and hat from the back seat.
After pulling everything on, she made sure she could reach her weapon. She wasn’t terribly concerned about needing it but wasn’t going in unprepared even though she was almost a hundred percent sure it was Wally in there.
But there’d been several drug-related deaths over the past three months and the suppliers were as slippery as eels, moving from one place to the next, never landing long enough for the police to find them and bust them. They always seemed to be one step ahead of law enforcement which was frustrating to everyone involved.
Jade carried the portable radio, ready to call an ambulance if Wally needed medical treatment—should it be Wally in the building. Last year, he’d suffered frostbite as a result of his refusal to go to a shelter on one of the cold nights. She lifted her chin, deciding the man didn’t have a choice tonight. She’d arrest him for...well...something...if she had to. For his own good. A heated holding cell was better than a dirt floor in a freezing cold building that had been declared a danger zone. If it was Wally. She really shouldn’t assume.
The beam of her high-powered flashlight guided her steps to the space where the front door had been. She stepped inside and swept the light over the area, then lifted the radio to call the dispatcher. “Darlene, this is Jade. Did the caller say in what part of the building he saw the lights? This place is huge.”
The radio popped, and Darlene came on. “In the main building where you usually can find Wally. The person called back and said that not only were there were lights, but possibly a small fire. Fire trucks are en route.”
“10-4. Thanks. But you can cancel the trucks. There’s no sign of a fire.” At least not in this part of the building. “Or lights.” Although she did wonder what the noise had been. Rats probably. “If I’m wrong, I’ll call you back.” The trucks could be on site within minutes if needed.
“10-4. Stay safe.”
A fire could be Wally’s attempt to stay warm, but she didn’t smell smoke. Jade cast the beam over the ceiling, noting it looked solid enough. Industrial pipes ran amok in no discernible pattern—at least the ones that were still attached—but the rows of spindles stood neatly as though waiting for someone to put them to work. Debris from the past littered the floor. Mostly broken equipment.
Jade stepped farther inside. Even with the gaping windows, the interior offered a bit of relief from the bite of the wind.
A click, then a scrape sounded somewhere from inside the vast cavern of space, and Jade shivered. This time, the chills had nothing to do with the weather. “Wally? You here?” Her voice echoed. “It’s me, Jade Hollis.”
A soft thud reached her, then silence.
The hairs on her neck spiked and her hand went to her weapon. She palmed it, taking comfort in the solid weight of it, and lifted the radio. “Darlene, send backup to the mill, will you.”
“10-4.” She made the request, then came back. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” For now. “Just being cautious. I’m hearing noises but can’t pinpoint where they’re coming from or what’s making them.” Jade backed toward the door, sweeping the light from side to side. When it landed on an old trunk against the far left wall, she walked toward it, noticing the freshly mounded dirt and large pile of bricks next to it. “Weird,” she muttered. She glanced over her shoulder, straining to hear, hoping that backup would soon arrive.
A scuffle against the dirt swung her attention to the left. “Who’s there?”
No answer.
“This is Detective Jade Hollis. Show yourself!”
Movement caught the corner of her eye, and Jade spun, only to be greeted with a glancing blow to the side of her head and a hard shove that sent her stumbling backward against the empty spindles. Pain shot through her as pounding footsteps faded.
With a groan, Jade rolled and fumbled for her radio.
Private investigator Bryce Kingsley hadn’t planned to be in the patrol car when the call came in. He’d planned to return to Cedar Canyon and open his own PI business—an idea his sister and therapist had wholeheartedly approved of.
But when his high school buddy and journalist, Frank Shipman, had asked him to put the PI business on hold for a short time in order to help him with a story he was looking into, Bryce hadn’t been able to say no.
“What’s going on?” he’d asked when Frank had presented him with the idea.
“There are crooked cops on the force protecting those manufacturing and dealing drugs. I need your help to figure out which cops.”
According to Frank’s sources, there’d been two attempted stings. The first place had been emptied out before they got there. The second time was an ambush. One DEA agent, Cooper Peterson, had been killed during the second sting.
“People know you in this town,” Frank had said. “They know you disappeared for a while, so when you come back, they’re going to be curious, but they won’t expect you to be undercover.”
Bryce got it.
“Cops don’t trust reporters. I’m not saying they don’t have good reasons for that, but truly, I’m not trying to hurt the honest cops. I want to take down the dirty one—or ones. Just pretend like you’re trying to decide if you want to be a cop, and no one’s going to protest you riding along with them.”
The truth was, he’d love to be a cop, but with part of his leg missing, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Frank—” He’d stopped. It could work. No one would know about his prosthesis unless he told them—or lost his balance doing something stupid. “That’s not why I’m coming home. I...have amends to make.” Jade’s pretty face had flashed to the forefront of his mind. And then his sister’s.
“All I’m asking is that you arrange for the ride-alongs and see if you notice anything suspicious. If not, fine, but something’s going on with the police and a local drug ring, and I need help figuring out what—and who—is involved.”
“Well, I—”
“Seriously, your job would be to keep your eyes and ears open. Make note of anything that looks suspicious. That’s it.”
Bryce had given up trying to argue. The truth was, his adrenaline had started to flow at the thought of the new challenge.
And so here he was. Fake leg and all. The lower half of his left leg just below the knee sported a high-tech prosthesis thanks to an IED he’d run into six months after he’d deployed. He’d finally accepted it as part of who he was now. Finally. Most days.
Bryce shook his head even as Officer Dylan Fitzgerald spun the wheel and turned in to the parking lot of the old mill. The headlights cast two strips of light onto the building, and he shivered. It was as spooky as he remembered from his teen years. Wipers battled the snow falling, and Bryce thought they were having a harder time of clearing the windshield than they had just ten minutes ago.
From his seat, he peered at the mill. The place should have been demolished
