by K. C. Burn
The crew was scattered around, taking advantage of Brett’s sulk to check their phones, eat, and smoke. A number of people were unaccounted for, including Eddie Price and Kristi. Cliff had managed to ask a couple cameramen and gaffers if they’d seen Brett around, but he hadn’t wanted to rouse suspicions. Especially after the show he’d put on for them earlier.
The more they searched, the more Cliff found himself buying into Drew’s unwavering belief that Brett and Rob were in some kind of trouble. Tied up in the swamp and left for gators seemed a little over the top, although it wasn’t unheard of for murderers to use gators to hide bodies. Cliff was beginning to believe Drew had intuited something, but whatever it was didn’t necessarily reflect reality.
The part Cliff was having the most difficulty with was tying Andy, Rob, and Brett together, unless all this “danger” was actually tied to the hoax Brett had hoped to…denounce? Perpetrate? Setting up a bad hoax only to reveal it himself was idiotic, but then, Brett didn’t have the firmest grip on logic.
Who stood to gain by harming all three men? It hadn’t escaped Cliff’s attention that his interest in the matter would be purely academic tomorrow morning, when he no longer had any official capacity to uphold the law.
With that in mind, he threaded his fingers through Drew’s. His sexy, forgiving, big-hearted boyfriend gave him a startled look but accepted the comfort with a sad smile. Hell, it hardly mattered if he got caught having sex in uniform in public at this point… Well, he still wouldn’t, because despite his stupid actions, he was a good cop, and he was going to do his best until he no longer had a job. A little handholding was a minor infraction compared to the rest of the day.
They rounded the corner of the house and caught sight of Wyatt and Scott. Without one word exchanged, Cliff knew. There hadn’t been a trace of either missing man, and neither Kristi nor Brett had returned phone calls. Unfortunately, as the situation stood now, they couldn’t even call in official backup.
“What next?” Scott flicked his gaze between Cliff and Drew.
Cliff swallowed a sigh. The only information they had to work with was from Drew’s visions, and they’d have to make do with that. Despite Cliff’s initial unwillingness to believe, their inability to locate the two men had given him a bad feeling.
“Drew? Any way you can narrow down ‘the swamp’?” There were a couple of places around the estate, including some old orange groves that were no longer used in the Somerset citrus operation, that could be classified as swampland. Most of the town was surrounded by swampland, including a pie-shaped preservation area that separated his mom’s place from the mayor’s. Without some direction to go, the four of them would need weeks to comb the swamp.
Fists clenched tight, Drew shook his head. Fear whitened his face, and the beginnings of panic were clearly visible. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if what I see is real! I get flashed images and a…conviction about something. It’s not like I got GPS coordinates or saw a signpost.” Drew’s voice cracked. Even if Cliff hadn’t slowly been coming to believe Drew had an ability he couldn’t explain, he’d be sending out a search party, if only to alleviate Drew’s upset.
“Hey.” Cliff wrapped an arm around Drew’s shoulders and pulled him close. “We’ll find them. I promise. Just breathe for a moment.”
Drew shivered in his arms, and Cliff rubbed circles on Drew’s back, hoping to soothe. It was a measure of Wyatt’s worry that he didn’t even roll his eyes at their contact. Cliff considered going into the house, but he didn’t want to alarm his mother.
While the tremors abated and Drew relaxed into his embrace, Cliff’s mind whirled. He wasn’t entirely convinced that Rob hadn’t just sloughed off work to go to a bar or something, although Wyatt had been adamant that Rob didn’t screen calls from his brother ever—which was information Cliff could have done without.
Hell, he still wasn’t sure a malevolent force was involved in Brett’s disappearance. He’d been pissed and embarrassed when he’d stalked off. He’d said he was going for a walk, and if he hadn’t been paying attention, he might have gotten into trouble. Maybe that’s all Drew sensed. Cell service was patchy in his mom’s house; it would only be worse out in the brush. Then again, did it matter if Brett got into trouble on his own or because of a malicious unknown person? Drew was still demonstrating some sort of atypical mental ability, and Cliff was going to have to accept that without qualifications or provisos.
