Читать книгу The Negotiation - Tyler Anne Snell - Страница 12

Chapter Two

Dane Jones, for once, wasn’t in the office. Instead he was at the park, sitting on a bench with Chance Montgomery, trying to convince the man that there wasn’t a conspiracy about to swallow Riker County whole.

“It’s been a helluva year—I’ll be the first to admit that,” Dane said. “But it sure does feel like you’re looking for trouble that’s not there. And we surely don’t need any more trouble here.”

Chance, formerly a private investigator from around Huntsville, Alabama, was what Dane liked to call a pot-stirrer, among other things. He was a good man and had been a good friend over the years, but he had the nasty habit of not just getting antsy when he was bored but turning into somewhat of a lone ranger detective when the mood struck him. It occasionally reminded Dane how different he was from the man.

Dane was contemplative. The kind of man who worked well in the quiet. Chance was brash. He spoke up, out, and didn’t think twice about the feathers he ruffled, especially when he was between jobs as he was now.

“I’m telling you, Dane, something isn’t adding up around here,” he implored. “Last week three warehouses were unloaded in Birmingham. All weird stuff, too. Radio equipment, dog crates and enough bubble wrap to wrap an eighteen-wheeler were stolen at the same time.”

“I’m not saying that isn’t strange,” Dane admitted. “I just don’t see why you’ve come to me with the information. We’re several hours away from Birmingham. I can’t see how I could help from here. Or why it would fall into my purview at all.”

Chance took off his cowboy hat and put it on his knee. He came from a long line of Alabama cowboys. They didn’t just wear the hats or have the accents, they had the attitude of an old Western movie lead. Dane wouldn’t even be surprised if Chance practiced drawing his pistols back at his family farmland outside the county. The same land Chance retreated to when he had nothing else to do. Or, again, got bored. Like he must have been now if he was looking into thefts of mass amounts of bubble wrap.

“I’m telling you because one of the vans spotted loading up the crates had a plate that traced back to a deceased Bates Hill resident.”

That caught Dane’s attention. Bates Hill was the smallest town in Riker County, which put it square in the sheriff’s department jurisdiction. It also made Chance’s insistence that they meet make more sense. Still, he wasn’t about to jump to any conclusions.

“Who did it trace back to?”

Chance dug into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it over but read the name out loud.

“Tracy Markinson,” he said. “Ring a bell?”

Dane felt like he’d jammed both feet in a bucket of ice water. His mind skidded to a halt and instead of staying in the present where it was needed, it did one hell of a job throwing itself backward.

“Rings a loud one.” Dane looked at the paper but only saw the face of a man he’d never forget. “Tracy Markinson’s been dead for almost a decade,” he said. “Definitely not stealing bubble wrap in Birmingham.”

Chance slid his finger around the brim of his hat and then thumped it once. “Which is why I thought I needed to take a drive out to see you.” He cast Dane a knowing look. “And why I thought talking in private might be the best move. I didn’t want to waltz into the department and just throw this at you. Thought doing it here, in the fresh air, might be better. Plus, you know how much I hate offices.”

Dane didn’t speak for a moment. He was seeing ghosts. Ghosts of his past. Ghosts he’d created. And where there were ghosts, there was her.

He didn’t say it, but Dane was glad Chance had told him outside the department. He prided himself on being surefooted when it came to his job. Right now? Right now he felt like he was treading air.

“How exactly did it trace back to him?” he finally asked. Even to his ears his voice had gone low, nearing a whisper. “You said license plate?”

“Yes, sir. It was attached to a burgundy van that left the warehouse with the dog crates. Tracy was the last person who legally owned it, but past that, I’m not sure on any more details. Once I saw the name, I thought I’d come talk to you first.”

Dane’s gears were still moving slow. Like a cup of molasses had been poured over them. He’d worked a lot of cases since Tracy was killed. Ones that had made his blood boil. Ones that had kept him up at night. Ones that had shaken the entire sheriff’s department and county to their cores. Yet what had happened to Tracy? That was a case that had changed Dane’s entire life in the blink of an eye.

An eye that might be looking at him now.

“After Tracy died, his things were given to the family he had left and then the rest were donated, if I’m not mistaken. Birmingham might be far for some, but it’s definitely within driving distance. Not hard to get his van up there. It could be just a coincidence that it happened to be his old one,” Dane pointed out.

Chance picked his cowboy hat off his leg and put it on. He looked out at the small park and the autumn leaves that had started to fall. The scene contrasted with the heat that hadn’t yet left South Alabama.

“It could be,” he admitted. “Coincidence, maybe. Bad luck, maybe that, too. But my gut says it’s not, and I aim to find out why it’s telling me that.” Chance stood. “I’ll be at the hotel on Cherry for a few days, looking into some things. You’ve got my number. Don’t hesitate to call it. I’ll do the same if I find anything. Unless you want me to keep this one out of your hair?”

Dane shook his head.

“If there is a loop, keep me in it if you don’t mind,” Dane said. “And, Chance? Thanks for reaching out.”

The cowboy gave a small nod and walked over the fallen leaves to his truck in the parking lot. Dane watched as he drove away. Riker County was nothing short of surprising, no matter the season. It might only house one large city, but the trouble that found its way into its borders never ceased to amaze Dane. If it wasn’t a new criminal organization trying to take over, it was kidnapped children, manhunts and enough gunshots traded between the bad guys and their department to last him a few lifetimes.

