Friendly Fire (11 page)

Rose tapped his arm. “That’s my husband, Fred,” she said. The man nodded.

“Fred, can you do something for me?” Logan asked.

“Sure, Sheriff.”

“I want you to go to Julia’s cafe. There’s a man there by the name of—”

“Oh, you mean the new math teacher, Brent Maloney?” Fred interrupted.

Logan glanced down at Rose. She shrugged, and Logan realized that whatever Rose knew, Fred most likely knew it, too. “Yes, Brent Maloney. I want you to go there, tell him I sent you, and stay there with him. You have a cell phone?”

Fred reached into his jean pocket. “Right here, Sheriff, charged and ready.”

“Rose, I want you to coordinate with Fred. He’s to stay with Brent, at the cafe, until I say otherwise.”

“What should I tell him if he wants to leave?” Fred asked.

Rose gestured to the sheriff. “Go. I’ll take care of it, Sheriff.” She turned to her husband. “You just do what I tell you, and…” Her voice trailed off as she walked her husband to the back of the room, where he lifted his coat from a metal chair.

“Ready, Sheriff?” Jordy asked as he slipped on his coat.

“Let’s go. Do you know where they found the shoe?”

“Yes,” Jordy said in his direct way as they stepped outside. The evening sky was growing dim; warning the officers that they only had a few hours of daylight left.

Chapter 18

F
rom the moment Logan pulled away, Julia had paced what felt like a hundred miles across her carpet and through her house. Did it help that Logan was running the investigation into her daughter’s disappearance? Absolutely. One thing she did know, growing up with her father in the military, was that marines were trained to have the best tracking abilities, to notice all the differences in their environments: footsteps, broken branches. They were taught observation and profiling, to sense what was out of place or missing. It was something they knew deep down, something they never forgot, especially the ones in the thick of it year after year. Even knowing that didn’t help, though. The grief and agony she felt were so deep that she couldn’t relax or even breathe without feeling as if someone had dug her heart out with a spoon.

“Julia, sit down,” Ruth said from where she sat with Dawn snuggled beside her on the sofa. “You need to rest, and you need to eat something.”

When Julia looked at her daughter, she saw that Dawn had a hollowed-out look that broke her heart.

Ruth glanced down at Dawn. “I just tried to talk her into some dinner, but she said she’s not hungry,” she said. She looked back up at Julia. “I know you don’t want to eat, but it’s important to keep up your strength. Don’t you worry. That Sheriff is going to find your girl.” Ruth gave a meaningful glance down at Dawn, and Julia knew she had to make an effort.

“You’re right, Ruth. We should eat. I think there’s some leftover roast beef in the fridge,” she said, though she wanted to gag. Even though she was a "foodie," she didn’t know how she would get one bite down now. She’d have to force herself to eat for her daughter’s sake.

When the phone rang, she practically landed on it, knocking it to the floor and scrambling to her knees to answer it. “Hello?” she cried out.

“Julia.” It was Logan, and she could hear a vehicle in the background. He must have been driving.

“Logan, what’s going on? Did you find her?” She wanted to reach through the phone. She needed good news, something to hold on to.

“They found a girl’s shoe. I need to ask you what shoes Trinity was wearing today: color, brand, size.”

Julia pressed her finger to her forehead to think, but she couldn’t remember. “Dawn!” she called, racing into the kitchen, where her daughter stood with Ruth, her eyes wide at her mother’s outburst. “What shoes did Trinity wear today?”

“She wore her boots to school, Mom.”

“Logan, she had boots on,” Julia said, suddenly remembering. “They were brown, knee-high with fur at the top.”

He sighed on the other end. “No, not boots, Julia. They found a pink shoe.”

She shut her eyes. “Logan, she has indoor shoes at school. They’re pink, size three—what brand? I don’t know, Logan. I bought them at Wal-Mart in Boise before school started. They’re just some kids’ brand, all pink with yellow laces.” She looked to Dawn. “Dawn, are Trinity’s indoor shoes the same as yours?”

“Mom, Trinity has stars on hers. Mine have dolphins.”

“Right. How could I forget? Logan, she has stars on her shoes.”

He was talking to someone in the background, and she could hear another man’s deep voice. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. “Julia, Jordy just talked to the team that found her shoe. It was pink, with a star. The size is right, too, so it’s her shoe. Would Trinity go off alone on a trail?”

