Love Inspired Suspense January 2014

by Shirlee McCoy

  Ten? The text had been sent thirty minutes before, at just barely 6:00 a.m. In all their days together, Max, who rose before the sun just like she did, had never embarked on a training session any later than 7:00 a.m. Starting at the luxurious hour of ten o’clock was inconceivable.

  She knew. He was going to the junkyard, and he was determined not to involve her.

  “Well, I’m involved, Max,” she said out loud. “So you might as well get used to it.”

  I’m coming with you, she messaged, even if I have to hotwire a car.

  She dressed quickly and stowed a couple of snacks in her jacket pockets. Max was in the parking lot, arms folded, long frame draped against the door of his truck.

  “You have no idea how to hotwire a car,” he said.

  “It’s amazing what you can learn on YouTube.”

  “Uh-huh.” He sighed and opened the door for her. “Get in, if you must.”

  “Oh, I must,” she said. “Where’s Nolan?”

  “We’re picking him up.”

  They met the boy at a gas station in town. He greeted Laney enthusiastically as he hopped in. “Saw you crash. It was epic.”

  She laughed. “Glad I was entertaining. Lots more exciting than making it to the finish line, I suppose.”

  “Just like race-car driving,” Nolan enthused. “Crashes are what make it interesting.”

  Nolan guided them to a main road that split off in different directions. Max headed south, which led them away from town, past small houses and an occasional vehicle. It promised to be a clear day, no snow in the forecast, and at the early morning hour the mountains were silhouetted in breathtaking detail as the sky turned from black to pewter. Nolan peppered them with questions about skating and competitions.

  “Sounds like you’ve got the skating bug. Why don’t you give it a shot?” Laney said. “Take some classes and try out for the junior team.”

  Nolan’s face shuttered, fingers picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans. “Too much work.”

  “You don’t look like someone who’s afraid of work to me,” she said gently. “Is it too much money?”

  Max shot her a look that said he found her question too nosy.

  Nolan shrugged, looking out the window.

  “I know how you can make it work,” she said quietly. The boy might have been herself at age fifteen, looking at the world from the outside in. If it wasn’t for her father, she wouldn’t have had the nerve, the means or the support to try skating. She could not help Nolan with the nerve, but she knew about a program that would help him get started, a program she and her sister had raised money to fund.

  “I don’t need any help,” he snapped.

  “Okay. If you change your mind, let me know.” She scribbled her cell number on a piece of paper, and he took it grudgingly and jammed it into his pocket. Laney intended to do everything in her power to help change his mind.

  The road climbed upward, and they passed pockets of blue spruce, green branches crowned with light patches of snow sparkling in the golden sunrise.

  “Turn there,” Nolan said, pointing to a narrow road.

  Laney clutched the door frame as they bumped along the uneven surface. “How did you ever find this place?”

  “I like to explore,” he said. “Had a cool motorbike for a while until it busted.”

  “Did you come here alone? All this way by yourself?” she said.

  “I’m not a child,” Nolan informed her. “Been coming here since I was in grade school. School is boring, so sometimes I skip if I can get away with it.”

  Max drove onto an area of more level ground and navigated a series of tight turns that brought them to the perimeter of a chain link fence. They piled out. Untidy heaps of motors and rusted scrap metal poked through the snow.

  “There’s a gate around the side,” Nolan said. “It’s never locked ’cause the padlock’s busted and they don’t replace it.” He trotted along the perimeter of the fence and gestured for them to follow. “Come on.”

  “I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea,” Max said, trying to stop Laney from following. “Let me…”

  “Too late for a thinking it out, and besides, I don’t see a No Trespassing sign,” she said as she followed Nolan.

  “That’s because most people know better,” he muttered, falling in behind her.

  He was right, no doubt, but the sobering thought was not enough to slow her in the slightest.

  *

  Max caught up with them at the gate. Nolan was right, it was closed, but not secured due to the rusty padlock, which had been broken off. There was no sign indicating hours of operation or even declaring the owner of the property. Shutting off the cascade of warning advice from the place inside him where common sense resided, he opened the gate and stepped through behind Nolan and Laney.

