Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
VANCE
The bell on the coffee shop’s door greeted me as I stepped inside. The jingle was light. Cheerful. The chime did nothing to stop the tornado of anticipation and dread that had been twisting my insides since I’d climbed out of bed at three this morning.
The five cups of coffee I’d guzzled hadn’t helped my frazzled nerves. Pacing my hotel room had made me feel like an animal trapped in a cage, so well before dawn, I’d set out to explore Quincy, as I had last night.
The air was cold, my breath billowing as I walked.
My boots left tracks in the frost that coated the sidewalks.
The sun was beginning to creep toward the mountaintops, burnishing their tips in gold, but the sky was still dark.
The only light in town came from streetlamps and porch lights.
Nearly every building on Main was dark, save The Eloise Inn.
And Eden Coffee.
The café was empty. The tables on each side of the aisle were lined in neat rows. The chairs were pushed in, ready to be shifted and filled.
The barista from yesterday rushed out from the back hallway, a towel in her hands. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I said.
“What can I get you?”
Before I could answer, Lyla emerged from the same hallway. Her steps faltered, only slightly, when she spotted me.
I could still hear her whistle from last night. It echoed in my mind, just like the sight of her standing in the coffee shop’s doorway seemed imprinted on my brain.
Beautiful. Brave, Lyla.
“Hi.” Her voice was just as jagged as it had been yesterday. “I’ll take care of him, Crystal.”
“Okay.” Crystal nodded, then hurried away.
“Hi.” I came to a stop at the counter, taking in Lyla’s face, searching for any sign of doubt. A hint that she’d changed her mind. But if there was any uncertainty racing through that pretty head, she didn’t let it show.
We hadn’t spoken last night. We hadn’t traded details or phone numbers. There’d just been that whistle.
Then she’d retreated inside the coffee shop while I’d lingered outside, watching as the lights went out.
“Would you like anything before we go?” she asked.
“Coffee. Black.” I reached for my wallet but she waved it off.
With practiced efficiency, she filled a paper to-go cup and fitted it with a collar and lid.
No scarf today. Lyla wore a black turtleneck sweater to cover her throat instead.
It fit her frame, molding around her slender shoulders and the curve of her breasts.
The collar itself climbed her jaw, concealing nearly every bruise save for those directly below her ears.
But she’d kept her long, dark hair down today, the silky, chocolate strands draping nearly to her waist. The loose waves hid most of what the sweater didn’t.
“Five minutes?” She set my coffee on the counter.
“Take your time.” I took my coffee and walked to the front windows, sipping the scalding liquid as I peered out at the sleepy street. A single truck had rolled by in the time it took Lyla to gather her coat and pull a slouchy knit hat over her hair.
She tucked her phone in her coat pocket. If I had to guess, she’d turned on her location services. Or maybe she’d told Crystal or a friend where we were headed in fear that I was a serial killer.
“Would you like to drive?” she asked, tugging on a pair of gloves.
“Sure.” I opened the door for her—earning more of that happy jingle—then I led the way to my truck, parked outside the hotel.
Lyla nodded her thanks when I opened the door for her, then she climbed in as I made my way to the driver’s side.
“How are you feeling today?” I put the truck in reverse but kept my foot on the brake. “You sure about this?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. The catch in her voice had nothing to do with a change of heart, just the lingering effects of her wounds. “Head north.”
“All right.” I let go of the brake and followed her instructions.
As we hit the edge of town and sped down the highway, my pulse quickened. I wasn’t sure if it was her anxiety or mine, but the tension in the truck became so thick, so heavy, that I could hardly breathe.
This was breaking all the rules. This went against every protocol, every courtesy, that had been drilled into me since the academy. By rights, I should have checked in with the local authorities yesterday.
I’d always played by the rules. I’d always been considerate of other departments. Where had that gotten me?
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.”