“No, never! I mean, we talked about going for a hike, checking out the trails together. They’ve done it with school, but she would never take off.” She was clutching at her chest.

“Okay, Julia. I’ve got to go. We’re going to start tracking her. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

“Logan,” she said urgently, holding the phone with both hands and turning away from Ruth and her daughter.

“Yeah?” He sounded hurried.

“Please find her,” she whispered.

“I won’t stop until I do,” he said. Then he hung up.

As Julia clutched the phone to her chest, she truly believed Logan was a man who lived and died by his word. He wouldn’t come back until he found her.

Chapter 19

“W
here did you find the shoe?” Logan asked one of the team members, a young lady with a mass of dark, curly hair.

She pointed to the creek bed. “In between the rocks there. I can only think her foot got stuck or something.”

Jordy was looking at the ground with a stick, lifting debris and just studying. He did it with a skill Logan recognized, and he wondered about his deputy’s background. Jordy hadn’t shared much about himself.

“Jordy, any tracks?” he asked.

“Lots of tracks, Sheriff. That’s the problem,” he said, glancing up at Logan in the dimming light. “Tracking is going to be difficult and slow once the sun goes down.”

Logan glanced around at the twenty or so volunteers who had gathered after hearing a shoe had been found. Logan recognized one of the group leaders, a volunteer fireman. What was his name, again?

“Hey, Tom!” Logan called, gesturing to him. The man hurried over. He had a thick mustache and wore a ball cap and a checkered red jacket. “Who walked where in this grid area? I don’t need to tell you that stepping over tracks makes it harder to find Trinity.”

“Sheriff, I’m sorry, but when Nora spotted the shore, many of us were already across the creek and down the way. As soon as I heard, I called them in and had everyone stop. You were notified, and we called Cyrus, too. He’s got the best tracking dogs in Custer County. He’s on his way.”

“All right. Okay, everyone, listen up!” Logan shouted. “We’re losing light fast. First things first, we need to find some tracks. Jordy and I are going to move on ahead until we can pick up her route. The rest of you, meet up with your team leaders. Once we find any sign of her, you’re going to spread out, and everyone is going to pay attention to their surroundings. Look for broken branches, pieces of cloth, anything that tells you someone’s come through here. If you don’t know what you’re doing, buddy up with someone who does. Those who are trained in search and rescue know how important it is not to cover tracks. Everyone, make sure you have a flashlight and report in.” Logan looked to Tom, who gestured to another team leader and gathered the group. “Jordy, which way?” he asked.

Jordy didn’t say anything for the longest time. “Along the creek,” he finally replied.

“Not the other side?” Logan asked, wondering what made Jordy think they needed to stay on this bank.

“Not yet. See the way the shoes sits here, the direction?” He gestured so Logan could follow. “Let’s go down this way, see if we can pick up her tracks.”

Logan followed behind, watching Jordy pick through the brush, careful where he stepped. It was exactly what Logan would have done. He didn’t know why he was letting Jordy take the lead—maybe to get a better read on him? There was something about the way people behaved that often told him everything he needed to know—and Jordy was a mystery he was determined to solve.

“Here, one print. It’s a child’s shoe. She’s wearing a sock on her other foot. You can see the imprint of her toes…and look right here,” Jordy said, pointing.

Logan knew what he was looking at. It was exactly what he had been afraid of. “That’s a man’s footprint, all right. He’s tall, too; maybe six feet. By the tread, it could be a hiking boot.” Logan touched his sidearm and pulled the flashlight from his jacket pocket. He shone it on the ground, as it was getting harder to see. There was only an hour left before they would be in complete darkness. He looked up, relieved to see no cloud cover. With a half moon, at least there would be some light. His cell phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket to see that Rose was calling. “Rose, what is it?”

“Sheriff, Maloney was gone when Fred got to the cafe,” she said. “Fred’s still there. What do you want him to do?”

“Tell him to stay there,” Logan replied. “Have Clinton swing around and see if Maloney is at home. Oh, and, Rose, did Clinton find out whether anyone else is unaccounted for?”

“So far, there’s only Rick, who owns the garage, old Missus Hathway, and Jimmy Doles. I doubt Missus Hathway would have anything to do with this, and Rick…well, he grew up here, a hell-raiser, cusses a lot, a little angry, but he’s not a bad man.”

