American Lease (A Dylan Cold Novel Book 1)

by McAdams, K. D.

  He thought about bringing Montana but decided against it. The old dog had gotten plenty of exercise lately and would probably be happier on the couch.

  The walk from his apartment to the orchard was quick the sun was sinking in the sky the temperature was starting to drop. It would be a great night for sleeping, and he was glad that he was earning the rest.

  There was no tractor in the orchard yet, so he picked a perfectly ripe apple and walked the rows munching and thinking about not much at all. When Abbey finally arrived, he was completely relaxed.

  “Do you wanna hop in? We can talk while I spray,” she called from the cab of the large tractor.

  Dylan climbed up and squeezed himself into a space opposite the door.

  “I used to sit there when my dad was spraying. It’s a little awkward at first but it’ll be comfortable soon.” She smiled warmly.

  Dylan doubted that it would ever feel comfortable. “Were you six-two and two hundred pounds when you sat here?”

  The tractor started rolling slowly. Abbey threw a switch and turned a knob. A loud roar, like a jet engine, rose behind them. It was muffled in the cab, but now he understood why the phone would have been difficult.

  “Did the kidnapper have a thick stack of papers or was it a thin file folder?” Abbey asked.

  “A thick stack and a file folder. You probably could have found that out from the police. How does the size of the stack make a difference?” Dylan was suddenly a little suspicious.

  “Maybe, but I wanted the information direct from the source. There used to be a saying that a prize this big wouldn’t be found with a handful of clues, it would take an armful. My grandfather always said the armful existed if people knew where to look. If all the papers were about the Lease, he may have found the hidden cache.” Abbey was trying to explain and not be too excited.

  “So your grandfather believed in the lease?” Dylan probed.

  Abbey did not answer immediately.

  “There’s never been any doubt that the lease existed. The doubt is around finding it, or any of the clues leading to it, intact,” she said in forced, measured tone.

  “Did your grandfather ever say anything about a medallion?”

  The tractor stopped abruptly and Dylan slammed forward into the windshield.

  “Owww!” he called out.

  “What about a medallion?” Abbey commanded.

  Dylan reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin-shaped object. Without a word, he handed it to Abbey and watched her face for some sign of acknowledgement.

  After studying the silver piece carefully, she looked at him. “Where did you get this?”

  “It was actually in a bunch of change I had. I tried to put it in a meter downtown.” He smiled.

  “And before that, where was it?”

  “I’m not sure but I think I figured it out. After I was kidnapped, I stopped at a gas station to call 9-1-1. Since I didn’t bring my wallet or my phone to walk the dog, and I hadn’t eaten anything in hours, I picked up some loose change from around the car. The guy wouldn’t let me buy anything, though; he closed the shop as soon as I hung up the phone. When they released me from jail, they gave me the change back as personal effects.” Dylan explained.

  “So the guy who killed Steven had the medallion and a thick stack of papers,” Abbey repeated. Her gaze drifted off.

  “They’re close, aren’t they?” Dylan could feel the excitement building.

  “If we could get a look at that stack of papers, we would be close.” Abbey smiled widely and put the tractor back in drive.

  “The police should have the stack as evidence. I don’t know if they would keep that locally or at the state level, but maybe you could ask one of your friends on the force?”

  “I have to get this orchard sprayed, but as soon as I get back to the barn, I’ll call Kevin and see if he can help us out.” She squeezed the medallion tightly.

  They rolled down the aisle of the orchard in silence. Dylan didn’t really want to get out of the tractor, but wondered if she would stop at the center road. She turned the wheel and started the next row, humming softly, and Dylan wasn’t sure she even remembered he was there.

  “So is Jim your boyfriend or something?” he asked and regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth.

  “Something.” She shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

  “Your friends aren’t exactly big fans of mine. We may not want to ride around for too long if we don’t have to.”

  “They’re more bark than bite. Plus I’m all grown up, I can hang out with whoever I want,” she sniped back with more attitude than Dylan was expecting.

