Chapter Eight #2
“No one’s going to catch us by surprise out here.
There are live camera feeds at our police station that show the entrances to this road both from Mystic Lake and from the Chattanooga side.
I had those cameras put up after some trouble we had last year.
And Collier confirmed earlier that there was no one out here before we started out.
If he sees anyone turn onto the road from either side and doesn’t recognize them as a local, he’ll let me know so we can avoid them. ”
“Avoid them? There aren’t any exits, just turnouts for sightseers to pull off the shoulder to take pictures of the valley below and the mountains. How would we avoid them?”
“There are a few spots only the locals know about where we could hide if we have to. But that won’t be necessary.
In addition to those cameras to warn us, I’ve got a duffel bag behind my seat that I loaded up at my cabin.
There’s enough firepower in there to engage a small army. No one’s catching me outgunned again.”
The tension in her began to drain away as relief took its place. “Sounds good.” She checked the time on her cell phone. “As fast as you’re driving, we should be on the outskirts of Chattanooga in another half hour or so. Are we going to the sheriff’s office?”
“Not unless we get desperate for help. I’d prefer to keep you off anyone’s radar and out of the public eye.”
“Then I’ll call ahead, make some hotel reservations somewhere really nice and—”
“No. We’re staying off the grid. We won’t be using our real names or credit cards. No electronic trails. And we won’t be staying somewhere high-profile. That’s exactly where someone looking for a wealthy Covington would expect you to stay and the first place they’d look.”
She grimaced at the idea of where a police chief from a small town with an even smaller budget might set them up. Staying at some bug-infested motel wasn’t on her bucket list. “I hope you have some fake IDs and credit cards or a lot of cash. I’m fresh out of all of that.”
“I’ll manage.”
She stared at him in surprise. “The chief of police has a fake ID?”
“Former chief. And any ID I have is absolutely legally obtained as a sanctioned alias to be used in an emergency. Today definitely qualifies as an emergency.”
“Sanctioned? By who?”
He winked. “Me.”
She was so thrown off by the unexpected wink that it took a moment for her pulse to stop racing, and for what he’d said to sink in.
“This is enlightening. Former Chief Beau Dawson is a budding criminal with a ready-made alias for so-called emergencies. Is there anything else shady I should know about you?”
The sudden silence had her regretting teasing him.
Her research had her confident he’d never willingly do anything illegal.
He had probably set up a doing-business-as identity that allowed him to legally use an alias, much like authors used pen names.
It reinforced what she already knew, that he was smart and prepared.
“Beau? What happened when you chased after the gunmen in the woods?”
He sat silent for a long time. Obviously he wasn’t going to answer. She sighed and looked out her side window, watching the thick, dark forest zipping past as they barreled down the road.
“Later,” he finally said. “I’ll tell you what happened once we’re off this road and holed up somewhere.”
She wanted to argue, but his expression told her it would be pointless. “I don’t like being kept in the dark. But I respect that you have your reasons. How long do you expect us to have to be holed up, as you called it? I want to go back so I can continue investigating my brother’s death.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. Leave the investigation of your brother’s death to me. A good start would be to tell me why you don’t believe he drowned and think that foul play was involved.”
She shrugged. “It’s more of a feeling than any facts I’ve discovered.
Esteban is strong, a really good swimmer.
I can’t imagine him falling overboard and not coming back up.
He was also with friends. Why wouldn’t they have jumped into the water to help him?
I’m also surprised he even came here. I’d never heard of Mystic Lake before he…
before he died and I don’t know where he heard of it.
I guess the final straw for me is that we buried bones, not a body.
Never seeing him makes it, I don’t know, hard to accept.
I just want to be certain what happened.
And I’m not even sure how to go about that. ”
“Witnesses are the key. Did you know the friends he was with at the time of his accident?”
She shook her head. “No, which is another reason I’m suspicious.
I spoke to the owner of the marina in Mystic Lake, where the boat was rented.
He’s the one who described the friends but none of the names he gave me from his records are names I’ve heard of before.
And when I searched for them on the internet, the names were all so common that thousands of hits came up.
That was a dead end. Your turn. Why would the police, you, be so quick to rule it an accidental drowning? ”
“I wouldn’t say it was quick. We investigated for several weeks.
My officers interviewed those friends of your brothers and their stories all matched, no red flags.
Of course, my officers had no reason to doubt anyone’s identities and dig deeper.
That’s something I’ll look into as I re-investigate.
I’d only just begun reviewing the case file before the Jericho lawsuit put that on hold.
As for your brother being an excellent swimmer, that rarely matters in our lake.
There have been many strong swimmers who go under and never resurface.
Mystic Lake—the lake not the town—is the second-most deadly lake in the country, right behind Lake Lanier in Georgia, for the same reason.
Both lakes were formed when water submerged an existing town.
There are all kinds of hidden dangers beneath the water that can snag a swimmer’s clothing or hair. ”
She frowned. “I hadn’t heard that. I don’t understand.”
