“He might be sick.” Brianna nodded solemnly. “Like Prince Eric was when he came.”
“That’s right,” Carly said.
“I took good care of Prince Eric. He’s all healthy now.”
As if he knew his name, the pygmy goat trotted down the aisle and stuck his head into the stall.
“What is he doing in here? Isn’t he supposed to be in his pen?” Carly asked, wondering if she was fast enough to grab the destructive little bugger.
“Yep. Daddy put a new latch on his gate, but Prince Eric doesn’t like to be cooped up.” Brianna lifted a skinny shoulder. Yet another growth spurt had left her all arms and legs, and her ankles seemed to perpetually peek out from under the cuffs of her jeans. She was going to be tall like Carly and her sister, Stevie.
Carly evened out the layer of straw, then fetched a bucket of clean water and hung it in the corner. On her way out, she gave the stall a final scan.
Brianna joined her in the doorway. “He’s going to be so happy here.”
Carly hoped the pony wasn’t in bad shape and that Brianna wouldn’t get her heart broken. But living on a farm meant learning about all aspects of life, even the sad ones. Carly and her siblings had grown up watching animal births and deaths. They’d nursed sick livestock and buried faithful friends. Animals had taught them compassion, generosity, and loyalty.
Moments like these made her glad she and Seth had moved onto the family farm last fall after their marriage went through a rocky patch. Considering the on-call natures of both their jobs, having a grandmother on hand to babysit had taken a great deal of the pressure off their marriage. But Carly wondered if Seth was as happy as she was with the arrangement. When they were first married, he’d insisted they needed privacy, something in short supply on the farm, even if they lived in the guest cabin separate from the main house.
She picked a piece of straw from her daughter’s hair. “I’m sure he’ll be happy here.”
Brianna nodded. “I’ll make sure he is.”
“We should put Prince Eric away before he gets into mischief.” Carly rested a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. She was growing up too fast. Carly’s heart squeezed in her chest. Friday night’s scare and her sister’s wedding had stirred up her emotions.
Brianna smiled, revealing the gaps of two missing teeth. “But Prince Eric likes to get into mischief.”
“That he does, but he still needs to be put in his pen.” Carly laughed.
Though it was Sunday, Carly wanted to check on Alex. The child had been traumatized. Her mother was unstable and dangerous. Carly wouldn’t rest easy until Cyndee was behind bars. If the woman couldn’t give up on a relationship that had occurred entirely in her own head, what would she do when she found out her only child had been taken into custody?
“Brianna, see if you can find another feed tub in the tack room.”
“Okay.” Brianna skipped down the aisle.
Carly pulled out her cell phone and called Alex’s foster mom, Heidi Jones.
“Hi, Carly.” Heidi sounded out of breath.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No.” Heidi laughed. “Just life with two toddlers.”
“How is Alex getting along?” Carly asked.
“What a sweet child,” Heidi said. “She’s very quiet.”
“Have you had any issues?” Carly asked.
“She’s been no trouble at all. In fact, she was a big help this morning. She was up early and wants to help me and the younger two kids plant flowers this morning. Have you found out anything about her family?”
“Not yet.” When Carly had interviewed the timid child, Alex had mostly stared at the floor and mumbled, “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am.” If Cyndee Sykes had any family, Alex didn’t know about it. Cyndee and Alex had lived an isolated and nomadic life in a travel trailer pulled behind an old pickup. The child had never gone to school, nor had her mother registered her as a homeschooler anywhere. It seemed that if authorities questioned Cyndee, she simply picked up stakes and moved. Carly hoped the woman would stick to her usual pattern. “Has she asked about her mother?”
“No. She hasn’t said much to me or Dylan at all,” Heidi said. “Mostly she’s been spending time with the younger two children.”
“Can I talk to her?” Carly asked.
“Hold on.” The line went quiet for a few seconds.
“Hello?” The soft, timid voice was barely audible.
“Hi, Alex. This is Carly. I wanted to see if there was anything you needed.”
