“Seriously, it’s no big deal. You did the same thing as a police officer. And now you may be in the private sector, but you’re still sacrificing for others.”
She shrugged off his compliment. “I don’t see it as a sacrifice. I love what I do. I know there are risks, but I also know I’m helping others, so it’s all worth it.”
“Same here. That’s why I went for the medic cert. Gives me more direct ways to provide aid. We’re first on the scene at accidents and handle all kinds of emergency calls, so I have to be able to help people in any crisis.” He chomped off a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully.
She didn’t want to disturb whatever he was thinking about, so she finished her half of the sandwich in silence while watching Nobles’ driveway. She was just swallowing the last bite when he stepped out, a large German Shepard on a leash.
She pointed at him. “He has a dog.”
“So?”
“Remember, I found dog hair at the cannery. If we could get a sample of the dog’s hair, we could compare it.”
Griff looked at her. “But what will it prove? That Nobles was physically present in his own building? It’s just like he said. That won’t help prove he killed Andy.”
“No, you’re right, but it would at least put him at the crime scene. Add that to other evidence we might find, and it could be enough to convict him.”
He watched her for a long time. “And how do you propose getting a sample from the dog? We can’t approach Nobles. He knows us.”
“Maybe whoever comes to relieve us could accidently run into them and ask to pet the dog.”
Griff gave a swift nod. “Nobles doesn’t know the others, so that could work.”
“We can at least try it. What do we have to lose?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly.” She’d made up her mind, so when Alex and Trey arrived, she gave them instructions, and they agreed it was worth the risk of discovery.
Back in the truck, Griff looked at her. “Storage unit?”
She nodded with enthusiasm. “I’ll grab the contract to see if we need special directions for accessing it.”
He circled the truck in the cul-de-sac, and she reached behind the seat to grab the contract from her tote bag. She quickly scanned down the page. “There’s a security gate and password needed to get in.”
He glanced at her. “Please tell me the password is listed.”
“It is.” Feeling the excitement of a potential lead, she smiled at him.
He jerked his focus back to the road as if she’d stung him somehow.
Okay, then. So much for trying to be friendly.
He clearly had something on his mind, and he didn’t seem to want to discuss it. Nothing new for him. He wasn’t a let me tell you about my feelings kind of guy. Sure, when they were together, he’d told her he loved her. Often. Told her how much it hurt when his parents died, but other than that, he kept things bottled up unless she questioned him. She wanted to ask now, but they weren’t together anymore, and it was none of her business.
She laid the contract on her lap and watched the ocean as they drove down the coast to Rugged Point.
He pulled into the drive and stopped at the gate. “Not much of a gate. They’re fooling themselves if they think this is going to keep anyone out.”
“Nothing like the one at the compound, that’s for sure.” She gave him the password.
He punched it in and pulled onto the property with metal storage units lining both sides of the drive. Large numbers were mounted near the roll-up doors, and he parked in front of Unit 8.
He reached across her to the glove compartment. His hand brushed against her knee, and she drew in a sharp breath to hold it and wait for him to sit back up.
He cast her a questioning look before he pulled out a flashlight. “Just in case there’s no light.”
“Right.” Embarrassed at the way she’d reacted to his touch, she bolted from the truck and held her breath as she inserted Andy’s key in the padlock. “It fits!”
She forgot all about the tension between them, removed the padlock, and rolled up the door. Griff flipped on a light switch, revealing a space filled with furniture and household items along with a stack of white office boxes.
Sam went straight for the boxes and started reviewing the top files. “Looks like paperwork from his last job.”
Griff moved closer and looked over her shoulder. “All the files are labeled with Oscar’s name.”
Sam took one out and opened it. Someone had jotted notes and circled numbers on the top financial statement for a client and listing Oscar as the account manager. Tiny letters with all words printed in caps covered much of the blank areas on the page. “Looks like Andy’s handwriting.”
“Yeah. He wrote in such little letters I always struggled to read it.”
She took out the next folder. “Same thing. Different client.”
“That’s odd, right? Why would Andy want statements for Oscar’s clients?”
Sam turned and met Griff’s gaze. “Maybe Andy didn’t steal the money. Maybe Oscar did, and he set Andy up to take the fall.”
Griff nodded. “Makes more sense than Andy being a thief, that’s for sure.”
“This could be it,” she said, enthusiasm racing through her body. “We need to take the boxes back to the compound and get a forensic accountant to evaluate them. If these files prove that Oscar stole the money, he could very well have killed Andy to keep him from telling anyone.”
Griff drove through the dark of night toward the compound, the many file boxes loaded under a tarp in the back of his truck. The moon shone bright over the ocean, glistening on the waves rushing to the rocks running alongside the highway. He always loved this drive at night, but with the slick roads, he had to be careful not to let his thoughts distract his driving. Running off the road onto the jagged cliffs was certain death.
“I sure hope these files clear Andy’s name,” Sam said.
