by Irene Hannon
Twice.
Three times.
Please don’t roll to voicemail!
“McGregor. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
She closed her eyes and expelled a frustrated breath.
“Mac, this is Dana Lewis. I know Finn’s supposed to meet you and Lance for lunch, but he said he’d stop by here first. I haven’t seen or heard from him, and I wondered if you had.” She went on to give him a quick recap of Finn’s plans for the morning. “I hope that was coherent. As you can probably tell, I’m worried. I only get reception down at my lake, so I’ll hang around here until I hear from you.”
After ending the call, she pocketed the phone and sat on the edge of the dock, dangling her feet over the edge. Faint traces of orange paint lingered on the wood despite Finn’s diligent effort to remove them—just as whoever had defaced her property was still lurking out there somewhere.
She took another nervous look around. While a slight fuzziness continued to cloud her distance vision, her eyesight was much better than it had been even three weeks ago. And as far as she could tell, the only other sign of life close to the lake was the ubiquitous blue heron, claiming his usual spot in the shallow water near the bank.
Leaning back against a post, she held tight to her phone . . . and counted off the minutes while she waited for Mac to return her call.
All the while praying that wherever Finn was, he was in control.
He needed to get this situation under his control—no matter what it took.
Keeping a firm grip on the coil of tubing in his hands, Finn shifted position slightly inside the dark lab to take the weight off his aching leg. Given the level of pain, he must have done a number on it when Phelps tackled him in the woods, while he was blinded. Maybe caused some serious damage.
Not great news.
The last thing he needed was more hospitals and rehab.
Reality check, McGregor. The last thing you need is to be stuck in a meth lab trying to escape with your life.
Right.
He could worry about his leg later.
The footsteps in the brush outside moved closer, and he tensed.
This might be it—and he couldn’t blow it. He was only going to get one chance to overpower Phelps, and while he had no doubt he could mop the floor with the guy under usual circumstances, his bum leg and that blow on the head were going to give his adversary a distinct advantage.
All he had on his side was the element of surprise . . . and some muscle power.
The footsteps stopped on the other side of the door.
The knob jiggled.
Finn’s adrenaline spiked.
An instant later, the door swung open and Phelps inched inside, the blade of a hunting knife glinting in his hand.
He froze. “What the . . .”
Before he could finish his sentence, Finn sprang forward and looped the tubing around his neck. Yanked it taut.
Phelps dropped the knife and clawed at the loop of plastic that was crushing his windpipe and cutting off his air supply.
Finn kicked the knife out of the way, increased the pressure, and kneed the man in the kidneys.
He groaned, legs crumpling.
So far, so good. Now all he had to do—
“Phelps? You in there?”
At the summons from a familiar voice outside, Finn swung around, loosening his grip on the tubing for an infinitesimal second.
But it was long enough for Phelps to jerk away and break his hold. They both lunged for the knife.
Phelps got there first, but Finn was on top of him in a millisecond, grappling for control of the weapon. As his fist connected with the man’s nose, Phelps abandoned the fight and rolled toward the door.
While Finn grabbed the knife and regained his footing, Phelps disappeared outside.
“It’s about time you got here. What took you so long?” Phelps hissed out the words.
The response was too soft to hear, but Finn had already identified the new arrival.
Chief Roger Burnett.
Unfortunately, it didn’t appear the man was here in his official capacity.
“I did plan to meet you on the road,” Phelps continued his tirade, “but I got a little tied up here, as you can see. And yes, the SUV you saw belongs to Dana Lewis’s neighbor.”
Finn shoved the knife into his boot. If fate was kind, Phelps would forget all about it.
But what to do now?
As if he’d heard the question, Burnett called to him, his words tinged with weariness. “Come on out, McGregor.”
What choice did he have?
Trying to psyche himself up for whatever curve they were waiting to throw him, he stepped into the sunlight.
Phelps gave him a venomous glare, spat out a mouthful of blood, and swiped his sleeve across his lips. The man was a loose cannon.
But Finn was more worried about Burnett. The chief’s eyes were cool, composed . . . and resigned.
Plus, he had a Sig.
And as Finn stared down the barrel, as the cold reality slammed into him, his insides turned to ice.
They were going to kill him.
“Why couldn’t you have stayed out of this?” What appeared to be genuine remorse softened the chief’s features.
Hmm.
Finn’s mind clicked into analytical mode. If the man was a reluctant participant in the nastiness going on here, that could give him a tactical advantage. Guilt and shame were strong emotions—and he might be able to exploit them.
“I told you this could happen if you didn’t get rid of the girl!” Phelps scowled at Burnett and started to pace. “If you’d pressed harder after I set that fire, she might have left.”
So Phelps was definitely the vandal.
But why was Burnett protecting him?
“I tried.”
“Not hard enough.” Phelps stopped inches from the chief, fury etching his features. “I should have sent those diving pictures straight to the highway patrol.”
“Then I would have given them mine.”
