by Irene Hannon
“Another threat?”
“Let’s call it a warning.”
“You can’t reveal what you know any more than I can.”
“So what’s the point of your visit?” He picked up a hunting knife from the end table and weighed it in his hand.
A sharp pain beat a throbbing rhythm in Roger’s temples. “To let you know two can play this game you started. And that you’re not as invincible as you seem to think.” He tapped the pocket holding the button.
“So I’ll be more careful in the future.”
Roger blew out a breath. Wiped a hand down his face. “What in blazes is going on with you, anyway? Getting involved in drugs is crazy.”
The man’s dark eyes began to smolder, and his knuckles whitened around the carved handle of the knife. “No, it’s not. It’s my ticket out of this dead-end town. I’m tired of spending my days digging in the dirt. Of counting every penny and wondering if I’ll have enough to pay the bills at the end of the month. Of watching from the sidelines while other people live real lives. I want out—and that takes a lot more money than I’ll ever make putzing around with a stupid market garden.”
“I thought it brought in a decent income.”
“Only if I work sunup to sundown every day of the week . . . and the weather cooperates . . . and the aphids and mites stay away . . . and the plants don’t get black spot or mildew . . . and the rabbits and deer don’t get hungry. Meth is a lot easier—and a lot more profitable. Forty thousand dollars street value per pound versus twelve bucks retail for a pound of organic arugula. Do the math.”
Roger rested one hand on the back of a chair, a sudden weariness draining his meager reserves of energy. “Are you using too?”
“No!” The man grimaced. “You think I’m stupid? I’ve seen what meth does to people. I want no part of that.”
That was probably the truth. He didn’t exhibit any of the typical signs of meth use. No paranoia, dramatic mood swings, or hallucinations. No premature aging, open sores, or rotting teeth. He was in this strictly for the money, not to get high.
At least that meant they could have a rational discussion.
“There has to be another option to earn the kind of money you need, Wayne.”
“Like what? You try getting a decent-paying job with only a high school education and no experience except working in a lead smelter. I’m not flipping burgers for the rest of my life.”
“So you’re going to make meth forever?”
“No. I’ve been working this gig for two years; ten, twelve more months, I’m out of here. Once I hit my target amount, I’m going to live on easy street for the rest of my life. But I need more time.” His features hardened. “And I’m not going to let anyone stop me from getting what I want.”
Acid gurgled in Roger’s stomach. It was hard to believe the stony-faced man standing across from him was the same kid who used to hang around the station and dream about being a big-city detective someday.
“What happened to you, Wayne? You used to be better than this.”
The man gave a bitter laugh. “Life happened, Chief. The cold, hard realities of being undereducated, out of work, scrabbling for every dollar—and knowing nothing is ever going to change if I just sit here. That this”—he swept a hand over the room—“is my future. Let me tell you, that is real depressing. So I finally took some initiative.”
“Turning to crime isn’t the answer.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve always had a cushy job, made a generous salary. Plus, you married into dough. You’ve never had to spend a single minute worrying about money.”
He stared at the man in silence. If only he knew.
All at once, Wayne’s expression turned speculative. “You know . . . there might be an easier way to fix this.”
“Like what?”
“You dig into that family stash of yours. If you pay me what I need to reach my goal, I’ll shut down the lab tomorrow and disappear from your life.”
“How much are we talking?” Not that it mattered. Until he had the gold in hand, he had zero cash to spare.
“Let’s see . . .” Wayne sized him up and offered a number.
A big number.
Roger shook his head. “I don’t have that kind of money. People around here have an overinflated opinion of my net worth.”
“Then we’re back to square one.” Wayne rested a hip on the back of the couch and crossed his arms. “But let’s talk some more about you. What were you doing at the lake in all that scuba gear?”
“I didn’t come out here to discuss my business. I came to warn you to watch your step. I won’t stand by and let you put anyone’s life in danger.”
Wayne barked out a laugh. “And what do you plan to do about it?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I’m hoping you don’t force me to make a choice we could both live to regret.”
For a long moment, the man studied him. “You’re bluffing. You’re not going to expose me and risk exposing yourself. You admitted as much a few minutes ago.”
“I’m also not going to let anyone get hurt on my watch.” He straightened up. “Stay away from the Lewis woman.”
“She needs to leave. I heard her at church last week. She’s thinking about wandering around the property. That can’t happen.”
“She’s a big-city woman. She’ll leave eventually.”
“And in the meantime, she might take a hike, stumble onto stuff best left undisturbed. If the fire doesn’t scare her away, she’ll need some more persuading.”
“Leave her alone, Wayne.” He used his sternest voice. The one most people listened to . . . and obeyed.
Didn’t work with the man across from him.
“I’ll tell you what—why don’t you try to convince her to leave in a kinder, gentler way? I’ll lay low for three days.”
“How do you expect me to do that?”
