After waking up it was like she could still taste the blood.
She had no plans yet to tell Jason. It would only worry him, and he already worried enough for both of them. There was something else she wasn't telling Jason; she was two days late on her period.
Probably not a big deal. She had certainly been late before, so she wouldn't say anything just yet. But she had to admit the possibilities were… interesting. What if she was being given a second chance?
Don't jump the gun.
Right. Stay focused. Celine thought about Kyra… she had spoken to her friend just yesterday. They had talked about Connor: at his first court appearance he had been deemed a flight risk, so no bail had been set. That was a huge relief for both women. Although, if Connor came after Kyra again, this time Celine wouldn't let him off so easy. "I can't thank you enough," Kyra had said. "For noticing the car, for what you did… you saved me."
It wasn't that big of a deal, Celine had answered. But the truth was she had saved her best friend. And Celine had to admit, it felt pretty damn good.
Smiling, Celine returned her attention to the task at hand. The coffee she was making smelled delicious. Almost overpowering.
Just outside the break room, Deputy Sheriff Trumbull was talking quietly with Lieutenant Embury.
Celine walked out from the break room to the hall. The interview room, door open, was on her left. The records room, door closed, was on her right. Embury and Trumbull were nowhere in sight.
But she could still hear them talking.
She opened the door to the records room. Empty. She walked down the hall and out into the office space. The desks were empty but the voices were closer now. The reception area. Celine walked out and sure enough, Embury was seated in the receptionist's seat, Trumbull leaning against the desk, speaking just above a whisper. He looked over and cut off in mid-sentence when Celine entered.
How could she have—
It's happening. This is what Jason was talking about.
She heard footsteps outside. Seconds later Sheriff Barclay walked through the front door. Trumbull was still staring at Celine, who realized she was just standing there with her mouth open.
"You okay?" Trumbull asked.
"Mm-hm," Celine answered before turning around and heading back to the break room.
She was pouring a coffee for Ty when she heard him walking up behind her, waiting briefly before speaking: "I should have told you…"
Celine turned and handed him the cup. "About the bust." He chuckled. "Our bust that went bust. I should have told you but I figured the less people that knew about it the better, and you've had enough things to worry about…"
Turning back to the machine, Celine poured herself a cup. "It's okay," she said. "There's something I should've told you too." It was something that had been bothering her for a while now, something she had been waiting for the right opportunity to say. She faced him, lifted the mug and blew steam off the top. "That kid, you know, the one you were following. I went to his place when he first got here. He was staying at the Royal Lodge. I thought… either Boil or CJ might have been involved with Jason's disappearance, and I thought he might know something."
The sheriff's eyebrows lifted. Finally he said "Did he?"
Celine looked down at her cup. "No," she lied. "But… he had a bunch of equipment at his place. Lab shit, chemicals. He was… I don't know, workin' up something for Boil."
Ty exhaled heavily. "I had a feeling about that kid."
"Said his name was Ghost," Celine said.
"Well shit, sweetheart, that's good to know. Why'd you keep this from me?"
"Because I didn't want you to know I went to see him after you told me to stay away. And, like you said, I had other things on my mind."
Ty's face softened. "Course you did. I'm sorry. Look, I haven't given up on finding Jason…"
"I know," Celine said. It was getting more and more difficult to keep up the ruse of pretending to put on a brave face despite overwhelming grief at the disappearance of her boyfriend. Mostly, she hated lying to Ty. It was necessary, she knew, but how long would she have to keep it up?
"I'll make you a deal, okay?" Ty said. "No more secrets, and that's a two-way street."
Great, now I really feel like shit.
The sheriff switched his mug from right hand to left, and held out his right hand to shake. Celine badly wanted to tell him… instead she looked down at his hand, set her mug down on the counter, and lunged forward wrapping Ty in a tight hug. He stiffened at first, then relaxed, and put his right arm around her. It felt… right.
