CHAPTER 19
RHODES
As I park in the same place where I was parked the night I found Helen stalking the Old Mill without any finesse or stealth, I’m glad I didn’t tell my woman about getting approval from the McMinn Sheriff to check it out.
They didn’t find any evidence of the dog fighting ring being active when the area was raided but it clearly was running here at some point.
I don’t believe I’ll find something they missed, but I need to follow this through. I need to see it myself.
With the area being cleared by McMinn, I don’t bother being sneaky as I make my way through the vegetation that surrounds the building.
When I get a look at it, I’m momentarily surprised with how beautiful it is.
Sure, it’s run down and looks like it could crumble if wind gusts got too high, but there is something precious there begging to be protected.
Or maybe it’s the story of what happens when we forget or ignore what is already right in front of us.
While parts of the building have already fallen in on itself, other parts have been reclaimed by Mother Nature.
As I walk around the building, evidence of people being here, regularly, and not that long ago, becomes apparent.
There are bits of trash everywhere and it hasn’t been aged with time and exposure to the elements.
When I step around the building to find an area which might have been a courtyard at some point, it becomes clear that this was used for dog fighting. There are a few bite collars and food bowls still littering the area.
I’m aware that some kennels were cleaned up in the hope to deter anyone from coming back. I can almost picture them stacked to one side. The dirt in the middle of the open area has clearly been trampled.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s soft, but I can almost hear the dogs barking and the people circling and yelling as those dogs are abused in the worst way.
It makes me think about Stella. She escaped a place just like this. Well, she was rescued.
There weren’t any dogs here when the McMinn Sheriff Department investigated.
No dogs, but the echoes of them still ring through here.
I can hear them.
I can feel their pain.
Even though it doesn’t really tell me anything, considering I have no idea how many people have walked over this earth, my eyes track footprints and drag marks throughout the area. It’s not a lead, but maybe it could be one? I’m aware that I’m grasping at straws right now.
But I can’t help it.
The longer I walk around the Old Mill, the more desolate the entire case feels.
Where would they have gone next? If it were me, I would go to the middle of the state and pick a county there because there are too many deputies searching for something around here, anything that’ll break this case wide open.
Is there a reason they’ve been circling the counties around mine? Are they from this area and that’s why they’re comfortable here? How long has this been going on? Have they spent time on the other end of the state and now they’ve become my problem?
I hate not knowing how to answer any of these questions. They burn through my mind and leave me unsettled.
The more frustrated I get because I can’t find anything to help me figure out where to look next, the more I want to get in my truck and drive straight to Dogwood Ridge to wrap my arms around my woman.
I look at the position of the sun in the sky and know I’ve spent far longer out here than I initially intended. There’s no way I can take a few minutes to see my woman, not right now. I need to get back to my office and call Lyons.
The last time I spoke with him, he didn’t have any more information than I did, and certainly no new leads.
Knowing I’ll be too tempted if I drive right through Dogwood Ridge, I avoid the small town to get back to Sweetwater Valley. I don’t even slow as I walk past Carla. I can’t.
My cup of coffee from this morning is still sitting on my desk, but I know it’s gone very cold by this point.
I curl my lip up at it for a moment before huffing out a breath and stalking back out of my office.
Even though I know Carla is watching every step I take, she doesn’t stop me or ask me any questions.
Maybe she can see the thunder and frustration written all over my face. I’m so pissed about being on my back foot concerning this problem. No one should be in my county causing problems. Not my fucking county.
When will they make their way back to Loudon? Who could be helping them move and keep everything so quiet? These are towns that love to talk, but no one is whispering about who could be involved. Just that it happened.
The steaming coffee-filled mug is just what I need, but the moment I make my way back to my office and put it down on my desk, I’m not sure I’ll ever have the chance to finish it.
It’s a chronic problem; one I’ll never find a solution to.
A graveyard of mugs and half-finished coffee is just part of my destiny.
I’ve accepted it.
But while I have it, I take a few fortifying drinks from my mug before putting it down again. Then I’m picking up my phone receiver and giving Sheriff Lyons a call.
As the phone rings, I’m gritting my teeth and telling myself not to take my shit mood out on the man. It’s not his fault that I insisted on going to check out the Old Mill even though I knew nothing was found there worthwhile.
I don’t really get to be pissed because that report is fucking accurate. Did I really think this was going to go down any differently than it did?
I’m just pissed because this lead is another dead fucking end. Just like every other lead we’ve come across. It makes me feel like I’m failing. Not just myself, but the people of Dogwood Ridge as well.
Even though the need to call Helen just to hear her voice is riding me hard, I focus on the sound of the ringing down the line. Talking to Helen would be a lot fucking better than chatting with Lyons, that’s for fucking sure.
After the third time ringing, the call is picked up as he barks, “Lyons.”
“It’s Wilder, I grunt the words, trying not to sound like I’m barely maintaining a semblance of control.
“Did you go out there?”
He doesn’t need to specify where; we both know exactly what he’s asking. I’m nodding in response without him being able to see me.
