Chapter 24 #2
She’d seen that look on Seth’s face when she made that joke about her chest. The way his stare lingered. The subtle flare of interest. Then the hint of embarrassment as he realized he’d been caught.
God, her dad had been right. He was sweet on her.
A man as easy on the eyes as him—as good as him—no, it still didn’t feel real.
Desire pooled into her like a warm liquid, simmering through her veins.
She thought of his hands, his eyes, how he might look at her if she were to undress in front of him; his deep, smooth voice, how he might sound if she did something to make him feel good.
The exact kind of thoughts Claire had wanted to avoid.
But maybe it didn’t have to be just a fantasy.
Her phone buzzed on the bed beside her, and she snatched it up. Clementine was calling, which was a rarity—usually that girl operated on a text-only basis. Confused, Claire answered.
“Clem, you—”
“Did you see the news?”
“What? No.”
“You need to look. It’s Trevor, Claire. Like our Trevor. From the farm.”
Putting the phone on speaker, Claire maneuvered to her internet browser and looked up the local news. The Fairview Police had released something.
PUBLIC WARNING:
SUSPECT WANTED IN CONNECTION TO MULTIPLE HOMICIDES
NAME: TREVOR SLOANE
AGE: 28
DO NOT APPROACH. DO NOT ENGAGE.
Claire’s hands shook. Seth must’ve figured something out.
Below the warning was more information, but Clarie found herself staring at the photo of Trevor’s face, the same one from the Belleville website.
He looked so soft and kind. She remembered him being soft and kind, aside from the odd emotional outbreak.
Sometimes he’d storm off, angry and upset, but Claire had never been privy to the whys, and lots of boys had temper problems. She never remembered him as violent.
“Hon, I’m scared,” Clementine whined. “I can’t get a hold of anyone. Marty’s not picking up his cell. Daddy neither. I even tried Dillon. Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” Claire said. Maybe they were out looking for him. If what Claire was thinking earlier could be true, then her dad might have good reasons to silence Trevor.
“And there’s some cop parked outside,” Clem went on. “He said he’s gotta watch the house ‘just in case.’ Do they think he’s coming after me? What about you?”
As if on cue, a knock at the front door rattled the entire trailer. “Hold on, Clem, someone’s at my door.” She stood up and peeked through the bedroom curtains, only to see a cop car parked outside. By her front door, Officer Amy Pereira. “It’s a cop. I’ll call you back.”
She hung up and rushed to the front door, opening it. Officer Pereira apprehensively met Claire’s eyes. They hadn’t seen each other since the whole search warrant fiasco.
“Afternoon, Claire,” Officer Pereira said, tipping her hat. “Nothing to be alarmed about, but I’m gonna be sitting outside your house for a while, all right? Just to keep an eye on you.”
“My sister said there’s a cop watching her too. It’s ’cause of Trevor, right? Do you guys think we’re being targeted or something?”
“We don’t know who the suspect could be planning to attack next, but we want to err on the side of caution, since there’s a connection to you and your family’s farm. I’m sure you want answers, but that’s all I can tell you for now.”
Claire crossed her arms, flustered. “Where’s Detective Winslow?”
“He’s tied up at the moment. Anyway, if you need anything, feel free to holler, all right?”
Officer Pereira turned away, but Claire hesitated.
If Trevor were to attack either her or her sister, it would make the most sense to attack Claire, because she’d never changed her hair—she looked the most like their mom, if that was what this was about.
But even if there was an officer outside, she didn’t like the idea of Clementine being alone with Sully.
“Wait,” Claire said, “can you take me to my sister?”
Seth pressed his foot to the gas pedal, willing the Caprice to drive faster.
The past forty minutes of driving back from Belleville had been hell.
He’d been anxiously communicating with Fairview, coordinating back-up from state, all while stuck in what felt like a time loop, driving down the countryside.
The same fields and farms and mills passed by.
Pereira’s voice crackled through the radio. “Winslow, I’ve dropped Claire Dyer at her family’s farm with her sister. Jacobson’s watching the place. I just got a report of a suspicious male in town, so I’m gonna go check it out.”
“Copy that, Pereira. Are Ron, Marty, and Dillon at the farm?”
“Negative. Clementine and Claire had the same story; all three of them are off on some trip. We can’t contact them.”
Right. A trip while a killer was out there—a killer who Ron could’ve known the whole time. Anger crackled at Seth’s fingertips, so he stretched out his hands again, trying to keep himself together. He had no proof Ron knew anything. “Got it. Keep me posted.”
