Chapter Thirty-five – Devil I Know
Chapter Thirty-five
Cooper
DEVIL I KNOW
Performed by Warren Zeiders
Sandy and I stood shoulder to shoulder, full-face respirators in place, draped head to toe in protective gear, and stared down the length of the underground lab.
Expensive, heavy-duty air filters hummed, taking the potent cat-urine odor and cleansing it before pumping it through hidden ducts to the outside while simultaneously drawing in the fresh mountain air.
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep the underground lab from being found, based on the scent of their production alone.
It had taken time and money to dig the lab out of the rock and clay that ran from the Cleavers’ cabin all the way down to the river.
And while the room wasn’t fancy—hell, there were still roots sticking out of the dirt walls—the ceiling had been shored up with large beams and steel joints that hadn’t been cheap.
Someone with engineering and construction knowledge had designed the space and kept it from collapsing in on them. That was more likely Sutton than Randy.
Discarded gas and starter fluid cans and empty propane tanks were stacked in piles taller than me at the back of the space.
Rows of metal tables, interspersed with oversized kettles set over large propane stoves, lined the remainder of the space.
Shutting the gas off had been the first thing we’d done.
The last thing either Sandy or I wanted was to get buried alive in this godforsaken place due to an explosion.
The dangerous combination of heroin, fentanyl, and methamphetamine they’d been making here was an addict’s dream and a cop’s worst nightmare.
Randy, Sutton, and whoever else they’d suckered into helping them had clearly made far more of the deadly speedball concoction than had been floating around town, hurting our local kids. A shit ton more than I’d even imagined.
Worse, they’d been packaging it in fancy-ass black cases that looked like nothing more than handheld gaming devices. The device itself was a disguise, concealing up to twelve needles full of the drug beneath the case’s foam bottom.
Now that I’d found the lab, I had an even bigger problem than the fact Randy and the Suttons were missing. Someone with deep pockets had funded this operation.
My mind went immediately to the leader of the well-known Vegas mafia family who’d made Swift Rivers his vacation spot in the last fifteen years.
Lorenzo Puzo had dipped his hand into plenty of Rivers businesses.
But that had been before Fallon’s dad had ridden into town and forced Puzo’s hand in some sort of nonfatal Hatfield and McCoy standoff that my father had never quite figured out.
Since then, Puzo had supposedly cleaned up his family’s business and gone legit, but his family’s century-long ties to the underworld weren’t completely severed.
If Puzo wasn’t involved, he might have an idea who was, which meant a trip to Vegas or at least a call to see if Puzo would be in town for the holiday and would agree to some questions.
“I hate to say it,” Sandy said, her voice a hollow echo through the protective mask, “but I might be over my head here. You think we can get the DEA or FBI or someone with better equipment and more bodies involved?”
It was tempting to contact a bigger agency and let them deal with it. But kids from our town had been killed and had been used to distribute these drugs to each other. I wouldn’t wash my hands of it. Not yet.
“I’ll place some calls after we nail Randy for this. I want him charged with the murder of our kids and for Sookie before someone tries to make a deal with him that lets him off the hook.”
Sandy nodded grimly and went back to the tripod she’d set up. She’d been recording our activity while we shut off the propane. Next, we’d start dusting for prints before tagging and bagging drugs and cooking paraphernalia.
“Boss?” Freeborn’s voice hollered down into the lab.
I went over to where the makeshift steps made of dirt and hand-mixed cement led out of the hole.
“Deering called in. There’s been an accident on the hairpin turn by the Harrington Ranch.
A car went over the rail. He said they had to call in the medivac ’copter to take the victim to the Fresno burn center. ”
Damn it. I’d told José to sand the roads, and he’d assured me it was his first task this morning.
“What does Deering need from me?” I asked through the mask.
“Not you. Sandy. Or someone who can do the investigation before the snow washes all the evidence away.”
“This is the priority,” I said.
“Deering’s freaked. He’s worried we’ll get accused of botching the job because the crash victim is some bigwig state politician.”
My pulse stuttered. It shouldn’t have mattered—Swift Rivers saw rich and powerful all the time—but unease crawled up my spine anyway.
“What’s the victim’s name?”
“Richard Langley.”
Every fiber of my being went taut.
The world narrowed to a single, brutal truth. If Andie’s dad was here, she was in immediate danger.
