Chapter Twenty-Seven

Day 4: Saturday.

Lila and the other deputies were running on fumes by the time DCI arrived. After a drawn-out argument with her ex-husband, who left only when she pleaded with him to go take care of Bentley, the sheriff had sent everyone off on their respective errands.

Lila and Meyer made a beeline for the nearest gas station to fill up the car and grab their own refueling needs. Once they had that accomplished, Lila set him on the path to find Dillon Reed. They were grungy, dead tired, and both badly needed a shower, but duty trumped personal hygiene.

“I know where we can find him on a Saturday morning,” Meyer said as he pointed the car toward Juniper.

“In a bed somewhere sleeping off whatever fun he had the night before?” Lila bit into her hot egg and bacon on an English muffin.

“He wishes.” Meyer tore into his breakfast sandwich.

Washing down her food with a gulp of milk, Lila swiped a napkin across her mouth. “You going to tell me? Or do I have to guess?”

He smiled. “Maybe I’ll just take you there and you can wait.”

“Meanie.”

“I aim to please.”

While he drove to town, they finished their meal, followed up with a less-than-stellar cup of gas station sludge. Meyer passed the just-waking retail district of downtown Juniper, waving at a few store owners who had flipped their signs to open, hung a hard right past the courthouse, and headed straight for the north side of town.

Lila double-checked her battery level on her phone. It would make it a while longer before going critical.

Meyer directed the car through a rougher neighborhood. The majority of the buildings were from before the turn of the twentieth century. Some of them looked ready to cave in, while others showed signs that the citizens were trying to make a go of keeping them up and running. Most of the area homes and business were darkened, the owners not ready to rise and shine, sleeping off their preferred form of poison.

Outside of town limits, Meyer slowed the car and turned onto a gravel road. He drove a mile before turning onto a gravel lane. The lane led them to a set of barns and a large fenced-in pen. A handful of horses milled about in the enclosure, steam rising from their backs in the cold morning air. The animals lifted their heads and watched as the squad car approached.

Meyer parked next to a barn with an open door and cut the engine. He nodded at the building. “He’ll be in there mucking stalls.”

Lila glanced at the barn and then back to Meyer. “He works as a stable hand?”

“He doesn’t have a choice unless he wants to get a whipping he’d like to forget. His father owns the property and people board their horses here. But his father is rarely around.”

“What does the father do?”

“A little of this, a little of that. Mostly he drives semis. On the road all the time. Dillon Sr. isn’t trifled with. He might act like a slacker, but he expects more out of his kid.”

Lila grunted. “Not how the sheriff and the principal made it sound yesterday.”

“The Reeds are a take ’em as you see ’em.”

“I’ll say.” She grabbed the handle. “Be ready to grab him if he makes a run for it. He tried to outrun me yesterday.”

“I doubt he does it again today, now that he knows who you are.”

“Right,” she said as she exited the car.

The horses tracked her progress across the barnyard. When she stepped into the open doorway, they continued on with whatever it was horses did.

Lila was greeted by the pungent odor of manure, urine, and the sweet scent of dried grass. She listened for signs of Dillon. It came with the scrape of metal against wood followed by the sight of debris flying out of a stall and into a wheelbarrow sitting in the middle of the aisle. She wandered to the stall and jumped back as poop and soiled wood shavings sailed in front her.

Peeking around the edge of the stall wall, she found Dillon with his back to her, earbuds in, and shovel in hand. Staying back out of the way in case he flung a pile at her, Lila waited for him to turn. Dillon lifted the laden scoop, turned, and looked up as he went to toss his new load. He saw her and yelled. The shovelful fell short of its target, flopping on the stall floor and on the aisle.

Yanking out his earbuds, he glared at her. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

Baring her canines, Lila inched forward and leaned against the stall wall, blocking any escape attempt. “Thought I’d check in on you after our little escapade yesterday.”

“I hurt all over. Thank you for that, by the way. My old man sees all those bruises, he’s gonna think I got into a fight.”

“You only have yourself to blame.” She cocked her head. “Is he going to be mad if you were in a fight?”

“I’m a grown man. I don’t have to answer any of your questions. You saw me, so leave.” He went to put the earbud back in.

“Hold on there, Dillon. I also came because I need you to look at a picture.”

His gaze narrowed. “A picture of what?”

“A guy. We want to know if this was the man you saw in the car with Maya Wagner.”

Sighing, Dillon draped the earbud over his shoulder and leaned the shovel against the wall. “Fine.” He scratched the side of his nose, leaving a brown streak.

Lila pulled out her phone and unlocked it. “You like horses?”

“Yeah. Used to ride a lot.”

She glanced at him. “Why’d you stop?”

His face flushed and he looked away. Lila felt certain she wasn’t going to get an answer out of him. With his head lowered, he scuffed the toe of his boot into the exposed dirt floor. “My mom got real sick, and there wasn’t any time anymore.”