As Finn listened to the exchange, the pieces began to click into place.
Burnett had protected Phelps because the man was blackmailing him. Whatever his reason for diving in Dana’s lake, Burnett didn’t want anyone to know about it—and he’d countered Phelps’s blackmail threat with one of his own.
“Fine. So we’re stuck with each other. That means we have to get rid of the boyfriend—together.”
“We’re not getting rid of anyone, Wayne. It’s over.”
“Over?” The man gaped at him. “Are you crazy? I’m not giving up everything I worked my butt off to get for the past two years. And what about you? I don’t know what your scuba diving is all about, but it can’t be legal—and your career will be toast once I show those photos to the highway patrol. Who knows? You might end up behind bars yourself.”
Some of the color leeched from Burnett’s complexion.
So his diving was related to some illegal activity.
As the two men faced off, the left side of Finn’s brain began to crank at warp speed. While Phelps would kill him in a heartbeat, Burnett didn’t appear to have the stomach for murder. However, if backed into a corner, Burnett might panic . . . and everything would hit the fan.
He needed to make his case. Now. Phelps’s patience was clearly running out.
“There might be another solution.”
Both men swiveled toward him as he spoke.
“What are you talking about?” Phelps squinted at him.
“Shut down the lab. Dismantle it. No one ever comes back here, anyway. Take the money you’ve made and leave town. The chief’s not likely to track you down, based on whatever arrangement you two have, and I’m leaving next week. My memory could fade very fast.”
Phelps’s eyes tapered to slits. “Why would you walk away? Don’t you work for the government?”
“Not anymore.” He tried for a reasonable tone, praying they’d buy his argument. “Look
, if you erase all evidence of your lab, it would be my word against yours. Unless you’ve left a clear trail, which I doubt, there wouldn’t be enough evidence to convict you of anything.”
“It’s a good solution, Wayne.” Burnett appeared to be receptive to the idea—but his gun didn’t waver.
Was he amenable—or working some other angle?
Impossible to tell.
“No, it isn’t. I’m not finished here yet.” Although blood continued to drip from Phelps’s nose, his chin rose a notch. “I need more time.”
“You’re out of time, Wayne.” Burnett’s voice hardened. “Take the deal the man is offering.”
“No! There’s a better solution. If we kill him and bury the body back here, no one will ever find him.”
“That would never work. If he disappears, people will look for him.”
“Who? You? This is your jurisdiction. Make sure the investigation goes nowhere.”
Finn’s pulse took a leap. The situation was deteriorating fast. He needed to get that knife in hand and be prepared to rush them if necessary, despite the long odds. Otherwise, he’d be a sitting duck.
“I can’t do that, Wayne.” Slowly Burnett swung the gun toward Phelps.
Finn didn’t move a muscle.
“What are you doing?” The man’s eyes widened.
“Putting an end to your games.”
“What? You’re going to shoot me?” Phelps managed to infuse his tone with derision, but fear dilated his pupils.
“Not unless you do something stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like resist arrest.”
“You’re arresting me? What about my photos?”
“I have a feeling I can find them as part of my investigation into your illegal activities.”
“This is insane!”
“Yeah, it is. It has been for weeks.”
“You need to shoot him, not me!” A note of hysteria raised Wayne’s pitch.
As the meth cooker pointed his direction, Finn’s fingers began to tingle. One way or the other, this was going down.
Now.
“I’m not shooting him, Wayne.”
“Well, if you won’t, I will!”
With that, Phelps dived for Burnett’s legs. The two hit the ground, wrestling for control of the gun.
Finn bent down to pull out the knife.
And then the forest exploded with a single shot that shattered the stillness—and changed everything yet again.
22
Someone was firing a gun on her property.
As the shot ripped through the air, destroying the peaceful stillness . . . as the blue heron launched itself skyward with a noisy flap of its enormous wings . . . Dana scrambled to her feet, pulse hammering.
That had been close.
Too close.
And unless the shooter was hunting illegally, he or she wasn’t aiming at animals. Nothing was in season in April, as Pops had told her on a long-ago spring break visit when she’d been worried about hunters and stray bullets.
The events of the morning strobed across her mind in quick succession. An odd visit from the chief . . . Finn missing . . . a gunshot on her property.
Those pieces fit together somehow—and while the emerging picture remained unclear and confusing, it was scary.
Very scary.
Cold fingers of fear squeezed her throat.
She needed to get someone to investigate.
Now.
Tension vibrating through her, she tried Mac again.
The call rolled to voicemail.
Again.
After leaving another abbreviated message, she hung up.
Now what?
She shoved her hair back, massaged her forehead, and tried to organize her chaotic thoughts.
Finn had said Mac would be able to round up help from the highway patrol or sheriff’s department in an emergency. She could try to do that too—except even if she explained everything in minute detail, they might write her off as a nutcase. Casting aspersions on a respected police chief? Panicking over a man who’d missed an appointment by less than an hour? Worrying about a stray gunshot on private forest land that could be nothing more than someone doing target practice?
