Temptation Trails (Haven Brothers #3)

1. Garrett

CHAPTER 1

Garrett

The trail was clear. Tire tracks ran through the bed of pine needles, leaving a depression in the ground. It wasn’t a road, but someone had driven that way recently.

The spring air was warm and I could feel a bead of sweat drip down my back as I hiked up the low hill. We’d received a call from a hiker who’d come across a car in the woods, well away from any roads or parking. It had seemed suspicious, so he’d reported it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t taken pictures or given us the license plate number, so I wasn’t sure what I was going to find.

It was suspicious, the hiker had been right about that. There was no good reason for a car to be out there.

Plenty of bad ones, though.

Cresting the hill, I saw it. A silver Hyundai sedan. It had seen better days, although at a glance it was hard to tell if that was due to how long it had been at its current location or to normal wear and tear. Probably a bit of both. There were rust spots on the trunk and around the bottom of the doors, and a few minor dents.

After confirming no one was inside, I keyed my mic to check in with Brenna in dispatch .

“Squad seven.”

“Go ahead, squad seven,” Brenna replied.

“Found the car. Looks abandoned.”

“I’ll run the plate and see if we hit on anything.”

“10-4.”

I gave her the license plate number and pulled out my flashlight to look underneath the car while I waited.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” she said a moment later. “Silver Hyundai sedan, reported stolen from a residence in Echo Creek a week ago.”

Echo Creek was a town about thirty minutes away, just outside my agency’s jurisdiction. “You want to let the PD down there know we found it?”

“I’m on it.”

“10-4.”

I walked slowly around the car, looking for anything that might give us information as to why it was there. Through the windows, I could see a mess of garbage. A greasy pizza box sat on the passenger’s seat and the floor was strewn with wrappers, bags, and empty bottles.

There were three backpacks and a duffel bag in the back seat, all of which appeared full. That was a big red flag. Unless the car’s owner had been packing for a trip, those bags were probably full of contraband.

It was typical. Criminals generally stole cars for several reasons. Reselling, parting them out, joyriding, or using them as getaway vehicles or as a means to commit other crimes. Based on what I was seeing, my first instinct was that the car had been used in a string of other thefts, then abandoned.

I wouldn’t normally have been the responding officer for this type of call, but my role in the department had recently changed. I was still a deputy, but I was also a part-time detective. We were a small agency, without the resources for a fully staffed detective bureau. That meant I was still on patrol a lot, and, unlike detectives on cop shows, often still in uniform. But it was giving me the opportunity to do more investigative work. And it meant fewer graveyard shifts, which was a big win considering I was a single dad.

I glanced at the time. If this call hadn’t come in, I’d have been off duty in about ten minutes. That would have given me just enough time to go home and make sure Owen had done his homework, get us both a quick bite to eat, then head out to the Timberbeast Tavern.

Unfortunately, I had a date tonight.

How I’d let my aunt Louise talk me into a blind date, I had no idea. She inexplicably took credit for the fact that two of my brothers, Josiah and Zachary, had both gotten married earlier that year. She hadn’t orchestrated either of those relationships, but try telling her that. And, as Aunt Louise was notorious for her questionable matchmaking efforts, I never said yes when she tried to set me up with someone.

But for some reason, when she’d started bugging me about letting her set me up with someone named Harper, I’d caved.

Now I had all the regrets. I didn’t want to date. Not only did I not have time, I had no desire for another relationship. Been there, done that, got the divorce decree. The only good thing that had come out of my horrible mistake of a marriage had been my son. But parenting a fourteen-year-old boy on my own while working in law enforcement was the equivalent of about five full-time jobs. I couldn’t handle dating on top of that.

And I didn’t want to.

Harper and I had texted back and forth enough to make plans, but I didn’t know anything about her. And it was anyone’s guess if I could trust Aunt Louise’s description.

Out of a sense of duty, or maybe it was just manners, I texted Harper to let her know I was going to be late.

I pocketed my phone and went back to my search. The trunk was empty, but the bags in the back seat were stuffed with a random assortment of items—cell phones, other electronics, watches, prescription drug bottles, and a handful of wallets.

I had a strong feeling I already knew who’d stolen the car. It wouldn’t have been the first time this guy had jacked someone’s ride and dumped it—after committing multiple other crimes.

Trent Jones.

Every agency has people we all know. Frequent fliers, we call them. They’re in and out of the system, often for the same crimes. Trent Jones was one of them.

He had the dubious distinction of being my very first arrest. He’d gone to prison after that, but he was probably on the streets again.

One way to find out. I keyed my mic to ask Brenna. “Squad seven.”

“Go ahead, squad seven.”

“Can you find out if Trent Jones is still incarcerated?”

“What’d you find?”

“Nothing specific yet, but this looks a lot like him. We’ve got bags of contraband in the back seat and someone apparently decided to have a pizza in the middle of their crime spree.”

She chuckled. “That’s lovely. Hang on a second.”

I walked a few feet away while I waited for Brenna to report back. Whoever had dumped the car had left at least some of what they’d stolen. That meant they were probably planning to come back for it.

Had the suspect been there when the hiker found the car? Maybe he’d taken off and that was why he’d left stuff behind.

There was a trail to the east and another to the south, both of which would make reasonable getaway routes back to civilization.

