There was a pause before Rosche hummed agreement. “What can I do?”
“Find solid evidence.” He could hear his voice hardening. Not so different from his heart. “Then we bring him in.”
“You’re closest to him. Any ideas what’s going on or where we should start?” She cleared her throat. “Does Trevor have a history with Sammy or Kris?”
“As in trafficking history? You think I wouldn’t tell you something like that?” He dropped his voice and cut a look toward the closed door.
“Not trying to imply anything.” Her words rushed out. “Just looking at all the angles.”
He jammed his hand through his hair. “No history. But I don’t have any ideas about where to start, either.”
He popped off the chair and went to a knee, gathering the mess he’d made. He gave up and sat in the middle of it. With one leg straight out, he bent the other and rested his arm against it. Did he have ideas on where to start? He almost laughed out loud.
He’d had ideas before this morning. Ideas about who he was, who his family was, and what he was beginning to want from life. He’d even started having ideas about running toward a relationship with God.
“You still there?” Rosche’s voice was wary. Did she think he was teetering on the edge?
He’d handle this. Soldier on. “Search the office. Maybe we’ll find some kind of connection. Or evidence.”
Tapping floated over the connection and he could almost see Rosche rapping her ever-present pencil against the phone receiver. “We don’t have a warrant.”
“What do you need a warrant for?” he asked. “I’m on the lease. You have my permission.”
“Copy that.”
“I’m at the station. I’m setting the key on your desk. Let me know as soon as you find something. And... Rosche?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for prioritizing this investigation. I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“No problem.” Her voice was soft, the superhero façade vanishing for a moment. “Just keep an eye on that girl and don’t do anything foolish.”
He ended the call. While he appreciated the sentiment, he had little faith he could heed the words.
* * *
That’s something she’d never thought of before—brooding men were only thrilling in novels and rom-coms. Liz pulled the emergency blanket tight and sunk into the break room’s couch.
She stared at Riggen. In real life, they were frustrating. He hadn’t said a word since he’d returned almost half an hour ago.
She scooted to the edge of her red perch and stuck one foot across the coffee table to nudge his knee. No response. He just stared at the blank television screen in the corner with as much intensity as if he had a twenty-point elk in his sights.
She wiggled on the couch, impatience rising off her like steam from boiling water. Enough was enough. She’d given him plenty of time to explain but he’d only stomped around the room like a caged mountain lion. Much more of this and she’d hitchhike back to Denver.
She poked his knee again, this time with the sharp point of her three-inch heels. “Rig, I’m missing the job opportunity of my life and I guess we’re at the station as a safety measure, but I’m tired of not knowing what’s going on.”
He turned. Focused. Blinked. Slow and steady. Well, that was something. At least he was still alive.
“You said to trust you.” She crossed her legs over a pile of old magazines. “How can I if you won’t spit out what’s going on?”
He tugged at the neckline of his charcoal thermal. “Rosche turned over info that led me to believe it was beyond my ability to keep you safe in Denver.”
His eyes darted away. He looked everywhere but at her. “Is this job opportunity more important than your life? You have a son.”
Defeat pushed her deep into the couch. “But without a steady job, what type of life can I give him? I can’t move to California to be the third wheel in his life. He deserves better.”
Silence. He’d gone back to staring at the blank television set. Her nauseated stomach flipped. Maybe her problems were too much for him and now he was shutting down. Just like Dad had right before he’d left.
She pulled her knees to her chest, contracting the buzzing beehive in her abdomen. It was time to refocus her thoughts on the here and now. “Do you think Rosche’ll have it figured out by tomorrow? The last session ends at 6:00 p.m.”
“I don’t know, Liz.” He closed his eyes, frustration riding his words.
She was shut out.
Anxiety zapped through her heart and robbed her breath. Was he wondering if she was worth this? She didn’t want to be at his mercy, but she also didn’t want to lose his protection. There was no one else. She placed her hands on her temples and squeezed. Be strong and courageous.
Her heart wouldn’t stop racing. Do not be afraid. She was too tired. Her fear shouted louder than the truths she had memorized.
Pushing herself as far into the couch’s cushiony depths as she could, she huddled into the blanket. “I need more rest.”
“Okay.” Riggen stood and headed for the door. With a flick of his fingers, he turned off the break room lights.
That was it. One word. Okay. Nothing was okay but she couldn’t fight the exhaustion that hounded her as Riggen’s footsteps faded into deafening silence.
SEVENTEEN
Twilight kissed Riggen’s face and pulled him from the first deep sleep he’d had in days. He fought awareness. He didn’t want to remember why his heart and body felt like he’d been hit by a rockslide.
Peeling his eyes open, he looked around at the tan walls and Wanted posters. He was in Rosche’s office. He scrubbed a hand back and forth over his face until the desire to crash back into sleep left him. He was here because of Trevor.
A snicker sounded from the door. His gaze bounced to the hallway to see Lieutenant Carr standing in the doorway. Boots clattered on the hall floor behind Carr and Jones stuck his head around the corner.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Carr’s voice rippled with laughter as Jones pulled out his smartphone and clicked a picture.
