by LENA DIAZ,
He shook his head at himself.
Ever since Donna had walked into that bar, braving the stink and the worst dregs of humanity because she cared enough about him to try to save his job, he’d been off-kilter. The feelings he’d worked so hard to ignore were boiling too close to the surface—especially after finding Randy murdered. He kept picturing what might have happened if he hadn’t gotten fired, if Donna hadn’t come after him. Would she have been the one who had been killed? Would the killer have chosen her as his victim instead of Randy? Just imagining her lying there, broken, bleeding, sent a cold chill straight through him.
“Blake? Are you okay?”
Her question had him forcing a smile. “Of course.” Since she was staring at him so intensely, as if trying to figure out what he was thinking, he threw her a curveball. “I’ll have to take a rain check on taking you to bed. Maybe until all this is over. You know, since I went against your dictate and carried you again.” He gave her an outrageous wink.
Her eyes widened. Then she started laughing. The delightful sound was like a balm to his soul, somehow giving him the strength he needed to lock away his ridiculous emotions and face the task ahead—the investigation, and the search for their friends.
He put the truck into drive and headed down the road. A few minutes later, he stopped at an intersection. “Back to the station? Or do you want me to drop you off at your house to get some sleep?”
She shook her head. “I can’t sleep. Not yet. Not until I know...something, anything, that can shed some light on what’s going on.”
A half hour passed before they pulled into the empty parking lot of the stand-alone building that was several miles outside town, surrounded by woods. According to what the chief had told him, the idea when the police station was built was that the town would eventually grow out this far and surround it. So, rather than use the more expensive land back in Destiny, the station had been constructed pretty much in the middle of nowhere. That was a decade ago. And Destiny, Tennessee, showed no signs of growing outside its current boundaries.
They were heading up the walkway to the front glass doors when she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“You never saw me cry,” she said. “And you sure never saw me throw up.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Her expression mirrored relief. “Thank you.”
They headed up the walk again. When they reached the doors, he pulled one of them open for her. “Donna?”
She hesitated and looked up at him. “Yes?”
“Crying, or being sick with grief over a loved one, neither of those makes you weak. They make you human. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Nothing that happened today changed that.”
She blinked, then cleared her throat and stepped inside. They’d only gone a few feet when she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Blake?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For everything.” Without waiting for his reply, she strode through the squad room, grabbed a small toiletry bag out of her desk and hurried down the back hallway to the bathroom.
Chapter Eight
At 4:00 a.m. on a typical Sunday, there were one, maybe two, Destiny, Tennessee, police officers on duty. This Sunday, there were ten, plus a dozen state police. Every law-enforcement officer in the county who wasn’t already on assignment had shown up in answer to Donna’s calls, eager to help their fellow officers. Even some local civilians, awakened by her infamous call tree, were pitching in any way they could.
But only Blake and Donna were at the police station.
Everyone else was either helping collect evidence at Hawkins Ridge or scouring the county for potential witnesses.
Blake rubbed the stubble on his jaw and leaned back in his desk chair, looking around the nearly empty squad room. The freestanding building had only one entrance and exit that opened directly into this room. A kitchenette ran along the wall to the right of the entrance. Past that was the police chief’s office and private bathroom. Along the back was a short hallway with two holding cells and the restroom the officers used. And to the left of the entrance was an interview room. The place was small, but efficient, and very quiet.
Too quiet.
He longed to be outside with everyone else, searching for clues. But since he and Donna were the only detectives left, here they sat, hunched over their keyboards in the last row of desks.
He rubbed his bleary eyes. One desk over, Donna was squinting at the computer monitor as if trying to focus.
Her shoulder-length blond hair was cut into a straight bob that gently curved around her face, giving her what Blake had always thought of as a pixie look, like a tiny magical fairy sent down to dwell among mortals. Or, at least, normally it curved around her face. Right now her hair was sticking up all around her head. The blouse she’d so carefully tucked into her jeans before they went up to Hawkins Ridge was hanging out in the back now, severely wrinkled. What little eye makeup she’d had on hours ago was now smeared, reminding him of a raccoon.
He didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful. Too bad they were coworkers and the chief frowned on dating among coworkers. Apparently Max had been a ladies’ man around the station at one time, dating interns and wreaking havoc whenever the relationships eventually ended. Now that he was caught for good by his wife, Bex, things had settled down. But he’d pretty much ruined it for the rest of them. Which meant Blake had to work extra hard at not letting Donna know that he’d grown to care about her a whole lot more than he should over the past few months. As smart and beautiful and fun as she was to be around, it wasn’t easy.
