Appalachian Prey. Debbie Herbert

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       Chapter Four

      Harlan considered himself lucky. Today would be so busy that thoughts of Lilah would be temporarily relegated to the back burner. Last night had been a tough and fitful sleep—was the baby his or not and why should he care?—but after numerous cups of coffee, he now had enough stamina to get through the day’s scheduled raid.

      He and five other officers surrounded the abandoned older home. Kudzu crept over the windows like a living, breathing veil. So convenient for anyone hiding illegal drugs. One would expect to see broken windows and doors in a vacated building, but for all its age and the superficial facade of neglect, the front door was bolted shut with a steel chain and padlock and it lacked signs of forced entry anywhere.

      Not only that but also dozens of large footsteps had tamped down the overgrown grass and weeds surrounding the house. They’d been there when he and the team had arrived.

      He had a good feeling about this one.

      Remote homes sprinkled Appalachia, but this place on top of Booze Mountain took the cake. It had taken them a good half an hour of driving up increasingly narrow and bumpy dirt roads to get here.

      Sammy Armstrong sidled over and gave him a broad wink. “How’s your girlfriend doing?”

      Harlan gritted his teeth. If it had been someone other than his old childhood friend teasing him, he would have busted his chops. “Fine,” he spat, not inviting further conversation.

      Sammy nudged him. “Lilah’s more than fine. A real looker. A man could do worse.”

      J.D. pulled into the lot and exited the cruiser, patting his uniform shirt pocket. “I got the subpoena. Let’s do this.”

      Alvin Lee, a fellow officer, marched up the sagging porch steps with a pair of giant bolt cutters.

      Harlan idly swatted at a skeeter that buzzed near his ear and swiped his arm across his sweaty forehead. The heat was brutal, even up here in the mountains.

      The chain crashed onto the wooden porch with a clatter nearly as loud as a shotgun blast. Alvin kicked in the door, and Harlan followed him inside the abandoned home.

      The stench of stale food pervaded—a toxic mixture of fried bologna and venison. In the center of the main room, the scratched surface of a long table was littered with boxes, string and packing tape. It looked like an assembly line set up. Easy to guess the sort of merchandise packaged here.

      He glanced around the mostly ruined interior, and his spirits sank. It looked deserted. Not even a single marijuana plant in sight. So much for his intuition.

      Three other officers entered via the back door, and J.D. strolled into the room, thumbs tucked into his belt. “Find any drugs?” he asked hopefully.

      Harlan swiped a finger on the fine layer of white powder on the table. Much too white for mere dust. “Probably cocaine residue,” he answered, brushing off the powder on his pant legs. “Afraid that’s going to be the extent of our find.”

      “Damn it. Not again.” J.D. stalked off to the adjacent kitchen. “Comb the area for leftover receipts, matches—anything left behind that might give us some clue who’s been here.”

      Sammy slammed his fist into his open palm. “What is this? Almost a half dozen raids now in the last year? They’re always a step ahead of us.” He huffed in frustration. “It’s like they know we’re coming.”

      Dread settled in Harlan’s gut as he assimilated the words. He didn’t want to believe it. They were a small team, and he’d grown up with most of them on the mountain. They were his friends, his colleagues, the people he trusted in dangerous situations.

      But the lure of easy money could mess with a person’s mind. He’d seen it before. A younger officer, Caleb, had fallen into that trap last year. First, it was turning a blind eye on minor offenses like illegal poker games. СКАЧАТЬ