Stevie looked at Zane. “Guess it’s you and me.”
“Don’t kick anyone in the groin this time,” he ordered.
“Only if I need to.”
###
“Isn’t that—”
“It is,” Zane answered Stevie.
Dawn Hazelwood’s white Escalade sat in the parking lot at Fletcher’s Bar. It stood out next to the other beat-up pickups and nondescript sedans in the gravel lot. A diamond among the pieces of coal.
“There’s no way she’s inside this place,” Stevie argued. “She wouldn’t let her dog go into Fletcher’s. Someone must have stolen her SUV.”
Zane laughed as she’d hoped he would. He’d been a ball of stress for over twenty-four hours. They were both tightly wound, but Zane had carried a shadow in his eyes since the search for Liam had ended at the river.
She didn’t like it. The case was hitting him at a personal level, and she felt powerless to pull him out of it.
Shouts came from inside the bar. Maybe a good bar fight will perk him up.
Stepping into the dim light of Fletcher’s, Stevie spotted Jake Powers supervising a brawl. He casually held a baseball bat at his shoulder, but it appeared he hadn’t used it. Yet.
Two men thrashed on the floor, their blows missing more than making contact. Their movements were slow and jerky as they shouted slurring insults.
They were fall-down, can’t-walk, stupidly drunk.
Jake made his way over to Stevie and Zane. “I don’t think they can hurt each other,” he told them, after a nod of greeting. “They’re too wasted.”
“You need to be better about cutting them off,” Stevie lectured. Any apprehension she’d harbored about breaking up a bar fight fizzled. The scene in front of her was pathetic. “What happened?”
“They were arguing about who got to buy the lady a drink.” Jake nodded in the direction of the bar.
Dawn Hazelwood was perched on a stool, disinterestedly watching the fight, leaning on an elbow on the bar, boredom in her posture.
“What’s she doing in here?” Zane asked.
“That’s what I wondered,” admitted Jake. “We don’t get her type. I figured she was slumming. Sometimes rich women like to live a little dangerously. Although lunchtime here isn’t exactly the time to troll. Especially with the storm going on. She asked me if I’d seen a couple of men she’s looking for.”
Zane straightened his shoulders. “Again? Did she ask about the Dodge brothers?”
“She didn’t say names. Just described them as elk hunters. Big guys with dark hair.”
“Have you seen them?”
“I think they were in earlier this week. I told her I got the impression they were staying out at the old resort.”
“What’d she say to that?” Stevie asked. She glanced across the room. Dawn looked directly at her and held her gaze. She held up a glass in toast to Stevie and took a long drink.
“Wanted to know if I’d seen them today. I haven’t.”
Stevie glanced at Zane. “I think we need to talk to Dawn somewhere quieter.” The men on the floor had stopped fighting and lay on their backs, panting. One had a bloody nose and the other a bloody lip. Other than that, they looked intact.
“Not blood again,” muttered Jake. “I hate cleaning up that shit.”
“Could be worse,” Zane offered with sympathy.
“True. I think I’ve seen it all. One time in the men’s room—”
“We’ll get going now, Jake.” Stevie cut him off, her imagination filling in the rest of his story. “Unless you want us to haul them out of here.”
“The holding cell is still unusable because of the backed-up drain,” Zane reminded her.
“We could give them a neighborly ride home,” Stevie suggested. “As long as they don’t puke in the back seat.”
“I’d appreciate that,” answered Jake. “I’m trying to run a cleaner place these days. Blood and idiots don’t help the image.”
“Keep it up. You’ve made some good changes,” Stevie told him. She meant it. Jake had transformed the bar and himself for the better since she’d moved back to Solitude. “But you’ve got to do something about the number of fights we have to respond to. Cut off the drunks. It’s the law.”
He bobbed his head. “Will do.”
“Do you want to invite Dawn to the station for a talk or should I?” Zane asked.
“Definitely you. She doesn’t care for me, but she seems to like you a lot.”
“She does?”
Men are so oblivious sometimes.
“Trust me.”
Zane looked skeptical.
