When he’d last seen Todd, the chief deputy had been dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Matt tamped down his rage and sadness.
At his side, Bree was already moving away from the edge. “Let’s get down there.”
To the north, the ground leveled off some. Matt spotted a trail that zigzagged down the slope to the river. He pointed and headed for it. “There!”
With Bree on his heels, they ran for the descent. Brody was reluctant to leave the cliff’s edge, but once he saw the trail, he all but dragged Matt down it.
In his ear, Bree issued commands to her deputies, instructing them to call an ambulance and fetch a first aid kit. Matt didn’t hear the rest of her orders. At first he thought the river was drowning out her voice, but then he realized it was the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.
But Matt couldn’t unsee the man’s body. As much as he wanted him to be alive, in his heart he knew it was too late. While they’d been dicking around, following procedure, adhering to the letter of the law, a man had lain here dead.
Maybe he’d even been actively dying.
The deputies dispersed, presumably to follow orders. Matt’s focus tunneled to his own footsteps on the rocky path as Brody lunged into his harness. The dog’s weight forced Matt to concentrate or fall on his face. By the time they reached the bottom, sweat had soaked his shirt under his vest. Bree raced for the body. Matt held the dog back for fear of contaminating the scene.
The corpse lay in about two inches of water. Bree slowed. She stopped just ahead of Matt. The beam of her flashlight shook. She was doing the job, but she was as panicked as he was.
Todd was a hell of a chief deputy—and a good man.
Matt stopped. He almost didn’t want to know. Sickness rose in his throat as Bree approached the body. Her gaze was on the ground. She was likely making sure she didn’t step on any evidence. Matt shone his flashlight on the body. Even from ten feet away, he could see the grayish-blue tone of the skin.
Crouching, she pressed two fingers to the neck, then shook her head. “No pulse, and he’s cold. Really cold.” She reached for his shoulder and turned the body just enough to see the victim’s face. She gasped and nearly lost her grip.
Not Todd.
Matt also sucked wind as he took in the very dead face of Jim Rogers. Rogers and Todd were about the same size. Both had short brown hair. Both had been dressed in jeans and T-shirts the last time Matt had seen them. It was no wonder Matt had confused them from the back.
Relief—then guilt—rocked him. He shouldn’t be glad that it was Rogers instead of Todd.
Rogers wasn’t a horrible person. He’d done some bad things, but he had clearly regretted them. He’d struggled with his change of heart, and his remorse had been evident over the past months.
Bree rocked back on her heels. It seemed to take a few seconds for her to reset. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Me either.” A wave of nausea swept over Matt as his adrenaline rush abruptly ceased. He let it pass through him. No choice really. Couldn’t stop it.
Bree got to her feet, visibly steadying herself. She leaned on her thighs and took a few deep breaths before touching her mic. “It isn’t Chief Deputy Harvey.”
Brody lay down at Matt’s feet and rested his head on his paws. Matt crouched and stroked his head. “Good boy.”
“Is he OK?” Bree asked.
“He gets depressed when he finds dead people.”
Bree stepped away from Rogers. She canceled the ambulance and called the medical examiner.
Matt stood. “Could you see how he died?”
“Looks like he took a bullet to the back.”
Their eyes met in the darkness. Matt didn’t need light to feel the connection. He wished he could go to her, to share the relief and sadness they were both feeling, to bolster his reserves for the next phase of the search for Todd. Their relief might be premature. Todd could also be dead. But they were on duty. If anyone caught sight of them and took a picture . . .
Her career didn’t need another hit. So Matt held back.
But she crossed the ten feet of damp ground and put her arms around him. He returned the hug, tentatively. “Someone might see,” he said into her ear.
“I don’t care.” She leaned her forehead on his chest. They stood there for a full minute, drawing strength from one another. Finally, she lifted her head and stepped back. Her eyes glimmered with moisture. “Thank you.”
“I needed it too.” Matt touched his own face and was surprised to find it wet. He wiped it on the shoulder of his polo shirt. “Why was Rogers here?”
“He could have been here to help Dylan or to confront him about something.” She turned to stare at the body. “Considering he’s dead, I would bet on the latter.”
“I hope so.” Matt couldn’t believe Rogers would have backslid that far. His bitterness toward Dylan had felt real.
“Me too. Rogers . . .” Bree shook her head. “I don’t know. No point in speculating.”
“Nope.” The only way they’d discover the truth was to get back to the investigation.
Her spine straightened. “We still need to find Todd.”
“Yes. Maybe we can find a clue to his whereabouts in Dylan’s house.” Matt called Brody to heel. “Fuss.”
They headed for the trail to find Collins standing at the base of the slope, her back to them. She’d been blocking the path and giving them privacy, Matt realized, and ensuring no one else saw their embrace.
As they approached, Bree cleared her throat, and Collins turned around. She had a pretty good poker face but couldn’t entirely keep the warmth and respect from her eyes. “What now, ma’am?”
No matter what the press reported, no matter what the brass did, Bree’s deputies would have her back.
“Now we look for other signs of where Dylan could have gone.” Bree whipped out her phone. “I’ll have Marge search property and tax records. If Brian Dylan owns any other properties in the area, she’ll find them. He must have gone somewhere.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
An hour later, Bree sat at Dylan’s desk in his home office. Scratches and bright patches on the desktop indicated where pieces of equipment had been removed. Dylan had been ready. She closed the pencil drawer, frustration adding power to the slam. “Are you having any luck?”
Across the room, Matt looked up from a filing cabinet he’d been searching. “No. All I’ve found is a bunch of useless paperwork. Dylan kept everything, including the instruction manual for a fifteen-year-old leaf blower and the receipt for a lawn mower he bought in 2002.” He closed the drawer.
“We need to ID the girlfriend.” Bree dragged a hand over her face.
Matt scratched his jaw. “Shane could only describe her as a large-breasted older lady. He didn’t even say large, just that they were nice.”
“Which describes a third of the female adult population of New York State.”
The clock was ticking. The longer Todd was missing, the less likely it was they’d find him alive.
Her phone vibrated, and she checked the screen. Marge.
She answered. “Did you find anything?”
“No.” Marge sounded tired, not just physically, but emotionally drained. “I can’t find any property in the area owned by Brian Dylan. I’ll keep expanding my search. Just wanted to give you an update.”
“Damn.” Bree thought about Shane’s description of Dylan’s lady friend. Older woman. Nice tits. An image of Heather Oscar popped into her head. “Try Heather Oscar.”
Bree ended the call.
“You think Dylan was sleeping with Heather Oscar?” Matt asked.
“I was thinking of Shane’s description of Dylan’s woman. I admit I’m reaching, but Heather is attractive and in good shape for her age. Oscar and Dylan were friends for years. Heather and Dylan could have met.”
“We should have thought of her.”