He glanced at her, clearly surprised. “I would have expected you’d have researched the town before coming here.”
“I researched people, as best I could. Not the history of the town itself.”
“Fair enough. This area used to be all mountains and valleys, no lake. A long time ago, before the current town ever existed, there was another town, an unincorporated community really, without an official name. At least, not that anyone remembers or has found in any documentation. The story is that a series of storms converged in the area and diverted a river down a mountain into the main valley. The town that was here flooded with no warning. A lot of people died. Homes, entire buildings and full-size trees were buried too. The river formed what we now call Mystic Lake, and the new town built up around it.”
He glanced at her before continuing his story.
“The lake is incredibly deep in parts, and there’s no way all of those hazards can ever be removed.
We do cleanups when we can. Remove debris whenever possible.
Warnings are posted in particularly hazardous areas.
And we mark the channel where boaters should stay. ”
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
“Mystic Lake is enormous, stretching for miles because that river, even though it’s small, still flows down the mountains to feed it.
The locals respect the lake and its history, understanding the hazards.
They’re careful, for the most part.” He grimaced.
“But even they do foolish things sometimes. The mayor’s own son died in the lake years ago, in a boating accident outside the marked channel. He was only in his twenties.”
“How sad. Far too young to have his life cut short.”
“Agreed. The dangers become more exacerbated in the summer months, when the tourists flock to town, as you’ve no doubt noticed.
Many ignore the warnings, go where they want.
And pay a high price. Every year lives are lost, either in drownings or boating accidents.
But no matter how hard we try to keep people safe, it happens over and over.
Some years the deaths number in the double digits. ”
She stared at him in horror. “Double digits?”
“Unfortunately.”
“How long have you been here?”
“My whole life. I was born here.”
“And you’re how old?”
The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Isn’t it rude to ask someone their age?”
“Only if you’re a woman. And you most definitely are not. How old are you?”
He laughed. “Older than you, but not by much.”
“And how would you know my age?”
“One, I’m a police officer. Two, seriously?
You’re Sierra Covington. Everything about you is online, in addition to police files I have access to.
Have you ever tried putting your name into a search engine to see what comes up?
If you think you have any true secrets in the world of the internet, especially as a well-known public figure, you’re kidding yourself. ”
She crossed her arms, hating that he was likely right. As much as she tried to keep a low profile, far too much about her had been put out in cyber space simply because of who her father was.
“Valid points,” she conceded, “everything you’ve said.
But I won’t accept that Esteban’s death was an accidental drowning unless I can confirm it somehow.
Not that I was doing well in that department before I decided to reach out to you.
I had the technology, the fancy equipment, but no investigative know-how.
You agreed to work with me. Now you’re saying you don’t want me involved. ”
“It’s not that I don’t want your input. I just don’t want you out and about, putting yourself in danger. Leave that to me. The investigation has to be on my terms. We return to Mystic Lake if, or when, I deem it safe. And there are some ground rules you’ll have to agree to as well.”
“Ground rules? Like what?”
“Non-negotiable ground rules. Rule number one. Never, ever, point a gun at one of my officers again. At any officer. Understood?”
She scoffed. “I wouldn’t have actually shot him.”
His expression told her he didn’t believe her.
“Rule number two. Don’t point a gun at someone unless you’re prepared to actually shoot them.
Guns aren’t toys. They’re inherently dangerous, even in the hands of the most experienced gunman.
Accidents happen. Guns go off. Which takes me back to rule number one.
You agree to both of those rules, right now, or you’ll never have my help with your investigation. I mean it, Sierra. Say it.”
She blew out a long breath. “Fine. I agree with rule number one and rule number two. How many more rules are there?”
“I’m not sure. I’m making this up as I go.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “You made up that whole plan A and plan B thing too, right? There is no plan B.”
“Oh, there’s definitely a plan B. But like I said, getting you safely out of this area and into hiding in Chattanooga is our best option by far.” He checked the time on his phone’s screen. “We’ll reach the interstate in less than twenty minutes. From there it should be smooth sailing.”
She looked out her passenger-side window again, glad that he was going to work on the investigation. But there were limits to what he’d do in his pursuit of the truth, lines she doubted he’d cross as a cop, or former cop.
And lines she would.
Esteban was her brother. Her oldest biological sibling.
She’d do anything necessary to discover who’d killed him and why.
Then she’d get justice. The problem was that her concept of justice and Beau’s weren’t the same.
Sitting around for years to hope the legal system worked in her favor and punished those guilty of killing Esteban wasn’t something she was willing to do.
When the time came, she and Beau could end up on opposite sides. Enemies.
Tires screeched. The truck jerked, throwing her against her seat belt. She threw her hands up on the dash, bracing herself as the truck skidded to a stop.
She stared through the windshield in shock. No more than fifty yards ahead of them, a large dark-colored SUV sat facing them in the middle of the road. The doors were open. And behind each one stood a man holding a rifle aimed at them.