by Jeff Shelby
Impact Zone
By Jeff Shelby
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Impact Zone
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2017
Cover design by J.T. Lindroos
Cover photo by Damian Gadal
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.
Books by Jeff Shelby
The Joe Tyler Novels
THREAD OF HOPE
THREAD OF SUSPICION
THREAD OF BETRAYAL
THREAD OF INNOCENCE
THREAD OF FEAR
THREAD OF REVENGE
THREAD OF DANGER
The Noah Braddock Novels
KILLER SWELL
WICKED BREAK
LIQUID SMOKE
DRIFT AWAY
LOCKED IN
IMPACT ZONE
The Moose River Mysteries
THE MURDER PIT
LAST RESORT
ALIBI HIGH
FOUL PLAY
YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL
ASSISTED MURDER
DEATH AT THE DINER
The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)
STAY AT HOME DEAD
POPPED OFF
FATHERS KNOWS DEATH
The Rainy Day Mysteries
BOUGHT THE FARM
WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS
CRACK OF DEATH
PLANTING EVIDENCE
Novel for Young Adults
PLAYING THE GAME
Short Story Collections
OUT OF TIME
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ONE
Carter wrapped his massive hand around the handle of his beer mug. “This is weird.”
I looked around the bar. “What is?”
He gestured with the mug, then took a long drink. “This. I feel like we haven't done this in a long time.”
We were sitting in a small bar in Pacific Beach. The back of it opened toward the boardwalk and the ocean, a picture window that displayed the night sky hanging over the water. The tables and stools were half-filled, the crowd more local than tourist. A soccer game was playing silently on the flat screens up above.
“Drink beer?” I asked.
He frowned. “No. I mean, just, like, sit. And not have shit to do.”
“We could go grocery shopping.”
“Man. I try to make a half-serious comment about the fact that life may have finally settled down for a bit and you won't even acknowledge my awareness of it.” He set the mug down on the scratched wood surface. “Tough crowd, you are.”
I chuckled and leaned forward, my elbows on the table, my hands around my own glass. “Sorry. Didn't mean to rain on your parade of awareness.”
“It's not a parade. I hate parades. Giant balloon animals and marching bands. Hate that shit.” He glanced up at one of the televisions. “I just meant that it feels sort of weird to not be looking over my shoulder for what's coming next.”
I nodded. I knew what he meant. I felt like I was finally learning how to breathe again. I'd run away to Florida and come back, afraid that I was making a mistake in returning. I still wasn't sure that coming back to San Diego was the right thing for me, but at the very least, I didn't feel afraid to be there anymore.
“I hear you,” I said. “And it is weird.”
“So what's next then?” he said, pushing his gigantic frame back into the wooden chair, stretching out. “What are we gonna do?”
I held up my beer. “Drink this.”
“Well, sure. But I mean, big picture.”
The beer tasted good. “It's weird to hear you being aware and talking about the big picture.”
“I know, right? It's like one of those movies where we've switched bodies and I'm you and you're me.”
“Sure.”
“It must be so great for you to get to be me.”
“I do feel dumber.”
“But sexier.”
I shook my head. “I don't know what's next.”
“Are you going to keep working?” Carter asked.
“Need to eat. Still have my license.”
He nodded, his hands clasped behind his head. “Okay. So we need to find you some business.”
I looked around the bar. “Nobody looks like they need help right now.”
“I could punch someone and run. Then you could track me down for them.”
“It's a thought.”
He picked up his glass, stared into it for a moment. “You thought any more about the house?”
The house. Liz's house on Coronado that she'd bequeathed to me in her will. That I'd finally accepted was mine to deal with. That I had no clue what to do with.
“I've thought about it, yeah,” I said.
“Like, about what you want to do with it or about how you just want to ignore it?”
I pointed at him. “That one.”
He nodded. “I get it.”
I took a deep breath. “I don't know. Yeah, I've thought about it. I don't really see living in it, just because. But selling it doesn't seem right, either. So I don't know.”
He nodded again and swallowed more of the beer.
“You have any thoughts?” I asked.
“So many. I mean, that blonde at the end of the bar? She—”
“Meant about the house.”
“Oh, right,” he said, grinning at me. Then he sat up again in the chair and set the mug on the table. “Look, she left it to you for a reason. Not that she thought...what happened was gonna happen, but she gave it to you because she trusted you. At some point, she had a conversation with herself and decided that it should be yours if...if shit happened.”
My chest tightened and the skin at the back of my neck went cold. I swallowed another mouthful of beer.
“So all I'm saying is that whatever decision you make?” Carter said, raising an eyebrow. “She'll be cool with. And, Noah?”