Riggen glared at them both and climbed from Rosche’s uncomfortable office chair. “What time is it?”
Carr hooked his thumbs in his bulletproof vest and grinned. “Second shift just clocked in. I would’ve let you snore longer but your lady’s in the kitchen.” He grimaced. “Scavenging.”
“Thanks.” Riggen rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes and ignored Jones. “Did Rosche talk to you? We didn’t have anywhere safe enough to crash.”
Carr cut a look at Jones and gave the man a jerk of his head. Jones nodded and trotted away, leaving them alone, or as alone as they could be in a busy police station.
“Rosche is at Price Excursions now. You need to go check out what she found.” Carr’s brows drew together over his eyes before he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “And maybe get the little lady something to eat.”
Riggen stiffened but Carr reached out and placed a massive paw on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep her safe.”
Riggen glanced around Carr and saw Liz half in, half out of the fridge. If she was looking for something edible, she wouldn’t find it in there. Last time he braved the station fridge, all he’d found was Chinese leftovers of indeterminable age.
He made a beeline for her, grabbing a doughnut when he stepped into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter. “You won’t find anything worth eating in there.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her hair falling in waves over her wrinkled shirt. She raised one perfect brow at the glazed dream in his hand. “So the stereotype’s true.”
He took another bite before he answered. “Yep. No shame. But if you’d like something else, I can pick up dinner. What sounds good?”
She straightened so fast it looked a
s though an invisible puppet master had pulled her strings. He finished the doughnut as she pushed the fridge shut with deliberate slowness. “Hitting the road for Denver sounds good.”
“Not possible.” He inched sideways toward the hallway and snagged another doughnut. “It’s best you stay here. For now.”
Perfect lips pulled down. “So you’re locking me up?”
“This place is as safe as Fort Knox.”
She snorted and crossed her arms. He jangled his keys to distract her. They’d both feel better with full stomachs. As her eyes locked on the keys, he took a step toward the exit. “No social media or blog updates. I don’t want anyone to know where we are.” He strode for the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”
* * *
Liz stalked back to the couch that had been her refuge all morning and afternoon. She sipped coffee from a foam cup, but the burnt-bean taste wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t get the first drink past the dry lump in her throat.
Of course she was safe here. Physically. But losing the opportunity to work for American Travel was swiftly becoming a danger.
The back of her throat began to burn and she slammed the cup down on the coffee table in front of her. Resting her elbows on the tabletop, she held her head in her hands and listened to the muffled sounds of the police department. Would she ever be able to keep all her balls in the air at once?
Why did she have to choose between physical safety and material safety? God, where are You? No answer. Just the sound of police radios filtering through the silence of the break room.
She stood and glared at the cramped kitchen with its overabundance of doughnuts. Yes, Denver was dangerous until they found Kris and this game was over, but she couldn’t let the American Travel ball drop.
She sank down onto the folding chair and pulled up her recent calls. She’d not heard from Trevor yet but she needed to clear the air with Kimberly.
* * *
Riggen pulled through the drive-thru and hung out his open window to grab their order. The smell of hamburgers and coffee hit him with a sickening one-two punch. Maybe fast food hadn’t been his best idea.
He dropped the grease-stained paper bag onto his passenger seat and pulled away from the building. “Carr said you had something for me to see.” Rosche’s call was on Speaker.
“How soon can you meet me over here?”
He braked for the Manitou exit. “I just grabbed dinner. How about the Cliff’s Notes?”
“I think you’ll want to see it yourself.”
“That bad?” he asked.
“Just don’t want you to take my word for it.”
He glanced at the dash clock. He could check this out and book it back to the station, and hopefully their food wouldn’t even get cold.
“Be there in five.” He hung up and took a swig of coffee. Before the burn of it cooled from his tongue, he was circling the last roundabout on Manitou Avenue and pulling into Price Adventure Excursions.
The gravel lot was empty except for Rosche’s SUV. The Closed sign swung precariously from the front door.
He shoved the Bronco into Park and hopped out, stalking to the front door and rapping on the glass pane with his keys. Rosche’s blazing red hair bobbed down the hallway toward him.
She shoved a thick stack of manila folders under her arm and unlocked the door. Smirking, she pointed at dark drips of coffee that added a blob of brown to his shirt.
He wiped a hand down his chest while kicking the door shut.
“Get anything inside?” she asked.
He clicked the lock in place. “What do you have?”
Trotting down the hall toward Trevor’s office like a dog on the hunt, she didn’t even stop to reply. Her voice drifted over her retreating back. “I pulled the surveillance footage.”
“We already covered that.” He shouted down the hallway as he grabbed a tissue from the front desk and dabbed his shirt.
When he got to Trevor’s office, Rosche was already seated in the oversize office chair. She swiveled until she faced the computer monitor then tapped on a few buttons.