I was already moving. I took the steps two at a time, ripping off my mask as I went. Inside the covered tent we’d assembled to shield the evidence from the weather, I tore away the protective suit, urgency shredding every last protocol. Andie was the only thing that mattered now.
“Sheriff?” Sandy called out from below.
I tossed the mask I’d been wearing at Freeborn. “Help Sandy. Don’t touch anything she doesn’t tell you to touch.”
I looked down into the pit where the white suit Sandy wore almost gleamed. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Freeborn is staying. Cleaver is at the cabin in case Randy shows, so if you need backup, call him.”
I heard her protest, but I didn’t have time to explain. I ran full-out up the slope with my phone to my ear.
My stomach clenched when Andie didn’t pick up.
Fuck.
I was too damn far away. Just getting to my vehicle that I’d parked at the neighbor’s house so as not to scare Randy off if he showed would waste minutes I didn’t have.
“Sheriff?” I heard Cleaver call from the cabin as I shot past it, but I didn’t stop, didn’t even fucking care about Randy or the drugs. I had one thought on repeat: Get to Andie.
Taking the road would only cost me more time, so I changed direction, leaping over a log and beelining through the trees and scrub toward the neighbor’s house. Bushes snagged at me. Limbs scratched my face. I ignored it all.
By the time I got to my sheriff’s rig, my side was cramping, and my breathing was choppy.
I’d started the engine and flipped a U-turn in the driveway before I’d even finished buckling my seat belt. I almost hit the lights and sirens, barely stopping myself. I couldn’t fuck up the case with Randy by scaring him off if he saw me coming down the road so close to his place.
I stepped on the gas, flying toward the ranch at speeds that were likely to end with me over the rail too.
I only eased off the pedal as I went by the crash scene.
The medivac was long gone, but Deering was still there, waiting for crime scene support that would be a long time coming.
His face was a confused blur as I zoomed by without stopping.
Once I found Andie, once I made sure she was okay, I’d circle back.
My backend fishtailed as I went around the corner, even with the red lava rock that José had spread just like he’d promised. At least we hadn’t fucked up that part of our job.
But this…leaving Andie today…that had been a fuckup.
I flew through the gates of the ranch, the snowy wonderland of the castle and grounds a horror movie on repeat until I found the woman I loved.
The woman I loved and hadn’t manned up and told her.
I hadn’t said the words to her last night when she’d said them to me. I’d been too overwhelmed. And then I hadn’t even thought to say them this morning.
The only thing Eden had been right about was that I was focused on the job and let important things slip by. I couldn’t let that be the case with Andie—not if I wanted the future I saw with her.
The guest parking lot was full to the brim, so I whipped back around the snow-covered centaur fountain, squealing to a stop by the front doors. The seat belt choked me as I tried to leap out, slowing me down to unlatch it.
The first staff member I saw as I ran toward the hotel was Misty. She was dressed in a thick, red coat that didn’t hide her slim body and statuesque curves. Her cheeks were nearly magenta from the cold air, and her hair was drawn back in a bun not unlike the one Andie wore.
“Where’s Andie?” I demanded. “Is she in her office?”
Misty’s brows raised. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“Where. Is. Andie?”
Her lips tightened. “Last I saw, she was going into the barn.”
I whirled around, sprinting in that direction, surprised to find Misty coming with me.
“What’s wrong? Does this have to do with the man who was here earlier? He really upset her.”
My feet crashed to a halt. Acid burned from my stomach up my throat.
“He was here?”
Misty shrugged. “Some guy was. He left her something. A box. She was carrying it when she came out of the hotel. I think she was looking for him, because she waited by his car for a long time before Kurt called her into the barn.”
I took off running again.
The barn doors flew open under my hands, the familiar scent of hay and animals greeting me as I crossed the threshold. A memory slammed in hard and fast—another time, a gun trained on Maisey and Beckett while flames climbed the beams overhead.
Not again.
Not her.
I would not let that happen to Andie. Not on my watch.
The snuffle and stomp of horses echoed through the space, but it was the low murmur of voices coming from the excursion office that pulled me sharply left. I followed the sound, boots pounding, pulse roaring in my ears.
When my eyes finally landed on Andie, the tension wound tight as a grenade eased—but it didn’t disappear. Not with her father’s name still ringing in my head.
But she was upright. She was breathing and whole and safe at the moment.