  She set her jaw and turned left down the center aisle of the orchard. The tractor continued straight to the main road, where it turned left again. They rolled past Dylan’s apartment and kept going.

  The tractor wasn’t fast but it was faster than felt safe to jump from. Plus, Dylan thought, why jump? There was no real danger.

  “Not to be picky or anything, but where are we going?” he finally asked as they neared the center of town.

  “The police station. If they have the stack of papers and we have the medallion, I can’t be riding around in a tractor. This is the break I spent years looking for. Even if it was National Geographic we were racing against, I wouldn’t let them win.”

  Dylan smiled at the 'we' comment. She hadn’t given him the medallion back and never asked if it was okay to keep it. Abbey was cool and he liked that she was self-confident and took charge of what she wanted. This was turning out to be a fun ride.

  Chapter 26

  “Hey Betty, is Kevin around?” Abbey asked the woman at the dispatcher’s desk.

  “Hi Abbey. I don’t think Kevin has gone out yet. Hold on one second.” Betty rose from her desk and disappeared through a door.

  Dylan bounced from foot to foot. He was not terribly comfortable in the presence of police. Furthermore, he was nervous that even though he had been cleared of wrongdoing in Officer Farley’s death, the men who were his friends could still hold a grudge.

  “Come on through, Ab.” The woman held the door open and smiled warmly.

  Abbey led the way like she had been here before. There was only one person in the room and he was sitting at one of the several desks that were arranged in pairs. A small sign that read “Officer Glover” was on top of the desk, the officer talking on the phone. Abbey sat on the edge of the desk facing the policeman and Dylan pulled a chair over to the side of the desk and sat.

  “No mom, stop. I told you we’d get it done before the first snowfall.” He paused and listened. “Well, I have work to do. You know being a cop is a real job.” More listening. “Okay, love you, too. See you tonight.”

  “Hey Kev,” Abbey said before the phone was even in its cradle.

  “Hi Abbey. Is this official? I need to get out on patrol.” Officer Glover was quick but not rude.

  “Yeah, I would call it official. This is Dylan… Dylan. I know you know who he is, but I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced. He was the poor guy kidnapped after, well, you know. Anyway, he was telling me about a stack of papers on the front seat of the kidnapper’s car. I think they’re related to the American Lease, and I was wondering if I could take a look at them?” She seemed hopeful.

  “Unreal. A good guy gets killed and everyone thinks some stupid stack of papers is going to find the murderer,” Officer Glover said. “The state police went through them and said they were nothing of value.” The young cop set his jaw firmly.

  “Who else has come in to look at the papers?” Dylan asked curiously.

  “It’s not just coming in to look, it’s coming in to ask about them. We’ve had two different people claim that someone in a car that fits the description of the killer stole something from them. They were just hoping to get to look through the evidence to see if their stuff was in the pile.” Officer Glover emphasized the word “killer” while glaring at Dylan.

  “Di
d you show them anything?” Abbey asked.

  “No. The only person we’ve let see the evidence is the guy from the FBI and he’s back there again right now,” he answered.

  “Do you know why the FBI is involved? I thought the State Police would be responsible for the investigation.” Abbey looked at her friend a little sideways.

  “I guess it’s because there was a kidnapping involved and it crossed state lines.” Officer Glover shrugged his shoulders.

  “Do you have paperwork from them claiming jurisdiction?” Abbey probed.

  “Above my pay grade, Ab. I’ll take you back there to meet him now if you want. But seriously, after that, I have to get out on patrol.” The officer stood from his chair and turned toward the back of the room.

  The three walked casually from the open space full of desks to a short hallway with four doors. They stopped at an open door on the right side. There was an older man sitting behind the desk doing paperwork.

  “Chief, you know Abbey Holt, right? She and Mr. Cold stopped in to ask about the stack of papers pulled as evidence from the shooter’s car. I figured they could talk to the FBI guy while he was here and answer any questions he might still have.” Officer Glover hadn’t discussed this with them beforehand, but it seemed rude to interrupt an officer.