  “Who runs this junkyard?” Max whispered.

  Nolan shrugged. “Mostly nobody. Never seen anyone here in all the times I visited. Every once in a while there’s some new stuff, but mostly nothing ever changes here.”

  It was some comfort to think it was an abandoned property since they were moving steadily toward trespassing. If they found anything they could get Officer Chen to come investigate properly. A quick in and out, Max. That’s all.

  There was probably nothing but worthless metal inside, but could he really turn away when there was the possibility of uncovering the truth? A flicker of pain rippled up his leg. If someone had helped the hit-and-run driver cover up the crime, as Hugh Peterson suggested, then he had to do everything in his power to find out the identity of that person. If it turned out to be Ancho, so much the better. A thin layer of dirty snow crunched under his feet as he pushed farther in.

  The evidence seemed to support Nolan’s conclusion that the place was abandoned. It was more of a disordered labyrinth of junk than a well-run business, as far as he could see. He skirted a pile of hubcaps, rusted and ruined no doubt by the light coating of snow. Trailing in and out of the mess, he wondered again what exactly he hoped to find here. The white car that might have run them down? What were the chances of that exactly? A million to one.

  “Watch your step, Laney,” he said, pointing to a bundle of metal rods that cut across their path. On either side rose piles of stacked cars, mashed into compact bundles, most of them so old the paint color was no longer discernible. An aroma of gasoline and mildew permeated the air.

  He called to the boy, who had gone ahead. “Nolan, where did you see the car? The one that had the sharpening kit inside?”

  “In the shed,” Nolan said, thrusting a finger. “There.”

  Farther back was a wooden structure, enclosed on three sides and with a sheet-metal roof. A large sliding door was open, revealing an interior full of materials they would need to be closer to identify.

  Laney was already making her way toward the shed.

  It wouldn’t do any good to tell her to slow down. He found, in spite of the unpleasant ticking of his nerves, that he was smiling. Telling Laney to slow down was like ordering the snow to return to the clouds. Not happening, and he found something inside him warmed at the thought. Her hair was gilded by the morning sun, sparkling almost as brightly as the ice crystals, delicate fingers splayed while she worked at keeping her balance and avoiding buried obstacles.

  Perfect. He did not know where the word had come from but it was true: this impulsive, forgetful, tender-hearted woman. Laney Thompson was divinely perfect in her imperfection. Divinely? As in made that way by God? He found it rang true in his soul, and with it came a wave of terror.

  What God made breathtakingly perfect, He also took away.

  Pain struck at him hard and brutal. The only way to dull that vicious agony was to keep her safe…and away from his heart.

  Max quickened his pace, listening as he did so for any sound of someone else in the junkyard. He thought he caught a noise, the clink of metal, and he froze, ears straining for an endless minute, but nothing materialized. In spite of the
hairs that prickled on the back of his neck, he forced himself to move carefully into the shed, stopping one more time before he entered to listen again.

  Still nothing.

  The old steel door had rusted into the open position a long time ago by the looks of it, allowing a small amount of snow to collect in the threshold.

  Towering piles of junk rose nearly to the ceiling of the space, interlocking rods of rusted metal, broken car doors, engine parts and grilles of every description. Screws and bolts littered the floor.

  “It’s been a while since I been here.” Nolan pulled at a bent antenna, causing a miniavalanche of corroded bits to slide down.

  “Don’t do that,” Max cautioned, surveying the massive piles above them. “This stuff weighs several tons. One wrong shift and we’re going to be buried alive.”

  Nolan withdrew his hand, looking up at the hulking mass above them.

  “So you never saw anyone here?” Max asked. “No employees or maybe somebody you’ve seen in town before?”

  “Nope,” Nolan said. “One time there were some kids messing around, but no adults. That’s why I like it here. It’s like my own private hideaway.” He rubbed his chin. “Sorry, but I don’t see that white car around anywhere. Guess somebody sold it for scrap or something.”