“You’re a cop. You know how to solve crimes. I bet if you apply those analytical skills to this situation, you’ll come up with a plan.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll take care of the problem.” He ran a finger over the blade of the knife. “But one way or the other, she needs to leave ASAP. Deal or not?”
“I don’t make deals with lawbreakers.”
“No?” Wayne dropped into an upholstered chair with stuffing spilling from a split seam. “That’s pretty high and mighty, coming from a police chief who trespasses on private property and goes on midnight dives for what appear to be very suspect purposes. That kind of activity sounds an awful lot like lawbreaking to me.”
The pain in Roger’s temples intensified. This trip had been a long shot, but appealing to the man’s better nature had seemed worth a try.
Clearly, however, there was nothing left of the idealistic preteen who’d hung around the station twenty years ago.
He turned away and walked toward the door.
“So do we have a deal or not?” Wayne’s voice followed him.
At the threshold, he paused. “I’ll see what I can do. But if I fail, and there’s another incident at her place, I’m going to have to ratchet up the investigation. I can’t keep blaming it on the town vandals, or my officers will get suspicious.”
“Then you better not fail.”
Roger pushed through the door, letting it slap closed behind him, and headed straight for his car without looking back.
It appeared that was how he was going to have to play this with Wayne too. Close the door to the past, do what had to be done, move forward—and don’t look back.
Not an easy assignment for a man who had more than one award hanging in his office from the National Association of Chiefs of Police. Who’d always taken pride in his accomplishments and his record.
But if his part in any of this current mess ever became public, he’d be dealing with a whole different kind of record.
He slid into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel as thunder rumbled in the distance. It was possi
ble this would all end well . . . if he played it right. He wasn’t going to resort to the kinds of tactics Wayne had used, but he should be able to come up with a plan that would persuade Dana to leave—for a while, anyway.
As he twisted the key in the ignition and pulled away from the decrepit farmhouse, he mulled over his approach. Why not ask her to consider removing herself from the scene until they sorted out the vandalism? After all, she was isolated—and vulnerable—out there, and while it didn’t appear there’d been any intent to cause physical harm yet, that fire could have gotten out of hand before help arrived.
Yes. That argument might work.
And once she was gone, why would she return? New York was about as far removed from Beaumont as you could get. No doubt sentiment had led to her extended visit after Leo’s death—but a cabin in the middle of a national forest wasn’t consistent with her lifestyle. She’d be going back to the city sooner or later. Why not make it sooner?
He pulled out of the drive, onto the main road, and accelerated toward the empty house he now called home. Fatigue pulled at him again, weighing him down like the diving gear he lugged to Leo’s lake for his midnight visits.
All that effort—and nothing to show for it.
Could he have missed the ammo cans somehow? It was hard to conduct a methodical search in the dark water. He’d tried to work his way out from the middle of the lake’s current configuration, but the murky depths were disorienting. It was possible he’d skipped a section on his mental grid.
Or maybe the cans weren’t there at all.
He tightened his grip on the wheel. No. There was no reason to doubt the veracity of Len White’s letter. All the other facts had checked out—and the gold had never been recovered.
It was there.
But the clock was ticking. In ten days, Leah faced eviction.
He sped up, foot heavy on the accelerator. He’d go to the lake earlier tonight so he could finish in time to log a few hours of decent sleep. Wayne already knew he was there, and he doubted Dana would wander around after dark. Not since the vandalism incidents. No reason to wait until midnight to begin.
And come tomorrow, he’d pay Leo’s granddaughter another visit. Wayne didn’t want her gone any more urgently than he did. If she left, he could take a few of his accrued vacation days and make some daylight dives, when it would be much easier to keep track of the areas he’d covered.
Plus, he only needed to find one of the ammo cans. A few gold bars would be more than sufficient to cover Leah’s expenses. He could sell them one at a time—from his safe-deposit box at the bank in Potosi. At least that’s the story he’d tell the buyer.
All at once, a deer appeared on the shoulder of the road in the deepening twilight. After a millisecond hesitation, it bounded out of the woods.
Right in front of the patrol car.
Roger jammed on his brakes.
The car skidded, grazing the hind quarters of the deer, which stumbled . . . righted itself . . . and continued on its way.
Exhaling, he straightened out the car and moved on at a more sedate speed. How many close encounters with deer had he had on these woods-rimmed roads through the years?
Too many to count.
And 99 percent of the time, the deer escaped unscathed, despite their risky behavior.
He could only hope the odds would be as favorable to him in the dicey days to come.
14
Just checking in, as promised.” Finn propped the phone against his shoulder and slipped on his shades to cut the glare of the noonday sun reflecting off the lake.
“It’s been a week since you called.” Mac sounded disgruntled.
“Sorry. The days got away from me.”
“Right.”
That cryptic response was the very reason he’d called Mac instead of Lance. The middle McGregor brother would have been all over him about Dana. Mac had always been more discreet about . . .
“Time does fly when there’s a beautiful woman close by.” Amusement sniggered through Mac’s addendum.