He silently cursed himself for even thinking about something so unimportant in light of the case they were working on. He must be more tired than he’d realized, sitting here, mooning over Donna when he should be trying to find their missing coworkers. Looking at her now, seeing how pale and drawn her face was, he realized she had to be just as worn out as he felt. Maybe they both needed a break, so they could refocus on the case.
“You’re exhausted,” he announced, rolling his chair next to hers. “We both are. We should go home and get some sleep.”
She blinked as if coming out of a trance, her fingers growing still on the keyboard. “What time is it?”
“A little after four.”
“A little after four,” she repeated, staring at the screen with a haunted look in her eyes. “Did you know that most people who are abducted are killed within the first three hours? We’ve failed them, Blake. They’ve been out there for far longer than that.”
“That statistic applies to juveniles, not adults. And it typically involves pedophiles. We’re dealing with something entirely different here. Let’s focus on solving Randy’s murder. We’re well within the golden forty-eight-hour window, where most homicides are solved. Focus on that. We find his killer, we find the others alive and well and bring them home.”
She shook her head. “I’m doing everything I can, but it doesn’t feel like enough.”
“You’re forgetting something really important here.”
She finally turned her head and met his gaze. “What’s that?”
“This killer didn’t kidnap just anyone. He kidnapped some of the most well-trained, intelligent, savvy cops I’ve ever met. I’ve worked with a lot of officers, so that’s saying something. We’re still a team here. You and I are working this case from the outside. But Dillon, Chris, Max and the chief are working it from the inside. That’s an impressive group. Together, there’s no telling what they’ll get done. It wouldn’t surprise me if they came walking in here in the next few hours with their kidnapper in handcuffs.”
The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “I can totally picture that.”
“Good. Hold on to that image and don’t get discouraged. We’re going to find this guy and bring our team home.”
“I won’t argue with you there. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
She swiveled her chair toward him and started ticking off salient points on her fingers. “There’s a lack of tire tracks. A meticulous note that had to be written ahead of time and brought to the scene. Transportation. Someone had to work that out ahead of time—a truck or van, something that could hold all our guys. And they sure as heck had to have a lot of firepower and manpower to make our men get into that vehicle without fighting them. A fight would have left obvious signs of a struggle at the scene, which there wasn’t. All of that speaks to this being a large, well-planned operation.”
Crossing her arms, she leaned back in her chair. “When you hear about criminals being highly organized, well planned, well resourced and willing to go after cops—a SWAT team for goodness’ sake—what does that make you think?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. “Drugs.”
She nodded. “Exactly. That’s what I’m thinking, too. But we haven’t had any major drug cases in this county in years. The worst we’ve had is a few farmers growing pot plants out in their tobacco fields, hoping no one would notice a few Mary Janes mixed in here and there. But that was for personal use. This is way bigger than that.”
“You’re thinking methamphetamines.”
“Possibly. Or some new exotic drug being manufactured in a homegrown lab. There’s always something new out on the streets in big cities. You worked in Knoxville. Did you see any of that?”
“I worked homicides, so I didn’t have much firsthand exposure to the drug operations going on. But there was enough crossover in the murder cases I worked to get a feel for it. I’ve still got a few contacts there. I can call them up in a few hours when they’re in and put out some feelers, see if there are some groups looking to spread out into a rural county that might be behind this. But that doesn’t feel right either. A major drug-running operation wouldn’t want to draw attention by taking police officers captive. If the cops came across their lab or something like that, sure, there could be a bloodbath, a shoot-out. But that’s not what we have here.”
“The note,” she said.
“The note. If this is drugs, why kidnap cops and leave a ransom note? That’s the complete opposite of lying low and trying not to be caught. Whoever is behind this wants attention.”
She shook her head and fisted her hands in frustration. “Not drugs, then. So what is it?”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t drugs. That still fits the well-funded, well-resourced side of this. But maybe the goal isn’t to hide something. Maybe the goal is to send a message.”
“What’s the message? We don’t have any ongoing drug investigations right now. So it’s not like someone needs to threaten us to back off.” She grabbed a small stack of manila folders from the far corner of her desk and plopped them on the corner closest to Blake. “We have three open investigations in Destiny. Two are typical local stuff—petty theft—and we know who’s responsible. It’s just a matter of gathering enough evidence to go to court. The third is the only serious one—”
“Our John Doe murder last month.”
She nodded. “A stranger, a hitchhiker found shot multiple times, his body left lying in a ditch. He was in a remote section of the county near a two-lane highway that mostly only locals use. No witnesses. No tire tracks. No clues other than the bullet Doc Brookes dug out of the body—nine-millimeter. The backpack the hiker wore had typical hiker stuff in it. Best we can figure, he was hiking in the Smokies and decided to go off-trail and ended up here. Until we figure out who he is or find someone who actually saw him before he was killed, we’re at an impasse. But no matter how I look at it, there’s nothing about his murder that makes me think it could be part of what’s going on here.”
