What She Saw Read online

  “To everybody but me.” Haley dropped the roses by the sink, then retreated to her desk chair. “So you don’t know anything about what’s going on?”

  “Whatever it is, no. I get that Gage asked me to do something and he doesn’t ask lightly, so I figure somebody’s giving you some trouble. That trucker guy?”

  “I don’t think so.” Haley hesitated. “Gage checked him out and called to tell me he was okay. I think...well, they may be working together.”

  Both of Sarah’s dark eyebrows rose. Her Native heritage had kept her beautiful well into her forties. “That would explain a lot.”

  “How so?”

  “Gage and Micah have been putting their heads together more than usual. There’s something not right about that truck accident, but we’re not investigating it yet as anything but an accident. I can tell you, though, it doesn’t look like an ordinary accident to any of us. So I’m wondering why we haven’t gone into full-scale investigation mode.”

  “Oh.” Haley didn’t know what to say to that. If Gage didn’t want Sarah to know, assuming Gage knew everything, then it wasn’t her place to talk.

  “Then we ran a random registration check on a certain type of truck, but nobody said why. White or pale yellow box truck, I believe.”

  Haley bit her lip.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Sarah said philosophically. “It’ll come out in good time. Just weird.”

  “Are there a lot of those trucks around here?”

  “A few. I didn’t get the count.” Sarah suddenly laughed. “Cloak-and-dagger stuff. I haven’t seen that in a while. How deep into it are you?”

  “Everyone’s trying to keep me out of it, pretty much, whatever it is.”

  “Welcome to the club. Well, apparently that’s why I’m here. And you’re stuck with me.”

  Haley felt her eyes widen. “You’re my bodyguard?”

  “I’m something.”

  “But don’t you have to get home?”

  “Sweetie, despite the clothes, I’m on duty. And frankly, I’d rather spend my time sitting here than driving the roads. You don’t have to stay up on my account. Go to bed, read, anything you feel like. I’m just here until my shift is over.”

  Chapter 8

  “Don’t tell me what you’re planning,” Gage said to Buck as they drove out of town and into the countryside. “I’d hate to have to stop you.”

  “I won’t.”

  “But if it involves trespass, let me warn you. If you wind up dead, there won’t be much of an investigation. Folks protect their property.”

  “I don’t intend to wind up anything.”

  “No one ever does,” Gage said philosophically.

  Buck almost laughed. “I’m just a guy going for a walk.”

  “Right. I’ve got a deputy with Haley like you asked. How worried are you about her?”

  “Worried enough that I don’t want her to be alone. She saw the driver of the box truck. She can testify that Ray was perfectly alert a few minutes before he died, which pretty much limits the time and opportunity frame for him to have been drugged. She saw the cargo exchange. And I’ve got two more pieces of information.”

  “What would they be?”

  “That Claire Bertram poured the coffee Ray drank, and that Claire also talked to the other driver and asked him why the hell they were shifting cargo in the lot.”

  Gage swore. “She tell Haley that?”

  “Yup.”

  “Thin leads, but I’ve been there before. Twist around, will you? You’ll feel a sheepskin on the back floorboards. You might need it.”

  Buck came up with a patch of sheepskin, wool still attached. The wool felt oily with lanolin. “What’s this?”

  “Let’s just say if you happen to wander among sheep, you should smell like them if you don’t want to disturb them. Friend of mine gave that to me earlier. Should you happen to lose your way, rub it on yourself.”

  “What about hogs?”

  “Can’t do anything about hogs except warn you they can be mean. You don’t want to startle them.”

  “Well, I won’t be getting close.”

  “Not as far as I know, anyway,” Gage agreed. “We ran registrations on the truck description you gave us. Nine of ’em in the county, most owned by local businesses in town. That doesn’t mean a damn thing, though. It could be from out of county.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if it was. But it’s got to have a base here in order to meet with the trucks at the truck stop in a timely fashion. Truckers are regular enough, but not that regular. You don’t want to spend an hour or two hanging around waiting for one to arrive if you don’t want a lot of people to notice you.”

  “True.” Gage tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Nothing from trip logs to help you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Hell. But why the parking lot? It’s kind of an obvious place.”

  “But most casual viewers wouldn’t know it’s wrong for the cargo transfers to happen there. It would take another trucker, and even then it might be dismissed as some shipment having gone the wrong direction. You try that at some turnout along the highway in the middle of nowhere, and any passerby is going to notice.”

  Gage nodded. “I sure would. I think most folks would.”

  “The problem I’m having is keeping an eye on everything. Like tonight. I can’t watch Haley, so I’m grateful to you for that, but if there was a cargo exchange going on right now, I’d miss it.”

  “You need some help.”

  “Haley goes back to work tomorrow night.”

  “But there’s tonight.” Gage sighed and reached for a radio on the dashboard. He held it to his mouth and keyed it. “Nine-ninety-nine to base.”

  “Base here, Sheriff.”

  “Tell Beau to meet me at the truck stop for pie.”

  “Any reason?”

