HIDING PLACE by Meghan Holloway

by Meghan Holloway

  My truck was parked nearby, virtually untouched save for a riddling of bullet holes across the driver’s side from bumper to bumper. I placed the cinder block in the bed of the pickup and lifted the bed liner in the corner. The spare key to the truck was still tucked beneath it.

  I searched under the truck, under the hood, and through the cab, but I found nothing that indicated a bomb might have been rigged to the vehicle. Even so, I held my breath as I turned the key in the ignition and shifted the truck into gear. Everything operated as normal, and I was not blown sky high.

  I took one last look at the remnants of my home before turning the truck down the drive and heading into town. It was fully dark by the time I pulled into the lot in front of Maggie’s diner. There were only a handful of tables occupied, but whispers and stares met my arrival. Maggie was standing beside a booth talking, but she turned when she heard the commotion. Her face went lax with relief when she spotted me, and she placed the coffee pot on the table and crossed to me.

  I leaned down and accepted her tight hug.

  “I’ve been worried,” she said quietly. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” I admitted.

  I looked over her shoulder and recognized the woman Maggie had been speaking to when I arrived. Evelyn Hutto sat at the booth. The younger woman’s hands were wrapped around a coffee mug, and I could not miss the spaces in her grip. After Jeff Roosevelt kidnapped her from the museum and she managed to kill him and escape, she became lost in a whiteout. By the time Frank found her, frostbite had already done irreparable damage to one of her hands, one of her feet, and an ear.

  Maggie moved to retrieve her coffee pot, and I followed her to the booth. “You’ll want to hear this. While you talk to Evelyn, I’ll make you dinner.”

  I gestured to the bench across from Evelyn. She nodded and took a sip from her mug before speaking. “I see you’re not dead.” Her voice was low and even.

  If ever a woman fit the old adage of still waters run deep, Evelyn certainly did. I had a feeling a lot went on beneath the surface that she never allowed to show. I still wondered if she played a role in the disappearance of the man who stalked her for a year when she lived in Atlanta. The five-year-old case had grown cold, from what William dug up. Even though it seemed I was wrong about Jeff Roosevelt killing Winona and Emma, he had proven himself to be a dangerous predator. She and I were the only ones who saw it. And she was the one to end his killing spree.

  “Not yet,” I agreed. I slipped the pack from my shoulders, grimacing as the strap slid across my arm, and placed it on the bench before sliding in across from her.

  She did not bother with any other pleasantries before she said, “Faye and Sam are missing.”

  I stilled.

  “Sam was going to spend the night with friends,” Evelyn said. “The friends live on the other side of Gardiner, and their mom called Faye Friday night and said Sam had changed his mind about staying the night. Faye went to pick him up, but they never came home.”

  I remembered the fear on Faye’s face when Sam was missing, the secrets boiling beneath that masked exterior. “You’re certain she intended to return?”

  Evelyn simply nodded. “She was coming back.” I noticed for the first time the tension in her face, the exhaustion stamped in the dark circles under her eyes.

  “Do you know how she’s connected to Grant Larson?” I asked Evelyn bluntly.

  “The senator? No, I don’t.” The wrinkle of her brow said she spoke the truth, but I was not certain she would tell me even if she did know. “The first time I heard her mention him was the day Sam didn’t come home from school.” She met my gaze. “Something is wrong, Hector. I can feel it.”

  “Have you reported her missing to the police?”

  She looked away, silent for a long moment before she spoke. “She wouldn’t want me to go to the police.”

  Evelyn was an astute woman, and her admission confirmed what I already suspected about Faye. “You do recall I’m the police,” I pointed out.

  She arched a brow at me. “Are you really?”

  I smiled before I could check the reaction. Her point hit home, but it also made me realize that if Grant Larson were trying to kill me, the public nature of my position as a police officer might afford me some amount of protection.

  Maggie appeared at my side and slid a plate laden with a club sandwich and fries onto the table before me. She paused by my side when Evelyn quietly asked, “Will you help me?”

  I felt Maggie’s gaze on me as I studied the woman sitting across from me. I had seen Jeff Roosevelt’s fixation on Evelyn. Obsessed with bringing him to justice, I saw that fixation as a means to an end with no thought toward Jeff’s intended victim. I had banked on Jeff killing her, but had not counted on Evelyn’s tenacity or her refusal to be a victim.

  There was no room in my conscience to feel guilt. My reserves were completely used for my wife and daughter and the regrets I carried for them. Truth be told, if I were in the same situation with Jeff Roosevelt, I would do the same thing all over again. I could fight my guilt over seeing the woman before me as a pawn, but I could also acknowledge that I owed Evelyn.

  “I think it’s time I went back to work.”

  Maggie waved away the loss of the camping gear as I told her what transpired. “I don’t care about a tent and sleeping bag. Shooting trespassers is a bit extreme, though, even in this area.”

  “Is it?” I asked. I combed my fingers through Frank’s topknot. He lay sprawled beside me on the couch with his chin resting on my knee. The poodle had been glued to my side since I walked into Maggie’s house. The wound on his neck was already scabbing over. “If you have something to hide, something you don’t want to be discovered?”

