Expired Cache

by Lisa Phillips

  After that, she could leave.

  She was mulling over the idea when the glass of the front window cracked. She jerked her head up and looked at the brand new circle, no bigger than a silver dollar, smack dab in the center of the window at eye level. The fractures in the glass splintered across the pane.

  Jess screamed, “Ellie, get down!”

  She looked at her sister, her thoughts frozen to nothingness.

  “Gun!”

  Eight

  Dean frowned. A gunshot? It had been seriously faint, a good distance away so that the rapport of it was muffled. He stared at the land he now owned and leaned back against his car.

  This was what Alan Ridgeman had given him. A place to set up his therapy center, assuming he could get the backing to fund the building project. Acres, set into a mountainside. A beautiful, peaceful place with nothing but quiet. The rustle of the trees.

  He’d have to make sure hunters didn’t use the area, or it could set back some of his patients if they heard sudden gunfire.

  Dean’s phone buzzed. He looked down to see the notification light up his messaging app—Savannah had sent him a short audio message.

  He tapped the button.

  “Ever heard of Karl Tenor? I’m sending you his picture.”

  An image loaded. “This is the dead man from the alley?” Dean hadn’t moved around to look at the man’s face—he’d have contaminated the crime scene with his footprints.

  Her message came back. “That’s him.”

  Dean held the record button down with his thumb and said, “Never heard of him, and I’ve never met that guy. Local biker?”

  “How’d you know he would be there?”

  Of course she hadn’t answered his question about whether Karl Tenor was a local guy or not. He could see how an argument with a guy from out of town could get out of hand. But an argument with a local guy might be a more significant conflict, and could spur an ongoing investigation. Not that anyone had told him about any of that.

  His only concern was whether Stuart had only witnessed the crime, or whether his trauma pushed him to the point of perpetrator.

  Before he left, Dean had locked the gun in his safe which no one else had access to. Just in case.

  He pressed the button to record his voice and said into his phone, “If it comes down to it, I have a gun you might want to compare against any ballistics you found. Just to rule it out.”

  She wasn’t the only one who could avoid answering a direct question.

  The new message popped up a few seconds later. “Of course.” She made a frustrated sound. “Don’t leave town.”

  She knew he was protecting someone. If he did his job, she wouldn’t find out who. Unless it became a necessary part of the investigation. Stuart had to stay below the radar. He didn’t need a paper trail uploaded to the cloud with his name on it—even if it was a fake name.

  If it ended up looking like he might’ve been the killer, Dean would talk to Savannah. He would take her to him. He had no doubt Stuart would want to do the right thing. He’d known the guy a while now, and while it would tear him up inside to have to turn him in, he knew Stuart would do the right thing and face the consequences of his actions.

  Dean didn’t want to do the right thing, but he would. He just hoped—and prayed as well, now that he was thinking about it—that someone else killed Karl. That Stuart had just witnessed the crime. Which, if that was the case, it was bad enough it had sent him spiraling.

  He again pressed record and said, “Of course I—” Another shot went off. This time it was followed by two answering shots. “Shots fired.” He gave his location. “A rifle and a pistol. Sounds like there’s a battle going on.”

  Dean pocketed the phone and went to his trunk. He pulled off his jacket and tugged on a vest, then set a ball cap on his head, backward. He slid a wide band of elastic up his arm, settled over his bicep. On the front was a clear pocket into which he stuffed his cell phone. The touch screen mostly worked through the plastic.

  A couple of the team guys who were away on their mission had radios that could connect to the police band, but Dean didn’t. He grabbed Bluetooth earbuds and turned them on, which connected them to his phone, sticking one in his ear for when Savannah called him.

  The signal wasn’t great up here, but he’d make it work.

  Dean slid a holstered pistol on his belt and grabbed a rifle, pulling the strap over his head and under one arm. He secured it to the clip on his vest.

  Locked the car.

  Started running.

  He took the trail headed in the same direction the shots had come from. That wasn’t friendly fire, and it wasn’t a hunter taking down his prey. It had been hostile gunfire. A rifle shot, answered by a pistol. Attacker and defender.

  His phone rang.

  He slid his thumb across the screen, answering the call. “Wilcox?”

  Of course it was Savannah, but there was no time to look at the screen.

  She said, “What have we got?” her voice breathy, sounding like she was moving fast. Assembling backup and heading over here.

  He explained the gunshots.

  “What’s up there? Isn’t it just forest? It could be a hunter, right?”

  “Chief Ridgeman’s cabin is up there. His granddaughter is in town for the reading of the will. If I was a betting man,” he paused, breathy from sprinting. “I’d put money on that being Jessica up there. Probably with her sister.”

  “The one from the hit and run?”

  Dean frowned but didn’t answer.

  “This isn’t good.” He heard a shuffle and she said, “Possible officer down situation. Civilians involved.” She paused a second. “We have no idea.”

  “We.” Dean didn’t feel like he was part of a team much anymore. Not in the eat/sleep/breathe/brotherhood of war he’d been immersed in before. It was nice to feel that camaraderie now, even in a small way. He wasn’t part of the police department or emergency services. Though a lot of people did classify him as a first responder. Neither was he part of the team he lived with. They had their own company, and their own missions.

