Saved by the Sheriff

by Cindi Myers

  Paige looked pained. “I don’t know anything about that,” she said. “It’s horrible to even think about.”

  “Think about it,” Travis said. “And maybe ask your guest upstairs how many men he’s killed.”

  He left, shutting the door a little harder than necessary behind him. Maybe his last words had been a low blow. He hadn’t meant to frighten Paige, only to warn her about the kind of man she might be harboring. Travis couldn’t see how Ian Barnes had had anything to do with Andy Stenson, but his presence out on Fireline Road yesterday had to be more than coincidence. And when Travis looked into Barnes’s eyes, he saw a man with no conscience. A man like that might do anything.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lacy stared at the check in her hand, at the machine-printed numbers—210,000 dollars. More money than she had ever seen in her life. “I’ll have to open a bank account to deposit it,” she said. She hadn’t had a bank account since before she went to prison.

  “Have you thought about what classes you’d like to take?” her father asked. “What career you’d like to pursue?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think I’d like to get a car first.” Her eyes met his over the top of the check. “Nothing flashy. It doesn’t even have to be new, but I’d like to be able to go places without borrowing Mom’s car.”

  “Of course.” Jeanette rubbed her daughter’s shoulder. “And you have until August to decide about school. You might even be able to take some courses online at first, until you decide for sure on a major.”

  “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

  “Do you want me to take you to the bank now?” her father asked.

  “Sure, Dad. That’s a great idea. I’ll just go upstairs and get my purse.”

  When she came back down, both her parents were waiting by the front door. “I think this calls for a celebration,” her mother said. “Maybe a special dinner.”

  “Sure.” Lacy forced a smile. “But maybe here at home? We could order takeout so you don’t have to cook.”

  “I don’t mind cooking,” Jeanette said. “We’ll stop at the grocery store after the bank. We’ll keep it simple—steaks and a salad. Is there anyone you’d like to invite?”

  No. Yes. “Maybe... Travis?” Was she ready for that? Dinner with her family?

  Jeanette’s smile widened. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

  Lacy wanted to tell her mother not to read too much into this. Travis was a friend. A friend she had been ready to jump right there on the ground next to the burning storage units, but she could blame at least part of that reaction on the sheer euphoria of surviving the explosion, right? “He might have to work,” she said.

  “Why don’t you call right now and ask him?” Jeanette said. “We’ll wait.”

  She realized both her parents were prepared to stand right there while she made the call, so she turned around and retraced her steps to her room, where she pulled out her cell phone—the one her parents had had waiting for her when she first arrived home, a first real symbol of her freedom.

  Travis answered on the second ring. “Lacy. Is everything okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

  “You’ve never called me before.”

  “I wanted to invite you to dinner. At my house. With my parents. We’re kind of celebrating. I got my check from the state.” She said everything quickly, wanting to get it all out before she lost courage.

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes. I told them you might have to work, but I thought I would call and—”

  “I’ll be there. Unless some emergency comes up.”

  “Great. Be here about six.”

  She ended the call, feeling a little giddy, and almost floated down the stairs.

  “He must have said yes,” her mother said as Lacy joined her parents by the door.

  “What makes you say that?” Lacy did her best to act nonchalant.

  “You have that look in your eye,” her mother said.

  “What look?”

  “A very pleased-with-yourself look.” She reached out and touched the ends of Lacy’s hair, where it skimmed her shoulder blades. One of the women on her prison block had cut it with a pair of contraband nail scissors in exchange for cookies Lacy purchased in the prison commissary. “We could stop by Lou’s Salon on the way home and see if she could work you in,” she said. “Maybe shape it up a little.”

  Lacy started to protest that she didn’t want that—then realized she did. She wasn’t an inmate who didn’t care about her appearance anymore. “All right,” she said. “That would be nice.”

  She was surprised at how nervous she felt about opening a bank account, but the clerk was professional and didn’t even blink when Lacy handed over the check. “Would you like to deposit a portion of this in an investment account?” she asked. “I could make an appointment for you to speak to one of our financial counselors.”

  “Not today,” Lacy said. “But next week would be good.” One step at a time.

  With a pad of temporary checks tucked in her purse, Lacy left the bank and headed across the parking lot with her parents. Her mother nudged her and leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Who is that good-looking young man who is staring at you?” she asked.

  Lacy looked over her shoulder, starting when she recognized Ian Barnes.

  Her father, who had just unlocked the driver’s door, looked over the top of the car. “I think he’s friends with the two guys who run Eagle Mountain Outfitters,” he said. “I went in there looking for a bite valve to replace the one on my hydration pack that’s been leaking and he was there. I think he’s ex Special Forces or something.”

  “Well, he’s certainly impressive,” Jeanette said. She slid into the front passenger seat and cast a sideways glance at her husband, her cheeks rosy. “Well, he is. In an overly muscular kind of way.”

  “I wonder how he knows the mayor?” her father asked.

  Only then did Lacy realize Ian was standing with Mayor Larry Rowe. She looked back and Larry clapped the younger man on the shoulder, then walked away.

