Cold Case Recruit

by Jennifer Morey

Outside, they began to search the surrounding land, looking for any disturbed earth to indicate Melvin had dug a grave. Another reason why leaving wasn’t an option.

  “Let’s search in a grid.” He looked up at the gray sky, clouds sinking lower than when they’d arrived. “You take that side.” He pointed to the other side of the house.

  “Okay.” Drury hiked that way and he started a grid pattern on this side.

  By the time he met Drury in the middle, the snow had picked up in intensity. “Let’s search the woods.”

  She headed for the trees and he spaced himself far enough from her to cover more ground.

  “There’s a path.” Drury pointed ahead.

  Brycen saw the bare dirt exposed between patches of snow and went there. They followed the winding path down a slope. Only a few snowflakes filtered down through the canopy. Logs had been placed to make stairs, shoring the dirt to the next level below. At the base of the slope, the forest ended at a clearing along the shore. A boathouse and dock looked empty.

  “Does Melvin go on his fishing trips from here?” Drury asked.

  “It’s small for a commercial fishing vessel, but maybe he doesn’t fish with a large boat.” It was feasible that he docked here between fishing trips.

  “There’s a port on this island, isn’t there?” she asked.

  “Yes. I saw it when we went to town last time.”

  “Convenient access here, though,” she said.

  “Yeah. Convenient.” He stepped onto the dock. The boathouse was open on the dock side. There were no boats inside, but it was big enough to fit two, with docking running along the outer sides except, of course, where the boats could float inside from the ocean. There was nothing here that triggered any suspicion, only tools and supplies necessary for maintaining a fishing operation.

  “If Melvin has two boats, maybe Evette took one of them to escape,” Drury said.

  “They only have one vehicle. We’ll check the town port to see if she went there.”

  “Most likely she would not stay on this island.”

  If she was still alive. “Probably not.” Her family didn’t even know where she was. If she’d taken a boat, she might have had what she needed on board or stopped on another island, assuming she was still alive and had cash. She’d left all her things at the house. Brycen didn’t want to think about Evette being dead.

  Drury took more pictures and heard the sound of a boat out on the water. She looked there with Brycen.

  A man stood on deck of a moderately sized vessel, holding binoculars and looking at them. It wasn’t Melvin. He lowered his binoculars and watched them as the boat passed; then, just before he disappeared behind some trees, Brycen saw him take out a cell phone.

  “Come on.” He turned. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Do you think that was someone who knows Melvin?”

  “Hard to say.” He didn’t want her here if something went wrong like the last time they’d been here.

  “How long before we reach town?”

  “An hour.” He looked up at the falling snow. In the trees they would be better protected. He wasn’t worried about making it to town safely. He was, however, wondering who the man on the boat had called.

  Drury hiked next to him into the woods. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  So did he, but he wouldn’t alarm her.

  “Everything looks normal, but it feels abnormal,” she said. “Dangerous.”

  He squinted up at the sliver of cloudy sky he could see through the canopy and then all around them.

  “Do you feel it?” she asked.

  Just then the sound of approaching motorcycles or ATVs grew louder. Brycen stopped with Drury. He exchanged a single look with her before taking her hand and running through the trees.

  He looked back in time to see two ATVs pass along the path. The rider of the second saw them and stopped, veering into the trees. The trunks were too close, so he had to stop and get off.

  Brycen ran with Drury deeper into the woods. He’d studied the map of this area before coming here, so he had a pretty good idea of where to go. Dense forest would prevent the ATV riders from following. They’d have to chase on foot.

  As he ran, he spotted movement to their left. He tugged Drury behind a tree trunk just as a gunshot vibrated off the mountainside. He took out his pistol and aimed, seeing the man pop out his head from the cover of a tree. He fired and the man dropped.

  Searching for other movement and seeing none, he took Drury’s hand again. “Come on.”