He slouched in the opposite seat, coffee swirling in his stomach as Rosche’s fingers danced across the keyboard. Her eyes were locked on whatever sordid secrets the monitor displayed.
He looked everywhere but at her and the computer. He didn’t want to know what she’d found. He studied the walls, which were filled with pictures of him, Trevor, and Dad. Excursion pictures. Childhood pictures of camping on Pikes Peak in their lean-to turned clubhouse. Army pictures.
Rosche cleared her throat. “It’s not bad.” Sympathy filled her voice as she swiveled the monitor toward him. “We already knew Kris was here, but I dug deeper. I synced your footage here to the same timeframe as the gas station video.”
The monitor showed the front door opening and Kris walking in. Trevor met her in the front of the building.
Riggen looked up. “There’s a chime on the door. He would have left his office to greet whoever it was.” He could feel heat creeping up his neck at the “duh” look Rosche leveled at him.
“Thanks for that detective work.” Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. “But take a look at this. Trevor disappears into the storage room and leaves Kris alone for about five minutes.” She fast-forwarded the footage. “While he’s gone, Kris sneaks into his office and reemerges mere moments before he reappears.” She stopped suddenly. “Does Trevor have a camera in here?”
Riggen looked around the small office and back at Rosche. Her green eyes were glittering. “No. There wasn’t any reason to put one in back here.”
Rosche leaned back in the chair and sent it spinning. “I think we need to revisit my original theory.”
“That he didn’t know what she was doing?”
“Yeah, it still doesn’t address the GPS problem, but watch this.” She resumed the footage and Trevor came down the hall with a box in his arms. He handed it to Kris.
Riggen pointed at the screen. “That’s a box of brochures. Our area partners distribute them in their hotels or restaurants.”
Rosche nodded then stopped the video and pointed at the digital time display in the corner of the screen. “Look at the timestamp. The timeframe for your blog comment is over.”
Relief hit Riggen like a flash flood. He knew it had to have been some type of misunderstanding.
He stood and moved to the door, fighting to regain control of his emotions and suspicions. Turning back, he leaned against the door frame. “I guess you’ll be wrapping up here.”
“Soon.” She nodded at the stack of files she’d set on the desk. “I need to put these back. No urgency in filtering through them now. I’ll lock up when I finish, then I’m heading to El Paso to talk to Malcovitch.”
He grabbed the files and stuffed them under his arm. “I’ll just add these to the ones I’m working on.”
She saluted then leaned forward, tenting her fingers over the desk. “So, you think Kris’s got some beef with your family? Some reason to be framing Trevor and going after your baby mama? Or is this just all about Sammy Malcovitch?”
At his raised eyebrow, she just smiled and shrugged.
He shook his head. “Reason? No clue. All I know is that she’s a pro at muddying the waters. First, her disappearance looks like an abduction and, second, her involvement made me doubt my own brother.”
He turned to leave. It was time to get back to Liz. “All I know for sure is that she and Sammy were made for each other.”
EIGHTEEN
Kimberly’s reassurance settled in Liz’s heart as she hit End Call. Whatever Trevor had said to the woman, it had smoothed her ruffled feathers. If Liz could either get back to the show for the closing session or make sure Emily had all under control in her absence, she still had a chance at the job.
Liz paced the small break room and lapped the coffee table for t
he twentieth time. Riggen had to take her back to Denver. If she got to the show, she could still build the life Lucas deserved. She was done with other people taking over her responsibilities.
A door slammed in the distance and she jogged through the kitchen and slid into the hallway. Riggen’s voice floated through the air alongside Lieutenant Carr’s.
She moved toward the voices and slammed into Riggen as he rounded the corner. His arms encircled her, steadying her against him. Her breath caught at his nearness. She took a swift step back and stopped in her tracks. A change had come over him. His eyes were clearer. His energy lighter.
She reached for the bag he was holding. “You look better.”
“I feel better.”
“Were you hangry?” She rummaged through the fried food while clamping down her own news. Denver hovered on the tip of her tongue.
Riggen laughed and the sound echoed off the stark walls. He placed a hand on her back and led her into the kitchen. “No.”
She plopped the rumpled bag on the counter and arranged the food in a row. “What then?”
“Rosche had an update. I stopped to check it out.”
“Oh.” She picked the French fry box from the lineup, unease and salty grease filling the air around her.
“It’s good news.” He nodded at the fry she was crushing between her fingers. “As soon as you’re ready, we can head back to Denver.”
She chomped down on the smooshed fry, her anxiety melting into the shiny grease on her fingertips. “So I still have a chance to prove I deserve this job.”
He tilted his watch. “And since we didn’t check out of our hotel, we can leave now with enough time to settle back in and prepare for tomorrow.”
She stuffed another fry into her mouth and wiped her hands on a napkin. She’d be able to give Lucas his own home soon. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
Liz was on fire. Riggen couldn’t tear his eyes from her. Adventure and excitement radiated from her, drawing people to see what American Travel was all about.
Treacherous Mountain Investigation Page 15