Chapter 5 Lara #2
“I checked because the information changed,” he said, his smooth voice filling the weighty silence as he drove through the lot, following signs for campground parking.
“Confronting a man who is camping with expired tags is different than confronting a man with a weapon. Tracking a person means knowing your target, and if Brandon has a license to carry, I needed to know if he’d ever used that weapon in ways that were problematic with the law. Weapons charges. Assault.”
“Oh.”
Calder’s attention flicked to my mouth when the sound escaped, and then snapped back. “But yeah, I also wanted to confirm I wasn’t putting you in unreasonable danger by bringing you with me.”
I put a pause on the conversation as we entered the next clearing, the perimeter of the tree-lined lot dotted with campers of all shapes and sizes. “What kind of camper does he have?”
Calder slowed to let an older couple cross the lot in front of us; they waved their thanks, their hiking poles tethered to their wrists.
“Timberleaf teardrop camper. Wyoming plates 23R9-V9,” he recalled without missing a beat, and continued forward.
I scanned each passing vehicle on the right, while Calder took the left. Spot after spot passed, none with the right size or shape vehicle, and no one who remotely resembled the barrel-chested, bearded man who’d grabbed my sister’s phone to curse at me.
The slow thump of my heartbeat rolled almost to a complete stop when we reached the far end of the lot with no luck.
“And if I was in unreasonable danger? If Brandon did have a history of violence?” I couldn’t help but ask, my frustration peaked at the precipice of another failed lead.
“Then you wouldn’t be here,” he said and drove into the secondary lot marked as overflow.
Anger lashed like a hot whip on my spine. He would’ve left me behind even though he’d agreed.
“You would’ve gone back on your word?”
“The only word I gave was to meet me at the diner at eight.”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. He was right. He hadn’t promised I could come; I’d only assumed.
“You don’t have to like the way I do things, Lara, but you do have to understand why.” The piercing look in his eyes gutted me. “I will never agree to something that could put you in danger. Ever. I won’t spare your feelings at the expense of your safety.”
It was the greatest unfairness, when chivalry could feel cruel.
“There.”
My head snapped forward, all argument forgotten as I zeroed in on the rust-scarred pickup in the farthest corner of the overflow lot; hitched behind it, the teardrop camper was backed discreetly into the woods, shielding it almost completely from view. Along with its expired registration tags.
Calder slowed and pulled off to the side, making sure it was his door that was closest to Brandon’s truck.
He turned to me, the hard angles of his face even more severe. Even more beautiful. “Violent record or not, once we’re out of the truck, you do exactly as I say, understood?”
Goose bumps spread over my skin. It was a question but not a request. In the hospital, I was responsible for every choice. Every decision. I was the one calling the shots. But not here. Not with him. I’d unpack why that wasn’t as unnerving as it should be later.
I nodded mutely, and he continued. “Even if Rachel is there, Lara, if Brandon is hostile, I need you to still obey me.”
The way he said “obey” made me shiver for all the wrong reasons, the tremble severe enough to make my chin dip.
Calder growled, “I need to hear you say it.”
“I understand,” I confirmed, my breathless response spurring him into action.
Without pausing, he reached across me and extracted something from the glove compartment—his weapon. Lifting the back of his shirt, he clipped the gun in its holster to his waistband and then flipped his jacket over it, concealing it from sight.
He opened the door and climbed down from the truck, gravel crunching under his feet, while I sat there reeling from his sequence of movements that was, quite possibly, one of the hottest things I’d ever seen. Right up there with the one-handed turn of the steering wheel.
Realizing just how crazy that thought was, I scrambled out and around the back of the truck, almost running into Calder.
His face, a mask of focus, didn’t even falter. “Stay behind me,” he instructed quietly and gave me his back.
We approached Brandon’s truck from an angle. It was hard to see much from behind him, but I realized Calder kept a very specific, tight path where there wouldn’t be a clear view of us, either through the front windshield or the side window.
We were a few paces away when Calder tilted his head and reported, “Truck’s empty.”
