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Spencer ducked under a tree branch and continued running. He had to catch the shithead who just cut his wires at the construction site and take him in. The BRR had been quiet for the past couple of months. Now this. It always seemed as though they took two steps forward and one back. And it rankled that they always focused on his wiring. He’d rewired this entire construction site on at least two occasions over the past year.
He jumped over a downed log, then bent to dip under a lean-to roof in the back of the laundromat.
The dark head turned a corner, and his heels beat the ground. He rounded the corner and saw the kid or man, or whoever, duck between Divine Designs and The Broken Barrel, the local bar, which furrowed his brows. Why the kid didn’t run up the mountain confused him.
Spencer darted across the road. A passing car laid on his horn as he went by. Absently waving, he kicked up his pace. Nowhere. The dark-haired boy was nowhere to be seen.
Stopping to catch his breath, hands on his knees, he focused on his breathing and heart rate.
“Shit.”
He stood and looked in every direction but saw no signs of the kid he’d been chasing. Shaking his head, he turned toward the construction site.
His phone rang. “Yeah.”
“Did you catch him?” Henry asked.
“No. He just disappeared.”
“People don’t just disappear.”
“Right.”
Henry chuckled, and it was the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard right about now. It was better not to respond.
“You need a ride?”
“No. I’m on my way back now. I’ll be there shortly.”
Henry’s chuckling cut off, and he dropped his phone into his pocket. He rotated his head and stretched his shoulders.
His phone rang again and this time his irritation shot up tenfold.
“What?”
“Well, Spencer Lawson, this is Sheriff Cranford. I’d like to have a word with you and Henry if you have a few minutes. Tate said I should speak to you two. I can be out at the construction site in about fifteen minutes, if that works.”
He huffed out a breath and closed his eyes. He stopped walking for a moment, then replied. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I thought you were Henry calling to razz me.”
Sheriff Cranford chuckled. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“No disappointment. I’m on my way back to the construction site right now. I should be back by the time you get there.”
“Alright, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
The line went dead and he pocketed his phone once again. He jogged toward the base. This time the pace was steady and on paved surfaces instead of the little jaunt that kid just took him on through the woods before leading into town.
A truck drove by with a fishing boat hooked onto the back and another truck followed that one with UTVs on a trailer. Someone was going to have fun. He cut between the flower shop and the laundromat, waving to the ladies outside Bloomin' Lovely as he jogged down First Street to connect to the county road that would take him to the construction site.
A moving truck pulled into the corner parking lot. There was a business there called The Paper Trail. He’d never checked out just what it was. Maya thought it was about scrapbook stuff. Glancing at his watch, he determined he had ten minutes before the sheriff would be at the site. Spencer stepped up his pace—and crashed.
He caught her but lost his footing and fell with her. Spencer rolled, absorbing the brunt of the fall with his right shoulder.
“Oof.”
He rolled to his back, holding onto a woman, which meant she now laid on top of him. Mail sailed through the air. A white envelope landed on his head before sliding off. Other envelopes lay around them.