“Hold her gaze and smile as you slowly walk over to her,” Stevie advised. “She’ll do whatever you ask.” She looked at the two men awkwardly pulling themselves up off the floor. “I’ll take Bloody Nose home, and you can drive the other.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Stevie returned from driving home Bloody Nose and found Zane already back in the office. The drunk hadn’t puked in her car, and his wife was not happy to see him dropped off by an officer. Nose had tried to saunter casually past his wife and had failed, nearly putting out an eye on a drawer knob as he fell. Stevie darted off as his wife started to chew him out. She had a very brief moment of pity for the inebriated fool.
Inside the police station, Dawn sat in the interview/storage/meeting/whatever-we-need-it-for room with Zane, a cup of coffee in her hand. Sheila had sniffed loudly as Stevie walked by, her nails clacking twice as loudly as usual on her keyboard. Sheila-speak for annoyance. No doubt directed at their visitor. Sheila had little patience for certain types of people. Dawn Hazelwood was one of those types: high maintenance.
Dawn was dressed as though she had a yoga class to attend in ten minutes. Stevie was certain there was no yoga class within thirty minutes. Coordinated royal-blue top, jacket, and running shoes with snug black pants. Plus a super-perky ponytail and full makeup.
No wonder the drunks at Fletcher’s had lost their minds.
Zane sat beside her, taking Stevie’s advice about smiling. Dawn was eating it up. She leaned toward Zane, offering a hint of cleavage, her own smile at full wattage.
Stevie understood; there was something about a man in uniform.
“Sorry I’m late. There were more than a few detours.” Stevie grabbed her own cup of coffee and sat.
“The weather is horrible,” said Dawn. “I don’t know how you stand living here. I moved to the desert twenty years ago, and I’ll never live anywhere else.”
Stevie showed her teeth. “I’d probably feel the same way about the heat.”
Zane cut in. “Dawn was just telling me about their newest line of bulletproof vests.” His gaze warned Stevie to play nicely. “She says she’ll send us a few to try out. They’re supposed to be a third lighter than what we’re currently using.”
“I’ll take all the lightening up I can get,” Stevie said seriously. She carried over twenty pounds of equipment, between her clothing, boots, duty belt, and vest. Wearing that in a desert environment would be hell.
“They’re not on the market yet,” Dawn said. “We’ve done all the testing and hope to get them out within six months.”
“We’d love to try them,” answered Zane.
Dawn took a long look at both of them, her perfectly groomed brows lifting ever so slightly. “So. Why am I here? I don’t think you wanted to sweet-talk equipment out of me.”
Stevie raised her estimation of the woman a few degrees. “Twice you’ve asked locals about two elk hunters.”
“So in Solitude, the gossip train is actually a bullet train,” said Dawn.
“Sometimes.”
“I’m looking for two guys I hired. They came here, and I haven’t heard a word from them since.”
“Maybe you should have come to the police first,” suggested Zane. “That’s what we do.”
Dawn’s smile was saccharine. “I didn’t want to bother you with such a small matter.”
“Two missing men doesn’t sound like a small matter,” Stevie pointed out. “Especially with the dangerous water around town.”
Two parallel lines creased Dawn’s forehead. “I hadn’t thought about that. I figured they could take care of themselves . . . even though they aren’t the most responsible types. They’re the type to get drunk and forget they have jobs for two days. That’s why I checked at the bar.”
Sounds like the Dodge brothers to me.
“I can’t believe you only have one bar in town . . . not even in town. It’s near town.”
“Sometimes that’s one too many,” muttered Stevie. “Are you looking for Lyle and Ethan Dodge?” she asked, watching for Dawn’s reaction.
She wasn’t disappointed.
The lash extensions blinked rapidly three times. “You know them?”
“You could say that,” answered Zane. “The county arrested them on suspicion of being involved in a double murder a few days ago.”
Dawn paled.
“Turns out they weren’t involved, but they got past one of my officers before we learned that, and we haven’t seen them since.”
“So, are they wanted for something or not?” Dawn asked slowly.