  He ran with her through the woods, veering around trunks and glancing back. When Drury’s breathing alerted him to her exhaustion, he stopped. Turning in a circle, scanning the trees while she bent over with her hands on her knees, he saw someone duck behind a trunk.

  “Wait here. Stay behind a tree.” When she lifted her head and nodded, mouth open and drawing in deep breaths, he began his approach toward the man.

  Keeping to the left and watching for any other movement, he made his way closer to the tree where the man had taken cover. The man looked out around the trunk and then started forward, toward Drury.

  That would not do. Brycen began stalking the man, coming up behind him, quiet and ever watchful for anyone else in the area. Rushing up behind him, he hooked his arm around his neck and put his pistol to his temple. “Drop it.”

  The man dropped his gun.

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I’ll nail my own coffin if I tell you that,” the man said.

  “I’ll nail it for you if you don’t. Just like your friend.” He shoved the man, giving his shoulder a push so he faced him. With one kick, he sent the man smashing against a trunk.

  The man gaped at him, stunned with the knowledge his friend had been killed.

  “Start talking,” Brycen said.

  “Man, you might as well pull that trigger. I’m dead anyway if I tell you anything.”

  Brycen waited, unflinching.

  “What they said about you is true,” the man said. “But you can’t win this.”

  Brycen saw and heard his fear. The man wouldn’t talk. Whoever paid him must be far more dangerous than he or anyone realized. This wasn’t just a one-man operation. Whatever the stranger from the Cummingses’ house the day of the domestic violence call had to hide, it was big.

  Brycen stepped closer, a head taller than the other man, who watched warily. “I’m going to let you go.”

  The man blinked a few times.

  “But if you try to come after us again, I’ll kill you.”

  The man stared at him awhile. “I believe you.”

  Stepping aside, Brycen said, “Tell whoever sent you I’m coming for them next.”

  The man walked away from the tree and then looked over his shoulder as he started to run.

  *

  Reaching a clearing, snow pelted Drury’s face. They were probably five miles from town. By the time they reached it, they’d be frozen and caked in snow. She hadn’t dressed for a long hike in this kind of weather. Her feet were cold and she felt the chill seeping into her core.

  “We should have left with the pilot,” she said, loud enough for him to hear over the wind, which had picked up considerably since he’d scared off the ATV rider. She still didn’t like recalling how he’d capped the other one. He had no choice, of course. The man shot at them and would have killed them if he had the chance.

  “We’ll take shelter just ahead. I saw a place on the aerial photo.”

  “What place?”

  He didn’t answer, instead stopped at the top of the hill they’d been climbing. She came up beside him. Through the blowing, thick-falling snow, she saw a cabin. It had a propane tank and it didn’t look like anyone was there.

  She followed him down the hill and up the wood stairs to the front door. He tried the handle. It was locked. He looked around and found a rock after kicking through some deepening snow. Removing his jacket, he wrapped his hand in the sleeve and used the rock
to smash one of the two front windows. Then he climbed inside and opened the door.

  Drury entered the small cabin and shut the door, which didn’t do anything to warm her. Though they were out of the wind, the chill had invaded the place and came through the broken window. She curled her fingers in front of her mouth and blew warm air on them while Brycen went to a three-sided fireplace in front of the door and between a small kitchen area and living room. A low rock base that bordered the fireplace ran all the way down the living room wall, wood stacked to the ceiling there.

  She wandered into essentially a single room, on the left a rustic living room with an elk-patterned couch and recliner around a deep blue area rug and a bulky rectangular coffee table. No TV or any electronics. A painting of Mount McKinley, now renamed Denali, hung above the couch. Two kerosene lamps made charming light sources for the side tables, and some battery-operated lanterns on a shelf with several books. Beside the shelf, a back door had a window on top. Through that, snow fell at an angle with increasing wind.