  “Shit,” she whispered, cuddling Louie in her arms. “What is he doing on the Broken Arrow?”

  I had my suspicions, but I did not know how I would prove it. “Will you take Frank and go visit William for a few weeks?”

  “No.”

  “Please. Larson is a dangerous enemy to have.”

  “I won’t be driven from my home. And before you say it, you won’t be either,” she said. “I’ve been calling the banks in the area. I haven’t found the safe deposit box yet, though.”

  “Maggie—”

  “You’ve been on this crusade for Winona and Emma for a long time,” she said, voice quiet and firm. “When I thought it was leading to self-destruction, I hated it. I felt helpless watching it eat at you. I need you to let me help you.” She was staring down at Louie but now she looked up and met my gaze. “Please.”

  “I won’t have you hurt.”

  “Then we need to figure out what Larson is up to and how to stop him.”

  I still had no ideas for how to do so the next morning as I walked into the police department. Joan Marsden, the wife of the chief and the receptionist during the weekdays at the station, looked up from her computer screen, her eyes widened and her lips formed my name before she composed herself. “Officer Lewis,” she said, with only a slight tremor in her voice.

  “Mrs. Marsden. Is the chief in his office?”

  “He is, with the commander. Go on in, though. We’ve all been concerned about you, and I know they’ll be relieved to see you.”

  That was a gross overstatement, but the two men listened to my statement of the events at my home. I did not tell them about my suspicions regarding Grant Larson. I knew they had their own suspicions about me. I had been a thorn in the Raven’s Gap Police Department’s side for thirty years now.

  When I left Donald Marsden’s office, I had a new service-issued pistol to replace the one lost in the fire and a new badge. I had a spare uniform in the locker room and headed there to change.

  I turned when the locker room door opened behind me. Joan slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. She flicked the deadbolt into place before turning to me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, keeping my
voice low. Here at the police department, we were never anything more than Mrs. Marsden and Officer Lewis to one another.

  She moved to stand in front of me and placed her hand on my chest over my heart. Her eyes slid closed.

  I pressed my hand over hers. “Are you okay?”

  She swallowed, and when she opened her eyes and smiled up at me, her lips trembled and her eyes were bright. “I should be asking you that. I was so worried.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. I was not certain where this concern was coming from. I had never considered us lovers. That was too intimate a term. We shared our bodies on occasion and little more.

  She nodded and sucked in a tremulous breath before her fingers dropped to my belt. I caught her wrist, stilling her movements.

  “Are you certain about this? Here?”

  She went up on her toes and pressed her lips against my throat. “Yes.”

  She made short work of the buckle, button, and zipper, but when she moved to kneel, I caught her elbows. Nothing turned me off quicker than seeing a woman on her knees before me. It reminded me too much of the times as a young boy when I had seen my mother in that same position with countless men.

  “Not like that,” I said when she glanced up at me questioningly. I pulled her upright and tugged her after me as I backed across the room to the bench.

  When I sat, she followed me, her knees on either side of me. She cupped the back of my neck in her cool hands. She smiled down at me, and her smile was full of surprise that morphed into sly feminine wile. “Like this?”

  My fingers clenched her hips, and I swallowed a groan. “Just like that.”

  She came to me for gentleness after her husband beat her. She had shown up on my doorstep ten years ago, and then she kept coming back. I was not a gentle man, but I gave her what she needed as best I could. This was not gentle. It was hard and fast, and both of us were breathless when we finished.

  She leaned against me for a moment, arms tight around my neck. When she leaned back, I smoothed my hands over her hair, straightening the mess made by clenching it in my fists. She pressed a kiss to my jaw and stood, handing me a neat stack of paper towels before she retreated into the bathroom stall.

  I cleaned up and straightened my clothing. When she exited the stall, she looked as polished as ever. She cupped my cheek in her palm. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, voice soft.

  And then she turned away, unlocked the door, and slipped out of the locker room.

  When I exited the locker room minutes later, Ted Peters called my name from the end of the hallway.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your home,” he said as I approached. “I processed the scene meticulously so I didn’t miss anything.”

  “I appreciate it,” I said.

  “You’re going to want to see this.” He offered me a file folder. “Those prints you had me run came back with some interesting results. Who was it?”

  Something in his voice caught my attention before I answered. “A hitchhiker I picked up outside of Bozeman,” I lied. “Her behavior raised my suspicions.”

  He nodded at the folder. “It should have.”

  “Thanks for pulling this together for me,” I said. I waited until I was sitting at my desk to flip the folder open.

  Frank left his spot on the dog bed in the corner and crossed to my side. I rested a hand on his back as I flipped through the case report. I remembered the case from the news reports five years ago. It was plastered in the headlines and dominated news coverage.

  No wonder Faye and Sam were in hiding.

  I was still mulling over the implications of their identity an hour later as I drove to Snowshoe Lane. It was well out of my jurisdiction, but I drove the treacherous stretch of road slowly. Evelyn had given me the name of Sam’s friend, and it was easy enough to find the Carters’ address outside of Gardiner.