I looked at him.
“I mean that,” he said, staring at me. “She'll be cool with whatever you do.”
I didn't have his clarity or certainty about that. I'd been trying to find it, but had yet to get there. I knew that he was probably right, but it didn't really point me in the right direction, either.
“Might be other things she's not cool with, though,” he said.
I glanced up from my beer. “What?”
His arms were folded across his chest. “What was the name of the woman at USD?”
“Sarah?”
He nodded. “That's the one.”
I'd met Sarah Dowdell after coming back to San Diego, our paths crossing because I’d agreed to work on a case for the district attorney's office that involved a student she knew in her position at USD. It was a sort of penance to pay for my sins, and it had gotten weird and ugly in a hurry. I still wasn't convinced it was completely in the rearview mirror, but Sarah had been one of the few bright spots about getting involved.
“I'm not following,” I said, frowning at him. “What does Sarah have to do with anything?”
He picked up his beer and his eyes drifted away from me, his gaze seizing on something near the front of the bar. “I'm just saying that Liz might not be cool that Sarah from USD just walked in the doo
r and is headed your way.”
TWO
Sarah Dowdell stood next to our table. She wore a gray Lycra tank top, black spandex workout pants, and running shoes. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a few strands trying to escape at the sides. Her cheeks were pink, and there were a few beads of sweat on her forehead. A small leather backpack was slung over her shoulder.
She clutched the strap and looked at Carter, then me. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said.
“I feel like a stalker,” she said. “I'm sorry to just roll up on you like this.”
“It's okay,” I said. “You wanna have a seat?”
“No. I mean...yeah.” She darted a glance in Carter’s direction. “Is that okay?”
Carter slid out of his chair. “Take mine.” He held up his empty mug. “Need a refill anyway.”
“You don't have to leave,” she said. “Really.”
He smiled at her. “Have a seat. I'll be around if you need me.” He winked at her and headed toward the bar.
She hesitated, then sat down across from me, letting the backpack slide from her shoulder to the ground. She ran a hand over her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears, and let out a sigh. “I'm sorry. I tried calling you.”
I felt for the pocket of my shorts. The familiar shape of my phone was missing. “I must've left it at home. I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize,” she said. “You're not required to have a phone on you at all times.”
I let that hang there for a minute. She was tense and clearly preoccupied with something, her eyes focused more on the table than anything else. I hadn't seen her since the case at USD sort of finished itself. We'd gone on an awkward date in the midst of it and I liked her, was attracted to her. The feeling was mutual. I'd been honest with her about where I was at in my life, that I had no idea what I was doing with myself, and she said she understood. I hadn't seen or spoken to her since.
It was good to see her.
“You want a beer?” I asked.
She looked up from the table. “A beer would be fantastic.”
I nodded and waved at the guy at the near end of the bar. We did the universal sign language thing with our hands, with me telling him we needed a beer and him telling me he'd have it in a minute. He brought it over to the table and Sarah grabbed her bag and started fishing inside it.
“Put it on my tab, okay?” I said to the bartender.
“You don't have to,” Sarah objected.
“I know,” I said. I looked at the bartender. “We're good. Thanks.”
He nodded and hustled back to the bar.
Sarah dropped the bag back to the floor. “Thank you.”
“Sure.”
She held the glass, then drained half of it before setting it back down.
“Wow,” I said. “You could've just had mine if you were that thirsty.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “No. Just a long day.” She took a deep breath, exhaled. “So I tried calling you. Couldn't reach you. I was at a spin class over in Mission Beach and I remembered you telling me you came here a bit. So I took a shot. Sorry if it's weird.”
“I think more people know to find me here than wherever I'm living,” I said. “Not weird at all.”
She squinted at me like she wasn't sure if I was telling her the truth.
“I promise,” I said. I waited a beat. “So, what's up?”
She leaned back in the chair, her tan shoulders slumped. “My father.”
“Your father?”
She nodded. “Did I tell you anything about him?”
I shook my head. “I don't think so.”
“He and my mom are divorced. She lives in Phoenix.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But my dad lives up in Valley Center. He owns a ranch, mainly grows avocados.” She paused, then shook her head. “I don't know why I'm telling you that part. I'm sorry.”
I leaned forward against the table. “Sarah?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Stop apologizing,” I said, smiling. “It's nice to see you. I'm glad you found me.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then forced a smile. “It's nice to see you, too.” She took a long drink from the beer. “I'm just out of sorts. This is what my father does to me.”
I glanced down at the table. “Fathers will do that.”
She nodded. “Mine more than most, I think. We got along for awhile, then we didn't, and now we're sort of in between.”