Celine pulled away, wondering briefly what had come over her. She had never been a hugger. The truth about Jason was on the tip of her tongue, just dying to escape. Instead she said "You and me, we can work together on this. I want to help you, even if it's just in a small way, to take Boil down."
Ty smiled. "You're ready to step up, huh? Well let's get to it," he said. "I'll run a search for the alias Ghost, and you see what all you can dig up on Boil's other guy, the big fella. Carter Roth is his name. Later on we'll compare notes. I'll tell you everything I know."
Celine nodded quickly. The old man wiped something from the corner of his eye as he turned and walked away.
***
CJ awoke, naked, under heavy blankets and on top of another thick blanket on a dirt floor. The space was small, about eight foot by five foot, and dark. What fresh fucked-up shit is this? CJ felt around. The walls were a hard plastic. There was a tall strip of light where two doors came together. Is this a fucking tool shed?
As his eyes adjusted more, he saw that there was a bucket to his right, and a bottle of water near the doors. CJ's stomach twisted and tightened. He felt jittery, like his mind and body were barely connected. He needed dope, and he needed it now. If he didn't get a hit, he would soon go through withdrawal. Fuck that. Summoning what little energy he could, CJ crawled to the doors and pushed. A chain rattled on the other side. "Hey!" he yelled, pounding weakly on the metal doors. "Hey what is this shit? Somebody let me outta here!"
There was a motor-sound as a vehicle passed on some road not far away. Otherwise, nothing. The knots in CJ's stomach clenched harder. He grabbed the water, unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long pull. He wanted to smash his way out of wherever this was, but that would require energy. Right now, all his body wanted to do was burrow into a deep hole and shut out the world. The blankets were the next best thing. Shivering, he slipped into them and soon found himself drifting into a delirious sleep.
***
Hunger gnawed at Jason's belly. He had eaten almost all of the food Celine had brought him last night, and still it wasn't enough.
It was a symptom of the coming change, he knew. It was affecting Celine as well. She had been pleasant enough last night, talking about some info she had found on the steroid freak who worked for Boil. Her eyes had lit up as she talked about her discovery, but he repeatedly pushed his own point, that the turning was coming soon and they needed to have a plan. Celine had gotten pissed off, yelling and cursing him out for not listening to her… and then she had left. For as long as Jason had known her, Celine's fuse had been short, but this was different.
If she was that explosive now, how would she be when she turned? He hoped he could make her see reason. She would need to be far away from people. It made the most sense for her to stay out at the mill with him, but he didn't know how his wolf-form and hers would interact. There was still too much he didn't know, and his visit to the church hadn't provided the answers he had hoped for.
His talk with Father Dreiling had been a few days ago, and he couldn't stop thinking about what the old man had said: "the most powerful weapon…"
Faith.
Faith in what, exactly? It wasn't like he could just pray the wolf away, even if he believed in God. Jason had always felt that religious people used prayer like a crutch, appealing to a higher power rather than solving their own problems or accepting the consequences of the
ir actions. Jason really wasn't sure how faith was going to help him.
The other thing Father Dreiling had said was that Jason's mother missed him. So much for keeping a low profile.
So what am I doing here?
He stood at the treeline to the west of his mother's property, looking out at the house. He heard a vehicle approaching, a truck by the sound of it. Minutes later a rusty Ford pulled up outside the house, next to the minivan, and honked. It was old man Rogers, the farmer who lived a few miles away. Pretty soon the front door opened and Beth pushed Trish out. Both were dressed in their Sunday finest.
Why was Rogers taking Trish and Beth to church? Jason was certain that the farmer and his mom weren't an item; old man Rogers was pushing eighty. There must be something wrong with the minivan… and Beth didn't have enough money to get it fixed.
Together, Rogers and Beth lifted Trish into the passenger seat. Then Beth brought the chair around while Rogers lowered the tailgate. Jason got a good look at her. Her hair was whiter, her face harder than it had ever been. The wind shifted and he could smell the lavender soap she used. He wanted to run to her, tell her that he was okay. It was all he could do not to call out.
