by Kylie Brant
“Which side of the woods are you talking about? As you faced the creek, were they to your left or to your right?”
The boy thought for a minute. “On my left. And then Trevor said maybe it was Colton again . . .” His words trailed off as he looked toward someone not in view.
“Why did Trevor think it was your brother?”
“One time we saw him in the woods making out with some girl from school. Trevor said, ‘Let’s go sneak up on ’em and scare ’em,’ but I didn’t want to. If I didn’t go along, though, Trevor would call me a pussy forever, because he never shuts up about stuff like that . . .” He stopped, his expression stricken.
“It’s all right.” The deputy’s words were soft. “You’re doing fine.”
“So we crept into the woods. It was farther than I thought at first. But I figured we could watch ’em while we hid in the bushes. We stopped when we saw this clearing. There were four guys there. Grown-ups.”
“What else did you see?”
Dylan moistened his lips. “Two big spotlights. There was a bunch of trash around. Propane tanks. Coolers. Some plastic buckets, rubber tubing, and empty soda bottles—the big ones. There was a rope tied over a tree limb. I never saw it there before, and Trev said someone musta made a rope swing and how we should go try it out. There was a tent, too, sort of tan, I think. It was way past the people. It’d been hard to see without the lights. I grabbed Trevor’s shirt and pulled him down, made him be quiet. We had to get out of there before we were seen.”
“Why did you need to get out of there, Dylan?”
There was something in the deputy’s tone that Cady could only guess at. But Allen wouldn’t have pulled her in for a refresher course on conducting interviews. Dylan’s revelation was going to be bad. And she couldn’t help a stab of empathy for the unknown boy.
“I recognized one of the men. Bruce Forrester. People say he’s a drug dealer. That he’s been in jail. I wanted to get out of there. But Trevor was real excited about the rope swing and kept saying maybe we could swing over the creek. Then a guy said, ‘There’s someone out there.’ Forrester turned around and started coming toward us.”
“He wasn’t facing you?”
“The men were sort of standing in a circle. I could see the side of his face. Enough to recognize him.” A shudder was working through the boy’s body, tremors racking his frame. “I heard one of them men say, ‘Fuck, get rid of ’em!’ and I grabbed Trevor’s arm and dragged him with me as fast as I could.”
“Where were you going?”
“Somewhere else, man. Anywhere else. That dude—Forrester—was chasing us. I could hear him crashing through the woods behind us. We got to the road and ran right across it to the trees on the other side.”
“You didn’t run home?”
“Too far.” The shudders were stronger now, and Dylan let go of the can to wrap his arms around his middle. “And he’d a seen us. I thought we could hide. Maybe climb a tree. There’s this hollow log we discovered a while back. If we could just get to it . . .”
“Did you hear anything else as you ran?”
Dylan swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Forrester was yelling stuff. Said if he caught us, he’d drown us both. I just kept running. Trevor was right behind me. I went to this spot where him and me have climbed trees before. I climbed to the top, but . . .” His voice dropped off. “Trevor wasn’t there. I thought . . . I hoped he’d found another hiding place.” Tears were running down the boy’s face. He mopped at them with the hem of his T-shirt.
A woman moved into view. “Remember what the doctor said. You’re not s’posed to push him.”
“Just another few minutes, Ms. Bandy. Almost done.”
She grabbed the pop can from the table and handed it to the boy. “Go on, now, drink. Calm yourself down so we can get out of here and go home.”
Cady squelched a flicker of irritation at the unknown woman. It had to be Dylan’s mother. The relationship was apparent despite the different last names. The same pointed chin and slight frame as her son, although hers was clad in tight jeans and a skimpy top tied below her breasts, leaving her midriff bare. Her hair might have once been the same blond as Dylan’s, although it looked now as if it owed its color to a too-distant dye job.
“What else can you tell us, Dylan?”