  Laney peered closely at the stacks of cars. “Maybe it’s farther back,” she said, squeezing between two pillars of wrecked autos.

  “Don’t, Laney,” he said. “You’re going to destabilize it.”

  “I’m being careful,” she said, moving farther in.

  The sight of her tiny form dwarfed by the massive unsteady wall was too much. This had to end before Laney or Nolan got hurt. Time to be the voice of reason, or at least try, anyway. He went to take her arm and force her out of harm’s way.

  “Hey,” Nolan yelled. “I think I hear…”

  Max reached for Laney just as a tumble of gears fell off a nearby stack. He held up an arm to shield them both as the rusted parts rained down, pinging into the smashed metal and cascading to the floor.

  “I didn’t make that happen,” Laney said, eyes wide.

  In a moment, they heard the growl as a muscular black dog appeared over the top of a low pile, teeth bared, ears flat against its head.

  Max froze, clutching Laney’s hand, her fingers rigid in his palm.

  The dog picked its way down from the top of the pile, nose twitching. Max watched in horror as the hair on the scruff of the dog’s neck raised along with the volume of his growl.

  “Stay behind me,” Max said to Laney, easing himself to shield her. “Nolan, walk slowly backward toward me, okay?”

  Suddenly, the growls escalated into full-blown barks and the dog launched itself in their direction.

  FIFTEEN

  Laney screamed over Max’s shoulder. “Nolan!”

  The boy held out both hands. She thought he was frozen in shock until he dropped to one knee in front of the dog.

  Max bolted forward.

  “It’s okay,” Nolan said, stopping him.

  “Nolan, no….” Laney’s mouth fell open as the menacing dog flopped over on its back and allowed the boy to scratch his belly.

  “This is Chester. He’s a good dog.”

  Heart pounding, Laney tried to find words. “I thought…I thought he was going to eat you.”

  Nolan laughed. “He lives up the mountain with this old retired guy and his wife, but he likes to come down here and pretend he’s a guard dog. We used to play together a lot.” He fished a plastic-wrapped sandwich from his pocket. “Just peanut butter, Chester. Sorry it’s not salami and cheese, but I didn’t know you’d be here today.” He rewrapped half of the sandwich and gave the other half to the dog, who set to work on it, tail wagging.

  Max heaved out a relieved sigh. “I’m glad you bonded with him.”

  “You were scared, weren’t you?” Nolan said, smiling mischievously.

  “Yes,” Laney and Max said simultaneously, which set them all to laughing.

  Chester finished his snack and gave Laney and Max a thorough sniffing. He regarded Laney with a touch of condescension. “I think he knows I’m a cat person. Sorry, Chester, but Cubby would not approve of you, either.”

  “I’d take a dog that smells like peanut butter over a cat with tuna breath any day,” Max stage whispered to the animal, who rewarded him with a wet nose to the shin.

  While Nolan hunkered down next to Chester and administered a thorough scratching to the adoring critter, Laney continued her search of the shed, Max accompanying her. They stayed clear of the tottering piles as best they could. Some of the vehicles had been so completely crushed it was impossible to tell what make and model they had been before they arrived at the junkyard. After twenty minutes Laney was beginning to doubt they would discover anything but a case of tetanus lurking in those twisted metal sculptures. Her feet were numb from the cold and Max’s cheeks were pink along with the tip of his nose.

  “I guess it was a long shot.” She kicked at an eye bolt that skittered across the ground, ricocheting against the wall with an odd hollow thud. Exchanging a look with Max, she set to work pushing debris aside with her hand, uncovering the outline of a rectangular panel set into the wall.

  “A door? Yes, there must be some sort of back room we didn’t see at first,” she breathed.

  Max found a latch and yanked. There was no movement at all. “Locked?”

  “Frozen shut, I think.” Laney looked around for a piece of metal suitable to pry at the edges, coming up with a broken piece of pipe that suited. Both of them tugged until they felt the panel give slightly. When Max jerked at the door again, it opened with a loud squeal. He shone a small penlight into the opening. She crowded near him to see, pressing her chin into his shoulder. She’d forgotten how strong his back was, how unyielding the shoulder muscles due to his incessant workouts. Clearing her throat, she eased back a few inches. “What’s in there?”