“No, ma’am,” Alex mumbled.
“Heidi says the younger kids like you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The words were soft, and the tiny hitch in Alex’s breath after she uttered them made her sound as if she was a breath away from crying.
Carly swallowed her pity. She tried her best to maintain some level of professional objectivity, but some kids tore at her heart, and she spent many nights staring at the ceiling praying she’d done right by them. Alex was going to be one of those kids who stuck with her.
“I’m going to come and check on you this afternoon, okay?” Carly asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Would you please put Heidi back on the phone?”
Without saying goodbye, Alex handed off the phone.
“I’ll see you later, then,” Heidi said.
“Yes,” Carly said. “And thanks.”
She ended the call, still worried. Carly couldn’t shake the image of the girl sitting in the back of the Jeep, clutching her stuffed bunny as if she were three instead of thirteen.
“Carly,” her mother’s voice called from the barnyard.
“Yes?” Carly answered.
Her mother walked into the barn. She wore a long denim skirt and a pale-blue blouse. Her gray-and-brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders. Faint smudges under her eyes showed yesterday’s Herculean effort to give Stevie and Zane the wedding they deserved. Carly hadn’t seen her mom that happy since she’d been widowed. More than a year had passed since Big Bill Taylor’s death, and his loss still hurt. But Carly supposed it felt more like the dull ache of a mended bone now rather than the sharp pain of a fresh break.
“Where’s Brianna?” Her mom twisted her hands.
“In the tack room.” Carly’s nerves jumped to attention. She glanced down the aisle, but Brianna hadn’t come out yet. She lowered her voice. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“I just got a call from Sheila.” Even on her day off, the Solitude Police Department admin knew everything that happened in town. “There was an accident on the way to the jail this morning. A truck ran Seth and the deputy off the road.”
Carly’s heart stammered.
“Sheila said Seth called it in, so he must be okay. She wanted you to know before you heard it from another source.”
Gossip was a living, breathing entity in Solitude.
“Was anyone hurt?” Like Seth . . .
“I don’t know, honey, but he did request an ambulance.” Her mom’s voice soothed. “Sheila said she’d call as soon as she had any more news.”
“Okay.” Seeing her daughter emerge from the tack room, a rubber feed bucket swinging from her hand, Carly pasted a smile on her face. Brianna didn’t need to worry.
But like every other cop’s wife, Carly would have to deal with the possibility that Seth had been hurt.
Or worse.
CHAPTER THREE
Smoke burned Seth’s nostrils and eyes as he slid inside the burning vehicle. Deputy Donovan’s injuries looked serious, and Seth didn’t really want to move him, but he didn’t have a choice. Fire crackled. The smoke pouring off the engine was black and carried the sharp scent of burning oil. Gasoline soaked the back of his shirt. If the fire came any closer, he and Donovan were going to be human shish kabobs.
Seth stretched for the deputy’s seat belt release and depressed the button. Seth did his best to catch Donovan as he fell. Sliding out from under the deputy, Seth cleared h
is shoulders from the vehicle window, rolled, and got to his feet. Cursing and hoping he wouldn’t aggravate the poor man’s injuries, he dragged Donovan out of the smashed window and across twenty feet of asphalt to the safety of the roadside grass.
He glanced back as the fire spread through the interior of the car. Just to be safe, he moved the deputy another ten feet away from the burning vehicle.
Seth pulled off his shirt, balled it up, and pressed it over the wound on Donovan’s neck. Holding down the makeshift bandage with one hand, Seth called to update dispatch. He passed along as many details as possible so a search for the black truck and the missing prisoner could be initiated. The ambulance was still ten minutes out.
Blood leaked out from between his fingers.
Hurry up!
As much as he loved living in the county, rural life had its drawbacks. Response time for emergency vehicles was one of them.
Kneeling on the grass over the injured man, Seth studied the road in both directions. There was no sign of the black eighteen-wheeler or the prisoner.
What. The. Hell?
Had the driver fallen asleep at the wheel?
