Page 151 of Fire Fight
Almost as though the person driving that pickup chose a time when very few people, if anyone at all, would be around.
Head down and hood up, someone got out of the vehicle, moved to the back, and pulled a gas can out of the bed. They brought it to the pump, inserted a credit card to get it running, and filled the can before returning it to the bed and driving away.
Wyatt was openly weeping, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe it, but Lane made no move to comfort her.
“You know who that is.”
Lane wasn’t asking, but Wyatt nodded, breathing deeply in an attempt to marshal her sobs.
“It’s not one of the guys who works for your dad by any chance?”
Wyatt shook her head, then reached for the iPad. “May I?” she choked out.
“Be my guest,” Lane said.
Wyatt rewound the video to the moment when the person stuck their credit card into the pump and paused it. Then she zoomed in on the screen until a sliver of the person’s wrist between the sleeve of their sweatshirt and the edge of the glove was visible.
Wordlessly, Wyatt twisted her own wrist to reveal the word written there.
Always.
“I’d know that tattoo anywhere.”
“Fuck!” Trey screamed, and Wyatt’s head whipped up.
“Trey?” she asked.
Lane glared at us through the glass as I attempted to hold Trey back.
To Wyatt, Lane said, “Do you have any idea where she is right now?”
“No.” The word was so quiet, I could barely hear her. “I haven’t seen her since the day you, Crew, and Aspen came to the house. She came home that evening, ate dinner with us like everything was normal. When we told her you guys had been by, she didn’t really react, which I suppose was a reaction for her.” Another sob wracked her body. “Aspen. Oh my god, Aspen. That poor woman. All those poor women.” She was crying hard enough now that there was no way she could speak.
Trey jerked free from my grasp, and I let him go. A beat later, the door to the interrogation room burst open, and he crossedthe room to gather Wyatt in his arms. Both of them shook with the force of her sobs.
I joined Lane in the hallway.
“I’m going to head home,” I told him. “I need eyes on Aspen. Keep me posted.”
Lane nodded. “Be safe.”
“Always am.” I saluted him and raced for the door.
This time of year, the sun stayed up for hours, so the sky was still brightly lit by the time I stepped outside, but the shadows were lengthening. The second I was behind the wheel of my truck, I dialed Aspen.
“Hey, hotshot.”
My shoulders relaxed, some of the tension of the last few hours bleeding away. “Hi, baby.”
“You okay?”
“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” I answered noncommittally. “You still okay with pizza for dinner?”
“Yep. Your mom told the ranch hands they had to fend for themselves tonight, but Finn and West are here. Will Lane and Trey be joining us?”
“Ahh…no.”
“Ominous.”
