in Nashville. That you’d just passed your detective’s exam.” She seemed to want to talk about anything but what had happened. What might still be happening.
Her way of coping, probably.
“Yes.” He forced the word from his tight throat as guilt ate at him. He should have come home when Steven called him. But he hadn’t, and his brother had died. Now Clay was home to find out who’d killed him. His first week back in Wrangler’s Corner he’d attended his brother’s funeral. The second week had consisted of the sheriff, Ned Anderson, convincing him he needed to take the now-open deputy position. The past two weeks had been spent getting into a routine. And while his main goal was to find his brother’s murderer, he’d also had to deal with ongoing family stuff.
Clay swallowed hard and pushed Steven out of his mind. For now. He craned his neck and looked through the windows, behind, in front. “No sign of the shooter.”
“No one’s answering the door. I think I heard a child crying.” She gripped the door handle.
“Any shots from inside the trailer?”
“No, but I’m afraid for Jordan. He didn’t answer the door when I knocked, but I heard...something. It was a child. I’m almost sure of it.”
“Stay here.”
He climbed out of the car. The trailer door opened just as he took a step. A young boy peered out. When he saw Clay, his eyes widened and he slammed the door.
The passenger door opened, and the social worker darted toward the trailer.
“Hey!”
“Sorry,” she yelled over her shoulder. “That’s Tony, Jordan’s little brother.” Before he could stop her, she was back up the steps and banging on the door.
Clay followed, expecting to hear the bark of a rifle and feel the bite of a bullet.
He leaned around her and tried the door. “Locked.”
“Tony! Open the door, hon!”
He was close enough to get a whiff of a tangy orange scent that almost covered the ammonia smell. Subtle and spicy. He was also close enough to see the bullet hole in the trailer next to her head.
He made sure he had her covered but squirmed as the middle of his back tingled. A perfect target for a shooter.
A wailing cry split the air. Clay lifted a brow. “Okay, that’s it.” He moved around Sabrina, leaned his shoulder against the flimsy door and shoved. Hard.
With a pop, the door swung in. Clay stepped inside and came to a stop. In the space of about half a second, he noticed two things. The stench that turned his stomach—and two pairs of bright blue eyes that met his. Two children stood at the entrance to the hallway, looking as if they were ready to bolt.
The little girl wrapped her arms around her big brother and buried her face in his stomach, but not before Clay saw the tears on her cheeks, heard her trying to stifle her sobs.
The big brother settled his hands on her shoulders and glared back at Clay, defiance and fear mingling.
Sabrina stepped around him. “Tony? Maria? What are you guys doing here?” Her voice was soft and low. Clay decided if he was a kid, he would have trusted her instantly. “Where’s Jordan?”
“He left,” Tony said.
“Why would he leave you here?”
The boy shrugged, trying to be brave and failing miserably. “He looked out the window and said for us to sneak away as soon as he was out of sight. He said to be careful ’cause there was a bad man outside. He said he’d make sure the bad man followed him while we got away and hid in the woods. Then he’d come back and take us home.”
“Bad man?” Clay asked.
“I saw you when I opened the door. I thought you might be the bad man.”
“He’s a deputy, hon,” Sabrina said. “Didn’t you see his uniform?”
Tony’s lower lip trembled, but he managed a manly shrug. “I don’t know. But we weren’t scared or nothin’.”
Sabrina moved forward to gather the little girl in her arms and whisper in her ear.
While Sabrina talked to the children, Clay took in the surroundings. Everything around him shouted meth lab. The smell, the hose through the window, the Pyrex bowls on the stove, the blankets and plastic on the windows. He turned and spoke into his radio. “Got a possible meth lab here. We’re going to need someone to clean it up.”
He wondered who the sheriff would call. Federal law mandated only DEA-certified individuals could dismantle a meth lab. Clay seriously doubted there was anyone qualified in Wrangler’s Corner.
He checked the window again. So Jordan had seen a “bad man” and left to draw him away from the trailer so the little ones could sneak out.
Clay touched her arm. “Come on, Sabrina, get them and let’s go There’s no telling what we’re breathing.”
Sabrina held out her hand to Tony. “Please, come with me, sweetheart.”
Tony reached for her hand and then froze. His eyes widened, and fear flashed across his face.
Clay spun to find himself staring down the barrel of a Winchester .45.
Sabrina gave a small cry and threw herself in front of the children. Stan Prescott stood in the open door with his rifle leveled at Clay’s head. “Stan, what are you doing?”
“You’re trespassing.”
“And you’re going to jail,” Clay said. “Unless you put that gun away. Last time I checked, shooting at people was a crime.”
Stan snorted. “My whole life is a crime. What are you doing on my property? What are those kids doing here?”
“Why were you shooting at me? Where’s Jordan?” Sabrina asked.
“Shooting at you? I wasn’t shooting at nobody, but I’m a-fixin’ to.”
“Put the gun down,” Clay ordered. His sharp tone bounced off Stan, who kept the weapon level and mostly steady. “Who’s Jordan?”
Sabrina noted the missing teeth, the sores on his face. He and Clay were the same age, she remembered Steven saying, but Stan looked a good twenty years older. She curled her fingers into fists. She sent up silent prayers as Clay held his hands where Stan could see them.
“Why are you even arguing about this, man?” Clay asked. “Where’s Lacey?”
Fury flashed. “She left me. Now, why are you in my home?” Gravel crunched outside under the wheels of the cruisers as the police arrived, completely unaware of what was going on inside the little trailer.
Stan
