so he could hook his arm beneath hers to lever her upright. She let out a low groan, and he belatedly realized it was her injured shoulder.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
Trina stood for a moment as if getting her bearings. Then she glared at him. “Why do you keep showing up, McNally? What part of not interfering with a police investigation don’t you understand?”
“What part of finding you unconscious with a head injury don’t you understand?” He wasn’t about to apologize for showing up here and finding her. “Now where’s the closest hospital?”
She tried to take a step but swayed to the right. He caught her against him and anchored his arm around her slim waist.
“Kalamazoo, then Battle Creek. Take your pick.”
He was surprised. “Nothing closer?”
“Nope.” She leaned against him as they made their way back to the spot where their vehicles were parked. “We have a clinic here, but I don’t think they have a CT scanner, just a basic X-ray machine.”
“A basic X-ray machine isn’t going to work.” It would tell him if she had a skull fracture, but that was secondary to the need to make sure she wasn’t suffering from internal bleeding. Bleeding into the brain could turn deadly.
“I’m fine,” she insisted again, but her voice lacked conviction.
“You’re not.” He was growing annoyed with her stubborn streak. When they neared the vehicles, he decided she was in no shape to drive. “I’ll take you to Kalamazoo. I know someone who works there. Reggie will help me pull strings to get you in and out of the CT scanner in record time.”
“I have to work tonight.”
“Nope. Not with a head injury. Concussion protocol, remember?” He could be stubborn, too. “Call Garth, let him know you’ve been injured.”
She lifted her hand to her radio and called in to dispatch requesting to be connected with Garth. She moved away from him to lean against the squad. “Garth, it’s Trina. I’m at the Pine Cone Campground. I found an old yellowed and rust-stained trailer, but someone hit me on the side of my head before I could call it in. The trailer is gone now.”
Jeremy understood the frustration in her tone.
“I’ll come get you,” Garth offered, loud enough that he could hear.
“No need, Jeremy McNally is here. But someone should come pick up my squad. I don’t want to risk getting behind the wheel.”
“No problem, I’ll pick up another deputy and head over there.”
Trina’s expression was grim. “Thanks.”
“Ten-four.”
When she finally raised her slate gray eyes to his, he saw resigned acceptance. “You can’t take me to Kalamazoo, you have the wedding rehearsal tonight, don’t you? How about if I promise to stay home and rest, will that make you happy?”
“I don’t care about the rehearsal and neither will Jemma and Garth. I’m sure they’ll agree that making sure you’re not seriously injured is far more important.”
“Don’t count on it. Garth was bonked on the head while protecting Jemma, and he refused to go in for treatment.”
It was surprising to hear that bit of news, but he didn’t let that derail him from his plan. “I promise we’ll be in and out as quickly as possible, okay?”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Okay. But I’m telling you, I’m fine.”
“Thank you.” He felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest. “I appreciate your cooperation.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” She pushed away from the squad and gingerly approached his Audi.
Jeremy opened the passenger door for her, a wry grin tugging at his mouth. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
She settled into the passenger seat, tipping her head back and resting with her eyes closed in a way that convinced him she felt worse than she’d let on.
And while he was grateful she’d agreed to the scan, he found himself hoping and praying Trina would be back to her feisty self very soon.
Trina told herself over and over again she would not throw up in Jeremy’s car.
Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d come to her rescue for what felt like the tenth time since he’d gotten into town? She was used to taking care of herself, and she didn’t want or need a man interfering in her life.
Her headache had settled into a throbbing ache, but her stomach continued to roll. She opened her eyes and looked out the passenger side window. Immediately feeling better.
Maybe she had a touch of motion sickness. Which, pathetically, cheered her up. Rather that than to have a serious enough head injury to cause her to be off work for a while.
This trip to Kalamazoo for a scan was a ridiculous waste of time, but she was too tired and sore to argue. Her shoulder injury was nothing compared to her headache, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and to stay there for the rest of the weekend.
