That kind of killer did not stop because the county got scared.
He only stopped when someone found him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The river ran low beside the trail, its brown-green water moving around pale stones that should have been covered by June.The banks had shrunk into cracked shelves of mud and root.Fallen branches lay half exposed in the shallows, snagged in places where the current lacked the strength to carry them on.
Connor drove with one hand on the wheel and the other near the window switch, though the window was already down.Hot air pushed into the cruiser and carried the dry smell of river weed and sun-cooked timber.Sweat gathered under the brim of his hat.He took it off, set it on the passenger seat, and wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist.
The dirt track bent away from the river, then came back to it.Tire ruts hardened into uneven grooves.He let the cruiser crawl over them, slow enough to hear gravel spit against the undercarriage.
This was a bad idea, but Connor knew that didn’t mean it was the wrong one.
Victor Schmidt's face had stayed with him since the house.Warren had followed after.Two friends are gone, and two families are broken open.Selena would tell him to go back to the station, work the board, check alibis, chase paperwork, wait for evidence.
She would be right.
She had been right too often lately.
Connor glanced down, then slipped one hand into his trouser pocket.His fingers touched the bundle of cash.Thick.Folded tight.Bound with two rubber bands.Still there.
Six thousand dollars.More money than he wanted to be carrying down a road like this.It was all he had left in ready cash after years spent paying down the bad debt he had carried from his twenties.
He took his hand away and gripped the wheel again.
The first gate appeared through a break in the trees.
It was made from black metal and set between two square stone pillars.Beyond it, the trail climbed toward higher ground, but the grade and the trees hid whatever waited at the top.Two men stood in the shade near the gate.Neither looked surprised to see him.That bothered Connor almost as much as the guns they were pretending not to have.
One was broad and shaved bald, wearing a short-sleeved shirt that pulled tight across his chest.The other had a thin face and a loose jacket despite the heat.Both carried themselves with the same careful balance.Weight on the balls of their feet.Hands-free.Eyes moving.
Connor stopped beside them and rolled the window all the way down.
The bald man stepped closer.“What’s your business, Sheriff?”
Connor looked at the gate, then back at him.“It isn’t official.”
That made the second man shift.Not much.Enough.
The bald man leaned a fraction closer.“Then what is it about?”
“I want to see Mr.Morimer.”
“Mr.Morimer’s a very busy man.”
“I know.”
“Then you also know he doesn’t see people who drive up uninvited.”
Connor reached into his pocket slowly.Both men watched the movement.He pulled out two folded bills, held them between two fingers, and offered them through the window.
“This is important.”
The bald man took the money without looking at it.His gaze stayed on Connor’s face for another few seconds, measuring.Then he turned away and lifted one hand to his ear.
Connor heard nothing but insects and the faint ticking of the cruiser engine.
The man spoke too quietly for words to carry.Then he listened, nodded once, and stepped back.