But even as he considered the options, all the little hairs on the back of Seth’s neck tingled.
Ten minutes later, the ambulance and EMTs arrived. Seth stepped away from Donovan, letting the pros take over. He wiped his hands on his thighs, leaving red, wet streaks on the navy-blue fabric. A deputy car screamed to a stop, light blazing.
Deputy Phil Harrison got out. “You all right?”
“Fine,” Seth said.
“Any sign of your prisoner?” Phil joined him on the shoulder of the road.
“Not yet.” Seth walked along the edge of the road. “It rained last night. If he ran, there should be footprints. Have you heard from the K-9 team?”
Phil fell into step beside him, eyes scanning the ground. “On the way.”
But Seth didn’t find any sign that Toby had escaped into the woods. There were no trampled weeds, footprints, or drops of blood on either side of the road.
More county vehicles and a fire truck joined the ambulance.
An EMT jogged over. “Do you need any medical assistance?”
Seth followed the medic’s gaze. Blood stained his clothes, and his pants were torn.
He waved the EMT away. “Not my blood. I’m fine.”
The unconscious Deputy Donovan was wheeled into the waiting ambulance. The doors closed, and the vehicle pulled away, siren blaring.
Seth and Phil continued to examine the ground. Thirty minutes later, more sheriff’s department vehicles and two state troopers crowded the scene.
“The Big Man’s here.” Phil stood just a hair straighter.
Sheriff Ernest T. Walker was the “Big Man” in every way. Large boned and broad shouldered, he stood six six in his cowboy boots. In his midfifties, he’d thickened around the middle over the past few years, but no one wanted to test his physical strength. His hands were the size of bowling balls.
“Harding!” Walker’s voice boomed over the area.
Seth jogged over.
“You sure you’re all right?” Under the wide brim of his campaign hat, the sheriff’s sharp eyes studied Seth. Holding an elected position had politicized Walker over the years. But the cop was still there, underneath the public image. The sheriff’s most prominent fault was the ego that matched his physical presence.
“I’m fine,” Seth said.
“Tell me about the prisoner. How dangerous do you think he is?” Walker put his hands behind his back and listened.
“Toby Black, formerly Chase Ryan’s friend and personal assistant, confessed to killing his boss. Toby hasn’t talked since confessing, but according to the autopsy report he bashed Chase over the head, then wrapped a belt around his neck and positioned the body to mimic the serial killer in the last season of Detective Alex Gunn. But last night I watched the video Cyndee Sykes took of the campsite argument. Toby’s brother, Josh, was the most physically aggressive with Chase.”
“Must have been some fight.”
“Chase got drunk and went to Fletcher’s. His friends did not approve of his behavior,” Seth said.
The drunken Chase had left their camp and gone to the neighborhood dive, where he tried to pick up not one but two local girls. According to the case file, Chase had seemed surprised and irritated that the girls hadn’t been starstruck enough to accompany him to a motel room for a threesome. Apparently this was a normal occurrence in Chase’s Hollywood mansion.
No, thanks.
Seth would take life with his country-girl wife and the small town he’d come to call home over big-city living any day.
The sheriff grimaced. “I can see a heat-of-the-moment fight between a pair of drunks, but covering up the crime tells me Toby is colder, more calculating. Maybe more dangerous.”
Seth gave Walker a rundown of what had happened since the accident.
Walker nodded, then put his forefinger and thumb together and whistled through them. “Deputies, over here.”
While the men scrambled to the sheriff’s car, Walker pulled a map out of his glove compartment and unfolded it on the hood. The sheriff liked to go old-school. “Listen up.”
Officers went silent.
“Seth, go.” Walker propped his hands on his hips and gave Seth his attention. All eyeballs followed.
“We have two possible scenarios,” Seth began. “One, our prisoner took advantage of the accident and ran. Two, someone busted him out of custody. More than an hour has passed since the accident. Our man is injured and handcuffed. We need to orchestrate a foot search of this immediate area. The K-9 team will be here momentarily to facilitate that operation. We also need a hard-target search of every building within a five-mile radius. Homes, barns, sheds, hunting cabins, vacant buildings, anywhere a wounded man might hide.”