The boy heaved a sigh. “Nothing. I could hear people moving around. I thought maybe Forrester got his friends to come and look for us. I climbed as high as I could, and I just sat in the tree all night. And most of the next day, I guess. I didn’t come down until I heard you guys calling for me.”
There was more, but Allen Gant spoke then. “You’ve heard the gist of it.” He turned the computer back toward him and stabbed a finger at the button to turn off the video. His gaze rose to meet hers. “That was five years ago. Dylan Castle was ten. Trevor Boster nine. When Mrs. Boster found Trevor missing in the morning, she started checking with friends in the area. Once Tina Bandy discovered Dylan gone, too, they called the sheriff. Later on, Trevor’s mom searched the house for the boat and it was nowhere to be found. That’s when a couple of deputies went down to the creek. They found Trevor’s body in the water, three hundred feet downstream from where the road ends. He’d suffered a head trauma. The deputies hunted for Dylan and discovered him hiding half a mile away in a tree, unaware of what had happened to his friend.”
Something in Cady’s chest went tight. “And Forrester?”
“Well, that’s where things get interesting.” Allen’s chair creaked as he adjusted his position. “He disappeared. They eventually rounded up two men Dylan ID’d as having been there that night. One verified that Forrester went after the boys but claimed he wasn’t gone more than a few minutes.”
“Homicide doesn’t necessarily take much longer than that,” Cady observed.
Allen nodded. “A meth lab was discovered right where Dylan described it. It took months for the state lab results to come back, but Forrester’s prints were found on some of the containers.”
“Places him in the area. But what does this have to do with Forrester kidnapping a woman from a motel parking lot in Bryson City six weeks ago?”
He held up a hand. “No idea. But there’s a lot more to the backstory, and I don’t have all the details. I do know the State Bureau of Investigation is involved in Dylan’s case. When word reached the staties about Forrester’s new kidnapping warrant, the SBI director reached out to our agency. Marshal Redding recommended you be assigned to it.”
Stunned, Cady could only stare at her supervisor. She’d figured she’d been called in for a reason, but it would never have occurred to her that the marshal for the Western District of North Carolina had gotten involved. She’d never met Redding. Had only heard him speak once at a training she’d attended.
“Why?” She’d been assigned to the Asheville office for less than a year, having transferred from Saint Louis. “He doesn’t know me.”
Allen rubbed his stomach, as if his breakfast hadn’t agreed with him. Or maybe it’d been the coffee he’d washed it down with. “Your reputation precedes you. The Aldeen case a few months ago vaulted you into the agency limelight.”
Inwardly squirming, Cady said nothing. Last November, Samuel Aldeen had escaped a Haywood County facility for the criminally insane. She’d been part of a team tracking him. By the time she’d figured out who his next victim was, she’d almost been too late.
Almost.
“Forrester’s been on the loose for years, and Redding is counting on you to bring him in. That means even if the family moves again, you stay on the case.”
Cady nodded. She was assigned to the Asheville office, and their territory ran to the western side of the state. But for continuity purposes, deputy marshals followed the fugitives, regardless of district or, in some cases, state lines. “Am I working solo, or will Miguel join me?” There were five other deputy marshals in the Asheville office, and only she and Rodriguez worked warrants full-time, wh
ile the others also had federal court duties.
“You’ll have a better idea of the manpower needed once you attend the background briefing.”
“Which is when?”
The expression on Allen’s face confirmed her worst suspicions. “It’ll be held in the Mecklenburg SBI office at noon. They tried to split the distance for all agencies involved. Sorry, Cady. I realize you’ve been up all night. Garrett already knows about it. Maybe you can ride with him and any other members of the task force you think need to be there. After the meeting, of course, you can take the rest of the day off.”
Considering it’d be midafternoon before she got home—if she was fortunate—the offer lacked generosity. “You have a heart of gold, Allen,” she said, rising from her chair. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“Just passing along orders. Blame yourself. Your rep’s drawing notice.”
The words had a thread of unease working through her as she walked out of his office, shutting the door behind her. It didn’t hurt to get work-related recognition, she supposed. It was preferable to scrutiny of her personal history.
