to rely solely on their flashlights and the moonlight overhead, they studied the ground, the branches and the bark of trees they passed.
When they stopped by a tree with red and blue paint splotches on it, Donna gave a small smile. “So much for Dillon’s claim that our biodegradable paint will fade in the first rain. He’s not going to be happy about that. He’ll probably drop the vendor and start researching a new one.” Her smile died a quick death as fears for her friends obviously invaded her thoughts. She stalked past the tree, and he rushed to catch up.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the law-enforcement family cruise?” he asked, trying to steer her thoughts to more innocuous ones while they performed their search.
She hesitated, then continued forward, sweeping her flashlight across the ground. “Honestly, I guess it never occurred to me to bring it up in conversation. It’s not like you ever socialize with the rest of us after work. Not very often, anyway. I’m not even sure you’ve ever met Chris’s wife, Julie. And you probably only know Max’s wife, Bex, from your first real case with us last year, when someone was trying to kill her. Dillon’s wife, Ashley, of course, everyone knows. The station would probably riot if she ever stopped dropping off her homemade treats.”
“She does bake a mean oatmeal raisin cookie.”
“Banana nut bread. That’s my favorite. Her recipe is to die for, and she refuses to share it. Trust me, I’ve asked. Many times. That stuff is amazing.” She pressed a hand to her heart as if paying homage.
“Yuck on bananas,” he said. “Not my thing.”
“No banana pudding?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Not even if I was starving.”
“No wonder you don’t fit in with the team,” she teased. “Banana pudding is a staple of any well-balanced diet. Especially in the South.”
“And yet somehow I’ve survived all these years without it.” He stopped and looked around. “This is about where I first spotted the guy I ended up shooting in the second floor of the barn.”
“Larry. The second guy, the one you caught at the river, was Tim. Mike was the third guy. I don’t think you ever saw him though.”
He supposed he should have known the first two men’s names. Maybe she and Dillon were right, and he really wasn’t making enough of an effort to fit in. He’d really never accepted the blame for how things were going, always thinking it was everyone else’s fault that they refused to accept an outsider. The truth, as with most things, was probably somewhere in the middle.
“Were Larry, Tim and Mike with the team when you left?”
She put her hand on his arm, her eyes widening as she pulled him to a stop. “Mike had to leave early. But Larry and Tim were still there. I didn’t even think about calling them. If one of them answers, maybe they know where the guys went. Or, heck, maybe for some reason, they all piled into Tim and Larry’s trucks and went to a bar somewhere, and it’s too loud to hear their phones. With the wives out of town, it makes sense. They’re having a guys’ night out. Why didn’t I think about that? Maybe Tim and Larry are the designated drivers. I bet we’re going to feel really silly in about one minute. I just know it.”
“I’m all for silly. It beats the alternative.”
She checked her watch and winced. “If they’re not in a bar, if they’re back at Larry or Tim’s house, sleeping off a binge, someone’s not going to be happy about being woken up at one in the morning. But no way am I waiting until a decent hour to call. Which unlucky soul gets woken up? Larry or Tim?”
“I think Tim suffered enough being shot twice. I vote for Larry.”
“Larry it is.” After tucking her flashlight under her arm, she scrolled through her contact list and punched the send button.
A few seconds later, she crossed her fingers in the air and spoke into the phone. “Larry? Yeah, hi. This is Detective Waters. Donna, that’s right. Hey, I’m really sorry to call so late, but it’s important. What? Oh, yes. I’m fine. Sorry. You?”
She made an impatient rolling motion with her hand as she waited for Larry to finish whatever he was babbling about.
Blake didn’t wait. If it was taking this long to get anything out of Larry, and she had to call Tim, too, he could at least check the barn out, since it was visible through a gap in the trees up ahead. He motioned toward the gap, and she gave him a helpless gesture, pointing at the phone. He smiled and headed toward the barn, sweeping his flashlight back and forth.
The dilapidated structure was just as he remembered it—a sagging collection of warped gray boards, which were partially covered in vines that should have given up the ghost a long time ago. He figured it was similar to many other old structures throughout the Smokies, like those found near Cades Cove. It was a relic of another century. But unlike its cousins that were protected because they were in the Smoky Mountains National Park, this one was clearly suffering from a lack of historical society preservation.
If the building could talk, he imagined it would have some amazing stories to tell, the same way old men liked to rock on front porches, reliving the glory days with anyone who would listen. He smiled at that thought and pulled one of the large double doors open.
And froze.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
“Blake? Larry wasn’t out in a bar with them. And Tim—”
He whirled around to stop her, but it was too late. She’d already seen inside. Her eyes widened with horror at what was visible in the beam of her flashlight.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. Oh, please, God. No.”
She dropped to her knees beside the bullet-riddled body of SWAT officer and fellow detective Randy Carter.
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