CHAPTER THREE

Zane inhaled as he stepped into Nell’s little store, expecting the usual heavenly scent of her fried chicken. He frowned; all he smelled was coffee. He’d swung by to pick up dinner before he met Stevie at home, knowing their refrigerator held nothing but lunch meat and yogurt.

He strode back to the deli counter and spotted Nell running the meat slicer. The woman glanced up. “Evening, Chief. And before you ask, yes, I’m out of chicken.” Exasperation filled her voice.

“There’s been a run on your fried chicken?” Knowing he couldn’t have the meat increased his craving tenfold.

“This is the first time in Solitude’s history that I’m plumb out of chicken with no idea when I’ll have more. Occasionally I’ve sold out before I can finish cooking the next batch, but I’ve never been unable to get supplies. I’m running out of everything in the store. People have been stocking up, which is great, but I can’t replenish.” The gray-haired woman was both shocked and annoyed. “Bugs the heck out of me that I can’t feed my town.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’ll get a road open soon. The rain is supposed to let up, and it looks like Thanksgiving might be dry.”

She sniffed. “It’ll be dry of turkey too unless folks bought one last week.” Nell scanned her store and then leaned over the counter, lowering her voice. “Is it true those FBI agents didn’t make it out of town?”

I should be surprised she knows, but I’m not.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I saw the tow truck go by. Those tarps covering the vehicle were blowing in the wind. I saw the black paint and a flash of a shattered windshield. Then I saw it back into that building you use to store stuff. What happened?”

Shit.

“Did you tell anyone else what you saw?”

“Come on, Chief. You know me better than that by now.” At his look of disbelief, she amended her statement. “I know when to keep my mouth shut. I only gab about the harmless stuff.”

Zane weighed his options. “Can I trust you to keep this quiet?”

She nodded emphatically.

“The agents were shot and killed. Liam Pierce and his uncle have gone missing.”

Her mouth rounded into an O.

He’d never seen Nell speechless before.

“I figured they’d had a car accident. Didn’t know they were dead.”

“Keep it to yourself.”

“Who shot them?” she whispered, her pale eyes wide and worried.

“We’re trying to figure that out. Have you seen any new faces in town recently?”

She tapped a finger against her lips as she thought. “Mostly locals have been in since the storm started. There’s been a few strangers here and there, but their looks don’t stick in my head. Nothing stood out about them, I guess.” She frowned. “Except the woman from a few hours ago. Her I remember. Never seen her before, but I assume you’re looking for a man?”

“We assume nothing. What was she like?”

“She was city. Tall, blonde, and nosy.”

“Sounds like one of Miss Penny’s lodgers.”

Nell’s head bobbed up and down. “She said she was staying there. She wanted to know if I had any premade kale salads. I heard people were eating that green stuff. I’ve used it to line my cold cases for decor—never dreamed of eating it. She wasn’t happy that the only salads I had left were potato and macaroni.” Her face lit up as she chuckled. “Then she asked if I really served deep-fried owls. Took me a minute to realize she was looking at my old sign.”

Zane estimated the I LIKE MY SPOTTED OWL DEEP FRIED political sign above the deli was nearly forty years old. He grinned. “What’d you tell her?”

“Told her I was out of owls too. The look on her face made my day. She wanted to know if any elk hunters had come in recently.”

That caught Zane’s attention. “That seems random.”

“That’s what I thought. I told her not for a few days. The only ones I’ve seen recently were those two boys who got away from Kenny. Before they were hauled into jail, they were in here every day for beer.”

The Dodge brothers.

“You think those were the ones she meant?”

“I told her that I’d seen two dark-haired brothers who claimed to be hunting in the area. I didn’t tell her they’d been arrested or that the police were still looking for them, but I got the impression those were the men she was asking about.”

Zane didn’t know what to think. Why would a woman like Dawn Hazelwood be interested in those idiots?

“Then there’s that new shrink. He’s still a new face to me. Seems like a nice enough guy. I heard he specializes in kids.”

“Dean Mercer.”

“That’s the one. Like I told Patsy . . . He is fiiiine-lookin’.”

Zane decided not to comment on the psychiatrist’s looks. “Let me know if you see anyone else that feels out of place. And keep an eye out for the boy. I’ll send you a picture of the uncle when I get a minute.”

“Will do, Chief.”

###

That evening, Zane realized he and Stevie were the image of domestic bliss.

Stevie stirred the spaghetti sauce on the stovetop in their cozy home. Zane sat in his easy chair with Magic snoring at his feet, admiring the backside of his wife. It was a scene out of every 1960s TV show.

Except for the heavy cloud of unease that filled the room. Neither of them could get Liam or the FBI agents out of their minds. The results of the agents’ executions were permanently burned into Zane’s brain. Blood. Gray matter.

A lost yellow coat.

“I told you I lined up a phone call with Terry Reece from the county jail tomorrow morning, right?” asked Zane.

Stevie glanced over her shoulder at him, a concerned look on her face. “You’ve told me twice.”

“I thought so.” Zane felt like he was surrounded by a dense fog. He’d been running on autopilot since the search had not ended well. His mind was tired from thinking about Liam.