What she gathered was that he lost the joy of it after his mom died—the hurt little boy expression said it all—and riding horses was something Mom used to love to do.

Lila opened the up-close photo of the mystery man in the meth lab walk-in cooler. “A word of advice.”

His features scrunched.

“Start riding again. It’s what she would have wanted.”

He blinked at her, then shrugged. “You gonna show it to me?”

Turning the phone, she held it up. “Look familiar?”

His eyes widened. “Yeah. That’s the guy I saw.”

Well, that ruled out their John Doe being dead before Regan. This had been someone Maya Wagner knew well enough to get in the car with and leave the school. Maybe the sheriff would have better luck getting an ID on him from the Wagners.

“Thanks, Dillon. I’ll let you get back to work.”

When she stepped out into the cold morning, she glanced back and spotted Dillon watching her. She saluted him and left.

In the car, she shivered. “Brrr.”

“What did he say?”

“It’s the guy he saw in the car with Maya. Let’s hope the sheriff has some luck with the Wagners.” She adjusted the vent. “Start this baby up. I’m cold.”

Meyer backed out of the spot and drove down the lane. “I forgot to ask. Did you and Lundquist find any tracks from our mystery watcher?”

“Nothing to distinguish who it was and what they were driving. The path they chose was on purpose; it wouldn’t leave any trace behind.”

“Wish I knew who it could have been.”

“You and everyone out there last night.” Lila lifted her cup of sludge and grimaced. “Is there any place we can get better coffee? And use a restroom?”

“Close by?”

She gave Meyer a sidelong look. “Yes, close by.”

He grinned. “I’ll see what’s open on this side of town. There won’t be any good coffee.”

“I can wait for that.”

Meyer located a more respectable convenience store with a restroom inside.

She leaned down. “If they have good coffee, you want some?”

“I doubt it, but you can try.”

After dumping their trash in a bin, she hurried inside. A quick scan of the store and she found the restroom. Giving the cashier a wave, she bolted for the women’s. Business done, hands scrubbed up, she peeked at her reflection and winced. She looked like she’d taken a fast pitch to the face from a Cubs pitcher. Splashing some water against her cheeks, she dried her face and left the restroom.

She browsed the cooler section—they carried two flavors of frappuccino. Did Meyer like cold coffee? She peered around the shelves in the middle of the floor and saw the coffee counter.

Hot would warm them up.

Lila abandoned the frappuccinos. But was she willing to chance the quality of a real coffee?

A crack rent the air.

Lila’s hand dropped to her sidearm as she spun to the door, sliding her weapon from the holster.

“Oh my God!” the cashier screeched, ducking down.

Running to the door, she slammed through and burst into the lot. Her head on a swivel, she caught sight of the backend of a small white pickup and bolted out to the street to see if she could read the license. If the damn thing had one.

“Meyer?” she called out, still squinting at the vanishing truck.

No answer. She turned and stiffened.

Meyer’s window was down, and he was flung back against the backrest, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

“Meyer!”

She holstered her sidearm as she ran to the car and ripped the door open. A to-go coffee cup fell out and hit the pavement, the lid popping off and spewing coffee all over Lila’s pant legs. Blood dribbled from his mouth.

Lila grasped his face. “Meyer! Look at me.”

Color leached from his features, and his eyes rolled. “Help,” he groaned and then coughed, blood sprayed from his mouth, hitting Lila in the face.

“Shit!” She fisted his coat and dragged him out of the car, grabbing his shoulder radio as she lowered him to the pavement. “Officer down!” she screamed. “Officer down! We are at a gas station on the north side of Juniper. Send medical!”

Letting the handset fall, she ripped his coat open, pausing as her fingers met liquid warmth. The lower half of his uniform top was soaked in blood. “Oh-God, oh-God!”

He’d been gut shot. The shooter had managed to avoid his Kevlar. Lila reared back, pressing her hands to her mouth. What did she do? If she didn’t do something, Brent was going to die.

Lila scrambled onto her feet and toppled inside the car, looking for anything to help stem the flow of blood. Where the hell was the first aid kit?

“Lila! What gas station?” Georgia’s voice penetrated her brain.

Falling out of the car, Lila grabbed up the radio. “I don’t know what street. We’re at . . .” She stared at the sign above her. “Casey’s?”

“Hang on. I know where that is.”

The radio slipped from her hands and cracked against the red-speckled pavement. Brent’s head rolled her way, and he pawed for her hand.

“It . . . hurts,” he slurred.

Squeezing her eyes shut cut off the wet heat building. Lila grasped his and squeezed. “I know.” God, she knew how bad it hurt. The fire ripping through her flesh. The hot gush of blood. God, the agony. Black ringing her vision. A voice echoing through her mind. She couldn’t remember everything, but she knew it had been Cecil, begging her to hold on. Not die.

Meyer coughed more blood. His body convulsed.

“Brent, help is coming.” She dragged his torso into her lap and clung to him. “Just don’t die.”