Cady went back to her desk to make some quick calls. She could update most of the team later. But she did reach out to a couple of feds she thought would be able to help. A half hour later, she grabbed her coat and purse before heading out.
Nodding to the security officers stationed in front of the courthouse doors, she exited, jogging down the steps. While she waited for her ride at the curb, she took the time to text Haywood County sheriff Ryder Talbot, who’d volunteered for dog duty while she’d worked last night. Meeting in Mecklenburg. Not sure when I’ll get back.
She’d no more shoved her cell in her pocket when it pinged with a reply. He must have had his phone in his hand when she’d messaged him.
Fed Hero and let him out this morning. Let me know when you’re heading home.
She stared at the answer for a long moment. They’d gotten close when working the Aldeen case and had drawn closer since. Their friends-with-benefits relationship had been extended to swapping dog-sitting duties as needed. That had necessitated them exchanging keys, a step she’d never before taken with a man. The thought still had her gut clenching, but it’d been done for Hero’s sake. Her job occasionally had her working nights, and that schedule didn’t always jibe with her pet’s needs.
She put the phone away and spied a sheriff’s vehicle turning the corner to approach the federal courthouse. Casting a quick glance in either direction, she strode across the street and continued down the walk toward it until it pulled to a stop along the opposite curb. Yanking open the back door of the vehicle, she slipped inside. The outdoor temperatures had warmed only slightly since Simmons’s arrest last night.
Buncombe County deputy sheriff investigator Andy Garrett was behind the wheel. Two others were already inside the vehicle. “Jaywalking. I could write you a ticket for that.” His words were interrupted by a huge yawn.
“You could.” She fastened her seat belt. “If you weren’t too tired to wield a pen.”
He grunted in agreement. “But you trust me to drive you more than two hours?”
“Trust. Desperation. It’s all semantics.” She addressed the man beside her. “Hi, Curtis.” Curtis Weddig was a DEA agent stationed at the federal building next to the courthouse.
The other man in the front seat half turned. Offered her a smile. “Cady. Been a while.”
“Gabe.”
She thrust aside a sliver of discomfort. A few months ago—before she’d known Ryder well—she and ATF agent Gabe Pearson had had a brief casual relationship. Casual, because that’s how she kept all her relationships. Brief, because his suggestion they exchange keys had sent her well-developed guardedness into overdrive.
The irony of having done so with Ryder wasn’t lost on her. But letting him help out with the dog just made sense. And if the thought didn’t completely silence the tiny inner alarm shrilling inside her, it at least quieted it.
Gabe was still studying her. “Seems like every time I see you, you’re banged up.”
Her hand rose to the eye that still throbbed. “Ran my face into a guy’s head,” she said lightly.
“That’s an improvement.” For the others’ benefit, he added, “Few months back she got a bit too close to a car bomb.”
She settled back in her seat as the other two men made the inevitable demand for details. Retelling the story gave her no pleasure, but it was infinitely preferable to dwelling on her sex life.
Chapter 3
There were seven of them around the table, including the Asheville contingent. SBI special agents Kyle Davis and Sue Rebedeau were joined by Cumberland County deputy investigator Blake Patten.
After introductions, Davis shoved folders across the conference table to each of them. “These are file summaries to update the members of the fugitive task force. They’ll bring you up to speed. But the complete case file is digital. You’ll find log-in information inside the folders.” His tone was neutral. Cady wondered when he’d learned of the case’s change of status. And what his reaction had been. “First, though, I’ll have Deputy Patten recap the beginning of this case.”
