The Second Lie (33 page)

"I'll have to tell her at some point. But I thought we could try changing your environment first and see how we do. How do you feel about that?"

"I'm okay with it. I mean, if it was anyone else but you, I'd be pissed, but this is okay, I guess. If it'll make my mom feel better and get her off my back."

"You won't be going anywhere else while you're with me, except for school. Just as if you were in an official program."

"I know."

"And you're okay with that?"

"It's only for a few days."

"And no computer, either."

"I know."

For someone who'd just been completely cut off, Maggie seemed unusually content.

I didn't know if that was good or bad.

"Did you tell Mac where you'd be?"

"I don't have his number."

I found that hard to believe. "You know, at the place in the city that your mom was talking about, the group home, they take the girls' cell phones. I'll need you to give me yours."

Without a word, Maggie reached into her pocket, withdrew the phone and handed it to me.

If Mac had called the girl, or if Maggie had called him, I'd soon have his number.

Samantha was on duty the next morning and asked Jim to keep an eye on the locker. He called her at just past nine to tell her that there'd been a note left for her. If she still wanted help, she was to be at her locker at four-thirty that afternoon.

At least it was after school. And gave her time to get home and get changed. Showing up in uniform with a pistol in plain view would be a sure tip-off to a potential drug dealer to hightail it out of there.

At home she put on her tightest jeans. They were so low-cut the zipper measured about an inch. It was a pair she'd bought on sale without trying them on. She wasn't fond of shopping, and even less fond of fitting rooms, but since the jeans episode, she'd been more careful. Adding a long-sleeved white T-shirt and blue hooded sweatshirt that zipped up the front, Sam put on a pair of real tennis shoes.

She took her hair down and combed it until it was shiny and full of static electricity. And she pulled out the bin of makeup she kept under her bathroom sink just in case she felt like looking girlie. It rarely happened. As a last touch, she added a pair of sunglasses her mother had given her for Christmas and that she'd never worn. They had jewels on the sides. Tucking her badge in the pocket of the hoodie and hooking her gun to her waist beneath the sweatshirt, she was on her way to pass as the new kid in town long enough to meet her contact.

She wasn't following procedure. At all. No one knew what she was doing. She wasn't under assignment. Didn't have approval for an undercover job at the high school.

But they wouldn't have given her the approval. They'd have sent her out to Siberia to work a crosswalk. If she was lucky.

Kyle went through every inch of Yale's place. He found a couple of plastic bags in the trash that looked as though they'd contained crystals. There was a white powdery film on the inside of the bags. Kyle didn't open them.

Nothing else stood out. A picture of some woman. A girlfriend? Sister? He didn't know. Didn't care.

Yale had left a few other things lying around. Some clothes. A small wooden box with mementos. A cross on a chain. An old driver's license.

Kyle looked out the back window of Yale's makeshift home. He saw nothing but weeds.

And something else. A piece of plywood? With a handle? He leaned in for a better view. Was that a door? It was some kind of storage on the side of the shack. Maybe it gave access to the bathroom plumbing--the new shower.

Heading outside, Kyle pulled open the unlocked door--and verified his plumbing theory. About to close the rickety wooden panel before a rat appeared, he noticed a glint of metal in the corner where the setting sun shone. All thoughts of rats fled as Kyle stepped into the small space to see what was there besides pipes.

He reached into the corner and his hand met the cool metal of a small tank.

Grabbing the handle, he pulled it out.

And was looking at one of his own portable storage tanks for anhydrous ammonia. He recognized it instantly because of the line of rust along the bottom edge. Rust meant the possibility of leakage. He'd set it out at the back of his barn, planning to dispose of it, then forgotten to do so.

Probably because it hadn't been there to remind him.

Reaching for his phone, Kyle dialed Sam's number.

And cursed when she didn't pick up.

30

S
am didn't recognize the young woman waiting by locker two-twelve until she was almost face-to-face with her.

"Ariel?" It had been a couple of years since she'd seen Chuck Sewell's daughter. Hadn't even known the girl was back in town.

