Far Gone

by Laura Griffin

  “You got any weapons?” North hauled him to his feet.

  Finch scowled and muttered a no, but Torres was already searching him, well aware that North’s sole objective right now was to get the guy under control before the cavalry arrived. The pat-down netted a wallet, six quarters, and a black plastic thumb drive but no weapons.

  A stampede of footsteps and half a dozen deputies rounded the eighteen-wheeler, guns drawn.

  “Pecos County sheriff! You’re under arrest!”

  ♦

  Jon entered the interview room and tossed an envelope down on the table.

  Gavin Finch watched him sullenly, arms crossed over his chest. “This is bullshit.”

  Jon sat down and eyed him across the table. “You think so?”

  “You didn’t have to do this. I was planning to come in.”

  “Vicky says hi, by the way.”

  He sat up straighter. “Where is she?”

  “Close by.”

  After finding a room key in the cup holder of the Dodge, a pair of agents had dropped in on Vicky at the Econo Lodge in Fort Stockton. She’d come in willingly and agreed to be interviewed, but they hadn’t started yet. They wanted to see what Gavin revealed first and then see if she could corroborate.

  “Where’d you get the fat lip?”

  He lifted a hand to his mouth. “Tripped this morning, walking to my car.”

  Which might explain the blood in his car. It sounded as if he’d slipped out in the dark.

  Jon watched him, letting him squirm.

  Gavin cast an anxious look at the door, then darted his gaze up to the corner of the room, where a camera was mounted near the ceiling. He glanced down to the envelope again. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “I bet you can guess.”

  He eyed the shape of it. He seemed annoyed, and Jon fought the urge to reach across the table and pop him. “It’s a thumb drive,” Gavin said.

  “Yeah, we got that far.”

  Gavin reached for the envelope and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag containing a compact storage device. “No, I mean literally. It’s a thumb drive, as in you need a thumb to open it. It’s biometric, only accessible with a designated thumb print.”

  “Yours?”

  “Shay’s. I can’t open it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Jon leaned back in his chair and watched him.

  “Seriously, even if I wanted to. One of your techs could probably do it, but it’ll take some time.”

  “What’s on it?”

  “How should I know? I told you, it’s Shay’s.”

  Jon stared at him, not liking the hint of smugness in his voice. “You’re not helping yourself here, Gavin.”

  “What?” He was defensive now. “I really don’t know, but it’s something important. I know that. Shay keeps it in his room, in the back of a drawer. I went back there and got it so I could bring it to you guys.”

  “So you were on your way to do the right thing when you decided to turn south and head for the border, is that right?”

  “You don’t understand.” He leaned forward. “I had to wait for Vicky. She slipped out after I did and came to pick me up at a designated spot. My car’s a piece of crap. I didn’t even have a full tank of gas, so—”

  “Why didn’t you meet your sister?”

  “We were going to. Vicky and I were. But she got cold feet and . . . she was freaking out about Ross and Shay and everyone, and I took her to a motel to talk her down from the ledge and convince her we needed to come in.”

  “Was this before or after you had sex with her?”

  His cheeks flushed, and he slapped the table. “I’m telling you what I know! I’m offering you evidence, and you haven’t offered me shit!” He scowled and looked away.

  Jon waited.

  Gavin’s gaze drifted up to the camera again and then back to Jon. “Where is she?”

  Jon looked blank. “Who, Andrea?”

  “Vicky.”

  “Don’t worry about Vicky. She’s doing fine for herself.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Why?” He paused. “You afraid she’s going to rat you out?”

  “There’s nothing to rat out.”

  Jon arched his eyebrows. “Driving without insurance? Expired registration?”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Possession of a weapon of mass destruction?”

  “What?” It came out as a squeak, reminding Jon just how young he was.

  “Our dog doesn’t like your car, Gavin.”

  His brow furrowed. “There’s nothing in there.”

  Jon shook his head. “The dogs don’t lie. Our evidence techs are going over it right now with a fine-tooth comb. If they find even a trace of explosives residue—”

  “There’s nothing! There’s never been anything in there.”

  “Yeah? And Shay never borrowed it?”

  The kid went still. The only sound was the faint hum of traffic two floors below, in downtown Fort Stockton. His eyes looked worried now but not nearly worried enough. He still didn’t grasp the gravity of his situation.

  Jon leaned in close. “Your sister lost her job for you, you piece of shit. She keeps telling me how smart you are. But I’m not seeing it.”

  Jon held his gaze, and the moment stretched out.

  “What’s on that drive, Gavin?”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know.”

  Jon leaned back and sighed.

  Gavin’s attention darted to the camera. Clearly, he knew he was being recorded. And he’d waived his right to an attorney. Andrea would be going ballistic watching this.

  But she wasn’t watching. Jon didn’t know where she was or even if she’d figured out what he’d done. His gut tightened with dread, but he couldn’t think about her right now. He’d deal with the fallout later, after he got this done.

  He kept his gaze locked on her brother, trying to sweat him down.

  Maybe it was good that he hadn’t asked for a lawyer. In Jon’s experience, there were two kinds of perps who failed to lawyer up: the ones who thought they were smarter than everyone else and the ones who thought they were innocent and smarter than everyone else.

