by Kait Nolan
Liz stepped up beside Pete. “What are you doing to bring our daughter home?”
Ethan had dispatched a team to search Harley’s residence, another to his cousin’s place. Rene and Johnny were currently waiting in interrogation, and at least a half dozen county deputies were en route and awaiting orders. But Miranda’s parents didn’t need to know the details. “Everything.”
At the grim determination in his voice, Pete gave a slow nod and stepped back.
Ethan swept a gaze over the collected Campbell clan, knowing he wouldn’t be able to focus with all of them crowding his station. But before he could say so, Judd emerged from the back.
“I know y’all are concerned and you want to know what’s going on, but we have law enforcement personnel coming in from all over the county. It’s best if y’all go home and let us do our jobs.”
“But—”
A pale-faced Norah stepped up and put an arm around Liz. “He’s right. They don’t need us in the way. Let’s go back to the house. As soon as they know anything, I’m sure they’ll tell us.” She looked to Ethan for confirmation.
“Of course.”
They turned collectively, as Norah began to herd them toward the door.
Cam lingered behind, searching Ethan’s face. For what, Ethan had no idea. At length, Cam nodded, evidently seeing what he needed to see. “You love her, so I know you’ll do whatever it takes.”
The words twisted something Ethan had locked away at the scene. He shoved down the softer, painful feelings and felt the cold rage strain for release. “I swear on my life.”
Cam clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Bring her home.”
No other outcome was acceptable here.
As soon as they’d left, Ethan strode into the single stall bathroom. Switching on the water, he scooped some up to rinse out his mouth. He’d have a bruise on his jaw in a few hours. A good reminder. Not that he needed one. Bracing both hands on the sink, he took a few seconds just to breathe, trying to stop the parade of horrors about what Harley could be doing to Miranda right now from marching through his brain.
Judd spoke from behind him. “Shut it down.”
“I spent most of the last ten years chasing down the worst of the worst. I know what can be done to a woman.” With each minute that ticked past, his blood chilled just a little further.
“You’re no good to her if you’re crazed with fear and rage.”
“I want to kill him.” Ethan had shot and killed men in his career. But it had never been personal before.
“Preaching to the choir, man. You kept me calm when that lunatic had Autumn last fall. So I’m gonna return the favor. I’m with you, every step of the way.”
Ethan blew out a breath and splashed more water on his face. Yanking out some paper towels, he dried off and headed for interrogation, Judd trailing behind.
“You’ve filled Rene in on what her son’s been up to?”
“Yeah.”
That would save a little time.
Inside the little room, Rene knit her hands. “—just can’t believe you’d do all this.”
“I was trying to protect you.” Johnny sat, head hung low, not looking at her.
Tears spilled down her cheeks—clearly not her first. “I should have left sooner. I should have put you first. I should have—”
“You should have done a lot of things, Rene. But right now we don’t have time for your self-revelation and lack of focus.” Ethan tossed a notepad onto the table.
The woman flinched back in her chair as if he’d slapped her. He had a hard time feeling bad about it.
“Wh—what’s going to happen to my son?”
“I don’t know, and right this second, I don’t care. Your violent, piece of shit husband has Miranda Campbell. He broke into her house and attacked her, kidnapped her, while I was on the goddamned phone with her. I need to know where he’d take her.”
Rene began crying harder. “I don’t know.”
“Does he have access to any kind of property? A hunting cabin? Maybe through family members, like his cousin, Terry. The one he stayed with after the attempted shooting. There any kind of property you know about? Somewhere out of the way, where it’d be easy for him to hide? Somewhere he’d maybe go to fish or drink? To get away from things?”
“He didn’t have anywhere special to go to drink. He just...drank. He’d be gone a lot, but I don’t know where. I was just happy for the quiet.”
Ethan struggled with impatience. “Did he inherit any kind of property? Buy some?”
“No, no we didn’t have the money for anything like that.”
“Yeah we did.” Johnny spoke up.
Rene stared at her son. “What?”
“Explain,” Ethan growled.
The boy lifted his head. “He was selling drugs on the side. I saw him meeting with his supplier once. I don’t know what he did with the money other than drink it away. We sure as shit never saw any of it. But he had some.”
The bail money.
Ethan had known Harley had to be into something. If only he’d pressed harder, found something sooner, maybe Miranda would never have been taken.
“Drugs?” Rene squeaked. “No. You must be mistaken.”
“I’m not mistaken about anything, Mom, and I’m not blind like you.”
Judd pulled out his phone and swiped at the screen. “You said you saw his supplier. Was it this man?”
Johnny studied the picture. “Yeah. That was him.”
Judd met Ethan’s gaze. “My guy from Lawley. Eugene Willig. We’ve suspected him, but this is my first solid confirmation. I’ve just been waiting for sufficient grounds for a search warrant. If they’ve been working together, maybe he knows something.”
“Find him. I want to talk to him.”
“On it.” Judd slipped out of the room.
“What else do you know, Johnny? About Harley’s association with Eugene Willig? About the people Harley dealt to? Anything. Do you know what he was dealing?”