Dane left the bench in an attempt to exit his current road of thought.

Even before the recent uptick in chaos around his home, there had been only one night that had burned its way into his soul.

The night he’d made a decision.

The wrong one.

Dane hopped into his truck and pointed it toward the department in the heart of Carpenter, Alabama. He had too much on his plate to fight with his past again. Now wasn’t the time.

He turned the volume up on the radio, let a crooning song croon, and was about to write off Chance’s gut when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

“I need a vacation,” he told the cab of his truck, fishing out the ringing phone. “One where I just don’t answer this blasted phone.” Hell, he’d needed one for years now. No time like the present, right?

Dane didn’t recognize the number but unlocked his phone all the same. As the captain of the Investigative Bureau at the Riker County’s Sheriff’s Department, he had to be always ready for the unknown. Not to ignore it just because it was easy. Life wasn’t easy. There was no reason to suspect work would be, either.

He turned down the radio and cleared his throat. “Captain Jones, here.”

“Dane!” The sound of a bad connection was almost as loud as the woman’s scream. On reflex he held the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Dane! There are men at the school trying to take us!”

All at once Dane’s body and mind synced. No sighing. No thoughts of vacations. No molasses on the gears.

That wasn’t just any woman.

It was the widow he’d helped make seven years ago.

“Rachel?”

“There are three of them! One in a van and two—two are chasing us!”

A shout sounded in the background. Dane tightened his hold on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. The rustling noise wasn’t a bad connection. It was movement. It was running.

“Rachel, where are you?”

There was more rustling and the sound of something slamming shut before she answered.

“We’re in—we’re inside Darby Middle,” she said, out of breath. “Only four of us here when they—when they showed up.”

Dane cut the wheel hard, turning in the opposite direction. Another shout sounded in the background.

This time the shout was closer.

“We gotta hide,” came a small voice, much closer to the phone. A student at school on a Saturday? Rachel didn’t get a chance to respond before someone else was yelling.

“Rach—” Dane started. She cut him off.

“Dane, there’re children here,” she stressed. Something made a scrapping noise.

The fear in her voice was unmistakably true and poignant. It stirred something inside Dane’s chest he didn’t have time to investigate.

“Dane, please hurry!”

Dane pressed his gas pedal to the floor. Any more force and it felt like it would have gone through the floorboard.

“I’m coming,” he promised, voice rising to show he meant it. “Just stay on the—”

A series of crashes cut him off again. There was another wave of rustling. This time it sounded violent.

On cue Rachel cried out.

“Rachel,” Dane yelled into the receiver.

“Ms. Roberts!”

“Run, Lonnie,” she yelled in response. But it wasn’t to him. Instead Dane felt like he was under water, unable to break the surface to get to her.

“Run!”

Dane heard a new voice. It belonged to a man. An angry one at that.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he yelled.

Dane held the phone away from his ear again as a loud crash reverberated out of it. “Rachel!”

But it was too late. The call dropped.

And then Dane was left alone with nothing but silence.

* * *

THE FINGERS THAT threaded into her long hair were angry. They wasted little time in pulling her backward in one violent motion. The change in Rachel’s momentum was jarring. She yelled out as she fell into the man in overalls, feet coming out from under her.

There was a moment of pause when her terrified mind let her know that she could give up right then. It would be easier to let the men take her, especially since one had her by the hair. Like trying to hold your breath under water as long as you could but having to surface and breathe in air when you couldn’t stay down any longer.

“Rachel!”

Dane’s voice coming through her dropped phone was small compared to that of the man at her back, but it heralded in her good sense. She wasn’t going to let terror seize her body; she wasn’t going to let the men, either. With both hands, she did something David had once showed her. Cupping both hands, she threw them up and behind her with all the force she could muster at this awkward angle. Her head burned where he was pulling her hair, but her hands slapped over the man’s ears with surprising precision.

He howled in response. The pain at her roots lessened as he let go.

However he wasn’t the only man in the room. No sooner had she scrambled to her feet than the sandy-haired man lunged at her. Rachel didn’t have time to ready to fend him off. Luckily she didn’t have to. A large-bristled broom swung so close to her head she felt the wind off it seconds before it connected with her attacker’s face. Instead of swinging it around again, the broom’s wielder used it like a batting ram, charging forward enough that it sent the surprised man on his backside.

Lonnie let get of the handle when she was clear. Rachel didn’t have time to thank the boy for saving her. The men behind her were a tangle of limbs but neither was hurt enough to be down for too long. She and Lonnie had to get away.

She grabbed his hand again and ran toward the second doorway leading out of the classroom. While she was seeking safety, Rachel had run in the opposite direction of the front office. She didn’t know where Jude was and didn’t want to chance having him walk out in the middle of the men.

“You bitch,” one of the men yelled from the other room. The sound of desks overturning followed. Rachel tightened her grip on Lonnie’s arm and skidded around the hallway corner. They’d been lucky that the study hall room had been open. The rest of the classrooms were not. If she’d needed any open for decorating, she was supposed to go to Gaven to unlock them.

Now?

Now she was doing the fastest recall she’d ever attempted, trying to remember which doors might be open while adrenaline had her heart thumping a mile a minute, trying to drill itself out of her chest.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway they’d just left.

Rachel didn’t want to admit it, but they were running out of time and out of distance.

She just hoped they weren’t also running out of luck.