Being conked on the head was a good excuse to get out of attending Garth’s wedding. She really, really didn’t want to spend more time with Jeremy, yet she couldn’t make herself bow out. Garth would be the one hurt by that, and maybe Jemma, too. No, she’d attend the ceremony, but then she would make an early night of it. No one could blame her for that.
“Why did you decide to investigate the trailer alone?”
Jeremy’s question interrupted her thoughts. Swallowing a flash of impatience, she turned to look at him. “Because that’s my job. We aren’t staffed to go out two at a time, and normally there’s no need for it.”
“Being hit on the head isn’t normal.”
Since that much was true, she couldn’t argue. “The crime rate in Clark County isn’t too bad. But I know that Sheriff Donnelly has requested additional positions from the Clark County Board. They haven’t approved them, though.”
“Why not? You obviously need them,” Jeremy’s tone was terse. “Are they going to wait until something bad happens?”
“It’s always about the budget.” Being held hostage over money was annoying to the deputies as well. “I’ve proposed a K-9 program as a way to help put a dent in the drug business, but that costs more than you’d think.”
“How much?”
“Training alone is estimated to be around twenty grand, give or take a few thousand. And that doesn’t count the food and general upkeep of a K-9.” She shrugged, then winced at the twinge in her shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind supplying my own dog food and paying my own veterinary bills, but the county board wasn’t willing to go that route.”
“That seems shortsighted since it’s still cheaper than a full-time cop,” Jeremy pointed out.
She lifted a hand. “Preaching to the choir.”
“Hmm.” He was silent for several long moments. “I wonder if you shouldn’t ask the community for help.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, donations. Maybe sponsoring a community event, a carnival or autumn fest, something where the proceeds could go toward training a K-9 cop.”
As much as she hated to admit it, she thought he might be on to something. “That’s a great idea.”
He glanced at her. “Why do you sound surprised? It’s not like I’m a complete idiot.”
She laughed, then put a hand
to her head at the flash of pain. “I didn’t mean to insinuate you were. I feel foolish for not thinking of it myself.”
“I’m sure if you get Jemma and Jazz involved, they’d have even more ideas. They’re having a great time with Goldie, Trey’s Goldendoodle puppy.”
She thought about her plan of getting a German shepherd as a K-9. There was a breeder in Kalamazoo who had a prize female who’d just delivered a new litter of shepherd pups about six weeks ago. And Lansing housed a really nice K-9 training facility.
Was this a real possibility? She felt a sense of excitement. “I like the idea of an Autumn Festival of some sort, especially if there was a raffle with prizes offered, maybe a variety of gifts from local sponsors.”
“I bet Jemma and Jazz would be willing to offer up a free weekend at the B and B as one of the raffle prizes.”
“I think they would. It’s a great idea.” She reached out to rest her hand on his arm. “Thanks, Jeremy.”
He covered her hand with his. “You’re more than welcome.”
His low husky voice sent shivers of awareness rippling over her skin. She dropped her hand and told herself to stop overreacting.
It would be good for her to remember that Jeremy was a friend, someone who was lending her a hand when she needed one. By Monday he’d be back in Lansing, hours away from McNally Bay.
They reached Kalamazoo in what seemed like record time, and true to his word, Jeremy had smoothed the way for her to get a CT scan of her head without waiting.
The scan itself didn’t take long, but waiting for the results seemed to take forever.
Finally, a short stocky guy by the name of Reggie Scopter walked into the waiting room. “Hey, McNally, good to see you again.”
“You, too.” Jeremy stood and shook the physician’s hand. “I appreciate you getting us in at the last minute.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Reggie waved it off. “You’ll be glad to know Deputy Waldorf doesn’t have any signs of internal bleeding. But you know the drill. Concussion protocol indicates she needs to rest, meaning no screen time or reading, until the headache passes.”