Seek and Find

by Dana Mentink

  “Why?” she asked again.

  Then Ryder and Bucks arrived, and she understood. He was making sure that she was safely removed from the situation before he freed the dog. She gave James the same look she imagined Hawk gave him from time to time. “You’re not going to let me go with you any farther, are you?”

  “Can’t. I’m sorry.” He looked as if he really meant it. “Bucks will take you back home and stay with you until I get there.”

  She wanted to be angry that the chase had been interrupted. Even now, Falkner might be getting away if James’s hunch was correct, yet James had brought it all to a grinding halt because it was not safe for her.

  Hating to be put aside like a vulnerable child, she could hear in his voice that it was not a decision she could argue her way out of. The thought struck her like a thunderbolt. Above all things—the chase, a possible fugitive—he wanted her to be safe.

  Warmth flooded through her. This man, determined as he was, cared about her deeply. She filed away the feeling and nodded. “Okay.”

  Ryder and his dog stayed with James, and Bucks stepped aside to allow her to return. She started back, wondering if James was still looking at her, silhouetted perfectly in the moonlight. Or would he be turned away now, focused on his mission? She risked a look and found him still with his face turned toward her, fully committed to his work, but with something else there, something more tender, reserved just for her.

  Imagination, she told herself, but the uptick in her pulse continued. Other, darker thoughts crowded into her mind as she and Bucks hiked back. What if Falkner was out there waiting? He was armed, fully hidden perhaps, waiting in ambush for anyone daring enough to follow.

  “Lord, please watch over James, Ryder, Titus and Hawk,” she murmured.

  “What did you say?” Bucks asked.

  “Nothing.” A prayer, she added to herself.

  He kept up a good pace on their way back and didn’t stop until they’d reached the cars. Marlton hastened up to them.

  “How can James think anybody escaped from that wreck?” he demanded.

  Bucks opened the passenger door for Madison. Marlton shot a look at her. “None of this is going in a story, right?”

  Her face flushed. She had been forcing herself to resist texting her editor to tell him there was another story developing. She still wasn’t sure why she hadn’t sent the text, except that she knew James was in a delicate position. “No story. For now.”

  Marlton glared at her. “Keep it that way.”

  Bucks said something to Marlton that she couldn’t make out before he took the wheel and they were driving back to her cabin.

  “Gotta excuse Marlton. He doesn’t like it that we didn’t make a proper arrest. Afraid it makes him look bad.”

  “So, what do you think?” she asked him.

  “About what?”

  “About James’s idea that Falkner escaped the crash.”

  He frowned, eyes on the road. “Would be quite a feat to pull off and require some smarts. Most criminals aren’t that smart. They’re too greedy.”

  “But Hawk’s alerting on something.”

  Bucks laughed. “And he’s got a nose, all right. He’s a good dog, and a good cop, so if he says Falkner’s out there, maybe we should pay attention. Still...” Bucks fingered the steering wheel. “Doesn’t seem like a good idea to go out searching the woods at night.”

  “Are you worried?”

  He shrugged, but she saw a kernel of something deep down that made her warm to him. “Harrison and Hayes can take care of themselves, but...”

  “But what?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “The woods are full of wolves, Ms. Coles. You should know that by now.”

  And who would know better than Little Red herself? She looked out into the darkness, imagining James and Hawk pushing through the night as Falkner tracked their every move.

  Be careful, James. A completely unexpected thought rose up to follow the first.

  I don’t want to lose you.

  Seventeen

  Though Ryder was probably questioning James’s wild theory, he nonetheless stayed with the trail, keeping behind James and Hawk, Titus at his partner’s side.

  Thanks for watching my back, James would have said if he wasn’t so focused on Hawk. He knew Falkner’s scent was drifting on the air currents, attaching to the ground and nearby vegetation. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be aware of those infinitesimal nuances, and he could only shake his head at Hawk’s skill in fixing on one scent out of the millions floating on the desert breeze. God knew what He was doing when He made a bloodhound, James thought, not for the first time.

  Hawk plowed along, splashing through the creek, which was fortunately only six inches deep at its widest section, his powerful body moving easily. The cold water jarred James, soaking him up to the knees. The dog reached the other side, took a moment to reconnoiter and charged up the opposing slope, James and Ryder and Titus following. Hawk barreled on for a couple hundred yards until he came to the edge of a gravel road.

  “Old fire road. Loops around to the highway,” Ryder said.

  James made a move to follow, but Ryder stopped him, shining a flashlight on the ground. “Motorbike tracks. Hard to say if they’re fresh or not.”

  James groaned. “Falkner had it parked here.” He turned to Ryder. “He staged the whole crash.”

  Ryder raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Pretty elaborate.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  Ryder didn’t answer at first. “Going to wait on a verdict until we can get down to the crash site.”

  “It might take months to collect all the evidence, if there’s any left after the fire.”

  “If there’s a body, we’ll find it quick.”

  “Falkner’s out of control, and if he’s on the loose, I can’t allow for a delay. I’m going to follow the road.”

