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Seven years later Rachel Roberts surveyed the blacktop ahead of her with a pang of annoyance. It was an early Saturday morning and the Darby Middle School building was absolutely teasing her in the background. Between her and it stood the two reasons why she was sweating in her jeans instead of lounging in her pajamas, catching up on the backlog of television shows burning a hole in her DVR.
“Now, I know none of us want to be here, but we are and that’s that,” she started, making sure she split her narrowed stare between both boys equally. “I guess the two of you are at that age where you don’t know how ridiculous it is to call each other names in the school hallways or during class presentations, so instead of making you write long essays about compassion and being polite...”
Rachel motioned to the two buckets of chalk she’d found in the closet filled with art supplies in her classroom and the rectangle outlined in painter’s tape in the middle of the blacktop. The one she’d made right before spilling her coffee onto the grass next to it. The one she’d said a few harsh words over in the silence of the school’s empty front lawn.
Lonnie Hughes was the first to voice his concern. His scowl had only deepened since he’d hopped off his bike.
Lonnie was a thin twelve-year-old with tightly coiled black hair, dark, always-questioning eyes and a mouth more than ready to voice one of his many opinions. The latter was one of several reasons he was at the bottom of the school’s popularity totem pole. He talked too much, listened too little and had almost no filter. This, plus an ingrained aversion to authority figures, had earned him dismissive attitudes from most of the teachers. Rachel wasn’t one of them, though most of the staff had assured her that if she had more than one art class with the boy she’d think differently.
The boy standing next to him, however, was completely opposite in that respect. Teachers and students alike seemed to love Jude Carrington. Even for a seventh-grader, he had charm and was clever enough to know when to speak, what to say and how to hide all the devious things most kids that age did. His hair was a shock of red, his skin was covered in freckles, and he wore thick-framed glasses. Yet, according to Mrs. Fletcher, who had him in her homeroom, he seemed to be the leader of the seventh-grade class. Instead of being the stereotypical outcast from an ’80s movie, he was Mr. Popular. With a side of bully when it came to Lonnie.
Which was why Rachel wasn’t shocked to see the two of them there, though she was surprised their guardians had opted for Saturday detention instead of after school. Darby Middle rarely implemented what she called the Breakfast Club punishment. Yet here they all were.
“You want us to draw for detention?”
What I want to do is to find out what’s going on with Jon Snow from Game of Thrones, she wanted to say. Instead she decided to go with a more stern response.
“Unless you really do want to write a five-page essay about why you’re so sorry about what you did, I suggest you show a little enthusiasm. It wasn’t exactly easy to convince Principal Martin that doing art projects was punishments for you two.”
“It is when it’s on a Saturday,” Jude interjected.
Rachel nodded and grabbed one of the buckets.
“That’s what I told him.” She took out a thick piece of white chalk and sat in the middle of the empty rectangle. The blacktop was warm but nowhere near as hot as it would be by midday. If they didn’t get it going now, the heat would force them inside and she’d be the one coming back in the morning to finish it alone. Rachel loved her job, but she wanted at least one day off before having to go back to it.
“This is our fall-themed mural, but I was thinking we could make it more Halloween-y. Do a bigger collage of doodles like we did in class last week to help make this slab look a bit more fun. Then, after we’re done here, we’re going to go inside and cut out a few hundred leaves, pumpkins and maybe some bats from construction paper. Then we’re going to go hang them.”
Despite his constant need to charm the adults, Jude actually groaned. Lonnie kept scowling. Rachel adopted a look caught between the two.
“Unless you want me to go inside and tell Principal Martin that you actually want to write an essay explaining why you two said what you did and how you two are going to work together in the future?” She shrugged. “I could always do this later.”
For a second Rachel was afraid they would decide to go for the essays. It was fall, but in South Alabama that didn’t mean much. They’d all be sweating after a few minutes. The air-conditioning inside might be enough of a draw to sway the boys from the manual labor of arts and crafts to tackling papers. Though she hoped that wasn’t the case. Gaven, the principal, had mostly agreed to her suggested punishment activities because they were projects she had volunteered to do out of the goodness of her heart.
No sooner had she thought that than Rachel acknowledged it was a lie.
It hadn’t just been something she’d felt she needed to do to better the school or to help raise the spirits of those who attended it. No. She had needed a distraction.
One that would keep her mind away from the one place it had been traveling recently. A place she didn’t like to visit often.
“Whatever,” Lonnie finally said. Rachel breathed an internal sigh of relief as he took a seat on the bottom line of the taped-off empty mural. Jude followed suit but as far away from Lonnie as was possible while staying near the chalk.
Rachel tried to clear her head as it started to fill with sorrow. She smirked. “Glad to see we’re on the same page.”
