Page 88 of Forever and Other Lies

“Drinkin’ Buddy” came on the radio. He glanced at the display on the dashboard. When had he changed from the rock station to the country station? Jayna had switched it when they’d driven to Toronto for the work gala. He’d never changed it back. Had Gord Bamford met Jayna? This song could have been written about her. He groaned and hit the mute button. He didn’t want to have these feelings.

He would find Jayna. Alive! Then he would find a way to reverse these feelings. He just needed to stop finding all her faults charming. Those faults had once annoyed the crap out of him. Why did she have to go and date the next Ted Bundy?

He stopped at the lights in town, glancing down Second Street. Jamie hadn’t helped. ‘The boots. Not the boots. The boots are the key.’ His eyes traveled farther down the road landing on the Ambulance Station. He hit the right signal and turned.

Derek parked just past Jamie’s workshop, pulling ahead so his truck wasn’t illuminated under a streetlight. It was 7:35 p.m. Just past shift change for the paramedics. He didn’t know Lance’s schedule or even what he hoped to find. But he had to do something.

All those years of pranking Ophelia came back to him. Using the stealth skills of a TP-ing expert, he eased up to the station and crouched behind a decommissioned ambulance parked at the side of the building. Lance and Sonny sat on the tailgate of another ambulance in the parking lot.

“How are you doing?” Sonny asked, his voice low but still audible in the still night air.

“Alright,” Lance muttered, staring straight ahead. “Just can’t stop thinking about Jayna.”

Derek sucked in a breath.

Sonny nodded. “I know it’s tough. But they’ll find her. You just need faith.” The older man’s voice was gruff yet tinged with fatherly concern.

Lance’s shoulders slumped. “First Greta, now Jayna. It’s like I’m cursed.”

Like he was cursed? Or responsible? Derek squeezed his hands into fists. He wanted to plant those fists into the man’s face and demand that he tell him where Jayna was.

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened to Greta. And Jayna, well, she’s a wild one, probably took off with some guy she just met.” Sonny shifted on the bumper, crossing his legs in front of him.

Derek’s gaze dropped. Sonny and Lance wore matching boots. His eyes moved from Sonny’s feet to Lance’s feet. After so many years working as a civil engineer, he prided himself on his eye for measurement. Both men wore the same size boots.

His attention moved from Lance to Sonny. The badge on Sonny’s chest shone dully in the dimming light. He’d been a paramedic for as long as Derek could remember. The guy must be nearing retirement age—his hair was graying, and his face was weathered. He’d just become a grandfather. No, he couldn’t be … could he? Derek’s mind swirled. Could he?

“I’m sure Jayna will show up tomorrow.” Sonny clapped a hand on Lance’s shoulder.

Lance nodded and stood. “Yeah, I hope you’re right. My shift is starting, I need to head in. Have a good night.”

Derek moved back into the shadows, watching as Lance walked inside the ambulance station. His gaze quickly drifted back to Sonny. Originally, he’d come here to check up on Lance. Possibly follow him, see where the man would lead him. But instead, Derek pressed himself closer to the cold, rusting metal of the old ambulance. He waited with his eyes fixed on Sonny.

The two men were on different shifts now. If Lance had been working when Jayna disappeared, Sonny would not have been. After a few minutes, Sonny stood and made his way to his SUV.

Derek’s heart hammered in his chest, and he held his breath, praying that Sonny didn’t notice him. The older paramedic pulled out of the parking lot and turned left, away from town. Strange. Sonny lived in the subdivision in town.

Easing away from behind the ambulance, Derek ran down the sidewalk. He yanked open his truck door and jumped in. His hands shook as he started the engine. He left the lights off until Sonny was further down the road. Would Sonny notice he had a tail?

The paved road ended, turning to gravel as they left the town limits behind. Derek’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he focused on maintaining a safe distance without losing sight of the blue SUV.

The urban landscape gave way to farm fields and dense patches of forest. How could a family man—a well-respected community member—be responsible for Jayna’s disappearance? For Greta’s murder? Derek had to be wrong. Yet he continued to follow the glowing tail lights of Sonny’s vehicle, continued to follow his gut instinct.

Eventually, Sonny’s SUV turned off the gravel road onto an overgrown driveway, kicking up dust and rocks. Derek slowed, then hit the gas. If Sonny had noticed him in the distance, he would expect the following vehicle to continue past. Derek sped up, stealing a glance at the old, dilapidated farmhouse and the apple orchard beside it.

Once he was out of sight, he coasted onto the shoulder, cut the engine, and stepped out. He pulled out his cell phone, about to dial 911, but hesitated. Did Sonny still have his patch phone with him, able to hear incoming emergency calls? And what exactly would he tell dispatch? That he was following the serial killer who was one of their own? He had no proof, just a gut instinct.

Did he even have gut instincts? He was a civil engineer, not a police detective, as Burke had pointed out more than once.

But if he was right, he’d need help. He pulled up the contact list and tapped the call icon. Burke answered his personal cell phone on the second ring.

“What now, Brennan?”

“I think I know where Jayna is. And who took her.”

“What now?” the cop repeated, sarcasm replacing irritation. “Did you find another psychic who could actually connect with Jayna?”

“No, just listen. I don’t have long to explain. It’s Sonny Mitchell, and he just pulled into an abandoned farmhouse on County Road 29.” Derek ran up the road, stopping at the hanging mailbox. “Fire number 64921. There’s an apple orchard on the property.”

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