“Prescription shit, I think. The stuff I saw in Doc Campbell’s clinic looked a lot like what he got from that guy. I don’t know who all he was selling to, and I only saw him with Willig the one time. I was too afraid of what he’d do if he caught me.”
Ethan could hardly blame him for that. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
“You couldn’t manage to do anything to him when he was clearly beating the shit out of my mother. Why would my word that he’s probably dealing drugs be enough to do something?”
Ethan absorbed the blow and scrubbed a hand over his face. Now was not the time to explain. What was done was done.
“Fugitives need three things. A way to communicate, money for food and travel, and a place to stay. At this point, I don’t believe Harley’s on the run. He’s gone to ground somewhere with the intent to do God knows what to Miranda. We have to figure out where.” Ethan shoved the notepad and pen toward Rene. “Make a list of every known family member or friend Harley’s got. It’ll be a start.”
“Can you triangulate cell phone signals like on TV?” Johnny asked.
“Depends on whether the phone is on. We can have the phone company ping the nearest tower. We’ve already done that for Harley’s phone, but it’s switched off. Why?”
“When he sent me instructions, he didn’t use his regular phone.” Pulling his cell from his pocket, the boy tapped to bring up a series of text messages. “It was one of those prepaid deals.”
Chances were, the phone was also off or tossed by now, but it was another line to tug. Ethan took the phone. “Good thought. I’ll look into it.”
Judd opened the door and waved Ethan out.
“Keep working on that list, Rene. Anything or anyone you can think of.”
Out in the hall, Judd was fairly vibrating with energy. “Willig’s grandparents had a farm about ten miles out of town, halfway between here and Chapel Creek. They died about six years ago, and he’s been paying the property taxes ever sin
ce. He keeps an apartment in Lawley, but he hasn’t been back to it since the last robbery. There’s a good chance he’s laying low at the farm. I’ve already called Judge Carpenter for a warrant. You want in?”
“Hold that thought.” Ethan handed the phone to his dispatcher. “I’ve got another number for you to check. Different carrier than Forbes’ primary line. I want location and call history for the previous two weeks.”
It took five minutes and an official fax to the phone company to prove exigent circumstances, but they got what he asked for. As predicted, the phone was off, but Ethan plugged the last known coordinates for the burner phone into a mapping program. Harley had been out into the county in the general direction of Chapel Creek. “Where’s the farm?”
Judd checked the address and pointed at the screen not far from the GPS coordinates. “Looks like your boy’s been visiting with my boy. And recently.”
Ethan straightened and cracked his knuckles. “I’d say that merits a conversation.”
Chapter 23
“You don’t have to do this, Harley.” Miranda knew her voice shook, betraying the fear clawing its way up her throat, but there was no help for it.
He lifted a brow but not the knife currently poised between her breasts. “Do what?”
“Whatever you’re planning. Everything up to now has been harassment. Vandalism. Petty stuff. You haven’t done anything more than scare me.” They’d leave off the kidnapping charges for now. “You can still walk away from this.”
Amusement curved his lips. “Why would I want to walk away?”
“Because you have a choice. You have a reputation, Harley. Wouldn’t you rather be known for an act of goodwill and compassion instead of as the town drunk and a wife beater?”
Harley sat back on his heels and stared at her. “Are you really trying to give me a speech about being a better man?”
“You can always make the choice to be better.”
He frowned, tossing the knife on the little table covered in dust and cobwebs and a handful of some kind of farm tools. Pulling a flask from his pocket, he took a long swig. “You really believe that?”
A glimmer of hope sparked in Miranda’s chest. “Yes. People can change.” She’d seen evidence of that before, so many times. If she could talk Harley Forbes down, then she could do anything.
“Damn woman, you really are a fool.”
“Am I? Think about what you’re doing, Harley. Because the moment you cross the line to hurt me, there’s no coming back from that. Ethan’s coming for me. He’s going to find you. And if I’m hurt or—” Dead. No, she wouldn’t say that. “—worse, he will hunt you down, and you’re going to end up locked away for the rest of your life or dead. Is that really what you want?”
The open-handed blow caught her across the check. Pain exploded in her face and tears flooded her eyes as her head snapped to the side hard enough to make the whole chair tip over. She crashed into the table before falling over, crying out as she landed on one arm.
“What I want is to capture the arrogant son of a bitch and string him up so he can watch while I carve you up. Maybe while I fuck you, since you ran my wife off. Might be nice to have a woman with some spirit again.” He reached down and rubbed himself, as if testing that idea.
Miranda struggled not to vomit.
Harley crouched down. “And when I’m done, I want to gut you both like that little ol’ raccoon. You can bleed out together. Your last act as a couple, since I’m feeling magnanimous. That is what I want.”
Pure malevolence glittered in his eyes.
“He’s going to kill you.”
Harley just smiled. “He can try.”
When he reached toward her, Miranda cringed back. Then he stopped, looking toward the door.
Was that another car?