"I thought you were living with your mom in Michigan."

"I was. I just moved here over the weekend. My mom and I aren't getting along so well."

Odd that Chuck hadn't mentioned his daughter had arrived. But then, they'd been preoccupied with a sixteen-year-old's death.

Odder still that Chuck's daughter was here...making a drug deal?

Sam's head felt a little cottony. As though there was something she was missing here.

Did Chuck know his daughter was in trouble? Was that why she'd come to Chandler to live? Because she'd been using drugs in Michigan and her mother couldn't control her?

But... If she'd only arrived that weekend, how had she gotten hooked up so quickly?

"My dad asked me to meet you here. To give you a message."

"Your dad?"

"Yeah. He said to tell you that he just saved your, uh, backside and that if this had been a real call you could have lost your job."

That hurt. It was much worse coming from a teenager. As Chuck would have known.

She'd considered the idea of a setup, of course. Had been pretty certain the flyer was delivered to Daniel to get to her. But she'd figured since she knew what was going on, she'd be able to protect herself. She'd gone rogue. Acted alone. Just like her father had.

"My dad cares about you a lot."

Sam wasn't all that fond of herself at the moment, though. She'd been working practically around the clock and was no closer to finding a superlab. Or even a distributor.

And Maggie Winston had just had sex with a pedophile.

"You know Daniel Hatch?"

"No, my dad just asked me to look him up and give him some flyer about homework help or something. What's going on? Are you in trouble?"

"No, but I could have been, which is what your dad just showed me."

"Well, anyway..." Ariel moved back a couple more steps, obviously embarrassed. "My dad said that he's got something that will help you, and if you want to talk, to meet him out at Bob Branson's farm 'cause that's where he is tonight. He said you'd know where it is."

"He's right. I do," Sam said. "Did he happen to mention where on the farm?"

"Oh, yeah. He said there's a building behind the barns that used to be used for egg processing, but now it's used for storage. It's white like the rest but has a door big enough to drive a truck in. I hope I got that right."

"Thanks, Ariel. I'll find it."

"Well, I gotta go. Dad said I have to be home by five or I'm grounded. He's got some neighbor lady checking on me. He's worse than Mom."

Sam nodded. "Thanks for giving me the message. Welcome back to town," she said, and received an uneasy grin in return.

Kyle tried Sam a second time as he drove the truck with his rusty anhydrous ammonia container in the bed up to the farmhouse at the front of Bob's property. Viola wasn't there. She'd been staying at Shauna's the past couple of days, but planned to move back to the farm with Shauna and her family.

She'd given him free access to search everything and Kyle wanted to do it while he had the house to himself. For Viola's sake. Besides, poking into his friend's personal effects made him damned uncomfortable. He wasn't a cop. How would he even know what he was looking for? But he had to go through every room, every drawer, every closet and shelf, anyway. He needed to find something that might lead Sam to Bob's killer.

He entered the kitchen through the back door, letting himself in with the key Viola had given him.

And stopped as soon as his boot hit the tile. He smelled bacon. Viola hadn't cooked in the kitchen since Bob died.

And he knew for a fact she was at Shauna's. He'd talked to her half an hour before.

There'd been no vehicles outside when he'd pulled up.

"Hello!" he called out.

No answer.

With his hand still on the doorknob, he tried again. "Anyone here?" He couldn't see much of the room, but he noticed the shadow fall across the floor by the sink.

There was no sound. Or motion.

But mixed in with bacon was something more rancid. Body odor. Like someone hadn't showered in several days.

"Yale?"

Silence.

Kyle wasn't armed or trained. But he was a man who didn't accept someone hurting those he cared about.

"You're done, son," he said. "Come easy, or come hard, but make no mistake, you'll be in jail before you sleep again."

Figuring the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall was as good as any weapon, Kyle took a slow step into the room. A physical match between him and a twenty-two-year-old didn't faze him. Couldn't be any worse than wrestling a wild horse.

Kyle froze as he felt the prick of something sharp at his throat.