Griff glanced at Sam for only a second and turned his focus back to the winding road. “Sounds like you’re leaning toward believing Oscar is the thief.”
“Yes, but I shouldn’t be. Not if I want to look at this investigation impartially.”
“I don’t see how you can be impartial at all.”
“I hate to admit it, but I’m probably not. When I worked as a criminalist I couldn’t form an opinion of guilt early on. If I did, I would then try to find evidence to prove it. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.”
She shook her head. “I sure haven’t practiced that here.”
He stabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the boxes. “How long do you think it will take an accountant to go through all of these records?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never worked a financial crime, but with so many boxes, I imagine it could take some time.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too,” he said, and didn’t like the thought. First, because he wanted to find Andy’s killer and make him pay. Second, because he didn’t have much paid time coming at work. “If this investigation drags on, I might need to go back to work.”
“You’ll have to do what you have to do.” Her matter-of-fact tone grated on his nerves.
He was disappointed that he would have to walk away from her and hoped she would’ve felt the same way. “Don’t sound so broken up about it.”
“Sorry,” she said, sounding sincere. “But it’s probably for the best. You know, put some distance between us again.”
He didn’t like that response either, but what point was there in commenting on it? He should just stick to the investigation. But then, he was never very good at doing what was best for himself. What was good for others, yeah. Himself, not so much.
And he wasn’t going to start now. Not when his gut was tied up in a knot over her willingness to see him go. “Do you ever wonder what might’ve happened if we stayed together?”
“I try not to.”
“But you do?” he pressed,
needing to hear she was experiencing at least a fraction of the emotions he was feeling.
“Sometimes. But what’s the point? We didn’t stay together, and there’s nothing to be gained by speculating on it.”
“We’d probably be parents by now.”
She flashed him a distressed look.
“What? It’s the truth, right? We both want kids.”
“Wanted,” she said firmly. “Now that I see how badly parents can screw a kid up, I’ve changed my mind.”
Wow. Just wow. Where did that come from?
She loved kids. Always had. So this was a big, huge departure.
He should leave this alone, too, but there was no way he would. “Any screwed-up kids in particular you’re talking about?”
She nodded but didn’t elaborate. He opened his mouth to ask for details, but headlights glared in the mirrors, grabbing his attention. He couldn’t ignore the truck coming fast from behind.
His defensive instincts kicked in. “This might be nothing, but there’s a truck approaching fast in our six.”
She whipped her head around to look. “They’re not slowing.”
“And not pulling into the other lane to pass.” He gripped the wheel and pressed the gas.
The driver revved the engine and came even closer.
The moon ducked beneath clouds, and Griff searched the area for an escape route. Nothing. He knew that without even looking. And worse yet, a sharp curve loomed ahead.
“Hang on, honey.” He banked into the curve, the tires fighting to grab hold of the wet road, the rear of his truck fishtailing.
He wrestled it under control and let out a breath on the next straightaway. But his relief was short-lived as another curve would soon be upon them.
Sam shot a look over her shoulder. “Hurry, Griff. Speed up.”
He hated the cold fear in her voice, and he couldn’t fix it. “I can’t take these curves any faster and keep the truck on the road.”
“Do you think he wants to run us off the road?”
“Yeah.”
“To finish the job from the cannery? To kill me?” Her voice skated high.
“Yeah.” Griff glanced in the rearview mirror. He could make out the truck color—white—but the license plate was missing. The guy didn’t want to be identified.
Please, Father. Keep us safe.
Another curve came into view ahead.
The truck sped up. Barreling down on them. Griff took the curve almost on two wheels and glanced in the mirror.
The other vehicle pulled out to pass. Fearing it would crash into the front and force them off the road Griff held tight to the wheel. “Hold on.”
He slammed on the brakes. The other truck went racing down the road.
Sam let out a long breath. “He just wanted to pass. We overreacted.”
There was no such thing as overreacting in Griff’s book when it came to Sam’s safety. He continued down the road at a slow speed, his heart still thumping hard. “Let’s give him plenty of time to get ahead of us.”
He took a few long breaths himself, and worked to slow his heart rate. He heard Sam’s breathing return to normal. But he wouldn’t forget this incident. He would use it as a warning to be even more alert.
He rounded the next bend. The pickup was stopped down the road. Griff couldn’t make out much in the dark of night, but he caught a glimpse of the driver standing by the tailgate, rifle in hand.
“Rifle! Get down!” Griff shot out an arm to press Sam’s body forward.
She folded in half, her hand fumbling for her seatbelt.
The rifle report split the silence. A bullet slammed into the windshield on the passenger side. Glass fractured in a spiderweb.
Another gunshot cracked into the night. Another and another. Glass shattering.
Griff wanted to ram the guy, but couldn’t continue ahead without Sam taking a bullet. He had to get off the road.
He swung the wheel hard to the left, jerking the truck away from the dangerous cliff. The tires dropped off the pavement and caught the gravel, taking them toward the scrub.
He kept a firm grip on the wheel. “Hold on, honey. We’re going to crash.”