She lifted the chair into the bed of the truck and walked around, climbing in through the driver's side to sit in the middle. Old man Rogers closed the gate, got in the driver's seat, and a few seconds later Jason watched helplessly as the truck pulled away.
***
Sheriff Barclay had promised that he and Celine would work together, and he had meant it. "No more secrets," he had said… and so he had told her about trying to flip CJ. He told her everything the lying little double agent had told him, about his late-night stakeouts—though he had refused when she offered to join him, no sense in both of them not getting any sleep—and he had kindly asked her not to share this information with the deputies. Now here he was, sitting in his civilian vehicle—a Subaru Forester—outside Boil Trucking… just as he had done every night for weeks.
Celine had insisted on working late at the station. She had uncovered some solid background on Carter. Turned out Carter Roth was former muscle for the Seattle-based Mastroni crime family. Ty suspected that there had been a falling out with the Mastronis, something he might be able to use as leverage. It was a good start. While Boil was busy employing red herrings, Ty would rely on good old fashioned police work: research, human intelligence, and surveillance.
The stranger, that new kid "Ghost" who had shown up and suddenly disappeared—who had been doing some kind of chemical work for Boil, that kid and whatever he was brewing were the key, Ty could feel it.
As the sheriff took a swig from his thermos, Boil exited the main building and walked to his Beamer. Seconds later he pulled away. Ty waited and then followed at a safe distance, lights off. For the past few nights, Boil had worked late and then gone home. Tonight was different; Boil headed out to the interstate. The last time he had done this was the night of the altercation between Celine and Connor, when Ty had been forced to break off the tail. After several miles, Boil turned onto an old, unmarked dirt road.
The only thing out that way was the Haversaw place. The Haversaw Brothers, Ned and Troy, represented the last of that family's bloodline. They lived alone in the middle of nowhere on the property they inherited when Momma Haversaw finally kicked off ten years ago. They had been involved in their fair share of legal trouble: receiving stolen property, possession of controlled substances… Ned, the eldest, had served a year for assault. Now it looked like the Haversaws had fallen in with Boil.
Perfect.
Ty pulled the Forester up to the turnoff and sat, considering. He could call right now, wait for Trumbull and backup… and risk missing whatever had brought Boil out here in the middle of nowhere at night.
A light rain began pattering the roof and hood of his vehicle as Ty pulled onto the back road.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It felt like she was in a cage.
Putting the lid back on the file box, she suddenly felt trapped. She should be outside, breathing the night air, stretching her legs beneath the moon's watchful eye.
Get ahold of yourself, you wanted to stay late, remember?
It was true. She had wanted to look through the files on CJ… find out if there was anything else Ty hadn't told her. Now she was satisfied. Ty had been true to his word, which didn't surprise her. Still, she had needed to see for herself. She had also wanted to do more digging on Boil. What she had uncovered was not much… there had been some handwritten notes about various angles Ty was chasing, such as a connection between the junkyard owner Carl, and Boil. Especially after CJ had met Ty and given him false information at that very same junkyard. Interesting, but there had been nothing earth shattering in the files.
As she stepped out into the bullpen and glanced at the wall clock, she sighed. Jason would be wondering where she was. Of course, after their argument last night, he might not care. She had been so excited to share everything she had learned about Carter Roth, and all he could do was act like it was suddenly his job to be her keeper.
He meant well.
Maybe, but it still pissed her off. On top of that it killed any chances of them having sex, which had been on her mind all day. She grabbed her purse, thinking that at least the make-up sex gave her something to look forward to.
Opening up the front door she could not only smell that it was about to rain, but she sensed a change in the air around her also. What was it called? Air pressure? The difference was stark; she could feel it in her core. The sensation was exhilarating. She felt empowered, more than human. What will it be like, she wondered, to become… what Jason became? It wouldn't be long now…
As she prepared to lock up, a vehicle pulled into the parking lot. She turned to see a gray-haired man with a ratty beard exit a white van. He wore a dirty white t-shirt, tattered blue jeans, and he smelled like dust, wood, and a hundred different chemicals. Celine wrinkled her nose at him as he approached, asking for Ty.