"At least I'll be waking up in the morning." The voice, a low growl, came from just behind him. The man's spittle sprayed Kyle's neck.

If he guessed right, he'd just met Yale.

"You should have minded your own business," the voice said angrily. "Now, walk!"

Sam let the Mustang have her way on the trip out to the Branson farm. She'd just been made a fool of by one of her fellow officers. A speeding ticket from another wouldn't be any worse.

And she was pissed. Really pissed. Who the hell did Chuck think he was, using Daniel that way? And Ariel. Using
her
for that matter.

She was almost out at the farm before she calmed down enough to acknowledge that the message Chuck had just sent had been effective. And probably the only way to prove a point. They'd all tried talking to her. Reasoning with her. Pierce. Chuck. Kyle. They'd practically begged her to rein herself in. Slow down. Follow protocol.

And she'd ignored them.

What she'd done, working undercover on her own, was stupid. These guys had already killed. They wouldn't blink at killing a cop. And Sam could have been walking into a potentially deadly situation without backup.

Chuck could have just saved her life.

But did he have to use his teenage daughter to do it?

Coming in the back way on one of her favorite, rarely traveled country roads, she entered the Branson property from the west side--the one usually reserved for the semis that transported Branson product. She recognized Chuck's Taurus outside a building that fit Ariel's description. Eager to hear what he had found, to find the meth lab and arrest the pedophile who'd lured Maggie to a tent over the weekend, she jumped out of her car and headed toward the building at a trot.

And when all was done, she was going to tell Chuck Sewell what she thought of his little trick. She'd get back at him. Just give her time to think of something really good.

In the meantime, she was relieved as hell that he'd been able to do what she hadn't--make a break in this case. They couldn't afford to lose any more lives.

She pulled open the heavy wooden side door of the old processing building. "Okay, Sewe--"

"Sam! Get down!"

She heard Kyle's voice and ducked, barely registering that he'd pulled himself away from the knife at his throat and launched himself at the man pointing a gun in her direction. A bullet flew past her shoulder and out into the night. She felt it go by.

Heart pounding, Sam had her gun pointed and a shot off before enough time had passed for thought. And then she shot a second time.

Kyle was climbing slowly to his feet, blood on his neck. Right beside him, in the dirt, was the man he'd tackled. The one she'd hit with her first bullet. Blood oozed from his chest, saturating his shirt.

Oh, my God. No!

It was Chuck Sewell.

Kyle grabbed Chuck's police-issue weapon from his limp right hand.

"Call 9-1-1!" she screamed.

A second man, an unshaven punk, was also down--hit by Sam's second bullet. He hadn't moved.

Shaking inside, but with iron-steady arms, she held her gun out in front of her, letting it lead her over to the three men on the ground, keeping them in sight as she prepared to shoot anyone who might be lurking in the shadows.

Within seconds, she was kneeling at her fellow officer's side, shoving her finger into the spurting hole in his chest, trying to stop the flow of blood.

Chuck looked straight at her.

"Good cop," he said, his voice raspy. He attempted to raise his hand. Sam watched as the deputy's arm went limp and fell across his abdomen. "Bad cop." He choked and swallowed. Probably on his own blood.

"Just hang on. You're going to make it." Tears blurred her vision. Chuck was her friend. Her fellow officer. She'd just shot one of her own.

"You were going to kill me," she said, aware that she was probably in shock, but knowing that she didn't have time right then to give in to any kind of emotion.

"Had to." Chuck's words were barely discernible.

She could hear Kyle on the phone. Giving their location and describing the scene. The other guy still hadn't moved and Sam figured him for dead.

She hadn't put it together yet. But she would. Sam knew that more was coming. Much more. For now, there was only one thing on her mind.

"Just stay with me, Chuck. Dammit, stay with me!"

"For what?" She leaned closer, trying to understand the guttural whispers. "It's...all...over...now."

"What about Ariel? She needs you."

"Better...off...with...mother."

Tell me you love her, dammit, Sam thought. Give me something to tell her.