Assuming either scenario, and assuming Drew was right about gators being an issue, there were a number of places with gators. Retention ponds frequently had them, and they occasionally showed up in people’s pools. Retention ponds and pools weren’t swampland, though, and Drew had been adamant about the swamp. Gators plus swamp, and close enough to the estate that Brett could either get there on his own or with someone else coercing him… There really was only one place that fit the bill.
“I think I know where we should start looking,” Drew said suddenly, the pinched look gone from his face and the stress in his voice reduced.
Cliff lifted an eyebrow. “The preservation area?”
Drew’s eyes widened. “Yes, there. How did you know?”
“Well, I’m a cop, remember?” Cliff winked at Drew, willing him to remember the couple of times they’d engaged in salacious acts while he was in uniform. From the bright blush that colored Drew’s face and neck, he recalled at least one just fine. “I deduced the most likely place for them to be.”
“Yeah, me too. The path is close by, isn’t it?” Drew asked and waved a hand toward the edge of the manicured yard. “Although it seems weird that anyone would bring Brett up here to get to the path, doesn’t it?”
“There’s another path by the outbuildings, but those are the two best ways to get to the preservation area from our property. In fact, I’d suggest we start with the other path. If Brett wandered away on his own, he’d have gone via that path, not the one by the house.” Cliff frowned. “How do you know about the path here?”
Drew’s face flamed red again. “Can I tell you later?” he whispered.
If the situation weren’t so grim, Cliff would have laughed. Whatever reason Drew had for knowing about the path to the preserve was embarrassing, and he couldn’t wait to find out what it was.
“Let’s get going before I get my ass fired too.” Scott pulled out a flashlight and gestured for Cliff to take the lead.
He’d rather not go wandering about gator-infested swamp at night, but neither did he want to leave Brett and Rob out there, possibly injured and helpless. At least it wasn’t gator mating season, and the flashlights should illuminate gator eyes in plenty of time to avoid them. He hoped.
* * * *
The fence between the preservation area and the wild areas of the Somerset estate wasn’t the only demarcation line. The growth in the preserve was more untamed and thicker and also had more dead brush. Although it had been some time, it wasn’t difficult to see that Helen periodically had someone come in and remove dead brush and unnecessary growth. Drew couldn’t help but worry, though. If a wildfire started in the preserve, it would quite easily spread to the Somerset property.
Thinking about some possible future fire relieved Drew from worrying about the present, and where his brother had ended up. He hadn’t wanted to tell Cliff that Brett and Rob had been tied up in mangrove roots as though the trees in the swamp had come alive to imprison the two men. That wouldn’t help his cause at all. The preserve they were entering was large; just the tip of it sneaked down between the Somerset and Morales properties. Thanks to his youthful…uh…surveillance activities, he knew there was a body of water, too small to be called a proper lake, a short distance from the fence. Last time he’d been there, he’d seen a couple of gators, so if the perpetrator of this crime was after gators, knew the area at all, and didn’t want to traipse too far into the preserve, that’s where Drew expected him to go.
He didn’t know what he’d do if that spot wasn’t the one he’d see
n in his vision. Cliff and Scott were coming along because they knew he and Wyatt would go searching no matter what, but what they were doing wasn’t safe, and if Drew thought about it too hard, the guilt would make him insist Cliff go home.
After climbing over the fence, which was more a perimeter indicator than a security barrier, Cliff called them to a halt and swung his flashlight beam near the ground.
“We’re on the right track. Someone came through here recently.”
They pushed into the brush, and Drew couldn’t stop a shiver of dread. The sight of a gator wasn’t cause for alarm, but heading right for them in the dark was an entirely different proposition. He crowded close behind Cliff, scanning the area for reflective eyes while Cliff concentrated on the broken brush trail he followed.
A few minutes later, a metallic gleam caught his eye on the edge of the half-assed path they were on, and he tugged on Cliff’s shirt. “Look.” Drew kept his voice low, the situation and oppressive vegetation making him unwilling to use a normal tone of voice.
