himself on being surefooted when it came to his job. Right now? Right now he felt like he was treading air.
“How exactly did it trace back to him?” he finally asked. Even to his ears his voice had gone low, nearing a whisper. “You said license plate?”
“Yes, sir. It was attached to a burgundy van that left the warehouse with the dog crates. Tracy was the last person who legally owned it, but past that, I’m not sure on any more details. Once I saw the name, I thought I’d come talk to you first.”
Dane’s gears were still moving slow. Like a cup of molasses had been poured over them. He’d worked a lot of cases since Tracy was killed. Ones that had made his blood boil. Ones that had kept him up at night. Ones that had shaken the entire sheriff’s department and county to their cores. Yet what had happened to Tracy? That was a case that had changed Dane’s entire life in the blink of an eye.
An eye that might be looking at him now.
“After Tracy died, his things were given to the family he had left and then the rest were donated, if I’m not mistaken. Birmingham might be far for some, but it’s definitely within driving distance. Not hard to get his van up there. It could be just a coincidence that it happened to be his old one,” Dane pointed out.
Chance picked his cowboy hat off his leg and put it on. He looked out at the small park and the autumn leaves that had started to fall. The scene contrasted with the heat that hadn’t yet left South Alabama.
“It could be,” he admitted. “Coincidence, maybe. Bad luck, maybe that, too. But my gut says it’s not, and I aim to find out why it’s telling me that.” Chance stood. “I’ll be at the hotel on Cherry for a few days, looking into some things. You’ve got my number. Don’t hesitate to call it. I’ll do the same if I find anything. Unless you want me to keep this one out of your hair?”
Dane shook his head.
“If there is a loop, keep me in it if you don’t mind,” Dane said. “And, Chance? Thanks for reaching out.”
The cowboy gave a small nod and walked over the fallen leaves to his truck in the parking lot. Dane watched as he drove away. Riker County was nothing short of surprising, no matter the season. It might only house one large city, but the trouble that found its way into its borders never ceased to amaze Dane. If it wasn’t a new criminal organization trying to take over, it was kidnapped children, manhunts and enough gunshots traded between the bad guys and their department to last him a few lifetimes.
Dane left the bench in an attempt to exit his current road of thought.
Even before the recent uptick in chaos around his home, there had been only one night that had burned its way into his soul.
The night he’d made a decision.
The wrong one.
Dane hopped into his truck and pointed it toward the department in the heart of Carpenter, Alabama. He had too much on his plate to fight with his past again. Now wasn’t the time.
He turned the volume up on the radio, let a crooning song croon, and was about to write off Chance’s gut when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
“I need a vacation,” he told the cab of his truck, fishing out the ringing phone. “One where I just don’t answer this blasted phone.” Hell, he’d needed one for years now. No time like the present, right?
Dane didn’t recognize the number but unlocked his phone all the same. As the captain of the Investigative Bureau at the Riker County’s Sheriff’s Department, he had to be always ready for the unknown. Not to ignore it just because it was easy. Life wasn’t easy. There was no reason to suspect work would be, either.
He turned down the radio and cleared his throat. “Captain Jones, here.”
“Dane!” The sound of a bad connection was almost as loud as the woman’s scream. On reflex he held the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Dane! There are men at the school trying to take us!”
All at once Dane’s body and mind synced. No sighing. No thoughts of vacations. No molasses on the gears.
That wasn’t just any woman.
It was the widow he’d helped make seven years ago.
“Rachel?”
“There are three of them! One in a van and two—two are chasing us!”
A shout sounded in the background. Dane tightened his hold on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. The rustling noise wasn’t a bad connection. It was movement. It was running.
“Rachel, where are you?”
There was more rustling and the sound of something slamming shut before she answered.
“We’re in—we’re inside Darby Middle,” she said, out of breath. “Only four of us here when they—when they showed up.”
Dane cut the wheel hard, turning in the opposite direction. Another shout sounded in the background.
This time the shout was closer.
“We gotta hide,” came a small voice, much closer to the phone. A student at school on a Saturday? Rachel didn’t get a chance to respond before someone else was yelling.
“Rach—” Dane started. She cut him off.
“Dane, there’re children here,” she stressed. Something made a scrapping noise.
The fear in her voice was unmistakably true and poignant. It stirred something inside Dane’s chest he didn’t have time to investigate.
“Dane, please hurry!”
Dane pressed his gas pedal to the floor. Any more force and it felt like it would have gone through the floorboard.
“I’m coming,” he promised, voice rising to show he meant it. “Just stay on the—”
A series of crashes cut him off again. There was another wave of rustling. This time it sounded violent.
On cue Rachel cried out.
“Rachel,” Dane yelled into the receiver.
“Ms. Roberts!”
“Run, Lonnie,” she yelled in response. But it wasn’t to him. Instead Dane felt like he was under water, unable to break the surface to get to her.
“Run!”
Dane heard a new voice. It belonged to a man. An angry one at that.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he yelled.
Dane held the phone away from his ear again as a loud crash reverberated out of it. “Rachel!”
But it was too late. The call dropped.
And then Dane was left alone with nothing but silence.
* * *
THE FINGERS THAT threaded into her