An exhale blew through my lips, though I couldn’t say it was with relief.
He confirmed through the driver’s window and then headed for the trailer, stopping at the hitch.
“Wait here.”
My feet immediately stopped, my eyes darting around the trees like I expected Brandon to jump out from the brush. Wind swished through the leaves. A pair of birds cooed a morning melody in duet. But every sound, even the soothing ones, set my pulse further on edge.
Steady, I cautioned, grappling for the mental tools I deployed in the hospital to excavate adrenaline and metabolize it into a purposeful calm.
My breathing slowed and my focus lasered in on Calder as he made his way to the camper’s door. Avoiding the small window with a larger stride, he tactically positioned himself between the window and the door, his back flat to the exterior panel.
While there was no reason to expect Brandon to be hostile, Calder wasn’t taking any chances. Keeping his body away from the door, he reached out and knocked firmly. “Brandon Westman?”
My heart thumped, the following silence like a ticking bomb.
“Brandon?” Calder said and knocked louder. “Anyone home?”
The birds flew out of the tree. Branches snapped like the cracking of knuckles preparing for a fight. Leaves crunched in the tightening fist of footsteps.
I gasped and Calder looked back at me, the moment freezing us in its thrill, when a rough voice shouted from the trees.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing? Get the fuck away from my camper!”
Brandon.
The beard. The same flannel shirt. The bitter snarl. I’d seen him only for a few seconds, but I instantly recognized him.
He stalked out of the woods wearing sweatpants and a pair of Crocs, and if I had to guess, we’d arrived at his camper just as he’d gone to relieve himself.
Heart pounding, I whipped my eyes over him, looking for any sign of a gun and coming up empty. Hopefully.
“Brandon Westman?” Calder asked calmly, stepping slowly away from the man’s door so as not to startle him, one hand lifted to signal peace.
“Who the hell are you?” he sneered, looking every bit the bully as he lumbered closer.
“I’m Calder Stone, and this is Lara,” Calder answered, his voice steady, as though he were talking down a wild animal. His raised hand lowered, the other resting on his hip close enough to his weapon in case the talking down didn’t go as planned. “We’re looking for Rachel Crane. Is she with you?”
“Rach—” He stopped with a curse, planting his hands on his hips, which quickly disappeared under the roll of his stomach. “Is that what she told you? Fucking cunt—”
I stiffened, my teeth sinking into my tongue to stop myself from speaking.
“Mr. Westman, is Rachel Crane with you?” Calder demanded again, the edge of his tone cutting through Brandon’s labored breathing.
“Does it look like she’s with me?” His gaze swung between us like the unsteady gait of a drunk. “And who the fuck are you, and why do you—” He broke off, his eyes locked on me.
I felt the second he recognized me the way anesthetic hits a nerve—the instant tingling. The paralysis. The buzz of epinephrine. Adrenaline in my veins.
“You. You’re the bitch sister I talked to that day.” He pivoted and started in my direction. I backpedaled instinctively until my shoulders collided with his truck. “You’re the reason she turned into a cunt—”
“Hey!” Calder’s shout detonated through the clearing.
Moving in the span of a single blink, Calder put himself between Brandon and me, flattening his palm on Brandon’s chest like a wall not to cross.
“Mr. Westman.” His voice rumbled with a threatening kind of calm.
“You smell like a growhouse, and your registration is still expired, so either I make some calls and get you in more trouble or you tell me where Rachel Crane is.”
“Fuck you.” Brandon knocked Calder’s arm aside and shoved him like this was some high school playground and he was going to give Calder a beating. Calder stepped back and steadied himself. “I don’t have to tell you a fucking thing about that cunt,” Brandon spat, and then he swung.
“Calder!” I couldn’t stop my warning, but he didn’t need it.
Calder easily ducked out of the path of Brandon’s fist. Using the momentum of the attack, he grabbed the back of Brandon’s shirt and propelled him into the side of his camper. There was a sickening thud, followed by a roar of pain and a definite dent left in the metal exterior.