  Her boots tapped the rough wood floor until she stepped onto the area rug on her way to the bookshelf. She found many prominent titles. Hemingway, Charles Dickens, Faulkner and even Machiavelli. More modern titles from popular mystery and suspense authors took up the bulk of the space, however.

  “Whoever owns this cabin must not be friends with Melvin,” she said. “They’re intellectual aliens compared to his Neanderthal ways.”

  He chuckled without pausing on the fire, which he stoked to a pretty good roar. Standing, he went to the front door as the warm fire drew her.

  “I’m going to the shed to see if I can find something to board up that window,” he said.

  “There’s a shed?” She held her cold hands toward the flames. The fireplace opened to the kitchen, as well.

  “Yes. I saw it from the top of the hill.”

  She hadn’t. She’d been too preoccupied with her cold body. She warmed herself by the fire until he returned with a board, hammer and nails. She saw him on the other side of the broken window, concentrating on his task.

  “It’s a work shed,” he said through the broken window.

  People had to be self-sufficient here, so Drury wasn’t surprised he’d found building material.

  He put the board over the hole in the window and began nailing it in place. It covered the entire window and would be more than enough to keep the chill and the weather out until the owners returned. When he finished, he came back inside, pausing before closing the door to inspect the surroundings—what he could see in the building storm.

  Seeing the snow billowing and drifting, she worried if they’d be able to get out of here tomorrow. Would they be sitting ducks for the next gunmen to come after them?

  Closing the door, Brycen set the lock and stomped snow off his boots on the thick front entry rug.

  Already the fire had chased away the chill.

  “Those ATVs arrived fast,” she said. They must have been watching the Cummingses’ house, in particular the boathouse.

  “Yes. They were prepared.”

  “Expecting us?”

  “Expecting someone to come looking, yes.”

  She removed her jacket and draped it over one of two kitchen table chairs. A cabin made for two? The table had a clunky sort of shabby chic going, with fading paint revealing previous colors it had been painted. She doubted the style had been created intentionally. This had to be the real deal.

  The kitchen itself didn’t offer much in the way of conveniences, only a gas stove and a small countertop and a few cabinets in the narrow space. This cabin must be a getaway from noise and electronics. She imagined a middle-aged couple with no kids as the owners.

  Brycen came to stand beside her. “No one is going to come after us here. Tonight or after the storm clears.”

  She looked up and over at him, amazed he’d noticed her nervousness, however subdued. “How can you be so sure?”

  He only met her look awhile before going back to the fire to add more wood.

  He’d killed one and nearly the other. Surely that one would not attempt to kill Brycen a second time. He’d fled, as he should.

  She went back into the living room. There were no interior doors. The cabin consisted of this and the kitchen area. She went to the couch and felt for a handle down low and center. Sure enough, she found one. The couch extended into a bed, and it was the only one.

  “There’s dry food in here,” Brycen said from the kitchen. “Crackers and sardines or tuna. Some chili, too. Ah. Noodles. Not much else. Cereal.”

  Dry without milk. They’d be fine for the night.

  “Bottled drinking water,” he said. “Some for cooking, too. Five-gallon jugs.”

  “Fantastic.” With the light beginning to fade, she slid open a drawer in one of the side tables. Finding only some magazines, she went to the other and found a few lighters. Removing the glass cover from the first, she turned up the wick just a bit and lit the lamp. Replacing the cover, she lit the other kerosene lamp. The cabin had a soft glow now, together with the fire.

  Hearing Brycen clanking things in the kitchen, she went to the bookshelf and chose one of the modern mysteries. Then she went to a trunk under the second window in front and opened it to find pillows and blankets.

  She took out a light blanket and went to the couch, where she curled up in a warm cocoon and opened the book. With the crackle of the fire and Brycen whipping something up for dinner, she relaxed. Might as well make the best of this.

  Alone with a man like Brycen...

  That part gave her a pleasurable tickle.

  Read.

  She tried to follow the story, but the romantic setting kept interfering, especially when he appeared with a steaming cup of tea, the string and tag hanging out.