  Ryder put a hand on his shoulder. “James, we’re going to have to call this one, at least for now.”

  Hawk continued to tug on the leash. “Hawk’s got him. We’ll trail him.”

  “Even if Hawk has a scent and you’re right about everything, the guy’s jumped on a motorbike. He could be in a different city by now.”

  James gritted his teeth. “We’ll track him, Hawk and me, for however long it takes.”

  “We don’t have the time or resources to allow you to do that, and you know it. You’re not on duty, anyway.” Ryder thumbed his radio. “I’ll tell them we’re coming in.”

  “But...”

  Ryder’s jaw tightened just enough to remind James of his own rookie status. “That’s the way it’s going to be.”

  “Ryder...” James said, keeping his voice low. “What if there’s a leak in our department?”

  Ryder raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

  After a breath, James told him about the red tape he’d found at Frances’s house. “And Falkner knew we had units at the clearing, waiting for him. How would he know that unless...”

  “You need to be careful here,” Ryder said, tone stern. “You’re close to making an accusation that can’t be taken back.”

  “I know. I don’t believe it’s a cop, but...”

  Ryder’s eyes shifted in thought, hard to read in the moonlight. James wondered if he had just crossed a line with Ryder.

  “I’ll see what I can find out, discreetly, but let’s not ruin any reputations unless we’ve got something solid. Do you understand me?”

  James nodded. He felt relieved to have confided in Ryder, a man he trusted with his life. But didn’t he trust any of his fellow cops to have his back at any moment? Marlton, Bucks, Weston, Godwin, Foxcroft, McKeller, all o
f them depended on each other. The blue brotherhood was real. It was what cops relied on to keep them alive and sane. He had to be wrong, and now he’d dragged Ryder in, planting the seed of suspicion in his mind, too.

  What are you doing, James? Had the need to protect Madison from Falkner made him desperate enough to see a conspiracy where there was none? A picture of Paige flashed across his mind. His intense love and devotion to her had blinded him to a lot of things, even created a wedge between them when he’d imagined Sterling was interested in her. But God had helped him to trust himself again. This was not a case of James Harrison being blinded by his feelings for a woman.

  Was it?

  Ryder was already splashing back through the creek.

  “Good boy,” James said, rubbing Hawk along his wide back.

  The dog barked, irritated at being kept from his quarry.

  “If he’s out there, we’ll get him,” James whispered.

  As he stood, there was a sharp sound of a branch cracking. He jerked to his feet. The noise did not repeat itself. Maybe he was paranoid. Hawk had not seemed to notice, though he was still doing his best to persuade James to continue the chase.

  James stood silent, listening, one hand restraining Hawk, the other on his gun. The silent seconds ticked away. Finally James hauled Hawk along to return to the crash site, but the skin on the back of his neck prickled the whole way.

  Chief Jones was on scene along with a volunteer fire crew who were fixing ropes, readying themselves to rappel down to the crash area.

  “It’s still burning pretty bad,” Jones said. “It’s gonna be a while.”

  James looked out into the darkness. Was Falkner lying dead in the bottom of the gorge? Or was he out there laughing, knowing once again he’d bested the cops?

  He realized the chief was staring at him. “Take your dog home, Harrison. You’ve done enough for an off-duty cop.”

  Was there a tone of hostility in Jones’s voice? He did not think Ryder had shared his suspicions with Jones, since he knew Ryder did not have a great respect for their boss, but Ryder was a loyal cop and Jones was the chief.

  “When are we going to interview King?”

  “We’ll bring him in tomorrow and see if we have enough evidence to charge him with anything. We’ll let you know how it goes.”

  Jones turned his back on James. He loaded Hawk into the car, grateful that one of the cops had changed the tire for him, and left.

  He knew Madison would be up, and he was right. As soon as his car pulled into the lot, she opened the door.

  Bucks waved a hand at him as he drove off.

  James let Hawk inside his cabin, where he heard the sound of him slopping up water. Madison approached, tentative at first. Then, to his enormous surprise, she threw her arms around him.

  Pleasure at the softness of her embrace trickled through him. She smelled of shampoo, and he gathered her to his chest, fighting the urge to bury his face in her hair, the sweet curve of her neck. It was as if she was made to fit perfectly into his embrace. Her lips brushed his chin before she put space between them.

  “I was worried about you.”

  His heart hammered against his ribs, and he found it difficult to speak. More than anything he wanted to hold her close again, but he forced his feet to stay planted where they were. “Didn’t find him. I think he had a motorbike stashed.”

  “Can’t Hawk follow?”

  “Yeah, unless we’re ordered not to.”

  “Oh,” she said. “So that’s where things stand?”

  “For now. We’ll interrogate King tomorrow.”

  Her expression was crestfallen. “I was hoping... I mean, I guess I was counting on it all being over tonight.”

  “Me, too.”

  She brushed her hair back from her eyes. “James, I called my editor. He wants me to write up an article about the possible smuggling connection with King and the protection racket.”

  His chin went up. “Not now. We haven’t got enough to make a case. You can’t write that story. Did you tell him no?”