Rising to his feet, Harley grabbed more duct tape, slapping another piece across her mouth, and left her where she lay. As soon as he’d stepped out of the tack room—taking the knife with him—she began to wriggle. The crash had loosened the spindles of the old chair. Maybe she could get free of the ropes. Her shoulders screamed as she tugged, but she thought she felt a little give. Frantic, she jerked again and again, hearing a little crunch as the spindle broke free.
Miranda went still as voices sounded outside the tack room. Should she try to make noise? Was it friend or foe? Before she could decide, the door swung open. Another man stared inside.
She screamed behind the tape. Help me. Please.
“Jesus Christ, Harley. What the fuck are you doing?”
“Just some personal business. I needed somewhere to bring her where we wouldn’t be disturbed.”
“What the hell are you thinking? You can’t do that shit here. I can’t risk exposure of my operation. I already lost one stash. Do whatever you need to do, but get her the fuck out of here.” He slammed the door and Miranda felt hysteria beginning to take root.
No time. Get your ass moving.
Struggling with the ropes, she felt the spindle pull free of the chair. No longer held in place, the ropes that had been twisted unwound until she was able to pull her hands loose. Now how the hell was she going to get free of the duct tape?
Rolling to her knees, she managed to bring herself level with the top of the table. Most of it was old tack cleaning supplies. But at the end she spied a hoof pick. It was old and rusted, but the tip still looked sharp. Sharp enough to pierce duct tape.
Tears streamed down her face as she forced her abused limbs to standing, carefully pivoting her back to the table and groping with numb fingers for the pick. When they closed around it, she wanted to sob with relief. But she was a long way from safe. It took three tries to pick the tool up properly and another six to get it dug into the tape. She scratched her wrists in the process and the blood slicking her hands made her fumble and almost drop the pick. But at last she felt the tape begin to give. With one more mighty wrench, she broke free.
Her arms ached. Her breath heaved through her nose so loudly, she couldn’t hear anything else. How long until Harley came back? How long had he been gone?
Hurry. Hurry.
She ripped the strip free from her lips and sucked in lungfuls of air as she attacked the strips around her knees and ankles, poking holes with the tip of the pick and pulling. It went faster because she could see what she was doing.
Outside the barn, she could hear the sound of a car door. Whose? Probably not Harley. He didn’t intend to leave her.
Didn’t matter. She needed to get out of here.
Keeping hold of the pick, she crept toward the door on sock feet and listened. Where was Harley? If he was outside, watching the other guy drive off, she might only have seconds before he came back in the barn.
Taking a chance, Miranda cracked open the door and slipped into the main aisle of the barn. No Harley. Lurching into a stumbling run, she made a beeline for a smaller door at the back.
Gripping the edge, she pulled. The door didn’t move. Casting a desperate look behind her, she shoved the pick into her pocket and used both hands to tug. C’mon. C’mon!
But the door didn’t budge. It was blocked or locked or something. She couldn’t get out this way.
Desperate, she grabbed the pick again, looking for somewhere to escape or hide. But the only way out was the front, where Harley surely was. He’d see her, and with the cramps in her legs she couldn’t move fast. Where was the light?
She saw a switch on the far side of the barn, near the open front door. Turning, she scanned the back wall, finding another switch near the locked door. Would it turn off all the lights? Only one way to find out.
Knowing she might not get another chance, Miranda hit the switch.
The barn went dark and she ran.
Service weapon drawn, Ethan circled around the dilapidated house with the sagging roofline. Light flickered behind the blinds in what was probably the living room. Somebody was watching TV. A deputy closed in from the opposite direction. If Eugene Willig was home
, there was a good chance he’d bolt out the back when Judd and another deputy knocked on the front door.
Voice low, Ethan radioed Judd. “We’re in position.”
“Get ready for some action.”
A minute later, a loud pounding could be heard from the front of the house. “Police! We have a warrant. Open up!”
Less than fifteen seconds later, the back door opened and a skinny figure darted into the night.
“Freeze! Sheriff’s Department!” At the deputy’s shout, the man careened toward Ethan.
Ethan bolted to intercept him, dropping his shoulder and catching the guy in the midriff with enough force that they both tumbled to the ground. The little weasel began to flail. A kick caught Ethan in the gut, and the runner nearly got away. But Ethan wrapped a hand around his ankle and jerked him back. With a quick roll, he straddled the guy, pounding his fists into the other man’s face and releasing some of the simmering rage.
“Ethan, stand down! You can’t question him if he’s unconscious!” Judd’s voice pulled him back from the edge.
Breathing hard, Ethan sat back, rolling the man over and cuffing his hands.
The deputies hauled him up and marched him back into the house. They shoved him onto the sofa, where he’d clearly been lounging before being interrupted. A can of Bud Light had tipped over on the low coffee table, half soaking the spilled bag of potato chips.
Eugene Willig was a wiry man with thinning black hair and a scraggly goatee. He glared up at Ethan from his position on the couch. “What the fuck, man?”
Judd spoke first. “Well, I’m Detective Judd Hamilton of the Wachoxee County Sheriff’s Department, and as I said out front, we have a warrant to search the premises for illegally obtained prescription medications. My friend, Chief Greer, has some other business with you.”