Is he cold tonight?

“Did I tell you that Nell talked to Dawn Hazelwood?” he asked.

“No.”

He shared that Dawn had asked about the Dodge brothers.

“Is Nell positive that was who Dawn meant?” Stevie was as skeptical as Zane had been. No one would put those two parties together.

“I’d say she was eighty percent certain.”

Stevie went back to her sauce. “That’s not good enough.” She opened the oven to check on the garlic bread, and the delectable scent made its way to Zane. Magic lifted her head and sniffed. At the moment, Zane was glad Nell had been out of fried chicken.

Ten minutes later, dinner was on the table along with a bottle of wine. Zane poured two glasses and kissed his wife. “I love you.”

At her smile, his heart did a little skip and then a double beat.

“I love you too.” Her warm gaze echoed her words. She dished up her plate, and Zane noticed her portion seemed very small. He did his plate and took another sip of wine, staring at his serving of pasta and sauce. Stevie poked at hers with her fork, set her fork down, and took a bite of garlic bread. She grabbed her wine and then set it aside without tasting it.

“Not hungry?” he asked.

“No. I keep thinking about this morning.”

“Same here.” He pushed away his plate. “I thought I was starving.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“I’ve seen dead children,” Zane slowly admitted. “I don’t care to see another. And I’m afraid that’s what we’re going to find.”

“Not if his father took him.”

“But why leave the coat at the river? That was a complicated ploy if it was meant to throw us off their trail. And would Marcus go along with Wade?”

“Like you said earlier. If Wade had offered him a portion of the ten million, he might.”

I hope Liam is with his father.

“Where could they be?” Zane mused, determined to believe that the boy still lived. “There are dozens of small hunting cabins around. Practically every house with an acre or more has several outbuildings. We’ll never find them.”

“What if Marcus is the shooter?” Stevie pointed out.

“Same problem.”

“Are you going to eat?” she asked.

“I’ll put it away for tomorrow.”

They did a quick cleanup. “Did you get a chance to look into Defendicon?” Stevie asked as she put the last container in the fridge.

“No. The rest of my day was spent delivering sandbags. Let’s take a look now.”

They sat together at the desktop, and Stevie pulled up the company’s web page. “Looks like their primary product is body armor.”

Zane watched as she quickly searched the website. “It doesn’t say a word about the owner.” She typed Dawn’s name and Defendicon into the browser search bar.

“Bingo!”

She scrolled. The search had returned several magazine articles, fundraising galas, and political events. She switched to images and found Dawn smiling in several event photos, posing with other well-dressed attendees. “She wasn’t exaggerating. Each article says she’s the owner.”

“Why is she in Solitude?”

“You got me.” Stevie stopped on a photo and enlarged it. “Isn’t that Terry Reece?”

According to the banner in the background, the six people in the photo were attending a weapons trade show. Both Dawn and Terry were in the photo but stood three people apart. “I guess that answers our question of whether or not they know each other,” said Zane.

“Not necessarily,” argued Stevie. “I’ve been grouped with a bunch of cops for a picture at public events before. Doesn’t mean I know them.”

“Good point.”

Stevie scanned through more random photos from Google and halted, catching her breath. She leaned closer to the screen.

“What is it?” Zane asked.

“Do you know him?” she pointed at a photo of Dawn and several other men in suits, tapping her finger on one man with salt-and-pepper hair.

“No.”

“I shared stew with him at my mother’s house today. That’s Dean Mercer, the child psychiatrist who saw Liam.”

Zane took the mouse and checked the source of the image. “It’s a fundraiser for a psychiatric children’s wing at a hospital.” His fingers grew icy. “I guess that’s reasonable . . . clearly she donates a lot of money, and he probably worked there.”

“I don’t like it.” Stevie was shaking her head emphatically. “This isn’t right.” She typed their names together in the Google search bar. No results returned. Not even the photo came up again because it wasn’t captioned at its source.

Her shoulders slumped. “Is it nothing or something?”

Zane drew her away from the computer, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close until he felt her relax. “My gut says it’s nothing, but it’s late. I’m ordering both of us not to think about it anymore tonight. We’ll start fresh tomorrow.”

She leaned her temple against his cheek. “Then you need to distract me.” Her lips touched his neck.

“Gladly.”

###

Zane sat upright in bed, shaking and sweating.

I didn’t get to him in time.

“Zane?” Stevie’s voice was full of sleep. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” He sucked in a shuddering breath.

She touched his side in a caress and jerked her hand back. “You’re soaking wet.” Sitting up, she asked, “Are you sick?” He felt her cool hand against his forehead.

“No.” He focused on slowing his heart rate. It wasn’t real.

But it was.

“It was that other child drowning case, wasn’t it?”

He’d married a sharp woman. Earlier in the day, he’d told her about finding the other boy in the river, how he’d been there when they’d pulled him out, and how it’d made him doubt his career choice. “I’d hoped so hard he would be found alive,” he told her.

And now he hoped to find another child alive.

Back then, Bill Taylor had helped him work through the emotional trauma.

In the dark, he could just make out the pale shape of Stevie’s face. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes, he knew they were full of concern.

This time Bill’s daughter would be there for him.