  “FBI guy is here again?” the chief asked with a contorted face.

  “Yeah, said they had a new lead and he needed to go through the documents again.” Kevin was growing less sure of his actions with each sentence.

  “Did he say why the digital copies weren’t good enough? I thought the FBI had forensics experts to look over this sort of stuff?” The chief shook his head and pushed further back from his desk.

  “Is the FBI supposed to present you with a document or any proof that they have jurisdiction over a case?” Dylan asked.

  “Son, I went through your file. I know your legal experience was not gained in a classroom. Just leave jurisdiction and procedural details to us. We know what we’re doing.” The chief looked a little miffed.

  “Well, the way he’s been watching my house, and the fact that his name is Agent John Smith, just made me think that I should pay a little more attention to the details of his involvement.” Dylan lied about the first name, but he had a hunch.

  “His first name is really John?” Officer Glover asked with a smirk.

  A flash of recognition shot across the chief’s eyes. His cheeks flushed slightly and he pulled himself back in toward the desk.

  “So check his badge if you’re worried about who he is. I have work to do; enjoy your Scooby Doo game.” The chief dismissed them with a wave of his hand, lowered his glasses and returning to the paperwork.

  Officer Glover opened the door to the conference room where Agent Smith was reviewing the stack of papers. Dylan followed closely, hoping to catch a glimpse of a nervous reaction to being caught at something. Even though he was prepared for it, what Dylan saw surprised him.

  Agent Smith was stuffing the stack of papers into a leather messenger bag. He looked up to see Officer Glover walk through the door. Without missing a beat, Smith lowered his head and charged toward the room’s only exit.

  “Hey!” the policeman exclaimed.

  His verbal response was not enough to stop the moving man. Agent Smith—though it was looking less likely that he was actually an agent—slammed his shoulder into the cop’s chest and drove him backwards.

  Officer Glover was driven into Dylan, who was able to partially turn and push Abbey back down the hallway before all three fell to the ground. Smith planted his foot on the blue uniformed chest lying in the doorway and hopped over Dylan, who watched from the floor.

  “Stop!” Abbey yelled, to no effect.

  The man with the bag of evidence raced down the hall and slammed his body into the fire door at the end. Alarms sounded and the door flew open. He was outside and ran without ever looking back.

  Officer Glover struggled to get to his feet. His first hand plant found Dylan’s crotch and resulted in an audible expression of pain. The second time he looked for firm ground to push off, he instead landed on Abbey’s knee. The three interlopers separated themselves and got to their feet one at a time, Abbey rising first.

  “Don’t just stand here. GO GET HIM!” The chief was in the hallway barking orders at Officer Glover, the only officer in the building.

  “On it, Chief!” Glover replied and raced down the hall.

  Abbey and Dylan gave chase, too. They were not invited, but it felt like the right thing to do.

  Out in the parking lot, the trio slowed to a walk. There were no cars moving or any engines running. Smith had completely disappeared.

  Officer Glover spun around once and then started methodically inspecting the cars in the lot. Not running could be the most clever escape plan ever.

  Dylan had already moved his search past the police station’s parking lot. Agent Smith had driven by his house at least twice and followed him once. His car would be easy to spot: big, black and official-looking.

  “What the hell?” Abbey wondered aloud.

  “There!” Dylan shouted and pointed.

  In the parking lot of a small grocery store, the man calling himself Agent Smith was just approaching a black Ford Crown Victoria. Dylan didn’t wait for the others; he took off at a full sprint. He was at the top of a small, grassy hill between the two lots when the engine started.

  Behind him, Officer Glover and Abbey ran toward a patrol car. Dylan would undoubtedly get to the imposter first, but he was going to need significant backup in a hurry.