“And?” Logan said. He could tell Rose was holding on to something.

“Jimmy Doles has been in and out of prison, Sheriff. Small-time stuff: burglary, check fraud. Do you think he’s responsible?

“I don’t know, Rose. Right now, everyone who’s missing is a suspect. Send me his photo,” he replied before pocketing his phone. He took in Jordy and their surroundings. “You heard Brent’s gone?”

“Yeah,” Jordy replied.

“Clinton’s on his way over to his place. Now, tell me about Jimmy Doles and Rick, the garage owner. Both are missing.”

“Rick’s a little rough around the edges. He can be a mean drunk, rough with women. Jimmy Doles has been sent up two times. His family was from here, and that’s why he came back. Are you asking if either could take a kid?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“With Rick, I can’t see it,” Jordy said. “Jimmy…I don’t know for sure. Things happen to men in prison sometimes—but so far he’s been all about theft.”

“Okay, let’s get going,” Logan said as they moved further away from the group. His cell phone rang again. “Yeah, what?”

“Sheriff, it’s Rose,” came the reply. “Brent Maloney’s not at his house. Clinton said it was all dark and no one was home. His car’s not there, either.” Rose sounded panicked.

“Okay, listen,” Logan replied. “I want Jordy to get his plate, and—”

There was a rustling, and something hit Logan on the back of the head. Everything went black.

Chapter 20

“S
heriff…?”

Logan blinked. For a moment, he wondered where he was. He was flat out on the ground, eating dirt. His head hurt like hell, and he spit out grit and reached out for his gun on the ground, feeling debris and leaves and twigs, then nothing. He blinked in the darkness. What country was he in? Where was the enemy?

He was sweating and felt a lick of panic up the back of his neck. Something was crawling up his back. The bugs kept him alert, and he hated them; but he sucked it up, not giving anything away. Then he heard it again, something distant—a voice through a phone. He started to sit up, but his head hurt as if someone had split it in two. A flashlight flickered in his eyes.

“Sheriff, are you all right?”

Logan wove as he sat up. Putting his hand on the back of his head, he felt something wet and sticky.

“Sheriff, what happened?”

He recognized Tom. All Logan remembered was that someone had hit him over the head. He spotted the lit cell phone on the ground and could hear Rose calling him again. He reached for the phone. “Rose, I’ll call you back,” he muttered.

She shouted through the phone before he could hang up, probably ready to throttle him. “Sheriff, what happened?” she cried.

“Someone hit me in the head. Let me call you back.” He hung up the phone and turned to Tom. “Help me up,” he said. Another man appeared at his side, and Logan had to swallow a couple times to hold back the bile. He looked around. “Where’s Jordy?”

He felt sick for a minute, realizing Jordy had knocked him out. Why?

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted. “Get on the radio to everyone. I want you to pull all of the volunteers out now. Send them back. Let everyone know we’re looking for Jordy, and he’s armed.”

“Did Jordy take that little girl?” Tom asked.

“That’s what it looks like,” Logan said, sucking in a couple more breaths as he fought the urge to puke. He was determined to hold it together.

He swore again and spit on the ground. He couldn’t believe he’d been suckered. Logan was good at reading people, but turning his back on Jordy and getting knocked over the head…well, he knew better. In his unit, he never would have been so sloppy.

“Sheriff, we need to get you back to the station to get your head looked at,” Tom said. He set his hand on Logan’s arm, but Logan shook it off.

“No, Tom. You go back, get your crew out of here. There’s a little girl out there, and I’m not coming back without her.”

Tom gave him a look and shook his head. “I can’t leave you alone out here, Sheriff. You were knocked out cold. You probably have a concussion.”

“Tom, that’s an order. Jordy is…” His cell phone started ringing again—Rose, of course. She was probably going to nag him to death, too. “Rose, I don’t have time,” he answered.

“Sheriff Wilde, this is George Wilcox,” came the voice over the phone. The old sheriff had a deep voice that meant serious business.

“Sheriff, glad you could make it,” Logan said, surprised.

“Was leaving on vacation when Jordy called me back; said you wanted to know about problem people in the area and who could have had a hand in taking Trinity.”