Still, what choice did she have when she knew, deep in her soul, that bad stuff was happening on the far reaches of her property?
After googling the number for the highway patrol, she punched it in. Paced as she slogged through the prompts. Finally got a woman who would listen to her story.
But she had to go through a bunch of name/address/phone number questions before she could get to the meat of her call.
Once she finished what she hoped was a concise, coherent recap of the situation, there was dead silence on the line.
“Um . . . the Beaumont Police Department would be the appropriate agency to deal with your concerns, ma’am. I’d be happy to place a call to them for you.”
Had the woman listened to one word she’d said?
“I told you . . . I think the chief may be involved in whatever is going on. I don’t want to call there.”
“All right.” The woman’s tone became placating. “Let me see if we have an officer in your area. Hold, please.” The woman was gone before she could respond.
So Dana held . . . and held . . . and held some more.
Just as she was about to hang up, the woman came back on the line.
“Our closest car is in Farmington, but the officer is dealing with a major traffic accident. I can get him there in about an hour.”
Not fast enough.
“Isn’t anyone else available?” A note of desperation wove through her words.
“Let me put you on hold again while I—”
“No! Wait! Contact a detective named McGregor with St. Louis County. He’ll verify my call is legitimate. I’ll leave a map of the property on my back door for your officer, pinpointing my best guess about the location of the shot I heard. I’m going to check this out myself.”
“Ma’am, it would be safer to wait for professional help to arrive.”
She didn’t doubt that—in terms of her own well-being.
But if shots were being fired and Finn was missing, his safety took top priority.
“I’ll be careful. Please . . . call McGregor at County and get someone over here ASAP!”
Without waiting for a response, she punched the end button and took off for the house.
Once inside, she snatched up a piece of paper and drew a crude map of the property, putting an X in the vicinity of the shot. After taping it on the back door, she exchanged her Stanford sweatshirt for a dark green sweater, then veered back into the kitchen. To the Winchester propped against the kitchen table.
Only then did she hesitate.
This was a weapon that could kill—just as the handguns her abductors had held to her head in New York could kill. A single bullet was all it took to end a life.
Stomach twisting, she retreated a step. The advice from the woman at the highway patrol was sound. It would be better to leave this to the professionals.
But if the situation is life-threatening, they could arrive too late. Do you think Finn would sit around waiting for reinforcements if he thought you needed help?
No.
He’d dive into the thick of the action.
Clenching her teeth, she picked up the rifle, the weight of it heavier than she remembered. Finn might be better trained than she was, but thanks to Pops, she knew every inch of this property. Knew how to use this gun. Knew how to listen to the sounds of the woods and distinguish natural ones from those produced by humans. Knew how to spot wildlife and creep in to get an up-close-and-personal look.
Mouth firming, she strode to the spare bedroom and grabbed a dozen cartridges from the box she’d showed Finn. Stuffed them in the pocket of her jeans. Headed for the front door.
Wait.
She jolted to a stop.
If there was bad stuff going on across the lake, s
omeone could be watching the cabin for anything to suggest the suspicious activity had been noticed. Better to follow Finn’s example and keep a low profile on approach.
Reversing direction, she moved toward the back of the house and slipped out the rear door. After melting into the woods, she began to press through the brush around the lake, toward the far side—the area where she and Finn had hiked the day after he’d spotted the chief diving.
She had a feeling it wasn’t a coincidence that the shot had come from that general vicinity.
As for what she’d find in the bowels of the forest—her fingers tensed on the rifle. If Finn was in trouble, she’d do her best to come to his rescue as he’d come to hers the night he’d raced through the woods in response to her screams.
And during this hike she’d pray for the strength to use the gun if that’s what it took to keep him safe.
“Have fun with Lance and Finn.”
Turning, Mac gave Lisa a lazy smile and propped a shoulder against the doorframe that separated the kitchen from the garage. “Want the truth? I’d rather stay here with you.”
“You’ll have me all to yourself tomorrow—and I have plans. Big plans.”
“Yeah? Better than this morning?” He waggled his eyebrows.
She gave him a playful shove. “Get out of here before I drag you back inside.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Nope. In love.”
Lisa’s face softened, the way it always did during their tender moments, lightening his heart and reminding him how blessed he’d been the day he’d strolled onto her crime scene as a wet-behind-the-ears County detective.
Fortunately, she hadn’t held his foot-in-mouth disease that morning against him.
She leaned close and brushed her lips over his. “I know. That’s why you were going to leave without this.” She held up his cell phone.
He felt around on his belt. Yep. Missing.
Only she could make him forget his tether to the world.
“Thanks.” He slid it into place.
“Aren’t you going to turn it on?”
“After I’m on the road. I have to take care of some more important business first.” He pulled her close to demonstrate.
“Mmm. I like your priorities.” She smiled up at him, then eased out of his arms. “But you need to get moving if you want to stop at the range before you meet your brothers.”