16
Sam sat up, white-knuckled the door handle, and screamed. Hard. Her shriek bounced around the cab, and she caught sight of the bullet holes in the window, scaring her more.
Griff thrust out an arm to hold her in place, but she hardly noticed.
The truck plunged into the scrub. Caught a rut and went airborne, rumbling down a steep ravine.
She screamed again.
The pickup hit the ground hard. Bounced. Once. Twice. Griff’s arm held her fast in place.
The truck’s momentum slowed. They hit a stump. The vehicle lurched to a stop, catapulting her forward. Airbags ballooned out of the dash, smacking into Sam with a force that surprised her. Like someone punched her in the face.
“Sam! Sam!” Griff clawed at her air bag. “Are you hit?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she wasn’t fine inside. Someone shot at her. A rifle. Multiple rounds.
She was lucky to be alive.
Griff punched the last of the airbag out of the way, and ran his gaze over her. Stopped to search her face. Then made another quick sweep. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” she said, but her bad shoulder hurt something fierce. She rolled it to test for pain and could hardly keep from crying out.
At least it hadn’t dislocated, or she’d be in a world of hurt. It was likely just muscle strain. Still, she wouldn’t tell Griff about the injury. He’d insist she rest and recuperate, and she didn’t need him trying to restrict her movements in the investigation.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I let you down. I should have known the jerk wasn’t just passing us. That he would try something else.”
“Shh.” She pressed her fingers on his lips. “It’s not your fault. What could you do?”
“Something other than crash the vehicle. I’m better than this. Far better.” Anguish darkened his face.
“You kept us from going over the cliff.”
“Yeah, that’s something anyway.” He cocked his head, listening. “It’s the truck. The shooter’s backing up on the road. Outside now. Hurry.”
She struggled to free her belt, the pain of a bruise already settling in. The catch wouldn’t budge. She tried harder. “It’s stuck.”
Griff whipped out a pocket knife and slit the belt in two. “Out. Hurry.”
She tried to open the door. It wouldn’t move. She shoved harder and pain raced through her shoulder. She couldn’t push any harder without risking another dislocation. It had happened twice before, and she knew that the pain would be excruciating and require a trip to the ER.
“Quick! This way!” He helped her across the console and out his door.
They both drew their weapons and rushed to the rear of the truck. She hoped if it came down to firing her gun that she was able to shoot accurately.
She looked up at the road from the ravine. The truck’s red taillights appeared through the mist as it backed closer. Her heart started pounding harder, sounding like a base drum in her ears.
Please, God. Help us. Please.
“The binoculars,” she said. “We should’ve grabbed them. Maybe we could ID the guy.”
“Too dark,” Griff replied, his intense focus not leaving the road. “We’d need ones with night vision for that.”
The truck stopped. It idled loudly, rumbling through the night and hiding the sound of waves crashing on the other side of the road.
The driver’s door creaked open. Boots dropped to the ground. One, then the other, the solid thumps echoing into the night.
“Get down,” Griff warned.
She squatted near the mangled fender but peeked over it to see where the man was in the darkness.
Footsteps sounded.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Slow. Measured. The head and shoulders of a man appeared abov
e his truck bed as he moved along the road. The moon illuminated him, hiding his features and turning him into an eerie shadow. He reached the rear of his truck and swung around, a rifle in his hands.
From down in the ravine, Sam raised her weapon to the road where he stood. Sighted it on his chest. And held to wait. She couldn’t very well shoot him just because he had a gun. But she could tell him to drop it and then take him into custody. She opened her mouth to yell.
“I’d stop right there if you don’t want me to put a slug in your chest,” Griff called out, preventing her from getting out a word.
The man lifted his rifle.
Sam’s finger dropped to the trigger.
Griff fired a shot into the air.
Sam waited for the man to raise up and fire, but he bolted around the back of his truck. The cab door slammed closed. The engine revved. The truck raced off, spitting gravel behind it.
She fired an angry look at Griff. “I know you missed on purpose. But why? He’s getting away.”
“What were we going to do? Shoot it out? Kill him, or worse yet, let him fire a round that hit one of us?”
“No. I would’ve told him to drop his weapon and waited for him to comply.”
“You really think he would’ve listened? I know you were a cop, but did criminals just do as you asked?”
“No.” She lifted her shoulders in defense of her position. “But you did the same thing. Basically anyway. Expected him to listen to you.”
“True.” He shoved his gun into the holster.
“I’ll call 911 and report him.” She stowed her weapon and grabbed her phone, not at all surprised to see her hands shaking.
“I think the truck’s a Ford F-150,” Griff said. “Current model.”
She gave dispatch all the particulars and didn’t let a moment pass before she dialed Blake directly and rattled off their dilemma. “I called 911 but thought I’d tell you in case you’re anywhere in the area or can help get deputies out looking for this truck.”
“You okay or do you need emergency assistance?”
“We’re fine.” She heard his police radio in the call’s background and had to wonder if it was dispatch reporting the truck.
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