“Yeah,” the word comes from me as a sigh. “I didn’t find anything McMinn hadn’t already found.”
My frustration spikes and I pinch the bridge of my nose as if it’ll relieve the tension which has been slowly eroding me all day.
I should have just stayed in bed today with Helen. I could see it in her eyes—if I had asked, she would have stayed at home with me and never gotten out of our bed.
And it is our bed.
The sigh that comes from Lyons is weary as fuck. “I didn’t think you would find anything, but I’m glad you went out there to check it out. I was going to do the same, but when you told me you were given the green light then I was going to see what you had to say about the scene.”
“It was all cleared out except it was clearly used recently. There was new trash there and the whole place is eerie, and it has nothing to do with the way the building is falling apart,” I tell him.
I don’t mention that it was also beautiful. He doesn’t need to know my opinion on that.
“Fuck, Wilder,” he grunts and I can feel his frustration like it’s a physical thing. Maybe that’s just because my own matches it. “I don’t know where else to look at this point.”
“I don’t either,” I admit. Even though I say it out loud and it’s true, I don’t like it. There’s no point in lying to Lyons or myself. “We’re spread thin and we’re no closer to finding a solid lead than we were months ago.”
“Exactly,” he agrees. “But we’ve done everything we can do. We’ve put patrols all over the county to keep their eyes on places where hiding is easy.”
“They haven’t found a damn thing,” I growl, my frustration mounting.
I don’t need to go over this same bullshit. Again. Every time I admit out loud that we have nothing on this case, I feel even more like shit.
“Can we keep putting resources toward this?”
The question is rhetorical coming from Lyons. I know it.
I still answer anyway.
“No,” my voice is strained, “we can’t keep putting effort into this without there being something to keep the investigation moving forward.”
“Fuck,” Lyons sounds annoyed and frustrated.
“We can instruct our deputies to keep an eye out and keep checking in with surrounding counties,” I suggest even though we know we were going to no matter what.
“Of course,” Lyons grumbles.
I almost chuckle. Almost.
“You know I’m not giving you shit or telling you how to run your people.”
“Fuck you, Wilder. I know that.” He mutters under his breath, “As if you’d be able to tell me a damn thing anyway. I’ve been doing this job as long as you’ve been alive.”
I have to bite my tongue not to give him more shit. It would be easy and there is more than one bruise I could poke.
“Don’t be a dick to me, Lyons. I won’t just take it with a smile,” my voice is low with a dangerous quality to it.
That dangerous thing lives inside of me. There have only been a few times in my life when it’s come out to play. But if Lyons thinks he can disrespect me, I’m more than happy to remind him why that would be a bad idea; gently, of course.
He huffs out something that might be a chuckle, or it could be a sound of rage. Honestly, I don’t really care either way.
“I think it’s time to back off from this case,” Lyons’s voice is reasonable.
I fucking hate it.
“I’m not going to let this case collect dust in a fucking drawer somewhere,” I grind out the words.
“Who said you should?” I can almost see the way his lip curls into a sneer with his question. “You can still keep your eyes out. You can still run down every lead that comes your way, but it’s time we accept this may be a case we never solve.”
“Fuck,” I bark out the word and almost take my mug and throw it across the room.
I can almost picture it shattering against the wall in such a way where the coffee would explode and stain the carpet in my office. It would be satisfying. But the feeling would be fleeting.
“We can’t hunt ghosts and that’s what these people are right now.”
He’s right.
I hate that he’s right.
“Yeah,” I grumble.
“Keep me in the loop,” he demands and then hangs up without a good-bye.
I wasn’t really expecting one, but still, damn.
I’m just glad he didn’t bring up my relationship with Helen. It’s clear Lyons is close with Cowell, and he might have an opinion on me capturing the heart of the mayor’s princess. If he tried to tell me to back off, then we really would have a problem on our hands.
Helen has talked to me about how Jessi, her sister, is good friends and works with Ezra, the sheriff’s daughter.
Ezra had a strict upbringing which was similar to how Helen and Jessi grew up.
The biggest difference was Jessi and Helen had each other; they might not have had anyone else, but they had each other.
Lyons saying a damn thing about Helen would have had me firing something back at him about worrying about his own daughter.
Shifting focus away from this case feels wrong. The need to find the people responsible is still riding me hard.
I’m not one who lets go of these kinds of cases. I know this one will haunt me.
When I stand up, at least half of my coffee abandoned and cold, again, part of me wants to go to Helen. I know she would accept me with open arms and help me smooth the jagged edges of my disappointment and annoyance.
But the very fucking last thing I want to do is take out my pissed off mood on my woman.
Instead of heading toward Dogwood Ridge to get my Helen fix, I head toward the animal shelter. It’s been far too long since I’ve checked on Stella. Maybe a little snuggle time with her will put me to rights.
I can’t go to my woman with all this turmoil inside of me. She doesn’t deserve it and I sure as fuck don’t want to waste a second with her, considering I haven’t tied her to me permanently or talked her into moving in with me.
It’s just a matter of time at this point. I need her with me at all times and I’m not stopping until I make that dream into a reality.