Lost. Helen R. Myers

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СКАЧАТЬ than a mile down the road, she turned into Pete’s driveway. Considering the hour, the number of vehicles and people that were subsequently illuminated by her headlights was as touching as it was disconcerting. She was comfortable around cops and enjoyed shooting the breeze as much as anyone, but this was overwhelming. There hadn’t been this kind of turnout of law enforcement personnel since young Doc Arnold’s ten-year-old suffered a fatal jet ski accident out on the town lake.

      She maneuvered around and between people and vehicles to turn the wrecker on the narrow driveway, since the Firebird was parked sloping toward the woods and would first have to be pulled back onto the roadway. A simple J-hook would be the least intrusive method.

      Bruce Griggs, her personal favorite aside from Jared, helped her navigate and get people out of her way. By the time she had the thing set to load, her nerves were back in control.

      She jumped down from the cab, aware of the numerous eyes on her.

      She’d already greeted a few of the guys, but had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in small talk tonight—or any consoling. As promised, Jared was watching, too, and she didn’t want to jeopardize her right to be there, or anywhere else down the road if the occasion arose.

      If it hadn’t been for the license plates and the familiar crystal star dangling from the rearview mirror, Michaele might have tried to convince herself that this vehicle wasn’t her sister’s.

      “How you holding up, Little Bit?”

      The voice spawning images of mangling gears belonged to Chester “Cuddy” Cudahy, the sheriff of Wood County. As usual the six-and-a-half-foot beef-loving, bourbon-worshipping man had an unsmoked cigar clamped between his stained teeth, and his red face was half hidden by a huge straw Stetson. Stereotypical as he looked, one glimpse of those compassionate, rheumy eyes made her own suddenly burn as though she’d rubbed them after harvesting a field of jalapeños.

      “Hey, Sheriff. Sorry you had to be called out tonight.”

      The East Texas icon, whose motto was “Keeping the department lean and the county clean,” tugged her close with a gruff gentleness for a brief hug. “Would have come regardless, once I heard this involves your kin, honey.”

      “I appreciate that.” Michaele drew a deep breath. “I’ve already asked the chief his opinion of this. Would you mind giving me yours? What do you think is going on?”

      Cuddy rolled his cigar between his tobacco-browned fingers. “Be easier to teach a three-legged dog to scratch.”

      Jared joined them. “She thinks I’m keeping something from her.”

      Michaele shot him a frustrated look. “I said no such thing. Did you tell him about the call?”

      “He knows.”

      “So she’s been kidnapped, right?” she said to Sheriff Cudahy.

      “Possibly.”

      “Well, what else could it be?”

      “We’re trying to figure that out, Mike. Unfortunately, no one left us a note.”

      His gentle chiding forced her to check her impatience. But as she made a complete circle to inspect their surroundings, the sight of the woods on either side of the driveway intensified her convictions. Even on a clear night with a full moon and the floodlights on, Michaele couldn’t get Faith to toss out a bag of trash for fear something might slither across her toes. The idea that she would willingly have come here, let alone walked away, was more than unacceptable. There was no way—not if a wild boar were snorting up her skirt.

      “She’s been kidnapped,” Michaele said. “And with every hour the kidnapper is carrying her farther away.”

      “Everyone in my department was called in as of a half-hour ago,” Cuddy replied. “Chief, you’ve called your day-shift people in, too, haven’t you?”

      “Right.”

      Cuddy gave her a “You see?” look. “I’ve also notified the Texas DPS, and all the counties around us have been called, too. Have a little confidence in us, Mike.”

      She would love to; the problem was, nothing this close to home had happened to her before. Embarrassed, she nodded to the car. “Are you ready for me to take it?”

      The two men exchanged glances, before Cuddy said, “It’s all yours…but you know the drill.”

      A vehicle brought in as evidence was to be secured until released by legal authority. That meant she had to keep it locked in the fenced yard behind the garage so that it would be out of reach of anyone and everyone, in case it needed another going over.

      “Tattooed on the brain,” she replied.

      Michaele went back to work, anxious to get out of there. The place felt…evil. It was probably her imagination; nevertheless, she couldn’t help thinking something bad had happened in or around this car. The aftermath lingered, fouled the air, and sent images of inexplicable things flashing through her mind.

      “What?”

      Startled that Jared had managed to get so close without her hearing him, she dropped the leather gloves she’d just tugged off, now that the car was secured on the bed of the wrecker. Swearing under her breath, she swept them up off the ground.

      “Michaele, something’s going on in that busy head of yours. I want to know what it is. If you’ve seen or heard something—”

      “It’s just a feeling.” She noted his blank expression. “Disappointed, huh? What did you think—I spotted something under the chassis? Maybe a message stuck there by bubble gum. Or how about the kidnapper’s wallet, complete with address and photo so you can head straight over to his house and arrest him?”

      He did what she’d done to him: he remained silent and just waited.

      “Nothing about what went on here was her idea,” she said quietly. “And what I said about kidnapping? Forget it. Anyone who knows us, knows it would break us to pay the most modest of ransoms.”

      “I’m thinking more of some kid wanting the Firebird. Maybe he dropped her off a few miles away, then lost his nerve and dumped the car, too.”

      “You mean someone connected with a chop shop?”

      “I hope not. Those folks can be rougher on the driver than on a vehicle. It’s almost graduation, Mike. You know how the kids are at this stage. They gulp a few beers, they start to get stupid.”

      “The purse I saw John take from the car—it’s hers. Can I check it? Maybe I’ll see something noteworthy.”

      “Sorry. It’s been bagged.”

      Just in case, that’s what it all boiled down to. They would even keep things from her if it suited them—just in case.

      “This is crap,” she muttered, and, slapping the gloves against her thigh, she climbed into the cab of the tow truck.

      12

      5:25 a.m.

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