Cormac was still on the lam, and I’d spent four years ducking under red tape.
Risky as it was, I was forging my own path this time. I’d make my own rules. And if I actually found Cormac, well . . . I’d pray the FBI didn’t care how he was found, just grateful that he’d be one less person on their most-wanted lists.
Lyla shifted in her seat, her knees bouncing as she pointed down the road. “Take a left up here.”
“’Kay.” I eased off the gas. Part of me wanted to ask again if she was okay. Give her another chance to turn this truck around. But I was too desperate. Too scared she’d take the out if offered. So I took the left and drummed up some idle conversation. “How long have you lived in Quincy?”
“Other than for school, my whole life. My family founded Quincy.”
“No kidding.”
“You’re staying at The Eloise, right?”
“I am.” It was the only hotel around.
“My great-great-grandmother was Eloise. Now my younger sister, her namesake, owns it. There’s an ongoing joke around town that you can’t throw a rock down Main without hitting an Eden.”
“Ah. Would I have met any other relatives?”
“My brother Knox owns Knuckles and is the head chef.”
“I was planning on dinner there tonight. Anyone else?”
“Probably not.” She cleared her throat and I expected her to stop talking, but she kept on going, like if she stopped, her fears would win out. “My twin sister, Talia, is a doctor at the hospital. My parents live on my family’s ranch. So do my other brothers. Both are on the search and rescue team along with my dad. My sister-in-law is Winslow Eden. She’s the chief of police.”
For fuck’s sake.
So much for steering clear of the local authorities. Goddamn it. What were the chances?
I dragged a hand over my face, feeling the scrape of my whiskers against my palm.
Lyla was my only connection to Cormac, and given my typical shitty luck, she was also related to the chief of police. Hello, red tape.
My captain in Idaho would undoubtedly be getting a phone call. And that would lead to questions. Lots and lots of questions.
Fuck. I didn’t need the mess at home infecting what I was trying to do here in Quincy.
“Listen, Lyla.” I glanced over, her striking blue gaze waiting. “I haven’t spoken to anyone in Quincy about this. If I was following protocol, I should have checked in with your sister-in-law already.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“I guess you could say I have trust issues with other cops.” An understatement. In more ways than she’d ever understand. “Like I told you yesterday, I’ve been searching for Cormac for four years. There’s never been much to go on. He disappeared and has been slippery.”
Another understatement.
Lyla’s attention stayed fixed on my profile as I spoke. Her hands remained clasped in her lap. For her sake, I’d spare her the details of Cormac’s crimes. But for my own, I needed her to stick with me. To see this through, just for today.
“Early on, when the media was all over the story, tips and sightings poured in like a spring flood. Most of them were bogus. People claimed they’d seen him but couldn’t provide any details. Still, we followed up on nearly every tip. Then the FBI got involved. The agent in charge shoved us local cops out of the way. Didn’t want any input.” Especially from me.
I was too close to the murders. Like being invested, dedicated, was a bad thing.
“I spent a year watching them chase their tails until they moved on to other cases and this one fell to the wayside.”
That first year, it hadn’t been easy gleaning information from the federal team, but I’d kept my ear to the ground and had done everything in my power to stay in the loop.
“Will the FBI come here?” Lyla asked.
“Maybe.” There was a chance that the agent assigned to Cormac’s open case would come across the APB. That they’d put the pieces together too. But I was counting on sluggish federal processes to delay their involvement. Maybe it would get overlooked entirely.
The sad truth of it was, without media attention or pressure from family members, cases were often forgotten, especially those that had been open for a significant amount of time. And when it came to Cormac, the only person who truly seemed to care about justice for the girls was me.
“After the FBI basically gave up, I started my own investigation.” Not exactly legal, considering I’d been using police databases to glean information, but I hadn’t been caught. Yet.
“I watched for crimes and criminals who matched Cormac’s description,” I told Lyla. “Most of the time, it led me on a wild goose chase. A couple years ago, a man matching his description robbed a gas station in Oregon. Eighteen months ago, there was a guy who’d stolen a truck in Wyoming with red hair and a similar build. I went to Oregon. I went to Wyoming. I talked to the local authorities. The man in Wyoming was someone else. But I’m fairly confident Cormac was in Oregon. In both cases, by the time I convinced the local cops to let me into the loop, any chance at finding Cormac was gone.”
“So this time, you came straight to the source.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I didn’t,” I told her. “It was a guess.”
“Good guess.”
I kept driving, waiting for her to order me back to Quincy. Waiting for her to call her sister-in-law and blow my plan to smithereens.
“See that turnout up ahead?”
“Yeah.” That was where she’d tell me to flip this truck around.
“That’s where I parked. We’ll walk from there.”
Thank fuck. I slowed, easing into the turnout. When we were parked, I faced Lyla, about to give her one last chance to call this off. But she was already gone, opening the door to step outside.
Beneath my coat, my Glock was in its shoulder holster. I snagged my pack from the back seat, stowing my keys, then I joined Lyla outside.
She stood next to the truck, her eyes aimed at the forest ahead. “My family is protective.”
“They don’t know you’re here with me today.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Why’d you come?” When she’d left the table at the coffee shop yesterday, I’d expected that to be the last I’d hear from her. But here she was, shoulders pinned, hands fisted.
That bravery I’d seen in her last night shined as bright as the dawn.
“Winn is a good cop.” She looked up at me, waiting until our gazes locked. “I’m not here because I don’t have faith in her. But she has enough to worry about.”
“They are protective of you. And you’re protective of them.”
She gave me a single nod. “I want him to rot in prison for the rest of his life.”
“Are you expecting me to argue?”
“I’m expecting you to do what you came here to do. Find him.”
The ferocity in her voice, the steadiness. There was no rasp. No crack. “Then let’s go.”
She released a breath, then marched into the trees, taking a rough path that hadn’t seen much use. This trail was likely only used by locals. Fishermen. Hunters.
We walked in silence, the only sound coming from the forest itself. Birds chirping. Leaves and boughs rustling in the breeze. A twig snapped beneath Lyla’s boot as she walked. My own thudded on the cool, damp earth.
In the distance, the rippling sound of the river grew louder. The rush and trickle of water over rocks soon overpowered the other noises.
Lyla turned course, stepping off the path to weave past trees. When we emerged from the forest onto the riverbank, she stopped.
Her hand came to her throat as she swallowed.
“You good?”
Lyla’s face whipped to mine. She blinked, like she’d forgotten I was standing at her side.
Damn, but she had beautiful eyes. Blue. Broken.
This hike wasn’t just about saving her sister-in-law some heartache, was it? It was about Lyla facing this place on her own terms.
“You can do this.”
“I can do this,” she whispered, her eyes falling closed. When she opened them again, the fear was gone. In its place was iron.
She walked ahead, following the river’s path.
I stayed close. Alert.
The scent of rot drifted on the wind. The caw of a crow split the air.
Lyla stopped walking and lifted a hand, pointing to where the large black bird jumped from a rock and took flight. “That was where the gut pile was. From the elk he killed.”
Scavengers had picked the area nearly clean. Larger animals, like coyotes or bears, must have dragged the rest of the carcass to a different place to feast. All that remained were a few dried bits of entrails and a circle of black-red dried blood.
“After he let you go, any idea which way he ran?”
“No.” Lyla shook her head. “I was out of it.”
“Do you remember hearing water splash?”
“I don’t think so.”
There was a chance Cormac had crossed the river. Or maybe he’d gone upstream and crossed out of sight.