“Not for those murders. For embarrassing one of my officers, yes.” Zane’s face was perfectly solemn. “Now we’ve had another . . . incident . . . and I’d like to talk to them about it. How do you contact them?”
“Cell phone. But they haven’t answered in two days.”
“I suspect their phones are in the county sheriff’s hands. What’s your backup way to reach them?”
Had the Dodge brothers murdered the FBI agents?
“If I had a backup, I’d have talked to them by now.”
“What do they do for you?” Stevie asked. “They don’t seem like corporate employees.”
Dawn’s lips twitched on one side. “They’re not. I hired them to find someone for me. They told me he was here in Solitude.”
“Who was that?”
She sat silently for a long moment, and Stevie knew she was carefully phrasing her answer.
“Terry Reece. He owns a company similar to mine. He wasn’t returning my phone calls either, so I decided to confront him in person. He’s hard to pin down. I thought surprising him here would work.”
“Confront him about what?” asked Stevie.
“It was a personal matter, but he was arrested before I got here. I understand he’s in the county jail, which is at least a half hour away on the other side of the moat around this town.”
“Do you know why he was arrested?” Stevie asked. The woman seemed rather calm at the news.
“I heard something about a shooting.”
“Yes. He and a cohort tried to murder my family.” Stevie’s words quivered as she steamed at the memory. “Small children were present. He’s lucky he’s not dead like his partner.”
Dawn’s eyes widened. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry for your family.” She scowled. “That’s not the Terry I’ve known.”
“Greed can transform the most honest person,” Zane commented.
The woman slumped back in her chair, her ponytail losing some of its perk. “Why would he do something like that?” she whispered to herself. Confusion and concern flashed across her face.
Zane exchanged a look with Stevie. “Do you know Wade Pierce?”
“No. Should I?”
She’s lying. Stevie had seen an awareness for a millisecond in her eyes before she answered.
“He was the CFO for Terry’s company.”
Comprehension appeared. “Ahh . . . he’s the thief. The one who murdered his wife. I heard about that.”
“Turns out, Wade didn’t kill his wife. Terry was behind it. He hired someone to do it and kidnap Wade’s son,” Stevie said.
Dawn looked sick. “That can’t be right.”
“Trust me, it is.”
The three of them sat quietly for a few moments as the news sunk in. Dawn’s gaze darted between Stevie and Zane. The overconfident woman from minutes before was now stunned.
“I guess I won’t be talking to Terry on this trip,” Dawn admitted.
“You know,” Zane said innocently, “Terry believes you planted a mole in his company.”
Guilt flared. “It’s a competitive business. He’s probably done the same to me.”
“I bet your company spends years in research and development to create something like those lighter bulletproof vests,” Stevie said.
“We do. Our R&D department is huge. And expensive.”
“Moles help you stay ahead of your competitors,” Zane stated.
Dawn shrewdly looked from Zane to Stevie. “Am I here to be asked about the Dodge brothers or my mole?”
“Does it matter?” Stevie asked. “Wade, his brother-in-law, and his son are still missing. Your two men are missing. For such a small town, we’ve got a lot of missing people. And we’re missing another tourist,” she added, remembering Robert Singleton from the Tall Tree Inn.
Where Dawn was staying.
This woman has a lot of lost people in her circle.
“None of this seems to concern me. I’m headed home as soon as I can get out of town.”
“What about the Dodge brothers?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll turn up in a bar somewhere.” She looked at the time. “I paid them. They did the job, so I assume they’re finished with me. I can’t sit here and wonder where they went.”
That’s a cold attitude.
Dawn stood up. “We done?”
Zane stood. “I’ll walk you out.” He followed the woman out of the room. She didn’t say goodbye to Stevie.
Tapping her fingers on the table, Stevie thought back through their conversation.
Zane reappeared a minute later. “Sheila doesn’t like her.”
“Of course not. She’s high maintenance.”
Zane pondered that for a moment and then dropped into the chair next to Stevie.
