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"Keys are still in," she noted, voice barely above a whisper. The door to the truck was wide open, and the keys dangled from the ignition, swaying slightly as if nodding to their discovery. The dashboard lights were dead, the engine silent. It had been left running—until it couldn't anymore.
"Out of gas," Ethan said, stating the obvious, his hand resting on the hood, feeling for warmth.
"Yep." One word, her thoughts a torrent. "Empty," she added, peering into the truck's cab. They stood side by side, peering into the abyss of the open door. No answers, just echoes of questions bouncing off the vinyl seats.
"Who leaves a truck like this?" Ethan’s question hung, unanswered.
The sun almost seemed to retreat behind cloud cover, crimson bleeding into the horizon. Shadows grew long and dark around them.
"Look here," Rachel said, her voice a command that stilled the evening air. She leaned into the truck, fingers brushing against a leather wallet left carelessly on the passenger seat. The license within spelled out Kendra Matter in stark letters, photo smiling up at them with eyes that would never see another sunset.
"Kendra..." Ethan echoed, peering over her shoulder.
"Blood." Her observation was blunt as she stepped out of the truck, pointing to droplets that led away like breadcrumbs. They painted a morbid trail on the parched earth.
"Here," Rachel murmured, more to herself than to Ethan. She crouched, tracing the spots to their origin—a darker patch where the earth had drunk deeply. "She was shot here."
"Two bodies, one truck. Connection?" Ethan's question floated between them, but Rachel was already moving ahead, mentally sifting through scenarios.
"Let's tear this apart. Every inch." Her determination was a palpable force, and without another word, they set upon the truck with methodical precision.
Glove compartment—empty save for manuals and napkins. Beneath the seats—a lighter, a few coins. In the bed of the truck—dust and leaves, evidence of neglect rather than clues. But it was the silence that spoke volumes, the absence of life that screamed at them from every corner of the metal beast.
"Shot here... dragged there..." Rachel pieced it together aloud, her thoughts tumbling out as she worked. The weight of the badge on her hip felt heavier with each passing second.
"Kendra Matter," she repeated, rolling the name around like tasting wine, searching for notes that might reveal itself beneath the surface. "Who are you?"
"Who were you?" Ethan corrected gently, bringing her back to the grim present.
"Right." Rachel's jaw tightened. The chill of a sudden breeze seeped through her clothes as she stood, surveying their progress.
Rachel's gaze swept across the truck's undercarriage, the sun casting elongated shadows on the rusted frame. Something was off. Her eyes narrowed at one of the wheels—its hubcap didn't sit flush against the spokes like the others.
"Hey, Ethan," Rachel called out, her voice low and steady. "Check this out."
Ethan trudged over, his brows knitting together as he followed her pointing finger. “What is it?”
"Doesn't look right." She squatted beside the wheel, her fingers tracing the edge of the metal cap. It resisted in places where it should have yielded to the gentle prodding.
"Could be a carriage bolt misaligned," Ethan mused, crouching beside her, a skeptic's shadow lingering in his tone.
"Or something else," she countered. With a flick of her wrist, she withdrew a pocket tool and wedged it beneath the dubious panel.
The false hubcap gave way with a reluctant screech, revealing a hollow cavity behind it—unexpected depth in a space meant to be shallow. Rachel’s heart skipped, adrenaline surging through her veins like white-water rapids.
"Oh God," Ethan exhaled as they both stared at the cache concealed within. From him, it wasn't a cuss so much as a prayer.
"Didn't expect that," Rachel admitted.
A clump of bags, wrapped tight, lay nestled inside like a malignant growth.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sun was a relentless eye, glaring down at the scene sprawled out beneath it. Rachel shielded her gaze and kneeled by the pickup truck, its underbelly caked in dust and secrets. Her hands, sheathed in latex, brushed against the coarse fabric of plastic bags lined neatly like cadavers in the hollow wheel well. Ethan stood beside her, his shadow merging with hers over the cargo.
"White powder," she muttered, pinching a corner of a bag between her fingers, allowing the grains to spill and dance in the harsh light before being reclaimed by gravity.
"Cocaine," Ethan confirmed, his voice flat, a statement of fact rather than surprise. He looked from the bags to the bodies yards away, through the trees by the creek bed. "Could be the motive."