When she told him the sheriff wasn't there, he replied "Ah, okay then. I saw his cruiser and thought… never mind." Celine asked who he was, and the older man said he was "Ernie," the contractor putting in Ty's new bathroom. "Just wanted to let him know it's all done. I'll call tomorrow." The man turned to leave, then stopped and turned back. "Oh I meant to leave this at the house…" he held out a key. "I'll just drop it with you if that's okay."
Celine said it was, and the man left. When he was gone she walked back through the station and into Ty's office. Stepping around his desk, she pulled open the right top drawer to put the key in, but stopped when she saw a pad of paper there. Deciding it would be a good idea to jot him a note, she lifted the pad out… and froze. Beneath was an old photo.
It was a picture of a dark-haired little girl, no more than three, sitting on a god-awful lime green couch.
The floor seemed to suddenly spin beneath her as several things clicked into place at once; suspicions that had been hiding somewhere deep in her mind… a kind of intuition that hadn't come to the forefront and solidified into thought. Not until now.
She had to know if those suspicions were correct.
Key in hand and holding her purse to her shoulder, Celine raced out the front door, stopping just long enough to lock it. She was through the parking lot and in her Jeep, turning the key, when the first raindrops fell.
***
The rain ebbed and flowed, undergoing a period of decreased activity when Ty pulled his Forester into a clear patch just off the dirt road. The Haversaw place was roughly a half mile away. The sheriff exited and picked his way through the wayside brush so he wouldn't be seen if a vehicle came from somewhere up ahead. For that same reason, he didn't use a flashlight; the three-quarter moon painted his surroundings in a dim, blue-white wash.
A barking din grew louder as he progressed; four or five dogs, by the sound of it, raising seven different kinds of hell.
He soon had the property in sight: a handful
of ramshackle buildings scattered over a wide expanse. The structures ranged from small wooden sheds to barn-size buildings. The main house was a sprawling wood-frame cabin with oddly angled projections, and steeply slanted, crumbling roofs. Someone a few generations back in the Haversaw line had built the house, and subsequent generations continued adding to it. The result was a shoddy, unkempt architectural nightmare.
Three vehicles were parked haphazardly on the property. Lights poured from two windows in the walls facing Ty; illumination shone also from a side of the house closest to his position. He crossed a trash-littered, weed-stubble patch to stand near the side window. The barking, coming from a large shack near the tree line, increased in volume. Nonetheless, Ty heard muffled voices from inside the house. The rain thickened, sending streams from the eaves as Ty drew closer to the boarded wall, nearly slipping in the mud as he angled for a glance through a clean spot in the otherwise grime-covered window.
The kid was inside, sitting on a fold-out chair, working one of those multi-colored puzzle boxes. Ty shifted further; Boil and Carter came into view, their backs to the window. To Carter's left was the youngest Haversaw brother, Troy: a hunched, long-haired, scarecrow in overalls and dirty long underwear. The sheriff leaned in just a hair to see who they were talking to. A tall black man in a blue and white hoodie, and baggy jeans stood across from them on the other side of the large room. Rough boards formed walls that bounded a square in the center of the space. The black man stood behind the planks on the far side, holding a chain leash that stretched over the low wall to a thickly-muscled, muzzled Rottweiler in the dirt pit. There were two armed punks on either side of him. All three men wore the gang colors of the Baggerz. This would make the telephone pole their leader, Mamba. Over the past few years the Baggerz had developed a reputation for being reckless, fearless, and unflinchingly violent. They dabbled in a wide range of illicit activities, but their bread and butter was the sale of heroine, which they acquired from a Mexican operation—the Dominguez Cartel—whose own reputation for carnage made the Baggerz look like choir boys. The Baggerz rarely ventured outside of Portland. So what had brought them all this way?
Whisper Lake (The Turning Book 2) Page 17