Scratch discreet.
“She works every day. I don’t see her that much.” He slanted a guilty glance toward the cabin. Not quite accurate. He’d gotten into the habit of showing up during her lunch break, and their evening spins around the lake were becoming routine. Not to mention their trips into town for church or pie at the Walleye.
None of which his brother needed to know about.
“I bet you manage to persuade her to take some breaks.”
Finn huffed out a breath. “You know, if I’d wanted grief I would have called Lance. Besides, I have news.” This should redirect his eldest sibling’s thoughts. “I talked to Dad last night. I’m joining the firm.”
“I knew you would.” Mac’s tone was nonchalant.
So much for his bombshell.
“How could you know what I was going to do? I only made the decision yesterday.”
“Simple. It’s an excellent fit for your skills, you like Atlanta, and family is important to you. Plus, you met a nice woman with potential who’s making you realize the pluses of settling in one place.”
“My decision has nothing to do with Dana.” He turned away from the cabin.
“Think again.”
Mac’s I-know-more-than-you-do-because-I’m-your-big-brother attitude rankled . . . as usual.
“I should have called Lance after all.”
“He’d still be ragging you about Dana.”
“And you’re not?”
“Nope. Just pointing out the obvious—which you seem to have missed.”
“Okay . . . I’ll play along. Enlighten me.”
“Simple. The right woman makes you view life differently. Once you meet her, that white picket fence starts to look more like a refuge than a reformatory.”
“Move over, Confucius.”
“Are there any other words of wisdom I can offer you, my son?”
“Ha-ha and no thanks. Besides, this is way too soon for such a serious discussion.”
“Is it?”
The blue heron swooped into his usual spot near the bank, once more on the prowl. “Aren’t you the one who always told me not to be impulsive—especially with women?”
“Yes. And I stand by that advice. But I’ve also learned that when you meet the woman you’re going to marry, you know from the beginning she’s different.”
Hearing the M word verbalized sent a tiny tremor of panic spiraling through him.
“I didn’t say I felt like that about Dana.”
“Hey . . . chill. It’s not that scary of a thought. And you didn’t have to say anything. It’s obvious. Congratulations on your good taste, by the way. From what I saw, she could be a keeper.”
“Since when have you gotten to be an expert on romance? Or even been tuned in to that kind of stuff?” Finn didn’t try to hide his annoyance.
“Since I met Lisa. My wife has given me a new perspective on a lot of things. She told me to tell you she wants to meet Dana sometime.”
Finn stifled a groan. Great. Now his brothers were talking to their significant others about his love life.
“You haven’t mentioned her to Mom and Dad, have you?”
“No. I’ll leave that up to you.”
“Good. Because I’m getting ready to move to Atlanta—and Dana’s from New York.” Not that she planned to go back there. But Mac didn’t need to know that.
“You’ll find a way to make it work. You might have had your numbskull moments as a kid, but you were always inventive. Remember that time in London when you decided it would be cool to rappel down from our third-floor apartment?”
“That was Lance’s idea.”
“Yeah, but you were the one who figured out how to construct harnesses out of Dad’s expensive leather belts.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Nope. The best part was when you got stuck halfway down and the fire department had to rescue you. You’re lucky Dad
didn’t put those belts to another use once they got you down.” Mac’s chuckle came over the line. “I’ll have to share that story with Dana someday.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Stay in touch.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Mac’s laughter was still ringing as a screen door banged behind him.
Finn cut the connection and turned.
“I wondered if you were going to show up today.” Dana waved at him from the porch, her smile of welcome sending a rush of warmth through him. For once, her hair was down instead of pulled back into its customary ponytail, the sun sparking the copper highlights among the light brown strands.
Man, she looked great.
And as he slid his cell back onto his belt and jogged up the slope, he had to admit Mac had nailed it.
From all indications so far, Dana Lewis was a keeper.
“Sorry. Were you on the phone?” Dana shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans as Finn joined her on the porch.
“Nothing important.” He touched her hair and smiled down at her. “I like it down.”
The very reason she’d pulled out the elastic band and run a brush through it an hour ago—though she didn’t share that nugget.
“And I like your shirt.” She nodded toward the chest-hugging black number that said Baghdad Surf Team.
He dipped his chin, as if he couldn’t remember what tee he’d grabbed this morning. For an instant his demeanor darkened. “Oh. Yeah. A birthday gift from a Ranger buddy. I just started wearing it again.”
“Progress?” She reached for his hand, searching his face.
“I guess.”
“I’m glad.” She gave his fingers a squeeze. “I made some soup. Want to join me?”
“Made as in homemade?”
“Yep. Chicken and rice. Another one of Mags’s recipes.”
“When did you make that?”
“When I should have been working this morning. I had a visit from Chief Burnett that threw off my concentration.”
“What did he say?”
“Let’s talk while we eat.”
He followed her through the door. Once in the kitchen, she gestured to a chair at the already-set table and continued toward the stove.