  The space was a later addition to the ramshackle shed, made of newer material and sheet-rocked walls. It had to be no more than twelve feet by twelve feet with another roll-up door at the back. The cement floor was clean and the ceiling reinforced so no snow had made it in. There was nothing inside except a large object covered neatly with a tarp. It was impossible to tell in the gloom what kind of vehicle lay underneath the plastic.

  Max’s eyes glittered with excitement that no doubt matched her own. Finally, they’d found one piece of evidence.

  He crept into the space and she followed.

  Laney could hardly contain her excitement. Nolan came over to stick his head through the door, Chester trotting along at his heels. “I never saw this place before. It’s like a hidden room or something. Cool.”

  Max fumbled in the darkness for the edge of the tarp. Laney realized she was holding her breath.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” Nolan said.

  “If it’s a banged-up white car, we sure did,” Laney whispered.

  Finally Max seized the edge of the tarp and pulled it aside.

  “What?” Laney craned forward to see. “Is it the car?”

  Max’s eyes were wide and there was an odd expression on his face. Was it relief? Satisfaction? She could not tell.

  “Take a look, Laney,” he said, pulling back the tarp and exposing what lay underneath.

  Max watched her quick intake of breath, the flicker of her eyes from him to the tarp and back again.

  “Hey,” Nolan said, squeezing into the space. “That’s not a white car. What kind is that?”

  Max lowered the tarp. “It’s an Aston Martin, a very expensive sports car.”

  “Nice,” Nolan said. “But who would put a car like that in here?”

  “I know who,” Laney murmured.

  Max took a photo with his cell phone, frustrated that he could not see the rear license plate. Then he covered the car, and they exited, breath puffing in the cold air as they emerged in the shed. He wanted to sit down and think
, but a sense of urgency fueled him as he herded Laney, Nolan and the dog toward the gate.

  Laney insisted that they drive Chester back to his home, and Nolan accepted thank-yous and a handful of chocolate-chip cookies from Chester’s elderly owners. The husband, who introduced himself as Oscar, looked closely at Max and Laney.

  “What brings you up here? Not a great time of year to go hiking.”

  “We were looking for something, and Nolan told us about the junkyard.”

  “What exactly were you looking for?”

  “An old car,” Max said. “Didn’t find it, though.” He said goodbye before the old man could ask any more questions and headed back to the truck.

  Max drove a few miles, pulled over and dialed Officer Chen.

  There was a long, disbelieving silence on the officer’s end, and Max emailed him the photo he’d taken. Chen agreed to both investigate the shed after a scheduled meeting and uncover the identity of the property owner. Chen also commanded him in no uncertain terms to get off the property without delay.

  “Yes, we’re leaving right now,” Max said. “I promise.”

  Laney was nearly bouncing on the seat in excitement. “Now there’s proof.”

  Max didn’t answer.

  She touched his arm. “Isn’t there? What are you worrying about?”

  “We were trespassing, which Chen wasn’t thrilled about, but more than that I’m just thinking that Ancho is clever. I’m wondering how he’s going to try to explain his way out of it.”

  “I have faith in the truth,” she said.

  Once again, he wished he could share her sunny outlook. Nolan returned and piled into the truck.

  “Man, this was the best day ever. Got to see Chester, uncovered a sweet race car and I didn’t even have to clean my room.”

  Laney gave him a raised eyebrow. “It’s only a little after eleven. You’ll be home in time to clean your room.”

  Max eased the truck back toward the main road. He listened to Nolan and Laney chattering away and marveled at the easy flow of conversation. So much of his life was steeped in silence, or trapped in racing and training details he’d never realized that joy might be found in mundane day-to-day life. Why should it be so, when they were engaged in a battle against Ancho and a raft of competitors vying to take away Laney’s dreams of gold? He didn’t know, but he allowed himself to savor the lightness of it, the sparkling moment that seemed to fill the crammed interior of his truck just then.