Down the Darkest Road Page 4

  She considered the boy’s theory. “There’s nothing in Forrester’s history that would lead us to believe he has those skills.”

  “He’s a drug dealer,” the boy said stubbornly. “He probably knows lots of scumbags. One might have the know-how.”

  The hacker would have to be skilled and have plenty of time on his hands. She didn’t know how many school districts North Carolina had, but they had to number more than a hundred. If Dylan was correct and had spotted Forrester three times since Boster’s death, the man would have to know they were in the state. Which again raised the question of how. “That’s a possibility,” she finally said noncommittally as the waitress headed their way, a determined smile on her face.

  “Anyone interested in dessert? Pies are baked fresh every day.”

  Noting the interest in the boy’s expression, Cady said, “I could make room. How about you?” They spent a couple of minutes making their choices. As the server moved away, Cady returned to their earlier conversation. “The boy who bought your bike, Chad Bahlman, was older than you. So you hadn’t outgrown it?”

  He hesitated, then looked away. “No.”

  She waited, but when he said no more, she guessed. “Maybe you didn’t ride it anymore.”

  “After Ethan, I didn’t go out much.” His earlier animated tone vanished. The words were flat. “And money gets tight sometimes. My mom don’t make much. Next year, if this is over, maybe I can get hired at a restaurant or something. Help out a little.”

  “Does Colton work?” He’d be nineteen now, according to what she’d read.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” The teen looked up with anticipation when the waitress returned with their desserts. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  She dug a bit more as he polished off the pie. Little by little, a clearer picture of the boy’s life emerged. Colton and Tina Bandy argued a lot when Dylan’s brother was home. Colton had been out of the house months before they moved to Asheville. Probably stayed at friends’, Dylan guessed. His mom took off for the weekend, too, sometimes, with a boyfriend, but that was no big deal. Dylan was plenty old enough to take care of himself, and she usually left him pizza money. Tina didn’t like the job she’d gotten in Asheville. She always seemed to get jobs with jerk bosses. Recalling the woman’s attitude in the interview clip Cady had viewed, she suspected the opposite was true.

  Because the boy hadn’t been able to decide between pecan and peanut butter, she’d ordered a slice of both for him. He’d cleaned both plates by the time she’d finished her wedge of banana cream.

  On the way back to his house, she dug in her pocket and pulled out one of her cards. Handed it to him. “Add my number to the contacts on the cell SBI gave you. Just in case you ever need it.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” It disappeared into the boy’s jacket pocket.

  “How did you know about Forrester’s background?” Cady asked. When Dylan just looked at her questioningly, she went on. “I saw the interview you gave to the sheriff’s office. You said he’d been in prison and was a drug dealer. How did you know that?”

  “Everyone knew.” His tone was as good as a shrug. “I went to the store once with Trev and his mom, and he walked by. She told us about him and said how we should always stay away from him. I saw him one other time. I wasn’t s’posed to go to town on my bike, but once Colton and me rode in for some ice cream. We went by this bar, and there were people gathered all around. Two guys were fighting. They both had a knife. One was Forrester. He cut the other guy real bad. Colton and I had stopped to watch for a few minutes, but after that, Colton made me leave. He said the cops would be coming.”

  The assault charge was listed in the file, Cady remembered. It’d been bumped down to disturbing the peace because witnesses had backed up Forrester’s claim that he’d been defending himself.

  All told, that made five times Dylan had seen the man. But as he’d mentioned, trauma could have his mind playing tricks on him, causing him to see Forrester everywhere. She was still mulling his words when she pulled into the drive of his home. It was problematic if it was Forrester who kept finding the Bandy family. But not as troublesome as the thought that three boys were dead, and their killer hadn’t yet been apprehended.

  Chapter 5

  The effects of the caffeine had dissipated by the time Cady pulled into the graveled drive of the acreage she rented and got out to open the decrepit wire gates and drive through. As usual, Hero bounded across the yard to greet her, but this time, after she’d closed the gates behind her, she couldn’t urge him into the Jeep to ride up to the house, as was their custom.