  “It’s hot,” he said.

  She carefully took it from him, putting the book open and faceup on her lap, and set the cup on the side table.

  Catching sight of Brycen at the gas stove, only seeing his rear through the fireplace, she forgot the book and contented herself with the smell of ink, the warmth of the fire, and the man cooking dinner—something that had begun to smell rather good. He’d lit the kerosene lamp on the table, as well. While he’d done it so he could see, he’d also put plastic forks and bowls there.

  The fire began to lose its robust flame, so she left the book and blanket and fed it with more wood. Then the activity in the kitchen tempted more than the blanket and book. She brought her tea to the table and sat. He’d only used one pan to boil noodles and had washed and dried it in the removable bowls that served as a sink. Wind slapped snow against the kitchen window, a small square at the far end, all but one corner frosted.

  Brycen opened the off-the-grid oven and removed a medium-sized tin pan full of a hot casserole. More delicious aroma wafted into the cabin.

  “The homicide detective from Dark Alley can cook?” she asked.

  Lips smiling, he spooned some of the mixture into her bowl and then his.

  “Wow. The things you can do with canned food.” He’d made a tuna casserole with tuna, peas, mushrooms, noodles and an Alfredo sauce. And was that a cracker crust on top?

  She took a spoonful and blew to cool it off and then took a bite. “Delicious.”

  “Not bad.” He ate with her awhile.

  “We’ll have to leave a thank-you note.” She laughed at her quip.

  “Actually I’ll leave a business card. DAI reimburses for damage done to innocent people’s property.”

  “Really? That could get very expensive.”

  “We get donations from wealthy families and organizations for abused or missing children. Kadin works hard promoting the cause. Not for noteworthiness, to keep the business thriving.”

  The agency was truly all about avenging the innocent. Impressive. She covertly admired him for more than his heroism while she ate. And then Junior popped into her thoughts.

  She almost regretted enjoying this evening so much, when h
er son might be expecting at least a call from her. “Junior is going to think I left him.”

  He put his spoon down, having finished his meal. Now he looked at her as her revelation dawned. “I’m sorry. We should have gotten on the chopper. I should have thought more of Junior, that he might feel abandoned.”

  He’d noticed that about him? That he had abandonment issues?

  “Finding Evette is important,” she said. “What if she learned something about Melvin and the same people are now after her? She could be in hiding.”

  “Or she could be dead.”

  More likely she’d been killed. Drury’s spirit and her hope in finding the woman alive dimmed. Whoever had been at the Cummingses’ house during the domestic violence call must be very dangerous indeed and have many resources to carry out his hidden agenda. A woman like Evette would be no match against someone like that.

  With her tea cooled, she rose and found that Brycen had kept a kettle of water warm on the stove. She put a new tea bag in the cup and poured water. Then she bobbed the tea bag, still plagued with worry over Evette’s fate.

  Brycen stood, taking their plates and dumping them into a trash bag he’d set out on the floor. Then he washed his hands, glancing at her. Drying his hands, he dropped the cloth and moved closer.

  He brushed her hair back from where it fell over her shoulder. “Let’s not think about that tonight.”

  His touch sent sparks shooting all the way to her toes.

  “It’s either that or Junior,” she said, more to douse the passion stirring.

  “As soon as the storm clears, the pilot will come get us. When he lands at the Cummingses’ place, he’ll be within radio range.”

  He sure thought of everything. “That’s a relief.” She turned with her cup in both hands, leaning against the counter beside the stove.

  He put his hand on the counter, facing her.

  “For someone who doesn’t like kids, you sure seem conscientious of them,” she said.

  “It’s not that I don’t like them. You’ve accused me of that before.”

  He sounded genuinely put off.

  “Well, you never explained why you distance yourself from them. Not lately, I don’t mean that. You’ve been really great with Junior, but I sense something in you, something that pushes you away, or puts a wall up.”