“Copy that.”
If Seth kept going up this road, he’d pass by the Dyers’ farm and could stop in.
But as he drew closer to town, he remembered the forest speeding by wasn’t just any forest. He slowed down at the sight of the cornfield—the Bursells’ cornfields, that the Dyers used to own—just past the woods.
A dirt road cut between the cornfield and the trees.
The road leading to the burned-down cabin.
“I might have to… up the ante, as they say. Bring it straight to the place it happened.”
The place where what happened, Trevor?
Seth pulled into the shoulder. Trevor must’ve been hiding out somewhere. With his van—and his face—all over the news, he couldn’t linger in a parking lot or a side road or wherever else.
The Caprice wouldn’t forgive him for it, but Seth turned up the dirt road.
He hadn’t found anything concrete the last two times he’d done this drive, but things had changed since Trevor called him the second time.
The hand-drawn map had been processed through evidence, and there were plans to get forensics to look at the cabin ASAP.
But until reinforcements arrived, they didn’t have the manpower to patrol the streets, keep an eye on the Dyer girls, and monitor this desolate road.
Although the afternoon sun was harsh, brightening his path, it had also dried the road. A dust cloud spewed up beneath his wheels and hazed over the windshield. He eased his foot off the gas and drove deeper into the obscurity. He didn’t expect to find anything.
But as the dust settled, something up ahead appeared through it.
A light blue work van was parked along the side of the road.
Seth didn’t know if Trevor was inside the van. He didn’t know if it was the crime scene where he’d killed both Eliza and Kelsey, or if he had a victim inside the back of it right now.
All he knew was that he wasn’t waiting for backup.
After calling it in and requesting additional units to these coordinates, he got out of the car with his gun drawn. He used his door as cover and projected his voice as loud as he could. “This is the police. If anybody is in there, come out with your hands up.”
No response.
Carefully, Seth stepped out of cover and approached the van. The back windows were tinted black. From what he could see, there were no windows at the side, aside from the front seats.
His heart pounded in his ears, loud enough to mute the sounds of birds cawing in the forest next to him. The sun was at its peak, shining so bright on his face, he was sure it’d singe his cheeks.
But there was no movement from inside the van, no sounds.
He reached the driver’s side window and peered in.
Nobody there, but there were two boxes on the passenger seat—one of latex gloves, the other of surgical masks.
He moved to the back windows and checked again, this time putting his face close enough to see past the tint.
The inside of the van was spotless and lined in blue tarp.
No people.
Wherever Trevor was, it wasn’t here.
He took the radio off his belt and spoke into it. “Dispatch, suspect vehicle is empty, I repeat, suspect vehicle is empty. Suspect is on foot, whereabouts unknown.”
“Copy that, Winslow. All units, be advised, suspect is mobile, whereabouts unknown. Suspect vehicle last seen along the far east side of the Bursell cornfield.”
Trevor could be anywhere. With his weapon still drawn, Seth glanced at the path up ahead. They were still a way back from the split in the tree, the marker to where the cabin would be, but maybe Trevor walked there.
He turned to the cornstalks on his left. Trevor could be out there, hidden among them.
He could be close by, watching.
Or he could be moving westbound toward the Dyer farm.
Seth spoke into his radio. “Jacobson, confirm your position.”
No response came. He cautiously moved to the edge of the corn to take a closer look. He was no tracker, but it looked like a path had been cleared through the corn, some of the stalks shoved aside and stamped down on.
“Jacobson, I repeat, confirm your position,” he said into the radio again. Nothing.
At the sound of wheels approaching, he turned to see a patrol car rolling up, spewing dirt beneath its wheels. It came to a stop behind his car, and Yess hopped out as fast as his big body would let him, a car jack in hand.
“Don’t bother,” Seth said. “We need a forensic team on this van ASAP.”
Yess nodded. “I’ll call it in.”
A second cruiser ripped up moments after. Officer Jacobson’s tall, lanky frame ambled out of the other police car. “What’s going on—where’s he at?”
Seth’s stomach sank. “Jacobson, what the fuck are you doing here, man? You’re supposed to be watching the farm.”
A clueless look slapped across his face. “I—I was responding to the call, I thought we had eyes on the suspect.”
“I never said that—you just left your post? Is no one else there?”
Jacobson had nothing, but Seth couldn’t be bothered with him right now—he was already running toward his car. If Trevor was moving west on foot, then—
“Shit.” He jumped behind the wheel. “He’s going after the Dyers.”