  “You know Larry,” her mother said. “He makes it his business to know everyone in town. A good quality in a mayor, I guess. Lacy, have you met him before?”

  “The mayor?” Lacy asked, deliberately misunderstanding her mother’s question.

  “No—that good-looking young man.”

  Lacy decided it was time to change the subject. “What’s this Pioneer Days Festival like?” she asked. “Have you been?”

  “It’s quite the production,” her father said. “There’s a parade and a special display at the museum. Last year Brenda and Jan dressed in 1890s swimming costumes and sold lemonade and sugar cookies. There’s a stage in the park with bands and crafts vendors, a baseball game and foot races and I forget what else.”

  “Fireworks,” her mother said. “They shoot them off above town. They do a wonderful job.”

  “The whole thing was Jan Selkirk’s idea,” her father said. “She spent two years persuading the town fathers to adopt the idea, and then was able to gloat when it turned out to be such a big success. The new mayor, Larry Rowe, and his council have expanded on her original idea and attracted quite a bit of attention to our little town.”

  “They keep talking about creating a similar festival for winter, when business is slow,” Jeanette said. “But the weather can be so iffy then.”

  “A big snow and avalanches could cut off Dakota Pass and everyone could be snowed in,” George said. “The locals are used to it, but tourists might raise a fuss.”

  “I think it’s enough having all those tourists in town for the summer,” Jeanette said.

  “Yes, but you’re not a local businessperson,” her husband countered.

  Her parents continued the argument on the drive to the grocery store. Lacy sat in th
e back seat and let her mind drift to the place it always ended up these days—back with Travis and the kiss they had shared after the explosion. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel the scrape of the beard just beneath his skin as she pressed her cheek to his, the hard plane of his chest crushed against her breasts, the implements on his belt digging into her belly—the length of his desire confirming that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  So what did she do? Instead of arranging to see him privately, where maybe they could see where that desire would take them, she had invited him to a family dinner, where she would be too uptight to even risk a kiss under her parents’ watchful eyes. Not that her mother and father were prudes, but a new relationship—one she didn’t even know how to define—required privacy.

  Her father stopped and signaled for the turn into the parking lot of Eagle Grocery. A black-and-white sheriff’s department vehicle, lights flashing and sirens blaring, sped by, followed closely by a second vehicle and an ambulance.

  “My goodness, what’s that all about?” her mother asked.

  Lacy had already dug her phone from her purse and punched in the number for the sheriff’s department. Adelaide answered immediately. “What’s going on?” Lacy demanded.

  “I’m not allowed to give out information about sheriff’s department calls over the phone,” Adelaide said. “You people ought to know that by now.”

  “This is Lacy Milligan. Just tell me—is Travis hurt?”

  The silence that followed lasted so long Lacy thought Adelaide had hung up on her. “You can’t tell anyone where you heard this,” Adelaide said finally, her voice lowered.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “We had a report of an officer down, out at the storage units on Fireline Road. We don’t know that it’s Travis.”

  “Even I know the sheriff’s department doesn’t have that many officers,” Lacy said. “We just saw two cars go by. If Travis wasn’t in either one of those...”

  “I have to go now, Lacy. I have a lot of other calls coming in. Try not to worry, but it wouldn’t hurt to say a prayer.”

  Lacy ended the call to Adelaide and let the phone fall into her lap. “What is it, dear?” her mother asked.

  Lacy swallowed, her mouth too dry to speak. Keep it together, she scolded herself. “There was an Officer in Distress call,” she said.

  “Travis?” her father asked.

  “They don’t know.” The awfulness of those words settled over her like a smothering blanket, and it was all she could do to remain seated upright and breathing.

  * * *

  TRAVIS WAS AT the motel out on the highway, trying to track down Alvin Exeter, when the Officer in Distress call went out. As soon as he heard the address, he raced to his car, dialing his phone as he ran. He tried the office first, but the line was busy. No surprise there. Half the town had probably called in to see what was going on. The line was supposed to be for sheriff’s department business only, but too many people knew about it and felt free to use it any time they wanted. He could have called Adelaide on the radio, but he didn’t have time to waste.

  He started the Toyota and hit the speed dial for Gage. “What’s up?” he asked as he sped from the parking lot.

  “Travis! Thank God!” Gage almost shouted the words. “We got the Officer in Distress call from Dispatch and they didn’t know what unit. Since it was out at the storage units, I thought—”

  “Where’s Dwight?” Travis cut off his brother’s relieved babbling.

  “He’s right behind me.”

  “No one else should be on duty,” Travis said.

  “They aren’t.”

  “Then who put in the call?” He eased off the gas pedal, mind racing. “Is this some kind of trap?”

  “Dispatch thought it was legit. Are we gonna risk not checking it out?”

  “No, we aren’t. But we need to be careful.”

  He was closer to Fireline Road than the other two units, but it wasn’t long before they fell in behind him, a wailing, flashing parade of three sheriff’s department vehicles, an ambulance and one state highway patrol car. Travis wouldn’t have been surprised to see the fire department and Search and Rescue trailing them.

