by Syndi Powell
Luke chimed in. “That’s because it’s winter and guys like me don’t have a lot of work. And they hang out at pool halls, bars.” He turned into an unplowed drive that led through a cluster of trees.
“That’s right,” Trent continued. “So our guy’s name is Frankie Ellis. Or that’s his alias this week. Anyway, he gets these kids to let him bunk with them, then he talks them into making meth. They become accomplices. And he’s got them.” Trent made a fist.
“And you think he’s out here at the old ordinance plant?”
“I do.”
Scott looked out the window. “I was hoping Indian Lake kids would be safer after you nabbed Le Grande.”
“Me, too.” Luke clutched the steering wheel.
“Afraid not,” Trent said, shaking his head.
They’d reached the end of the drive and were approaching a row of long, narrow manufacturing buildings from World War II. The white paint on their exteriors was chipped, and some of the faded green shutters hung at odd angles. A concrete drive circled a naked flagpole and a raised planter that at one time, Scott imagined, had been filled with red, white and blue flowers. Weeds and poison ivy, now strangled by winter’s kill, decorated the front of a matching office building. To the far right were what appeared to be barracks and hangar-like buildings for transport vehicles.
During the war, the compound had been a source of pride and hope for Indian Lake residents. They had thought they were fighting back against the greatest evil of all time.
Luke drove into the complex and stopped at the heavy rusted chain across the entrance. Trent turned to Scott. “Take photos with your phone. I’m going to check it out. You both stay here.”
“What?” Scott stared at him “What if Ellis is in there?”
“Both of you know how to handle yourselves in any situation. I wouldn’t put you in danger. Scott, you’re the best journalist around. You see things that I even miss. I’m relying on your eyes. And Luke, I could take lessons from you, man.”
“We’ve got your back, Trent,” Luke said.
“Yeah, we want to help. It’s our town, too,” Scott added. Scott watched with a clenched jaw as Trent jogged away, ducked under the chain and hustled up to one of the buildings.
“What if this meth dealer has friends? Like some of Le Grande’s murderous gang?”
“I’m sure Trent thought of that.”
“I hope so,” Scott replied warily. “This is nuts.”
Luke shook his head slightly. He had slipped his gun out of its holster and put it on the passenger seat.
Scott swallowed hard. “Okay.” He picked up his phone and took a series of photos, using his zoom. “I need a telephoto lens for this. And the sun is going down.”
Luke pointed out the window. “It’s abandoned. See? No tire tracks on the snow. No footprints around, except Trent’s. It’s probably safe enough.”
“Why do I get the feeling Chief Williams doesn’t know anything about this?”
“Of course he knows. Trent wouldn’t jeopardize his job. He said the chief trusts Trent’s instincts when it comes to intel.”
Luke sighed. “It’s getting dark. He won’t be able to see in there. And if he finds anything substantial, he’ll need to get a warrant.”
Scott was relieved to see Trent hustling back toward the SUV a few moments later. He climbed in and buckled up. “I can’t see anything through the windows and even that broken one didn’t help since I don’t have a flashlight. I should get a warrant.”
Luke laughed to himself and backed out of the drive. Scott’s phone pinged with a text. “Problem there, buddy?” Luke asked.
“No. Just Isabelle. She wants me to bring some ice to the party. She said I’m late.”
“Party?”
“Yeah. Her mother has a Christmas party every year on the twenty-third. It’s tradition. Just family.”
“Really? And she didn’t have you working KP duty all afternoon?” Luke met Scott’s eyes in the mirror, eyebrows raised.
“She asks for lots of other help, but not for the dinner. Except for the ice,” Scott replied. Scott sensed where this conversation was going. His buddies thought they were supporting him with their inquiries and suggestions. But when they brought Isabelle up like this, it embarrassed him that he helped her out with so much, and yet, she wasn’t as serious about him as he wanted her to be. As he felt about her.
He read the text again. It was terse and hurried.
Where are you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago. Bring ice.
Scott would have been on time if not for the unscheduled trip to the ammunitions plant. Maybe only slightly late. This was the third Christmas that Scott had been invited to the Hawkses’ family party. Her two sisters, Sadie and Violet, would be there, of course, since they both lived at home. Dylan, who was twenty-nine and only eleven months younger than Isabelle, would be home from the South Side of Chicago where he was a prosecuting attorney. Christopher, an EMP and first responder, lived north of town and Ross, a forensic CPA who commuted into downtown Chicago for work, would also be on hand.
Scott liked all of Isabelle’s family but for some reason, she always seemed tense during this party. When he’d asked her about it in the past, she’d always said she was fine and that there was a lot of work to be done. But Scott had long wondered if her family made her nervous.
Or was it possible that his presence at Christmas upset her?
Luke and Trent were talking about their families and the threat of the rising drug problems. They both vowed to risk their lives to save their loved ones.
Scott slid his phone back into his pocket.
He knew, without a doubt, he would put his life on the line for Isabelle. But suddenly, he wondered if she had ever felt that strongly about him.
Copyright © 2017 by Catherine Lanigan
ISBN-13: 9781488012303
Afraid to Lose Her
Copyright © 2017 by Cynthia Powell
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