“Dawn didn’t ask any questions when we told her Wade, Marcus, and Liam were missing. Most people would have shown some concern about a missing child.”
“Most people would,” agreed Zane. “I don’t think she’s most people.”
Sheila stuck her head in the room. “Hank’s on line one.”
The two of them moved into Zane’s office, and he picked up the phone, greeting the medical examiner. Zane listened for a few moments. “That’s who it was?” Surprise rang in his tone.
Stevie waited impatiently.
He hung up. “The floater from the other day was our missing tourist, Robert Singleton. I’d wondered if it would turn out to be Wade Pierce.”
She let that sink in. “Then Wade is still a suspect in the FBI shooting.” An image of the two dead men waiting silently in their SUV in the storage unit popped into her mind.
I hate that we had to do that.
“So are the Dodge brothers and Marcus,” Zane said grimly.
###
“Zane?”
It was Sheila’s emergency voice.
It’d been two hours since Dawn left, and Sheila’s tone made Zane leap to his feet and dart out of his office as Sheila shouted the rest. “We’ve got a shooting injury out at the Kimpton farm! We don’t have ambulance coverage yet!”
Shit. His biggest worry had just come true.
“Call Dean Mercer. Give him the location. Who else do we know with medical training?”
Sheila’s hands fluttered. “I can’t think of anyone else!”
“Call Carter, Kenny, and Stevie. I want everyone at the Kimptons’. Is the shooter still active?”
“It was the shooter who called me—Jacob Kimpton. He shot an intruder near his barn.”
Shit again. Jacob Kimpton was over eighty and wore some of the thickest eyeglass lenses that Zane had ever seen. He had a reputation for shooting first and asking questions later.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He grabbed his hat and strode out the door, wondering w
hat disaster he’d find at the farm.
Will the victim be Wade or Marcus?
Or one of the Dodge brothers?
###
Twenty stressful and wet minutes later, Zane learned he was wrong on all counts. The victim was Jacob Kimpton’s neighbor, Ezra Freeman.
Ezra currently had an ass full of buckshot and was cursing enough to make a sailor blush.
When Zane arrived, Carter and Dean Mercer were attending his injuries. Ezra was the same age as Jacob, and there was a decades-old feud running between the men. Zane had never pinpointed what had started the conflict, but rumor held that it was about a woman. In the 1960s.
Now they constantly argued about wandering pets, broken fences, and every little noise.
Zane’s department always drew straws to see who had to respond when things got out of hand. Everyone had taken their fair share of calls with the crotchety men.
Dean looked up as Zane approached. “I told Sheila we had it under control and to cancel any other responders. He’s going to be fine.”
“What the hell’s he doing on my land?” Jacob yelled, even though he was ten feet from the group. He still held his shotgun, his feet planted wide, and watched everyone with a terrifying scowl.
Zane shot a glare at Carter for not disarming Jacob and held his hand out for the weapon. “Let me hold that until everyone clears out,” he told Jacob.
Annoyance filled the scruffy, irate face, but he relinquished the weapon. “Shouldn’t be snooping around my stuff,” he muttered. “I heard on the news that we’ve got some wanted men in the area. Thought I’d found one of them.”
Exactly what I didn’t want to have happen after the broadcast.
“Next time, try to see exactly who you’re shooting at,” Zane suggested.
“I’m a little jumpy. Don’t cotton with murderers wandering around.”
You and me both.
Zane watched as Dean Mercer used long tweezers to pluck a piece of shot out of Ezra’s lower back. The doctor splashed rubbing alcohol on the spot, and Zane cringed, expecting Ezra to scream. The man didn’t move.
“I gave him a local anesthetic,” Dean explained.
“I’d been shot and this fake doctor gave me a dozen more fucking shots!” Ezra exclaimed. The patient was lying facedown on a board in Jacob’s barn, his pants pulled down to his knees, and he was straining to look over his shoulder at Jacob. “That asshole has wanted to shoot me all his life. That bullshit about believing I was a murderer is a big fat lie!”
Truth Be Told (Rogue Justice Novella Book 2) Page 5