Cliff trained his flashlight where Drew pointed, and Drew lunged forward, hand outstretched.
Cliff clamped fingers around his wrist, keeping him from the prize. “Don’t touch it.”
“But it’s a watch. I think it’s the same watch I saw in my vision.” He couldn’t be sure, not until he saw it full-on, but even finding a similar-looking watch out here had to make coincidence impossible. Didn’t it?
“And if it is, I don’t want you getting your fingerprints on it.” Cliff seemed as reluctant as Drew to speak in a normal tone. He beckoned Scott to come up from his place at the back of their little procession. “What do you think?”
Drew knew what he thought—the watch belonged to whomever had killed Andy and then did God knew what with his brother—but it was clear Cliff hadn’t been talking to him.
“Tough call,” Scott said. “Might be nothing.”
“Or it might be evidence, and we don’t want to disturb it.”
Scott nodded. “But neither do we want to chance it disappearing if the owner returns for it.”
“Exactly.”
The two cops stared at the watch for a few minutes, Drew getting more anxious by the second. Behind them, Wyatt cracked his knuckles. It would only be moments before he made some snide remark because this watch wasn’t getting them any closer to Rob. Brett either, although Drew wouldn’t be too upset if a gator nibbled on Brett…just a tiny bit.
“Hold this.” Cliff handed off his flashlight to Scott. “I’m taking it with us.”
“You sure?” Scott asked.
“I’m already getting fired tomorrow. How much worse could it get?” Cliff whipped out a zip tie and stuck it in the ground before taking a couple of pictures with his phone. Then he pulled a handkerchief out, snagged the watch, and stuck it in his pocket. “This will have to do.”
“Can we get moving now?” Drew was vibrating with nervous energy.
“Rob!” Wyatt’s voice bellowed. Apparently his brother had lost patience with their slow pace also.
Cliff rounded on him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? My brother could be out there, hurt, and he might not be conveniently lying across the goddamn fucking path.”
“Calm down, you two.” Scott stepped between them, which was a good thing. Drew wasn’t ready for another head injury just yet. “Wyatt, Cliff was just being cautious. If someone did put them out here, and that person is still here, we don’t want to spook them.”
“Whatever. Get going,” Wyatt grumbled.
The night sounds of the swamp filled in the awkward silence that followed. But then Drew heard it. A tapping, like someone knocking on wood. It was too rhythmic to be natural.
“Did you hear that?” Drew clutched Cliff’s arm.
“Yeah, I did. Let’s go.”
They sped along the ragged path as quickly as they could, abruptly coming to a stop with a squelch as the brush opened up around what was more bog than pond. There were a number of suspicious lumps that broke the flat expanse of the water, which could all be vegetation but probably weren’t.
Cliff and Scott panned flashlight beams around the perimeter of the water, and the number of reflective eyes made Drew’s heart rate increase. Off to the right, lumps of fabric lay on the water’s edge, the dull silver gleam of duct tape unmistakable as the lumps morphed into men the longer Drew stared.
“Rob!” Wyatt pushed past them, but Scott grabbed his collar and yanked. Wyatt gurgled slightly at the bite of fabric across his neck. “What the fuck?”
Wyatt might be able to make that his motto after tonight, but Drew understood. He wanted to barge forward as well, but he didn’t have a damn thing on him that would cut through duct tape.
Scott smiled, but for the first time, it wasn’t a nice smile. “Most times, using duct tape to secure people indicates a crime scene of one sort or another. You sure you want to get your fingerprints all over it?”
“But that’s our brother—”
“I know. But let us do our job, okay?” Cliff squeezed Drew’s shoulder.
Both Cliff and Scott tried their cell phones and radios, but they must have been too far from civilization, which only made Drew more anxious. They were all alone out here in the dark. At least the two cops had guns with them, which might deter a murderer but probably not a big gator.
Cliff handed Drew his flashlight, donned a pair of latex gloves, and pulled out a small knife.