  Starting this therapy center was supposed to be his new team. Something he could build himself.

  Savannah said, “I’m on my way.”

  “Copy that.” Dean heard the tone as Savannah hung up on her end.

  He ran faster, knowing he would get there first. Were the two Ridgeman women safe? Were they hurt? He’d seen Ellie right after nearly getting hit by a car. She’d weathered that like a champ—someone really stubborn. But he’d seen the hurt in her eyes. Something that made him run faster now than he normally did, even when at the sprint part of interval training.

  If either of them were hurt, he had his backpack of medical supplies.

  All he needed was to get there.

  A shot slammed into a tree in front of him. Bark sprayed out, along with the smell of cordite. The shards of wood stung his cheek. Dean kept going, changing direction so he was an erratically moving target and not just a sitting duck. Any rifleman worth his salt could fire ahead of a fast-moving human or animal and hit them. Dean could pass any weapons test he was given, but he wasn’t above average in skill level.

  When no more shots came, he figured it was a warning only. The shooter wasn’t trying to kill him. He just wanted to encourage Dean to turn back without helping the two women he assumed were in their grandfather’s cabin—Ellie’s cabin now.

  Dean continued, heading through the woods, going in the right direction. He’d looked at a map earlier and had a rough idea where it was.

  And then he saw it. The cabin, through the trees.

  Jess was out front. She turned, gun up, then realized it was him. “I’m going after him. You stay here with her.”

  “She hurt?” Never mind that he had far more training hunting someone through rough terrain than she did.

  “No.”

  “You?”

  “I’m gone.” She ran from the cabin.
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  Dean headed for the stairs. “Ellie? It’s Dean.” He walked in slowly, just in case she had a weapon. “Your sister told me to stay with you.”

  As if he would feel pressure to follow her order.

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” Her voice wobbled.

  Dean glanced around the cabin. “Where are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Go help Jess find whoever that was.” She sounded breathy, her voice thick. “They shot at us.”

  He saw the bullet hole in the front window. “I see that. She said you were okay. Are you?”

  “Yep. Fine.”

  He didn’t believe it for one second. He kept looking and found her beside the couch, sitting on the floor with her back to the wall. Knees bent. He shifted his rifle behind him and crouched in front of her. She hugged a book to her chest.

  “What’s that you’ve got there?”

  Her eyes were wide. Why did they seem bigger than before? She sniffed. “My g-grandfather’s journal.” She blinked and he saw the sheen of tears. “He shot at the cabin.”

  “Did you get hurt?”

  She shook her head. “Your cheek is bleeding.”

  He swiped at the wet there, and his fingertips came away bloody, so he wiped his face on the shoulder of his T-shirt. “Thanks. Probably stings like your hands, right?”

  She looked at her palms. Raw and red, with a bandage on each palm. “You should help Jess.”

  “I need to make sure you are all right before I do that.”

  “I’m fine. So, go.”

  Dean frowned. “You don’t need to shove me out of here.” He looked around. Was that it? She was trying to protect what was hers, which meant he needed to get out. He had no business here.

  He stood. “I’ll leave you to your cabin full of busted-up junk.”

  She huffed.

  Dean turned back. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  He was supposed to be helping her like he helped everyone. Why did she bring out this reaction in him, where stubbornness irritated him into firing back? He was trying to be the good guy, the former-SEAL-turned-EMT he was respectfully known as in this town. “Stand up, please. I’d like to see for myself that you’re all right.”

  “How could I be all right?” She shifted and stood, though it seemed to be painful for her. “The place has been shot up. He destroyed some of my grandfather’s things. Now I might never figure out what he wanted me to know.”

  Dean shook his head. Not understanding.

  Ellie said, “Nothing. It’s just part of what he left me.” A single tear fell from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

  Dean moved closer to her and looked down into those wide eyes. He wanted to wipe the tear from her cheek but knew it wasn’t his place to do that. She didn’t want his comfort. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “That’s been said before.” She glanced at the kitchen and winced. Because of the damage, or the train wreck their relationship was becoming?

  Not that they had a relationship. Or would. But he’d prefer to actually be friends instead of this standoffish acquaintance thing they had going on. Besides, it was possible she needed his help.

  Dean said, “I should go check on Jess.”

  Another tear rolled down her cheek.

  He softened his tone. “If you’re all right.”

  She sniffed again, still clutching that book to her front. “Of course it’s all hitting me now.” She shook her head.

  Dean had to wonder if she was even talking to him.

  “I really hate adrenaline.”

  “It can save your life.”

  She glanced at him. “I hate it.”

  “Because you’re upset?” He moved an inch closer, still talking softly. “It’s okay to be upset. You were shot at, and the shooter destroyed some things that are important to you.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like it. I need to have control of myself.”

  “And feelings make you lose control?”

  “Can you just go help my sister?”

  Irritation was a common fallback in people using avoidance to skirt a painful topic. Dean had to wonder if this was about the loss of her grandfather…or something else.