It was Blake’s turn to count off points on his fingers. “Shot multiple times. No witnesses. No tire tracks. Left dead in a remote area. Sound familiar?”
Her eyes widened. “Randy.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But at the very least, I’m thinking a fresh look at John Doe’s murder is warranted.”
“Agreed.” She flipped open the folder.
Blake flipped it closed.
“What are you doing?” She frowned at him.
“It’s almost four thirty. Neither of us has slept in almost twenty-four hours. We’re running on empty. This—” he tapped the folder “—can wait. We won’t be any good to anyone if we don’t get at least a couple of hours of shut-eye.”
Her shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I can barely see straight. But until someone comes back to hold down the fort, we can’t just leave.”
“We’re not doing anyone any good in our current conditions.”
She shook her head, her mouth drawn into a mutinous line. “I’m not ready to stop. Not yet. I can’t bear the idea of no one working the investigation while we lie around and do nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. It’s recharging our batteries so we can be useful again.”
Her silence was his answer. The only way he was getting her out of here right now was if he picked her up and carried her. And he’d already learned what she thought about that plan. Unless he was her lover carrying her to bed, of course. He swallowed and forced his tired, out-of-control thoughts not to wander in that direction again.
“What time is the cavalry supposed to get here?” he asked.
“They didn’t say. But with an officer down, and four missing, I sure expected they’d be here by now. Especially since the Knoxville FBI field office is less than an hour away.”
He picked up the folder. “Tell you what. While we wait for them, let me poke around a little more on the John Doe case. I’ll expand the cross-check against missing persons to within a hundred-mile radius, see if something new pops up. You’re working on the timelines for our team, right? How close are they to being done?”
“I could use a few more hours to close some gaps.”
“All right,” he allowed. “We’ll give it a few more hours. If they’re not here by six—”
“Seven. We’ll give them until seven.”
He blew out a long breath. “Okay. Seven. If they’re not here by seven, we get one of your call-tree buddies to man the phones while we go home and get at least a few hours of sleep before coming back. Agreed?”
She looked reluctant, but even sitting here, talking to him, she was struggling to keep her eyes open. He wasn’t even sure she could make it until seven, but he was trying to placate her. Finally, she nodded and turned back to her keyboard.
“I’m going to need some coffee.” She started typing and arched a brow. “It’s your turn.”
He smiled. “Black as always?”
“Cream and sugar to cut the bitterness, unless you’re making a fresh pot?”
Her hopeful look had him smiling again. “One fresh pot of coffee coming up.”
He crossed to the left of the glass-walled entrance, with its double doors, to where the long counter boasted a microwave, a coffeepot and an assortment of snacks, since they didn’t have a vending machine. The mini fridge underneath the counter held sodas and water. The mini freezer beside it held an assortment of baked goods that Dillon’s wife, Ashley, restocked every now and then, so they’d always have something good to nibble on. He set a couple of trays of muffins on the counter, figuring they’d be thawed out around breakfast time for whoever was in the station come sunup.
As he went through the motions of putting a fresh filter and grounds in the coffee maker, he called over his shoulder, “When will Ashley and the others be back from the cruise? We’re going to have to notify
them about what’s going on. And interview them, too, in case they can contribute to the timeline.”
“The ship docks in Miami today, around five in the afternoon. They’re going shopping and taking in the sights. Then they’ll fly into Nashville International Airport tomorrow. From there, they’ll take a puddle-jumper to McGhee Tyson. I figure they’ll get there close to noon. Since it’s just a few minutes down the road, you and I could meet them when they get off the plane. I don’t want to risk them hearing about this from any well-meaning friends in Destiny who don’t realize they haven’t heard the news yet. And I don’t see the point of calling them now, ruining the end of their vacation just to tell them we don’t have any leads. I’d rather hope and pray we find our team, safe and sound, before we even have to tell their families what happened.”
Blake wasn’t so sure that he agreed with her plan. He’d rather wake them and see if they knew anything that could help build the timeline. But since Donna was the one working on that timeline, he’d trust her to know if there were any gaps, anything she needed to corroborate. There were plenty of avenues of investigation they could explore right now. He was itching to get his hands on any information from the crime scene. And the autopsy might give them a DNA link to their killer. Hopefully Doc Brookes or the Maryville M.E. had the body at his office by now and was busy looking for clues.
He leaned against the counter, resting his eyes while listening to the tapping of Donna’s fingers on her keyboard and the soothing sound of coffee pouring into the pot. It seemed like only a few seconds had passed when the machine beeped, letting him know the pot was full, ten cups ready for consumption. He must have dozed off standing up. He shook his head and poured them both cups before returning to their desks at the back of the room.