  The road was only paved for the first quarter mile outside of town, and then it became a narrow dirt lane, not quite wide enough for two vehicles, that twisted and turned up into the mountains. I drove to the address listed and knocked on the front door of a neatly kept home.

  A woman came to the door after a moment. “May I help you?”

  “Madeline Carter?” I asked.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Hector Lewis, with the Raven’s Gap Police Department,” I said. “Did Faye Anders come to your house Friday evening?”

  She opened the door, and I stepped back as she joined me on the porch. “Yes, she did. Her son changed his mind about spending the night with my boys.” She glanced away from me as she spoke. “I called her and offered to meet her in Gardiner, but she said she would just come to the house.”

  “Why did he change his mind?”

  She hesitated, hands twisting together.

  “What did he do that made you decide he couldn’t spend the night?” I asked.

  She let out a breath. “My oldest apparently was teasing Sam. I’ve reprimanded him for it. But…when I heard a commotion and checked on the boys, Sam had Adam on the floor with his hands wrapped around my son’s throat. It scared the boys. They were screaming at him and trying to pull Sam off of Adam. My son’s face was turning purple by the time I reached them.” She hurried to add, “I’ve always thought Sam was a sweet boy. He has played with my sons a number of times without any issues. I probably overreacted to the situation Friday night and should have done more to smooth things over, but…it made me nervous.”

  “Did you tell Faye this?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I was still figuring out how I wanted to handle it.”

  “Did it seem as if anything was wrong when she was at your house?” I asked.

  “With Faye?” Her brow creased. “No, she was only at the house for a minute or two, but I didn’t notice anything. Are they okay?”

  I pulled a card with the number to the police department on one side and the number to my desk extension on the other. “If you think of anything else, give me a call at the number on the back.”

  She frowned at the card but accepted it. “Yes, of course.”

  I drove the dirt lane that descended toward Gardiner slowly. If I had not been looking, I would have missed it. I braked and glanced in my rearview mirror, but I was right on a curve. I drove on until I was able to pull off to the side enough that another vehicle could pass safely.

  I parked and walked back uphill with Frank at my side, gaze focused on the dirt at my feet. When I reached the spot where I caught a glimpse of it, it took me several minutes to find it again. I moved so the sun was at my back once more, and then I saw the glint of red in the dirt. I knelt and studied the shards of red plastic. They were the remains of a shattered tail light.

  I straightened and moved across the narrow stretch of road. There was less than two feet of shoulder between the edge of the road and a steep drop down the mountainside. I walked along the road, peering carefully over the drop.

  Frank found what I was looking for before I did. He stood barking at the edge of the road fifty yards along the mountainside.

  “I’m coming,” I called to him. “Get back from the edge.”

  Had we not been looking for it, I never would have spotted the destruction out of sight from the road.

  It was not a sheer cliff, but the land fell away at a sharp, steep angle. The mountainside was scored open, scarred with snapped trees and metal and glass debris. It was a five-hundred-foot drop on this stretch of road, and deep below, I could see the crumpled carcass of a burnt wreck.

  “Fuck.”

  Frank whimpered and moved too close to the edge for my comfort. I called him to my side and retreated to my truck.

  I backed my truck into position and set the emergency brake before retrieving the climbing equipment from the lockbox in the truck bed. I locked Frank in the cab so he would not try to follow me down the mountain.

  Once the rope was anchored to the tow hitch, I strapped into the har
ness and inserted the rope through the GriGri. I connected the GriGri to the harness with a locking carabiner, tested the blocking mechanism, and then backed over the edge.

  I could have rappelled swiftly if I were going over a vertical cliff, but with the loose scree precarious underfoot, I climbed down cautiously. When I reached the bottom, I could still feel the heat coming from the wreckage.

  The comparison to my Airstream could not be missed. The smell of the ash, the warped metal, the twisted, skeletal ruin. I unclipped from the rope and approached what remained of the vehicle. Years ago, I responded to a car accident at the request of the sheriff’s department when the deputies were shorthanded. A father and son on vacation at Yellowstone swerved to miss an elk standing in the road one night. Trapped within the wreckage, neither had been able to escape when their vehicle caught fire. By the time the first responders were alerted to the wreck and arrived on scene, it was too late. Twelve years later, though, I could still remember the smell of burnt flesh.

  I braced myself for the stench now as I crouched to peer into the wreckage. The memory of the two blackened skeletons, burned into the pugilistic posture, from the accident a dozen years ago was at the forefront of my mind. It took me several moments of staring into the present scorched vehicle to realize it was empty.

  eighteen

  FAYE

  Consciousness crept in and receded in waves. Pain pressed at me from all sides, sharp and insistent, only ebbing when everything went dark again.

  Awareness returned like a blow, and the shock of realizing I was still alive made my breath catch in a sob. I was hanging upside down, my head pressed to the side against the roof of the SUV. Everything hurt. I could not distinguish one flair of pain from the other. It was constant and livid. My mouth was filled with the sharp metallic flavor of blood.

  “Sam?” It took several attempts for my voice to work and my words to be audible. “Sam?” I tried to turn my head to glance into the backseat, but I could not move. Panic beat a steady drum alongside the pain coursing through me, and I fainted.