  Which type was Gavin Finch? He didn’t know yet.

  The kid leaned forward, clearly getting frustrated. “I’m telling you, I don’t know what’s on the drive. But I think it’s important.”

  Jon watched him. It was a bold move, keeping up the denials. If he was involved in Hardin’s plot, how could he be sure the thumb drive wouldn’t implicate him in some way?

  On the other hand, Gavin’s former boss had called him a computer maestro. Maybe he’d created the drive and loaded it with evidence that would implicate Hardin but exonerate himself.

  Jon glanced at the camera. He could almost feel the impatience bleeding through the wall as Maxwell and the team watched from the next room. The pressure was on. If Jon didn’t get something soon, they were going to have to fly the thumb drive to Quantico so their people there could work on it, and time was running short.

  They needed something now for a warrant, so they could bring Hardin in. They wanted every last one of his conspirators, too, which was why digital evidence of his plans was so important.

  Which brought them back to the thumb drive.

  Jon leaned in again and pinned him with a look. Nothing.

  “What’s it gonna be, Gavin?”

  His blue eyes simmered. He lifted his chin defiantly, and the resemblance to Andrea was so strong, Jon figured any second now the kid was going to tell him to go to hell. “Vicky had nothing to do with anything,” he said instead.

  “Okay.” Jon waited.

  “I’m not lying about the drive. I don’t know what’s on it. I don’t know about what Shay did or anything he’s planning.”

  “What did he do, Gavin? What’s he planning? I need something I can use now, today, and you need a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  “I told you.” His ga
ze shot to the ceiling. “I don’t know about all that. He didn’t tell me.”

  Jon stood up and grabbed the envelope.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “It’s Vicky’s turn. You’re wasting my time.”

  “But I’m telling the truth. He didn’t tell me about Philadelphia or Kirby or any of that. I don’t know about that, I swear. I just know about the guns.”

  Jon pulled out the chair and sat down again. “Fine.” He nodded. “Tell me what you know.”

  ♦

  Torres stepped into the conference room, and he could tell by the defeated looks around the table that the news wasn’t good.

  “Get anything?” he asked North.

  “No.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “I ran the entire list by ATF. Sixteen pistols, two revolvers, eight long guns. Plus a shit ton of ammo. It’s a big cache of weapons, but everything’s legal.”

  Torres glanced across the room to where Theilman was on the phone. “What about the sales?”

  “Finch claims he wasn’t there,” North said. “He remembers e-mails back and forth and a few of the buyers’ first names coming up in conversation, but that’s not going to cut it. Maxwell decided to kick him loose so we can keep an eye on him, see if he reaches out to anyone.”

  Torres looked at Theilman again. He looked at North. Four months they’d been busting their asses out here trying to build a case. Four long months, and it was finally coming to a head.

  Torres sank into a chair, and North’s gaze narrowed.

  “You have something. What is it?”

  Torres smiled.

  chapter twenty-five

  TORRES DRAGGED JON’S LAPTOP across the table. “Check your e-mail.”

  Jon logged in and found the message. No subject line, just an attachment from Torres, and based on the size, it was a monster. He clicked it open and waited for the file to load. When had Torres had time to run down something new? They’d been together most of the day.

  “Whitfield came up with this,” he said, reading Jon’s mind. “Take a look.”

  Grainy black-and-white footage appeared, showing a busy checkout counter with four cashiers. Jon recognized the beer display near the door of the store. “The truck stop.”

  “Yep.” Torres scooted his chair in and pointed to the screen. “Check out the customers.”

  Shay Hardin shuffled to the front of the line, a case of beer in one hand and a few bags of chips in the other.

  “Whitfield noticed how he stops in there from time to time, even though it’s busier and farther away than the little grocery store on Main Street. So this morning, he got curious.”

  “Followed him into the store?” Jon asked, watching Hardin approach the register.

  “Nope. Waited outside. Okay, check this out.” Torres paused the video as Hardin accepted a handful of change. “Seventy-two dollars, ninety-one cents change.”

  Jon’s pulse picked up as he looked at the screen. “He paid with a hundred.”

  “Bingo.” Torres grinned. “He pitched his receipt in the trash when he left, then Whitfield fished it out and followed up with the cashier. The bill traces back to a stack from the Del Rio bank hit.”

  “Does Maxwell know?”

  “You bet your ass. He’s working on our warrant right now.”

  Torres stood up and closed the computer. Jon stood, too, and there was a faint ringing in his ears as the new reality sank in. After all this time, they had him.

  Torres slapped him on the shoulder. “You believe this? We finally nailed him. Forty-eight hours to spare, too.”

  Whitfield stuck his head in the room.

  “Hey, I was just telling North about your C-note,” Torres said. “Nice trash dig.”

  “Thanks. North, thought you’d want to know Maxwell’s cutting Finch loose.”

  “I know.”

  “His sister’s here to pick him up.”

  ♦

  Jon spotted her pushing through the doors of the sheriff’s complex. She glanced over her shoulder, and their gazes met as she stepped outside.

  “Andrea.”