  “I knew I should never have come back. I hate Last Chance County.”

  Dean’s chest tightened as it dawned on him that there was something deeper going on than he’d realized. More than a difficult incident. Had she experienced trauma? “What happened to you here?”

  She gasped.

  The door slammed against the wall. He spun to see Jess stride in. “I didn’t find him. There’s no one out there.” The young officer stuck one hand on her hip. “But one thing is for sure. Someone is trying to hurt you, Ellie.”

  Nine

  Dean turned to her sister. “Savannah is on her way.”

  “Who?” Ellie glanced between them.

  “She’s a police detective.” Jess turned back to Dean. “I know she’s on her way. I called her.”

  “So did I.”

  Ellie left them to their showdown. She picked up a shard of pottery that used to be a mug or some sort of knickknack he’d had on a shelf. Blown to pieces by a bullet that could have instead been her head.

  More tears threatened. Ellie sniffed a big breath through her nose. You didn’t even know this place existed yesterday. No point getting all emotional about it now.

  She decided to just be angry that her thoughts wanted to go there. That her emotions chose now of all times to show up and make her all weepy. Angry was way better than crying. Which meant angry crying was entirely acceptable. Like when she’d been passed over for that last promotion and not given the job of department chair. As if that idiot Professor Tumbleweed knew more than she did about the job because he’d been there longer than her. College politics changed slower than melting glaciers.

  “Don’t touch too much, El. This is a crime scene.”

  She whirled around. “A crime scene?”

  Her sister said, “You know, so we can figure out who shot at you.”

  Ellie shook her head. “I don’t want a million cops in here, touching everything.”

  “We don’t have a million cops, so that’s fine.” Jess didn’t back down. “An investigation will be done. With no arguments from you.”

  “This cabin belongs to me.” What if they touched something that had been left a specific way, just for her to find? “I can’t have a bunch of you people stomping around, making a mess.”

  “You really don’t have any faith in me,” Jess said. “Since you don’t think I’d make sure this place was respected by every person who walked through the door, I’ll say it now, we are capable of being respectful with people’s property.”

  “I know…” She knew that. Ellie shoved her glasses up her nose and realized she was still holding her grandfather’s journal. Like a tether while the world around her swirled out of control. “I don’t think otherwise.”

  “No, you just insinuated it. Which is worse.”

  Ellie didn’t know what that meant.

  “Because it means you don’t trust cops—in particular, ones that are your family.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Her grandfather had been there for her when she needed someone. Since then, she’d tried to stay away from cops in general. There was nothing in her life that warranted a police officer. She didn’t allow herself to get into any dangerous situations.

  “Besides,” Ellie argued. “How do you even know the shooter was trying to hurt us, or break any of these things? Could have been a hunter who missed.”

  “I returned fire in his direction. Then he shot at you again.”

  “Or he shot at you because you scared him.”

  “Let us investigate this, and I’ll ask him when I arrest him.”

  Ellie pressed her lips together.

  “I’ll make sure they’re careful, El. Maybe you could start trusting me right now, with this.”

  Dean shifted his stance, and s
he realized he could hear everything. Of course, he was standing right here while they argued deeply personal things in front of him.

  She turned to face her sister. “Fine.”

  Ellie moved to the kitchen where Jess had been when the first shot came through. There was an itch between her shoulder blades, and she didn’t know where it had come from. Like she was being watched. Or there was way too much scrutiny in this small cabin. She didn’t like other people judging her, even if it was harmless assessment.

  Dean had found her right when she’d been losing her cool. Maybe he didn’t even care. Or he thought she should’ve been stronger, more like her sister. Or he felt sorry for her now. She didn’t know which the better option was. Or why she even cared what he thought of her.

  Ellie had two reasons to still be here now that the will was done. One was to help her sister pack up their grandfather’s things, and the other was to solve this mystery. There was no room in that for her to be dealing with possible death threats. The last thing she needed was to be targeted by someone. And it wasn’t something Ellie would let bother her.

  Whoever they were, she wasn’t going to waste energy being scared.

  Ellie slapped the journal down on the counter. It definitely hadn’t tumbled out of her hands as she lost her grip on it—and her cool. Again. She gritted her teeth, grabbed the edge of the counter, and bent forward putting her head between her elbows.

  No one was trying to kill her.

  And if they did, why would she be scared of them?

  She wasn’t being targeted by anyone, least of all the subject of her nightmares. She’d read the newspaper article. He’d been jailed. Now he was dead. What else was there to know? She’d moved on. It had been years ago. Ellie wasn’t a naïve high schooler any longer. She was a grown woman with a master’s degree and a career.

  “El.”

  She straightened and saw her sister had neared. “I’m fine.”

  “Sure.” Jess leaned against the counter at a right angle to her, keeping her distance. Like Ellie was a skittish animal about to lash out. “This is probably a good time to remind you of something. That fear you’re feeling? It’s good instinct. You should be careful, and for the time being, not go anywhere alone. It’s worth staying safe. Being protected.”