Despite Rachel’s not wanting to be at school on a Saturday, the next half hour that went by did so with little fuss. The boys drew white, orange and red bats and spiders and skeletons with surprising skill. Rachel had seen both of their drawings before in class, but there was more precision and focus in their actions today. After Lonnie made a jab at Jude and then Jude returned that jab before Rachel could step in, she realized their new passion to do a good job on the mural was probably because they were trying to outdo each other. Meanwhile she filled the center of the blacktop with a giant spider web. It was oddly soothing.
“Why don’t we see what Principal Martin thinks about it before we start on the inside work?” Rachel said, stretching out her long limbs when they were done.
Lonnie rolled his eyes.
Jude perked up. “Can I go get him?” He was already turning in the direction of the school’s front doors. “Is he in his office?”
Rachel nodded but held up her index finger.
“Go straight there,” she warned. Jude gave her a wide smile and was off. Lonnie looked after him, scowl back in full force.
Now it was time to try to distract someone other than herself. “I think the mural looks really good, don’t you?” She pulled out her cell phone. “I’m going to take a picture. Maybe I can post it on the school’s website the week of Halloween.”
“Whatever,” Lonnie muttered. He turned on his heel. Goodness forbid he act interested. Rachel pulled up the camera app and was readying to take the picture when he spoke up again. His tone had changed. It was like night and day. Immediately she knew something was wrong.
“Who are they?”
Rachel heard the car doors shut before she turned to see a van at the front of the parking lot a few hundred yards from them. A tall, broad-shouldered man met her stare with a smile. Sandy hair, cut short, and broad, broad shoulders. She didn’t recognize him. Nor the man who had gotten out of the vehicle behind him. He wore a full set of overalls. He didn’t meet her eyes.
A cold feeling of worry began to swish around in Rachel’s stomach. It should have been the warning that sent her inside. However she held her spot, only instinctively taking a step forward so Lonnie was just behind her elbow. Whoever was driving the van didn’t get out or cut its engine. She couldn’t see the driver’s face through the tint from this distance.
“Hi there,” she called out to the man in front when it was clear he only had eyes for them. “Can I help you?”
The man, who she guessed was a few years older than her thirty-one, didn’t lessen his stride over the curb and onto the grass. He was coming straight for them, his friend at his back.
“Yes, ma’am, you can,” he answered, voice carrying through the air with ease. “I’m looking for someone.” His eyes moved to Lonnie for the briefest of moments. “Maybe you two can help me out.”
That cold in Rachel’s stomach began to expand to the rest of her. She tightened her grip on the phone. Her gut with it.
“Maybe you’d like to talk to the people inside,” she responded. Her voice had climbed to an octave that would let anyone who knew her well enough realize something was off. She was trying to tamp down the growing sense of vulnerability, even around her lie. “They’d probably know better than anyone who’s around. We’ve been outside all morning.”
The only people inside the school were Gaven and Jude, but at the moment, all Rachel wanted to do was to curb the men’s attention. Darby Middle was nestled between one of the small town’s main roads, a wide stretch of trees that hid an outlet of houses and an open field for sale that had once been used for farming. This being Saturday morning or not, there were rarely people out and about who could see the front lawn of the school. The two men continuing, unperturbed, was a reminder of just how quiet the world around them was.
Who were the men?
Why were they at a middle school on a Saturday morning?
Was she overreacting?
Sandy Hair’s smile twisted into a grin. Like she’d just told a joke that only he knew the punch line to. He kept an even pace but was getting close enough to make her stomach knot.
Something isn’t right.
The thought pulsed through her mind so quickly that it physically moved her another step over. This time cutting Lonnie off from the men’s view altogether.
“Nah,” Sandy Hair answered. “I think you will do just fine.”
In that moment Rachel knew two things.
One, something was about to happen and it wasn’t going to be good. She wasn’t a pro at reading people, but there were some nuances that were easy to pick up. The way the man in the overalls looked between her and Lonnie and then back to the building behind them. The way he tilted his body ever so slightly forward as if he was getting ready to move. The way his partner’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. The men were about to do something.
Which was how, two, she knew her gut had been right to worry. She should have listened sooner. While there was an unwritten law of Southern hospitality her parents had taught her from the moment she could walk and talk, Rachel wasn’t about to give the men the benefit of the doubt. Not any longer. She’d learned the hard way that there were bad people in the world who did bad things.
They’d taken David from her.
She wasn’t going to let another set of them take her or the child at her side.
And with a shock of adrenaline, Rachel realized that was what they were about to try to do.
There was about to be running.
There was about to be chasing.
So Rachel decided she wanted her and Lonnie to have the head start. Holding on to her cell phone like the lifeline it might become, Rachel spun on her heel and grabbed Lonnie’s hand. “Run!”
Chapter Two (#ud176ea88-1e7c-5aeb-9e2b-746adf8af128)
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?”