  But she was already out the door. He caught up and saw her brother ahead of her in the parking lot. She hurried down the steps.

  “Andrea.” He caught her arm, and she whirled around.

  “Do not. Touch me.” Her look was arctic.

  “I understand you’re angry.”

  Her brows shot up. “Angry? Is that what you think this is? You deliberately deceived me.”

  “Andrea—”

  “Just—stop.” She squeezed her eyes shut and held up her hand. “I can’t do this. I can’t even look at you right now.” She turned and rushed down the steps.

  He followed. “I did what I had to.”

  “Right,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Because you’re morally superior. I forgot, you’re the only cop with any integrity.”

  “He’s your brother, Andrea. I couldn’t be sure what you’d do.”

  That halted her. She spun around. “He is my brother. Yes. And I have dedicated my life to protecting the public.” Her voice was quiet, but there was a tremor of fury in it. “You think I wouldn’t do anything under the sun to prevent more people from getting hurt? Do you even know who I am?”

  Jon said nothing. The wounded look in her eyes blew a hole in his confidence that he was going to be able to fix this.

  She stepped closer. “I’m a cop, Jon. I’m nobody’s wife. I’m nobody’s mother. I’m nobody’s daughter. I’m a cop.” She clutched her fist to her chest. “That’s who I am.” She shook her head and started down the stairs again.

  “Would you please wait a second?”

  “No.”

  He took her arm and she jerked back like she’d been singed.

  “Do not touch me. Do not talk to me, ever again. I have nothing to say to you.”

  He dropped his hand, and she fled down the steps.

  ♦

  Andrea’s hands shook as she fumbled with her keys. The rage was like an earthquake rattling inside her. She felt as if she was breaking apart, and it wasn’t just the rage but the hurt, the insult, the betrayal.

  “I take it you know that guy?”

  She looked at Gavin in her passenger seat. She couldn’t bring herself to answer him, so she shoved the keys into the ignition. “Where to?” She shot backward out of the space. Where to, indeed? She had no idea.

  She glanced at Gavin. He didn’t seem to know, either.

  She took a deep breath and steered out of the parking lot. “Well?” She looked at him.

  “I don’t know.”

  Of course he didn’t. Andrea watched the Pecos County Sheriff’s Office recede in her rearview mirror. If only people could recede like that. And stupid mistakes.

  She thought of the expression on Jon’s face, and the anger welled up again. How had she allowed this to happen? She’d awakened this morning trusting him, their intimacy wrapped around her like a blanket.

  Don’t think about it.

  She took a deep breath and tried to focus on logistics.

  “I can’t drive you all the way to Lubbock today,” she said. “I can take you to the bus station. Or I can take you to the airport, but you’ll have to buy your own ticket.” As of yesterday, she was officially unemployed.

  Just the thought made her go cold, and she gripped the wheel, thinking of her new reality. Every landmark in her life seemed to have crumbled. She felt completely adrift.

  “Well?” She looked at Gavin as he wiped his sleeve over his face. Holy hell, was he crying? “Gavin?”

  He turned away.

  “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  A shaky exhale. “She’s gone.”

  It took her a second to get it. “You mean Vicky?”

  “She went to her parents’ place in Midland.” He swiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Said she needs to ‘figure out her life,’ whatever that means.”


  “Gavin . . .” Good Lord, she didn’t need this right now. She tried to scrounge up some sympathy for him, but she had none. Zilch. She looked at him. “What did you expect?”

  He looked offended. “I thought we’d be together. I thought she’d leave him as soon as she got the chance.”

  “Gavin, her life is a mess right now. I mean, come on. She’s in an abusive marriage, she’s being investigated by the FBI. She probably does need some time to figure things out, and anyway, you’ve got your own problems to worry about.”

  He turned away. “You don’t understand.”

  She clutched the wheel, struggling for patience. She understood completely. Her brother was in lust with this woman, and now he was entertaining the absurd idea that they had a future together. How could he be so naive?

  The irony smacked into her right away. Who was worse, her or her brother? At least Gavin had the excuse of being young. For all she knew, this was his first rodeo.

  Andrea trained her gaze on the road, trying—and failing—to avoid thoughts of Jon. But it was impossible. The memories were too fresh. She thought of his hands on her body, his mouth sliding over her breast. She remembered the heat of his gaze, his touch.

  She remembered the icy shock of standing in his bedroom, alone, and realizing what he’d done.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t, don’t, don’t.

  She slid a glance at Gavin again, and suddenly, she did feel for him.

  “I can’t go to Lubbock,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  “Why not?”

  “I got evicted.” He sighed. “That’s what the money was for—that I wanted to borrow. I lost my job at the restaurant and got behind on my rent.”

  Andrea wasn’t sure she believed him, but she didn’t want to fight about it. “Where’s your stuff?”

  He looked at her, and his cheeks were splotched from crying. Finches were not pretty criers.

  “Your clothes? Your things?” she prompted.

  “I don’t have much. My clothes are at the ranch, but I can’t go back there. I don’t want to anyway, now that Vicky’s gone.”

  “You could stay with me for a few days.” The words seemed to come out on their own. “While you figure out your next step. You can sleep on my couch.”