AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Harley did have a gift for sorting through information and finding things that other people missed. He’d done some thinking about the missing women and girls, where they were last seen, where they might have been taken. He knew there were a lot of vacation properties in the area, lake houses that stood empty all winter.
“I emailed you the information,” says Rog.
Rog’s phone rings then. He grimaces and holds it up to Harley. It’s Mirabelle, her pretty face filling the screen. Harley is pretty sure Rog has a crush on her. He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he and Mirabelle hook up on the regular, usually when they’ve both been drinking too much. And lately it’s been a little more serious than that, at least for him.
“Uh oh,” says Rog. “Hey.”
Harley hears Mirabelle’s shrill voice carrying tinny over the air.
“He’s fine. He’s fine,” says Rog. “We were just fucking around.”
Fucking around? I was going to call the police.
“No, no, we’re all good. In fact, we’re breaking and entering essentially, so, like, no cops.”
What the fuck, Rog. You’re supposed to keep him out of trouble.
“Ha ha, good luck with that,” says Harley. Her voice sounds like one of those cartoon chipmunks carrying on the cold night air. But he appreciates her concern.
His social media is blowing up. What do I say?
“Just say he’s all good. Technical issues. Phone destroyed. We’ll get him a new one and be back online in the morning.”
Rog holds the phone away from his ear as Mirabelle continues her reprimand.
That’s when they hear a vehicle approaching, a big one. Twin white beams emerge from the darkness.
“Who’s that?” whispers Rog. “I gotta go, Mirabelle. We’re good. Don’t worry.”
The lights in the house are all out, but Harley’s car is parked in front. The tires of the approaching vehicle crunch the gravel and come to a stop. The headlights are bright. The vehicle, which Harley can’t see, is idling. No door opening and closing.
Harley’s brain goes into overdrive. It must be the cops. He’ll just tell them that Chet gave him the code, told him to come back whenever he wanted. No problem. There’s almost nothing Harley can’t talk his way into or out of.
He starts to move toward the front of the house, to confront the driver.
“Hey,” says Rog. “What are you doing?”
“We can’t just hide in the dark. My car is there. It has to be the police. I’ll talk our way out of it.”
“What if it’s not the cops?”
“Who else would it be?”
Harley walks around the house with Roger close behind him. As he rounds the corner, he sees that it’s not the cops. A big black pickup truck sits, engine humming, big headlights and a rack of lights on the roof blazing.
Roger grabs his elbow, and Harley instinctively lifts a hand in greeting.
“Hey,” he calls. “Can I help you?”
Always act like you own the place, that was Harley’s philosophy. Most people were mired in self-doubt. If you acted sure of yourself, people almost always bought it.
When the door opens and a form climbs out, Harley lifts an arm to try to block the glare. Those lights. They’re blinding.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, making his voice sterner.
When the shot rings out, he startles, hands going instinctively to his ears, body folding in self-protection.
Time slows then.