Cady had spoken to Patten on the phone when she’d first started delving into Bruce Forrester’s criminal history. The deputy was at least ten years older than the SBI agent but had a similarly broad build and sported the same buzz cut as the other man, although his was gray. In the distinctive dialect pegging him as a transplant from the Pamlico Sound region, he quickly condensed the events Dylan Castle had recounted on the video she’d seen in Allen’s office, adding, “Castle was in bad shape when we found him, at least emotionally. He was under a doctor’s care for a couple of days before we could question him. He identified two of the other men with Forrester the night in question—Charles Weber and Stephen Tillis. Both were arrested. One of them finally admitted to having been there and also gave us information about Forrester’s drug operation. Tillis denied his involvement all the way to Craggy Correctional.”
A few scattered laughs were heard around the table. “We issued an arrest warrant for Bruce Forrester,” the man continued, “and he’s also wanted for questioning in the death of Trevor Boster. A separate warrant was filed for Eric Loomer, the fourth man at the scene. Weber, the cooperating witness, named Loomer as a longtime accomplice in Forrester’s drug operation. We were unable to apprehend either man.”
Davis took up where the deputy had left off. “Tina Bandy felt unsafe with Forrester on the loose and moved to Greensboro, where she has a sister. They were there just over a year before Tina called the police to report that Dylan had seen Bruce Forrester driving by in an old dark-green pickup.” The agent picked up a remote sitting on the table in front of him.
Patten put in, “Forrester had two vehicles registered to him, a 1960 green Ford pickup and a 2010 Chevy Suburban. When we went looking for him, both vehicles were gone, along with most of his personal belongings. We were never able to trace either of his vehicles or the one registered to Loomer. We assumed they got rid of them. Neither man has shown up in the state’s DMV database in the years since. We checked surrounding states, as well, with no success.”
Because they’d left the region? Or had new identities? Maybe both, Cady thought. If Dylan hadn’t been interviewed for a couple of days, they’d had time to clear out before the law had arrived.
“Bandy’s report was followed up on, but the Greensboro police department never did find the vehicle.” The SBI agent spoke again. “Two days later, a friend of Dylan’s, Ethan Matthis, was killed in a drive-by shooting. A witness saw an older-model dark pickup speeding away from the scene.”
“Was Dylan with the victim?”
Davis shook his head at Cady’s question. “No, but Matthis was wearing an article of clothing that belonged to Dylan. Apparently the boys had switched hoodies. For reasons I’ve never determined, teenagers do that.” He sounded as if he had personal experience in the area. He fi
ddled with his laptop before pointing the remote to a big-screen TV on the wall. When it flickered to life, the screen filled with a school photo of a preteen boy. “Ethan Matthis.” He flipped to an image from the crime scene. Cady winced. It would be difficult to compare the picture to the school photo. Part of the head was blown away.
“Son of a bitch,” someone muttered. She could appreciate the sentiment.
“That’s when we were called in,” Davis continued. “Tina Bandy was convinced Forrester had found the family. No proof of that, of course, but the vehicle description was persuasive. The state doesn’t have a witness protection program, but Bandy wanted to relocate again, and we did what we could to help. We’ve stayed in touch with the family ever since and keep their address shielded from public records. Even gave them a cell phone with our number programmed in it for emergencies. The boy carries it every day.”
“Why do I think this isn’t the end of the story?” Curtis wondered aloud.
Davis gave a grim smile. “The family relocated to Ayden. They were there a year and a half before Dylan sighted Forrester in the truck again.” Cady’s chest went tight in anticipation of the man’s next words. “Later that week, another teenage boy was murdered in a drive-by shooting as he was riding his bike. One witness ID’d an old green pickup in the area.”
“Relationship to Dylan?” she asked.
“None.” The agent raised the remote and flipped to another school picture. “Chad Bahlman went to the same school, but they weren’t in the same grade. Dylan knew him only by sight.”
She studied the photo. With his light hair and slim build, the boy bore a slight resemblance to Dylan.
When Davis flipped to the next photo, she steeled herself against the grisly crime scene image. “He was riding a bike that used to belong to Dylan Castle. He’d bought it from Tina Bandy on Craigslist a few days before. His body was found in a drainage ditch a mile from his rural home.”
So no direct relationship to Dylan, Cady mused, but a superficial connection nonetheless.