Page 51 of Begin Again
“Start by calling your guys in first thing tomorrow. Gonna be overtime? Fine. I’ll pay the difference. Need to feed them? Great, I’ll do that too.” I stand from the chair and plant my hands on his desk, leaning over him. “In case you’ve forgotten, Sheriff Turner, I’m the reason your ass is even in this chair. If it wasn’t for me and my family, Nick included, you’d still be a beat cop. Or have you already forgotten?”
“I am well aware of—”
“I don’t care what it takes, Beau. You bring him home. Do you understand me?”
Beau nods.
“Good, then I’ll see you bright and early, sunshine. And you better bring your A-game.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
April 2028
THE TRAIL UP TO the peak of Mount Achor is my favorite when I need a little space—a little me time—but moving added about forty-five minutes to the already hour-and-a-half drive. Still, after the week I’ve had, some alone time on the trail seems the perfect way to clear my head. Approaching the trailhead, I notice the only other vehicle in the lot on the dead-end road and my heart stops. There’s no way. I pull up behind the old Wrangler parked at the far end—cream body, brown top. My body buzzes as I slowly step out of my Wrangler. Despite my mind yelling at my hand to let go of the door so I can walk forward, it doesn’t, maintaining a death grip on the silver-colored body. I’m scared to approach it. Afraid of what I might find.
“What are you doing out here?” I whisper.
Why hasn’t anyone reported this being out here? They put a BOLO out on it. Surely someone had seen it and thought it was suspicious a car had been sitting there for days. Then again…not many people hike Achor, especially right now, when it could still have snow in some places. It’s one of the harder trails and not most people’s first pick. Maybe no one has come out here recently.
I dial the number of the first person who comes to mind. The call rings and rings until finally, “Nina?”
Walking up to the old Wrangler, I finally look inside the window, at least if there’s something in there, I won’t be alone (per se).
Nothing appears out of place—it’s clean as a whistle, the way Nick always keeps it. His Boston University sweater is tossed on the passenger seat, which seems weird. He definitely would’ve folded it first.
“Beau, I found something,” I say.
“Where are you?” I can hear him sit up in his chair on the other end of the line as I tug on the handle and freeze when it opens.Did Nick leave it unlocked?As if he’s standing right next to me, Beau says, “Don’t touch anything.”
He’s right. If there is something in here, I don’t want to compromise it.
“Where are you?”
“Achor.”
“Achor? Shit!” He sighs. “That’s out of my jurisdiction. Just…Nina, give me a few minutes, I have to call Puck County. Do you see any sign of him?”
“Only a sweater.”
“Don’t touch anything, Nina. Wait for one of us to get there.”
I almost snap back at him “I’m aware of how this works,” but don’t because I almostdidtouch something. Without acknowledging him, I start to end the call, but he calls out to me. I sigh. “What, Beau?”
“This is good.” I can almost picture him nodding as he gathers his stuff to run out the door. “It’s a sign. It gives us something to go off now. It narrows down the location.”
I hang up without saying anything. This might give us an idea of where Nick went, but that doesn’t make it a good sign. It’s been over a week, and who knows what the weather has been like out here compared to back home, where it’s been on the mildside. Climbing back into my Jeep, I stare at the old car, almost willing Nick to pop out with a laugh and aGotcha!
But he doesn’t.
No matter how hard I wish for it…it never happens.
Why would he come here? He’s only been to Achor once (maybe twice) with me, usually preferring to stick to the trails closer to home. He could have gone anywhere but chose the trail he knew the least—one of the hardest ones. Why?
There hasn’t been any sign of life in the last thirty minutes. How much longer until someone gets here? I pick up my phone to call Beau when I see a black F-150 creeping down the highway before it pulls into the lot.Puck County Sheriffis printed on the side.
An older man climbs out of the front seat and settles a cream-colored cowboy hat on his white hair as his feet hit the ground. Wide, black aviator glasses hide his eyes, resting on his nose above a white mustache. “Mrs. Villa?” he asks when he approaches me, and I nod. “Sheriff Rhett Wilson, it’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“You can call me Nina.”