  When he was three-quarters of the way to the semi-official vehicle, the wheels spun and squealed as it slowly moved in reverse. The rubber found traction and suddenly the car rocketed backward out of its space.

  Dylan had to slow his pace abruptly when the car he was chasing reversed roles and sped toward him instead of away. He jumped to avoid being hit by the bumper and landed with a thud on the lid of the trunk before rolling up onto the rear window.

  A gunshot rang out and the rear window exploded around him. Before he could grab hold of anything, the car stopped with a screech and then shot forward. Dylan rolled off the trunk and crashed to the ground.

  He was sore all over and there was the burning sensation of a scrape on his elbow and another on his hip. Dylan slowly rolled to his stomach and moved a knee up under his body. Placing his palms on the ground, he pushed himself up just in time to see the patrol car roar onto the entry road of the grocery store.

  With sirens blaring and lights whirling, Officer Glover brought the car to a halt diagonally across the exit from the plaza. Before he exited the vehicle, more shots rang out. The front window of the police car exploded, followed by a headlight and then the hissing from a punctured tire. The black Crown Victoria continued to accelerate up the drive.

  The right two tires of the fleeing vehicle jumped the curb and went up onto the sidewalk with a squeal. Fake Agent Smith scraped his door on the disabled patrol car and sped directly out into traffic. He headed west toward Milton Park—and away from the bustle of Nashua.

  Dylan carefully rose to his feet. He bounced slightly on each leg to check for damage beyond scrapes and bruises and was relieved to find none. There hadn’t been a solid plan when he started running toward the car but if there had been, it would not have involved getting run over.

  People were coming out of the store and some of the neighboring businesses. Dylan walked gingerly toward the disabled police cruiser, worried that he might be first on the scene to another dead cop.

  As he approached the car, the passenger door popped open and Abbey climbed out. She jogged toward Dylan, concern all over her face.

  The sirens from the patrol car went off but more could be heard in the distance, coming fast. Dylan hoped they would speed by in pursuit of the evidence thief, but had a feeling that they were coming here to check on their friends and colleagues.

  “Oh my god, are you okay?” Abbey asked as she
inspected his bleeding elbow.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. You know I wasn’t planning on getting hit,” Dylan smiled, hoping to relieve some of the tension.

  “That was some serious shit. That guy really did not want to be caught. I think he would have died rather than let us stop him.” Abbey was in shock.

  A new patrol car, sirens whaling, pulled into the drive and skidded to a halt inches from the rear of the shot-up vehicle. The driver jumped out and raced to the driver’s side door where Officer Glover was standing, trying to make sense of the scene.

  Moments later, the tow truck that had been used to collect Dylan’s abused pickup squealed onto the access road. It drove on the grass around the patrol cars and directly for Abbey and Dylan. Jim climbed out and ran toward them, though Abbey could not see him because she was busy inspecting Dylan’s injuries.

  “Ab, are you okay?” Jim’s voice was raised somewhere between anger and concern.

  “Well you got here awful fast.” Dylan was growing suspicious of everyone in town.

  “Abbey, what the hell happened?” Jim ignored Dylan completely.

  “Jim, what are you doing here? I was with Goob at the station and some guy pretending to be an FBI agent stole a bunch of evidence,” Abbey answered, though it was incomplete truth.

  “Are you okay?” Jim held onto her shoulders and looked squarely into her eyes.

  “Pretty shaken up actually.” Abbey let her body relax and the reality of the events that just occurred washed over her.

  “Come on, let’s get you home.” The tow truck driver put his arm around Abbey’s shoulder and slowly walked her back toward his rig.

  As Jim helped Abbey into the passenger side of his truck, the town ambulance and a fire truck rolled into the plaza entrance and came to a halt. A shootout and car chase would have been significant in any town; in tiny Brookford, it was a major event.

  Dylan slowly limped toward the town vehicles and watched the tow truck with Abbey in it drive away. A tinge of jealousy pulsed through his body and raised long-hidden emotions that scared him more than any gun ever would.