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The arrest had come from an anonymous tip, a hiker that had been in the area and recognized Ransome’s truck and Ransome running a man down.
The sheriff, Rick Grayson, had served the warrant, federal agents had been waiting at the impound yard, and within hours had managed to find the physical evidence.
Noah turned back to look at her, eyes narrowed as she listened to the report, and she knew damned good and well who had found that evidence, and where. He had found it while Ransome’s truck had been in her garage.
She inhaled slowly before letting her gaze wander over the garage and noticing one of her mechanics missing. Chuck Leon wasn’t much of a talker, but he’d never missed a day either.
“Where’s Chuck?” She moved over to Noah and asked the question quietly.
“Don’t know yet,” he answered softly.
Sabella leaned closer. “He worked on Ransome’s truck while it was here. Didn’t he?”
“Uh-huh.” Noah nodded before reaching in to test one of the connections on the wiring harness of the sedan. “He did.”
“Did you call him?” She lowered her voice further.
“Toby called. No answer.” Noah’s voice carried no further than her. “Go work on the car, Sabella. Stay low and don’t worry.”
His gaze lifted at the sound of another vehicle pulling into the lot outside.
Sabella looked around the car and grimaced at the growing crowd. Nathan’s garage had always been a focal point for gossip. It was on the edge of town, but the front lot was large enough that customers didn’t have to worry about being blocked or how long they stayed. Old men stood outside the door with coffee in hand muttering to one another. Customers met in various areas, stopped, chatted, lingered to add to the gossip.
“Stay where I can see you,” he muttered to Sabella, slicing a hard glance her way. “Every minute.”
She looked outside then nodded shortly before returning to the sports car.
Noah watched the crowd ebb and flow outside, catching bits of the conversation and adding it to the mental notes he was taking.
Ransome liked to run with several other men, names that hadn’t come up during the investigation, but names the unit would be running now.
There were reports coming in from the impound yard, via Jordan and Tehya, as well. The fact that a federal marshal had poked his nose into the investigation. A man known as an associate of Gaylen Patrick’s. Jordan was running his background now.
And Delbert Ransome wasn’t talking.
Added to that, Chuck Leon, the plant Noah suspected in the garage, was missing. When Micah had checked out his small apartment in town, there had been signs of a struggle, and his cell phone had been left lying beneath the couch, open, the last call to an unknown number. Coded.
He was starting to suspect Chuck was in a shitload of trouble and that perhaps one of the abc agencies in Washington hadn’t been up front with the Elite Ops contact about any agents in place.
Something was going to hell in a handbasket, Noah could feel it.
Shaking his head, he moved from the car he was working on into the convenience center. He walked to the back of the small store as the bell jangled again over the entrance door and he caught a glimpse of the man stalking into the garage during a lull in customers.
Grant Malone.
Noah stared through the glass over the cooler, watching as Grant zeroed in on Rory as he grabbed a soda from another cooler.
“What the hell is going on, Rory?” Grant seized his son’s arm and jerked him around before Rory could pull his arm out of his grasp.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Rory muttered. “Slumming?”
“Talking to an idiot,” Grant hissed. “When are you going to get the hell out of this place? How many times do I have to warn you you’re going to end up getting yourself in trouble?”
“Piss off,” Rory snapped, and Noah could see the anger beginning to spew from both men. “Just jack right out of town, huh? Forget the promises we gave Nathan before he went on that mission, and just turn our backs on his wife?”
Noah clenched his hand around the water bottle as he stared at Grant Malone’s back. At fifty-five, he was still in peak condition. His hair was nearly fully gray, but his skin was swarthy, his shoulders broad. Malone men didn’t go down easy, and Grant was proving it.
“She won’t listen to reason any more than you will,” Grant snapped. “And you’re endangering yourself here. Everyone’s talking about that Ransome boy, and everyone knows that truck was here, in this garage. What the hell did you find?”