  “No reason. Just tell him I’m meeting him for pie. I can’t sleep and I’m keeping Emma awake.” He keyed the radio off and slipped it back onto the dashboard. “Nobody will pull a switch with a patrol car sitting there. Better?” he asked.

  “Thanks.”

  “We’re on the same side, you know. Loosen up a bit and let us help when we can.”

  “If I had more information, that would be a whole lot easier.” Buck hesitated. “I got a call from my boss. He pulled me off the case. I told him I hadn’t learned anything and I was going to stay another week because I’d met someone.”

  Gage gave a low whistle. “Think he’s involved?”

  “I wish I knew. It sounds crazy as hell to send me to investigate, then back off. I smell someone covering a backside.”

  “Maybe not Bill,” Gage said presently. “Somebody had to have reported the discrepancies. Would it have gone through him?”

  “Or one of the other shipping supervisors. At this point I’m really flailing in the dark, but it’s likelier I’ll find the end of the thread out here than back there.”

  “Maybe so. I take it by what we’re doing right now that you’re not quitting. Okay. If he calls us again, I’ll stick with the story that you told us you were pulling out and I’ll tell him we have nothing to investigate other than an accident. Or something to that effect.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gage dropped him at a crossroads seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Buck started to climb out, but Gage stopped him with a question. “How much of a country boy are you?”

  “Depends. If you mean what do I know about farming or ranching, I know squat. I was an army brat.”

  “Then let me warn you. Folks sleep lightly. Any sign of distress from their livestock wakes them. They have to constantly worry about predators.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Another warning. Murdock Bertram has at least one hired hand I know of, and he doesn’t sleep in the house. There’s a bunkhouse out back, a few hundred yards from the barn. Of course, since you’ll be staying on the roads and shoulders, you don’t have to wo
rry.”

  “Exactly,” said Buck, keeping up the pretense. He understood perfectly the need to protect Gage from having to lie on a report or under oath. The man had gone far enough out on the limb by bringing him out here.

  “I’ll see you where we agreed at first light. You don’t have a whole lot of time. I hope you walk fast.”

  The large knife was already tucked on his belt. The folding knife was tucked in his boot, but after he pulled on his black clothing, he’d tucked it into his pocket so it wouldn’t irritate his ankle. He tugged on a ski mask, rolling it up to serve as a stocking hat for the time being. Before the sound of Gage’s motor had completely faded away, he was running, not walking, toward the Liston homestead.

  Gage’s remark about time had been an understatement, but he knew how far and how fast he could run.

  Quick in, quick out. He just needed to check a couple of barns.

  * * *

  The night was as dark as any he’d ever seen. Starlight didn’t help much when it had nothing to reflect off, no snow or metal. The ground seemed to soak it up the same way rain soaked up headlights.

  He made good time to the Liston place, though. The expensive sports car was still parked out front, seeming almost to glow compared to everything around it. Not a single light gleamed from anywhere. He wished he could get inside that house, meet Jim Liston and get a measure of the man.

  That wouldn’t help him look inside the barn, though. Those crates that were changing hands had to be somewhere reasonably nearby. The truck could maybe be in another county right now, but there was too much risk in transporting the crates too far. An accident could blow the whole thing, and a damaged crate would raise huge questions. He figured they were taking them just far enough to hide them until the next exchange, at a place that provided sufficient privacy to pull something out of them and make them look like they hadn’t been tampered with at all.

  A place like a barn.

  He glanced at his watch, the glowing dial assuring him he’d made good time. Reaching into one of the many useful pockets of his new black hunting jacket, he pulled out a cheap nightscope that he’d had for years.

  A scan of the farmstead told him everything was quiet. The hogs had settled for the night in a large pen that wasn’t too close to the barn. At least he hoped it wasn’t too close. How the hell would he know at what point those pigs might decide he was a threat?

  He’d almost have preferred to have a unit of Rangers camped out there. Evading human detection was relatively easy and something he had been trained to do. Animals were a whole other game. For all he knew, they might be better than the highest-tech security perimeter.

  He decided the best approach was directly up the rutted dirt drive. The grasses were browning either from lack of sufficient water or from the approach of autumn. Either way, they’d make noise, crackling at every step. At least his clothing didn’t rustle. Thank God for the passion for hunting around here.

  He kept to the side of the drive where the clay was less rutted, and stepped as lightly and quickly as he could, freezing when he heard stirring from the pigs in the pen. Mostly they seemed to be huddled in deep sleep.

  At last he made it to the well-packed front yard, where the sports car and an older vehicle were parked. From there he turned and light-footed it to the barn.

  Pulling out a small penlight, he hooded it with his hand and began to edge around the barn, taking care not to trip on any obstacle as he approached each window and tried to peer inside.

  Screwed, he thought instantly. If the window had ever been washed any time since the barn had been erected, he couldn’t tell. It was so covered in dust and grime that all it did was diffuse his flashlight, seeming to light up the glass like a beacon. He switched the light off immediately and leaned as close as he could, trying to peer inside. If any light penetrated the interior, he couldn’t tell. It was as dark as a tomb. He tried to open the window, but it refused to budge.