Wyatt’s lips flattened, but he held out a hand for Scott’s flashlight so he could put on his own gloves. As they got closer, Drew saw Rob’s eyes flashing with anger. Without any hesitation, Cliff knelt in the muck beside Rob and peeled the duct tape off his lips as gently as possible, which Drew was both surprised by and grateful for.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Drew? Get the fuck out of here before he comes back.” The first words Rob had spoken to him since his stilted apology in the hospital were furious, and most of that fury seemed directed at Drew.
“Hey. Drummond.” Cliff gripped Rob’s shoulder and shook. “If it wasn’t for Drew, you’d be nothing more than gator droppings by the time anyone thought to look out here. The only thing I want to hear out of you is what happened, or I’m gonna leave you here for the fucking gators.”
Of course, Cliff didn’t wait before he started slicing through Rob’s bonds as Scott did the same for Brett. He wrapped the tape inside his gloves and shoved them in his pocket with the watch. Drew had seen enough crime dramas to know Cliff was hoping to get fingerprints from the tape and was trying to preserve them the best he could out here.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rob and Brett sat up, rubbing their fingers to get some feeling back in them. Drew crouched by his brother, trying to inspect him for damage.
“Are you guys okay?” Cliff wanted nothing more than to find out what the hell had happened, but both men seemed a little groggy and out of it. Cliff was reeling from finding them out here. Unless this proved to be some hugely elaborate con—and Cliff had too much faith in the man he’d fallen for to believe he’d be a part of such a thing—Drew had an ability Cliff couldn’t explain, and he was going to have to accept that and move on.
“Fucker had a stun gun.” Rob rubbed at an angry-looking bruise on his temple.
“That’s not from a stun gun,” Wyatt supplied, somewhat needlessly.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Rob bit out. “Stunned me first, then decided to conk me over the head. The fucker didn’t realize knocking someone out doesn’t work like it does on TV, so he had to stun me again. And when I see him again, I’m going to rip off his head and piss down his neck.”
“No, you are not,” Cliff said sternly. “You are going to let the police take care of it. Otherwise, you’ll definitely be going to jail. This guy do the same thing to Brett?”
Brett was being uncharacteristically silent, which had to mean he’d either had his brains scrambled, or he was hurting mor
e than he wanted to let on. Maybe both. And sitting here this close to gator central, hovering on the edge of shock, with possible concussions, wasn’t doing either of them any good.
“Think you guys can walk out of here if we help you? Or I can head back to where I’ve got some reception and call some EMTs in first.”
“No, don’t leave us here.” Brett’s voice cracked, and he flicked a fearful glance out at the water. Yeah, that was exactly why Cliff didn’t want to leave them here. Thankfully it had been a wet summer. During dry summers, the number of gators in areas like this concentrated just because so much of their habitat dried up, but Cliff didn’t want to push their luck.
Wyatt and Drew helped Rob to his feet, leaving Brett for Scott and Cliff. Supporting the two injured men, they slowly made their way back to his mother’s property.
“So,” Cliff said, trying not to sound as impatient or irritated as he felt. “Anyone want to tell me who did this to you? Be nice if we could go arrest someone after we get you medical attention.”
“It was the fucking mayor.” Brett sneered the words, then paused their progress to puke. Yeah, Cliff would have to make sure he was checked out for concussion.
Then Brett’s words registered. Cliff blinked and caught Scott’s glance over Brett’s heaving back.
“Oh shit,” Scott breathed, mirroring Cliff’s sentiments exactly.
“Guys, hold up,” Cliff called to the Drummond brothers, who were farther ahead with the slightly less damaged Rob.
They turned around but didn’t come closer, since Rob looked pale and greenish. He’d have to get checked for a concussion as well. Not that Cliff truly wished harm on anyone, but the universe was definitely repaying karma in kind to these two. Once Brett was ready to move on, they caught up to the Drummonds.
“Why didn’t you say right away that the mayor did this to you?” Cliff asked Rob.
“The mayor?” Wyatt and Drew spoke as though they were the twins.
Rob shrugged. “Like you were going to arrest the mayor on my say-so. Please.”