  “It’s a big career break for me.” She paused. “But I told him I couldn’t write it yet.”

  He blew out a breath. “That’s good. We have to nail King and Falkner before anything goes to print.”

  “That will be too late for my editor.”

  “I don’t care about your editor,” he snapped, the rigors of the day fraying what was left of his patience. “You can’t write that story.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Are you ordering me not to write that story? Because you don’t have that kind of power over my life.”

  He looked at the floor for a moment. “I’m not ordering,” he said in a softer tone. “I’m asking.”

  Slowly her posture relaxed, and in a quiet voice she replied, “Okay.”

  And then she turned and walked away, leaving him to muse over the meaning.

  Okay? Did that mean she would forgo the story? Or write it, anyway, knowing that it would complicate matters immeasurably for him?

  “You don’t have that kind of power over my life.”

  He didn’t want power, he realized with a lurch of uncertainty. He wanted a partnership. With her.

  He swatted at a mosquito that buzzed around his ears. Partner? Enemy? Friend? Rival? What was he to Madison Coles? What were they to each other?

  * * *

  Madison found it hard to concentrate as she and James drove to the station Wednesday morning. Her own emotions had become indecipherable to her. She’d fallen into a nervous morass while she’d paced the cabin floor, praying for James and Hawk to return safely. Then came the flash of the old Madison, distrustful, guarded, when he had warned her off writing the article. If he’d ordered her to stop, she’d have had her proof that he was what she’d suspected—an opponent, nothing more—and her feelings were purely one-sided.

  But he hadn’t ordered. He’d asked. The impact of that still ricocheted through her like a rock skipping off the surface of a lake. It was what had restrained her from dashing off an article for her editor. Instead she settled for recording her observations in the form of notes. A simple outline for now. The thoughts kept her silent for the rest of the trip to the station.

  When they arrived, the tantalizing smell of coffee made her mouth water.

  She expected to be directed to the lobby while James attended the morning briefing. If only the department secretary, Carrie Dunleavy, was more of a chatty type, Madison might make use of the time to glean some information.

  James was headed for the back when the door slammed open and Bruce King strode into the room, wiry frame stiff with rage. A smaller man followed him, dressed in a neat suit and tie.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” King raged at James. “This is a frame-up from the beginning.”

  Madison saw Carrie quietly pick up the phone.

  James’s eyes went flat in that expressionless cop way she’d seen before.

  “Can I help you with something, Mr. King?”

  “Help me? My truck was stolen last night, and now I find out it’s at the bottom of a gorge and the cargo’s all burned up.”

  “How did you hear about that?” James asked.

  “Who cares? My truck was stolen and destroyed in some cop sting last night. I understand there were cops at my house this morning, too.”

  “And you were conveniently out.”

  “I’m here now, and I’m telling you that truck was stolen from the lot where I pay to park it.”

  “Is that right?” Ryder asked, joining James. Madison almost smiled at their identical “cop” postures, feet firmly planted, hands resting on their gun belts, faces stern, implacable. “And what about the cargo?”

  King’s nostrils flared. “I heard it was cigarettes. They�
��re not mine,” he hastened to add.

  “The truck was filled to the brim with cigarettes,” Ryder confirmed. “Most were burned up, but we managed to save a few that were tossed clear when the truck went over the cliff. They’re not legal cigarettes.”

  King’s mouth tightened. “Well, whoever stole the truck picked up a shipment somewhere. The cigarettes weren’t mine.”

  “Right.” James did not hide the sarcasm. “Your truck was stolen, and the thief used it to pick up a load of illicit cigarettes and then drove it off a cliff.”

  “You cops forced him over the cliff, from what I hear.”

  “That’s not accurate,” James said, voice still flat and hard.

  King waved an impatient hand. “The driver. My sources tell me it was Myron Falkner.”

  “You have good sources,” said the chief as he joined them. “Who told you that, exactly?”

  King’s hands clenched into fists. “Doesn’t matter. Did you find the body?”

  “We are not going to disclose that information at this time,” Jones said.

  “I hope for Falkner’s sake he died in that fire, because if I ever get my hands on him, he’s going to wish he’d burned up.”

  Madison recoiled at the hatred in King’s tone.

  “You’re tough on your employees,” James said.

  “He’s doesn’t work for me anymore,” King spat, “just like I told you. You cops are working hard to set me up.”

  “We’re not doing anything but investigating,” the chief said. “But while you’re here, come on back and have a seat. We have some more questions for you.”

  The smaller man stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I’m Jeff Barnes, Mr. King’s lawyer, and unless you’re going to charge him with something, he’s not going to answer any questions.”

  “We aren’t going to charge him...yet,” Jones said. “We’ve got some facts to fill in first. I’m sure since Mr. King is a businessman, he appreciates our thoroughness.”

  James and Ryder didn’t react, but she knew adding a lawyer to the mix would hamper their investigation.

  “You’re not going to touch me, and if you won’t do anything to punish whoever stole my truck, then I will.” King whirled on his heel and hammered the door open as he and his lawyer left.