  A red Jeep Wagoneer was parked in front of the gate at the entrance to the storage units. Travis swore when he recognized the vehicle. Gage’s voice came on the radio. “Eddie,” he said. “What’s he doing out here?”

  Eddie Carstairs was one of the reserve officers, called in when someone was out sick or on vacation, or when Travis needed extra manpower to work an accident or a festival. At twenty-two, Eddie looked about sixteen. His straight black hair flopped over a high forehead, and his face was long and droopy, which had led to the nickname Gage had saddled him with—“Hound Dog.”

  Travis pulled in beside Eddie’s Jeep and shut off the Toyota, the engine sputtering twice in protest. From here he could make out a figure in jeans and a T-shirt, face down on the dirt a few yards from the blackened area that marked the reach of the fire. Travis pulled out his phone and called Eddie’s number. “Officer Carstairs, this is Sheriff Walker. Can you hear me?”

  The body on the ground didn’t move.

  Travis scanned the area around the body, then the hills beyond, searching for some clue as to what had happened. Gage and Dwight moved to his window, crouching down so that they were shielded between the Toyota and the Jeep. “What do you think?” Gage asked.

  “What did Dispatch say about the call?” Travis asked.

  “It came in on a private cell, not a police number,” Gage said. “I called the dispatcher, Sally—you know her, the big blonde with the twins?” That was typical Gage. After five minutes with almost anyone, he would know their life history.

  “What did she say about the call?” Travis prompted.

  “She said the man on the other end sounded like he was having trouble breathing—or was in pain. All he said was ‘Officer down’—and gave the address. Then he hung up or got disconnected.”

  Travis stared at the prone body, willing it to move. He took his binoculars from the field kit on the passenger-side floorboard and trained them on the figure.

  “I think he’s breathing,” Dwight said.

  “I think so, too,” Travis said. Or was he imagining the faint rise and fall of the back? He laid aside the field glasses and looked at his two officers. “You two wearing your vests?”

  They nodded in unison. “You think he was shot?” Dwight asked.

  “That seems the most likely scenario.”

  “Could be a sniper,” Gage said. “Up in the hills.”

  “If it is, I’m not risking him picking us off one by one,” Travis said.

  “If one of us could get behind one of the storage buildings, we could shoot up into the hills, maybe draw his fire,” Dwight said.

  “A smart shooter wouldn’t fall for that,” Travis said. “He’d wait until we were out in the open, where he could get a clear shot.” He considered the situation again. “Gage, do you have the sniper rifle with you?”

  “Yes. And two ARs and a shotgun, some smoke grenades and a case of ammo.” At Travis’s raised eyebrows, he shrugged. “When the call came in, I unlocked the arsenal and took everything I could grab. You never know what you’re going to need.”

  “You take the sniper rifle and one of the ARs,” Travis said. “Dwight, you get one of the ARs. I want one of you set up behind each of the intact buildings on either side of Eddie.”

  “Where are you going to be?” Gage asked.

  “I’m going out to get Eddie. You’re going to cover me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  All thoughts of celebration vanished as Lacy and her parents drove home. Lacy started to suggest her dad drive out to Fireline Road to see what had happened, but quickly dismissed the idea. The officers didn’t need civilians in t
he way. And it wasn’t as if she could do anything to help. She would just have to sit at the house and wait.

  She was surprised to find Jan and Brenda seated on the settee on the front porch when her dad pulled the car into the driveway. “We heard what happened,” Jan said. “It’s all anybody in town is talking about.”

  “But it might not be Travis,” Brenda said, giving Lacy’s arm a squeeze. “I called the dispatcher, Sally Graham, and she said the man who called didn’t identify himself, but it wasn’t Travis’s phone number.”

  “Why don’t we all go inside,” Jeanette said. “I’ll make coffee.”

  They all trooped inside and into the Milligans’ living room, which overlooked the street. Jeanette and George left the three younger women sitting on the sofa and love seat and went to make the coffee. “Alvin Exeter came by the history museum this morning,” Jan said. “He wanted to talk to me and to Brenda.”

  “We both refused to speak with him,” Brenda said. “But he didn’t want to take no for an answer. He was really nasty about it, too.”

  “He said he’s thinking of taking the approach that you really got away with murder,” Jan said. “Since no one is coming forward to contest that theory, he figures it will be an even better story than the one of your wrongful conviction—the kind of thing that’s sure to attract a lot of attention and boost sales.”

  “I don’t care what he says,” Lacy said. “He can say I murdered ten people and it won’t make any difference to me. He’s just trying to bait people into talking to him.”

  Brenda glanced toward the kitchen, then leaned toward Lacy, her voice low. “You might not care, but your parents will,” she said. “It would hurt them so much.”

  Lacy nodded. “There’s nothing I can do to stop him.”

  Jan and Brenda exchanged glances. “You could talk to him.”

  “No,” Lacy said. “Just...no.”

  “Or,” Brenda said. “You could find out who really murdered Andy.”

  “That’s what Travis has been trying to do,” Lacy said. And because of that, he might even now be dead. She shoved the thought away. No. He would be okay. He had to be okay.