“Not unusual.”
“No, but frustrating,” she said. “He's always wanted me to take a different career path, make more money, not get divorced, now find another husband, blah, blah, blah. And all of that is fine. Except when he feels the need to let me know about it.”
I laughed. “I can see how that might get obnoxious.”
“You have no idea,” she said, smiling. “Anyway. The ranch is up in Valley Center. It's massive. Over 300 acres.”
“Wow.”
“You look out a window in the kitchen and as far as you can see, that's our land,” she said. “It's kind of crazy. My grandfather started it, then passed it on to my dad. I grew up there.”
“Dowdell Farms,” I said, suddenly realizing I knew the name.
“That's us.”
“I buy those avocados all the time.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
I laughed.
“Anyway,” she continued. “The ranch is large. And my dad is kind of a weirdo. So a couple of years ago, he spent a fortune to install all of these security cameras on the property to monitor the roads and the different groves and stuff. I didn't really see the point. Seemed super expensive to me and unnecessary.” She picked up the beer. “But he didn't ask for my opinion.”
I nodded.
She took another drink and set the beer down. “The cameras feed to his computer somehow. I don't know the logistics, but he can basically view most of the more heavily traveled parts of the ranch, along with some of the more remote parts. When he's gone, he can log in from wherever he is and either see the property live or he can set it so that it sends him pictures or emails or something if there's anything to see.”
I nodded again. It sounded like a more elaborate system, but similar to ones that people were installing in their homes. They could view who was outside their house without ever moving from their couch.
“Usually, he doesn't spot anything more than an animal in the middle of the night,” she said. “Coyotes, skunks, sometimes a mountain lion. And anyone that does show up on the cameras, he knows. Ranch workers, distributors, people that should be there.”
“Okay,” I said.
She shifted in her chair. “But last night, he saw something different.”
I waited.
Sarah picked up the beer. “Last night, there were pictures of a girl.”
THREE
Carter raised an eyebrow at me from the far end of the bar.
I gave him a quick head shake, then refocused on Sarah. “A girl?”
Sarah nodded. “Yeah. No idea who she is or what she was doing there. The photos were taken in the middle of the night. She tripped one of the cameras, I guess. And he's completely freaked out by it.”
“Why? Does he know her?”
She shook her head, the ponytail swishing back and forth. “No, he says he doesn't. I haven't seen the photos, but I doubt I do, either. I'm up there maybe once a month and it's usually just for dinner.” Her hand was still on the beer mug, her finger tracing the rim. “But he's upset about the photos. He says he thinks the girl in the pictures is in trouble. Or was or whatever.”
I glanced up at the soccer game. Some guy was running around like his arms were airplane wings with his teammates chasing after him.
“Why does he think that?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don't know. Like I said, I haven't seen the pictures. But he says it looks to him like she was in trouble and he's upset about it.”
“Which
turned you into my stalker because...?”
She cut her eyes at me and frowned.
“I'm kidding,” I said, holding up a hand. “I'm kidding. Not a stalker.”
She pursed her lips and shook her head, like a mother might with a child who had disobeyed her. “I'm not a stalker. But he was kind of relentless in his worry. He didn't want to call the police because he didn't feel like they'd take him seriously. I told him that I knew someone who might be able to help.” She leaned forward. “So that's why I'm here. Not because I'm going to show up at your home and boil your rabbit.”
“I don't have a rabbit.”
She stole a glance at Carter. “Then I guess I'd have to boil your giant friend.”
I laughed hard. “Good luck with that.”
“I'll need a big pot,” she said, smiling. “Look, I really don't mean to bother you.”
“You aren't bothering me,” I said. “I told you. It's nice to see you.”
She looked at me, skeptical that what I was saying was true. “But I told him I knew someone who might be able to look at the photos and see what's what. That someone is you. If you aren't interested, no worries. I won't fake-stalk you anymore.” She paused. “But I thought I might ask if you'd take a look at the photos and see if you think he's right to be concerned.”
I looked up at the soccer game again. Guys were fighting with one another as they lined up to get in the way of a free kick near their goal. Pushing, shoving, lots of acting.
“And I mean it,” Sarah said. “If you aren't interested, tell me. I won't be offended. I can't believe it would really be anything anyway.”
“But you're here,” I pointed out. “So you thought there was enough of a reason to contact me. Right?”
She blinked a couple of times, then nodded. “Yeah, I suppose. My dad is a pain in the butt, but he's still my dad. And I can tell this really spooked him and he's really worried about whoever is in these pictures. So even if I think it's a bit of a goose chase, he doesn't.” She shrugged. “He asked me for help and I said I'd talk to you.”