Which way did you go?

A metallic glint on the ground caught my eye. It was about ten feet behind the car, in a spot where the pine needles and other debris had been churned up by the wheels. I took a few pictures with my phone, then put on one of my gloves and crouched to take a closer look.

I picked up a dirty silver bracelet. It had a curved plate with writing engraved on it and the chain connecting the two sides was broken. I wiped off enough of the dirt and squinted so I could read it.

The outside said, be kind , but on the inside the sentence finished with, of a bitch sometimes .

Okay, that was funny.

It didn’t appear to have anything to do with the stolen car. If I had to guess, it had been out there for a while. Years, maybe. The tires had disturbed the forest debris enough to dig it up.

Probably didn’t mean anything, but I put it in a plastic bag and tucked it in my pocket. Just in case.

“Squad seven,” Brenna said over dispatch.

“Go ahead, Bren.”

“He’s out. Released two months ago.”

“Thanks.”

Didn’t prove it was him, but he was the first guy I wanted to talk to.

“Can we get impound out there?” she asked. “Obviously someone drove the car there, but that doesn’t mean a tow truck can make it.”

“They’ll make it. There isn’t a road, but it’s pretty clear. Trees are sparse.”

“Got it.”

There wasn’t much more for me to do at the scene. The car would be impounded and the evidence processed. I needed to get back to the office and connect with my counterpart in Echo Creek to find out if they had any leads already.

Plus, I had that date. I could still make it. And that was the right thing to do. Whether or not I wanted to go, I was a man of my word. I wasn’t going to stand her up.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I paused. Had I heard something? My instincts lit up. Something—or someone—was nearby.

There was plenty of wildlife in those woods. It could have been any number of things. But my gut was telling me it was our suspect, coming for what was in those bags.

I took a few slow steps in the direction of the noise, scanning the area for movement.

A man poked his head out from behind a tree and his eyes widened when he saw me.

I was right. Trent Jones. I would have known his face anywhere.

“Stop,” I called out. “Show me your hands.”

He was close enough, I could see the flash of anger cross his features. I knew him, and he clearly remembered me.

I had a feeling I was not on his list of favorite people.

His hands went up and he stepped out from behind the tree.

“What are you doing out here, Trent?”

“Haven,” he spat.

He was going to run. You didn’t have to do this job long to learn the signs. He shifted his body weight and his right shoulder drew back, as if he were about to spin around.

“Don’t do it, Trent.”

Too late. He spun and took off running.

I keyed my mic. “Suspect fleeing the scene. In pursuit on foot.” And I took off after him.

The terrain was fairly clear, without a lot of underbrush. We darted past the trees, kicking up dust and pine needles in our wake. He was a decade older than me, but he’d just done time—probably in prison shape—and I was carrying at least twenty pounds of gear.

But he was not getting away .

Sweat broke out on my forehead as I ran. Where the hell did he think he was going? There wasn’t anything out there. Nowhere to hide or take shelter. He was heading toward one of the hiking trails, but that wasn’t going to help.

Did he actually think he was going to outrun me?

“You’re making this worse, buddy,” I called out in between breaths.

He glanced over his shoulder and ran harder.

The ground rose in a small incline and I started to close the gap between us. His pace slowed; he was probably getting tired. I was sweating, and my legs burned with effort, but I knew I had him. I just had to keep pushing.

Finally, I got close enough to grab him. I took him to the ground, earning myself a face-full of dirt in the process. He thrashed around, trying to squirm away, and threw a punch at me. That missed but his second connected, glancing off my jaw.

I didn’t hit back, just got control of his arms. He kicked at me, grunting with rage, but I had him. I rolled him onto his front and pinned him down.

“Fuck you, Haven,” he growled as I cuffed him and hauled him to his feet.

I could have lectured him about the fact that he was the one who’d—allegedly—committed a string of crimes. And he was the one who’d run when I told him to stop. But I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“You’re a piece of shit,” he said.

“This isn’t personal. I’m just doing my job.”

He glared at me, hatred burning in his eyes.

I checked in with dispatch, letting them know I’d apprehended a suspect. Dirt and pine needles stuck to his clothes but that was his problem. After brushing myself off, I grabbed his arm so I could lead him back to where I’d left my car.

This is going to be a fun hike.

Shit. Harper. I wasn’t just going to be late, I wasn’t going to make it at all. Bringing in a suspect was great, but it meant a hell of a lot more work.

Fortunately, Trent didn’t seem interested in chatting as we hiked out of the woods. And he didn’t try to run again, either. Getting him off the streets again was a big win. He’d been caught for property crimes numerous times, but I wondered if he was guilty of more. My instincts weren’t evidence, but the way he habitually resisted arrest showed he had a violent streak.

I made a mental note to cross check any unsolved assault or murder cases that also included property crimes, just in case there were more serious charges Trent needed to face.

By the time I got him back to the sheriff’s office and booked him in a holding cell, I was hopelessly late. I called Owen and told him to make do with a sandwich for dinner and I’d get home when I could. Then I texted Harper to apologize. She’d probably been sitting at the Timberbeast waiting for me.

I felt bad about that, but I also had a job to do. Besides, it was for the best. I didn’t want to start dating anyway.