  Hell. Moving carefully, he went window to window, only to find the same thing. Around back he found a small door, but it was firmly padlocked. For a minute he toyed with breaking in, then decided against it. He didn’t want anyone to know someone had been here, and he didn’t want to disturb those damn pigs by making the wrong noise.

  Then he found a place where the boards had warped enough to give him an opening. Pressing both the flashlight and his eye to the gap, he was able to see something of the interior. Dark shapes everywhere, some of them clearly equipment, but on the far side of the barn he saw a big, rectangular block. It was as black as the night outside, shrouded in what appeared to be a tarp.

  But it was the right size, as big as most of the crates he transported.

  His heart accelerated a little, even though that glimpse wasn’t enough to confirm anything. What he knew now, though, was that he needed to get closer to what was going on at the Liston place.

  He glanced at his watch again. Time to move on to the Bertram place. No time to waste.

  He took a step and his foot hit something that clanged. As quiet as this place was in the dead of night, it sounded as loud as a gunshot to him. He flattened himself immediately on the ground in the darkest shadow he could find, switching off his penlight.

  Barely had he hit the ground when the pigs reacted. God, he’d never guessed they could squeal that loudly. Squeal, yes, but at that volume?

  Thank God he wasn’t easily visible from the house, but it was entirely possible that if Liston came out because the pigs were acting up he might look far afield for a wolf or a cougar.

  The side door of the house slammed open, and he recognized the figure of the elder Liston stepping outside, accompanied by the unmistakable silhouette of a shotgun. Then a high-power flashlight switched on, flooding the night with brilliance as it wandered toward the pigs’ pen.

  He heard the old man muttering as he clomped down his side steps and headed toward the pigs. Buck pulled his ski mask down swiftly and closed his eyes to protect his dark adaptation, then pressed his face to the ground. His ears would have to be his sentinels, and the old man sure wasn’t making any effort to be quiet.

  The footsteps trailed away from the barn toward the pigs. Good.

  Then a young voice called out, “Dad? Everything okay?” Jim.

  “Dang pigs took a fright. Don’t see nothing. Maybe one of them hogs was gettin’ randy.”

  Jim laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time. You want me to check around?”

  Buck stiffened.

  A long silence answered the question, and Buck realized the hogs were beginning to settle again.

  “Nah,” said Mr. Liston. “They’re quietening. Wouldn’t be if’n it was some wolf or cougar.”

  A few more minutes dragged by endlessly, then Buck heard the heavy steps heading back toward the house. The door slammed closed again. Buck risked his eyes and looked up. There was still some dim golden light pouring from the window beside the side door. And some from a room upstairs.

  Counting the minutes on an internal clock and getting more restive as each one passed, Buck waited. A glance at his watch told him he was now going to cut it very close. He didn’t like the idea that he might not be able to check out the Bertram place tonight.

  But at least he’d been able to put the Listons on his list of possibilities, higher than they’d been before. This place didn’t look as if it made enough money to afford much that would come in a full-size shipping crate.

  Even so, he wasn’t sure it was one of the crates he was looking for. Lying there, he tried to tamp his impatience by figuring out how he would insert himself into the Liston situation. He would have to come up with a believable reason.

  The last of the lights went out. Peace fell over the world again. Aware that he had no time to spare, he backed up and rounded the barn on the side away from the house, taking care not to make any noise louder than wind rustling in dry grass.

  As he came around front, though, he noticed the wheel ruts leading into and out
of the wide barn doors. Wide enough to accommodate a box truck. Those ruts seemed deeper than they should be for a regular car, and the elder Liston clearly left his tractor outdoors. At least at this time of year.

  No way to know how old those ruts were. From what little he’d been able to see inside, though, there was no big machinery in the barn that could have carved them. He tucked the thought away, looked toward the house one more time, then began to slip away down the driveway, half expecting to hear a door behind him open and a voice yell out at him. His neck crawled.

  The night remained quiet.

  As soon as he reached the road, however, he took off at a dead run for the Bertram place. As he ran, his body settled into comfortable rhythms from years of practice, and his mind cut loose the way it always did.

  That was when it occurred to him he might have done this exactly backward.

  He should have driven out here in his rental, instead of worrying about creating the impression he was still at the motel.

  After all, he thought, giving himself a mental kick, he’d wound up with at least one sheriff watching the lot for him tonight. Who the hell cared where people thought he was?

  The perps, he reminded himself. The perps. If they had the least suspicion why he was hanging around, he didn’t want them to know he was running a night recon.

  It still made sense, but as the minutes and finally the miles ticked away, he started to think he might have gotten rusty.

  The idea didn’t agree with him at all.

  * * *

  Buck made it to the Bertram place, but he’d damn near run a marathon tonight and his body was feeling it. He hadn’t hit the wall yet, but it was damn close. He pulled out an energy bar and crouched beside the road, looking toward the Bertram place.

  As the sugar began to hit his system, his irritability began to diminish. Okay, so he might have gone at this whole illegal-shipment issue from another angle, except for Ray’s death and Haley’s peripheral involvement. But he still would have looked into it because of that damn itch of his, the one that wouldn’t let him stay uninvolved.