Seth gestured for Walker to pick up the briefing.
The sheriff jabbed a finger at the map. “To cover option two, we’ve set up checkpoints here, here, and here. The suspects might still be in the semi, or they might have transferred to an unknown vehicle. The state police are patrolling the interstate, and they’re sending up a helicopter to search via air. We’ve called the local airfields and put them on alert.” Walker straightened to his full height. “Every available man is being called in. Let’s get busy, people. We have a killer on the loose.”
The men dispersed.
“Seth?” Walker called.
“Yes, sir.” Seth ran a hand through his hair, shaking loose some gravel and a few glass pebbles.
“Where do you think he is?”
Seth scanned the area. “There was enough blood in that backseat for me to doubt that he ran into the woods under his own steam.”
Walker squinted down the road. “You think whoever was driving the truck took him away?”
“I do,” Seth said. “I was only stuck in my car for a few minutes. I doubt he could have gotten out of his seat belt and crawled out of the overturned car, handcuffed and wounded, that quickly.”
“How much blood did you see in the back of the car?”
Seth pictured the accident scene. “Not enough to suggest he was bleeding out, but he’s definitely hurting.”
Walker nodded. “Do you think his friends broke him out?”
“I think someone did. What I don’t understand is why. Toby confessed and surrendered.”
The sheriff’s lips clamped shut as he considered Seth’s statement. “Maybe he changed his mind. Only one way to find out. You work the personal angle: Toby, his buddies, and the Hollyweird groupies running all over the county.” Walker adjusted his belt. “Take Phil with you. Let me know if you need more bodies. I want this SOB back in custody.”
“Yes, sir.” Seth ground his molars. At the moment anger was keeping his adrenaline tap on full. Donovan was a good man. He had a wife and three little kids. He didn’t deserve to be put in the hospital—or worse—to free a murderer.
While the tow truck pulled Seth’s car from a deep rut in the woods, he dialed his wife to let her know he was all right. At the rate gossip spread in Solitude, she might already have heard about the incident. Cops’ spouses lived with the constant fear that their loved ones weren’t coming home. Seth said a silent prayer that Donovan’s wife wouldn’t answer her doorbell today and find the chaplain on her front porch.
After he ended the thirty-second call with Carly, Seth checked in with Phil.
“Where are we headed first?” Phil asked.
Who wanted Toby Black out of police custody? His pals? Needing security and privacy after Friday’s attempt by Cyndee to incinerate them, Chase’s buddies had slept in the church basement Saturday night, but they’d planned to head out of town sometime today. Had they decided to take their friend with them?
Seth shook his head. “Let’s go find Chase Ryan’s two remaining friends.”
Phil scratched his forehead. “Would have been a whole lot simpler to have run before getting arrested.”
“Exactly.” Seth’s gaze shifted to the upside-down police vehicle. “Maybe Toby didn’t arrange this. Maybe his friends did it without asking. Maybe he was taken for another reason.” But Seth couldn’t figure out how anyone would benefit from taking Toby. “But we do know that whoever was driving that truck left two cops for dead.”
If Seth’s reflexes had been a hair slower, the chaplain could have been paying Carly a visit this morning. A year ago he wouldn’t have given his own neck much thought, but he and Carly had come a long way in their relationship. He knew that she worried about his safety on the job as much as he stressed about her job as a social worker. These days he gave his wife’s feelings much more respect.
Phil nodded. “I’ll follow you.”
Seth went back to his own car, opened the trunk, and pulled a T-shirt out of his gym bag. A clean, blood-free shirt was the best he could do at the moment.
The truck had been driving toward town, and the two-lane highway wasn’t wide enough for a rig of that size to turn around without leaving roadside tire marks in the damp earth. The vehicle must have continued in its original direction.
Toward Solitude.
Burned by Her Devotion (Rogue Vows Book 2) Page 2
