Page 70 of First Touch

“Callahan.” He nods, setting a box down that he was holding.

“You don’t strike me as the hoarding type.” I catalog all of the various boxes and stacks of paperwork littering every surface, and how the desks and chairs have all been moved and shifted in a way that is less than ideal.

“I’m not. We’re moving the station back up to Lawson, next to the courthouse. It makes no sense for it to be out in these parts when the most populated city in this county is 15 minutes up the road. Maybe it worked here at one time, but I think Donahue just liked flying under the radar out here,” he explains. It’s the most words he’s spoken to me at one time. “There is junk everywhere, paperwork dating back a decade…”

He rubs his hands across his face, and despite his stoic exterior, I realize he’s stressed. “I’m sorry, what can I do for you?” He asks, back to his default persona.

“No worries man. I’m impressed with what you’re doing for the county. They’re lucky to have you.” And, I mean it. After Nathan and Callie were almost killed last year because of Sheriff Donahue and his brothers-in-law, it’s relieving to know that Malec won’t stand for corruption. Of the few conversations I’ve had with him, it’s clear that he’s straight-laced and by the book.

He doesn’t respond to my compliment, he almost seems discomforted to receive a verbal pat on the back. It doesn’t bother me, most guys have the emotional intelligence of a brick wall, mine has just been torn down, stomped on, and broken to pieces for the majority of my life.

“I still can’t find Curtis,” I admit. “What I overheard at Jameson’s hasn’t helped me figure out where he is.”

“I know you believe the kid is innocent, but I’m going to need evidence or a confession from someone else. Those boys have pretty much gotten away with it unless we can get them on something else,” he states ominously.

“Yeah. I’m working on it. All of the time I’ve been spending at the farm and I still haven’t heard them talk about their endgame. Right now, there are a bunch of pieces of things that could potentially assemble bombs, but other than the one test they did, I haven’t seen any more made. It just looks like he’s collecting household products or starting a scrap yard.” I blow out a breath in frustration.

“Next time, if you think something might go down, record it on your phone. If I see a video of something illegal, even if it’s done anonymously, I’ll have the power to get a warrant for the property. This is a small county, but I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Me neither,” I agree, thinking of Thea. How can all of this be going on so close to where she lives?

It feels like bad luck. All I can worry about is how unsafe she could be walking into the grocery store, or stopping by the post office. Malec’s right, it’s a small county with seemingly no targets. What’s the agenda?

If Jameson wants to stick it to the government, he would be better off going somewhere else. I can only hope that’s his plan. If he tries bombing a military base he’ll leave in a body bag. Exactly what he deserves.

“I’ll ask around, subtly talk to my guys, and see if there is anywhere around here that could be used as a political target. I also want to keep checking in with the neighbor who made the complaint on Jameson. His property is the biggest on that side of the county. Even from miles away, he heard the bomb that night. It scared his bears.”

“Bears?”

“Yeah. It’s some sort of black bear sanctuary. He runs a tight ship and he wasn’t happy about an explosion going off so close to his property,” he explains as his phone rings. He sighs deeply when he reads the caller ID so I excuse myself to continue my search for Curtis.

If the neighbor is what spooked Jameson into thinking someone was onto him then maybe Curtis isn’t whistle-blowing at all. So, why is he hiding?

I end up driving around for a few hours, checking hotel parking lots for his truck, campsites, and neighborhoods. It’s a waste of time, but I have nothing else to go on until I get a text from Jameson. Get to the farm, asap.

The uneasy feeling in my gut sits with me until I climb out of my truck in front of the farmhouse. Derrick and Mitch are sitting on the porch steps, watching me.

“Fellas,” I say as casually as I can. They nod.

Jameson walks out of his house, closely followed by someone else. My fists clench when I see an unmistakable face and I do my best not to react.

The fucking prick contractor.

Why the hell is he here?

“Jay, we’ve got problems.” Jameson motions to Derrick and Mitch. “They found out Curtis blabbed to someone about us and now he’s MIA.”

My heart is beating against my ribs, trying to keep my cool. I am well aware of how slippery the kid can be, that’s why I’m dealing with this shit in the first place.

“He knows you’re looking for him?”

“Oh, he knows.” Derrick scoffs, bumping shoulders with Mitch. “He weaseled away from us before we could teach him his lesson.”

Jameson looks at Derrick pointedly. “Shut it.”

That look on his face is loud and clear. Jameson doesn’t want me to know about Dennis. He’s keeping that incident in his trusted circle, which I’m not a part of. They only want me so they can get to Curtis.

“We saw him poking around town and we followed him to Sunny’s,” Mitch says.

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