  Cady parked her work vehicle behind her car, which was under the carport. Hunching against the bite in the air, she strode to the front of the house, climbed the tiny porch, and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, she toed off her boots as she swung the door closed behind her. Habit had her doing a quick walk-through of her home. The intruder she’d had a few months back still had her paranoia churning. Even if the trespasser was currently back in lockup for his efforts.

  Satisfied the home was empty, she set her briefcase next to the recliner she’d recently purchased and shrugged out of her coat as she walked back to the hall closet to hang it up along with her purse. After crossing the room, she dropped into the recliner and took out the file Special Agent Davis had given them.

  She turned first to review the background on Bruce Forrester. Born in Winterville but ended up being raised by his maternal grandmother in Louisiana by the time he was five. He’d become a ward of the state at eleven when he was discovered living in a shack on a bayou with the grandmother’s corpse. Cady’s flesh prickled. The woman had died of a cardiac infarction. The coroner’s report estimated she’d been gone two weeks before someone had discovered her death and alerted the authorities.

  And how had that experience shaped the boy into the man he’d become? Because Cady was certain it’d played a major role.

  She returned to reading. Forrester’s mother had never been found, and eventually he’d been returned to Winterville, upon his father’s release from prison. The older man had been incarcerated for possession with intent. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree there. Witness statements attested that Carl Forrester had found religion in prison. He and his son were often seen at the Baptist services in town. But the old addiction soon reared its head. Carl was dead of an overdose a few years later, when his son was eighteen. In another five years, Bruce was in prison.

  A sad but all-too-familiar family history. Cady pressed the “Recline” button on the chair. The background summary was only an outline of the man she was hunting. It didn’t fill in the details. Like the value system the life experiences had embedded in Bruce Forrester. What drove him? Money, greed, revenge? Discovering that would be key to understanding him. And knowing the man was the first step toward finding him.

  She flipped to the next page and read until her vision began to blur. The folder went still in her hands as the creeping tide of exhaustion swamped her.

  A sound at the front door roused her, muscle memory leading consciousness. By the time she recognized the dog racing into the room and the man turning to close the door behind him, her weapon was in her hand, trained on the human interloper. A moment later, mortification filling her, she pushed out of the chair and reholstered her weapon, but not before Ryder Talbot spied it.

  He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I confess. I’m guilty of being a dutiful dog-sitter. Do with me what you will.”

  She stood, unbuckling her holster. “Breaking and entering will get you six months. Lucky for you, I’m grateful enough not to press charges.”

  “I’m guessing the sheriff will go easy on me.” He came farther into the room, pausing to lean down to swipe a quick kiss before he continued into the kitchen. Hero beat him there, lapping up water as if he didn’t have a pool out in the doghouse. “I didn’t hear from you, so I swung by to make sure you’d gotten home. Hero was still outside.”<
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  Cady glanced at the clock on the wall. It was close to six. “Sorry. I forgot to let you know. I fell asleep.” She went to join him in the kitchen, where he was already taking out dog food and pouring it into the animal’s dish. She stopped, a sliver of unease stabbing through her at the familiarity in the action. Cady shook it off. Her inner defenses were daunting. She was still deciding how far to let Ryder Talbot through them. Sometimes she wondered if that decision was completely in her hands. “You must have worked late. And on a Friday night too.” He was still in uniform. He’d come from the office.

  Hero fell on the food like a ravenous wolf while Ryder put the sack back in the cupboard. “The porch pirate is hitting again. I thought I was done with that shit at Christmas, but I got two more calls today. Police chief is having the same problem.”

  “What do they do, patrol the city limits waiting for UPS and FedEx trucks to drive by?”

  “Hell if I know.” Ryder rose, propping a hip against the counter, facing her. “Your arrest go okay?”

  “Yeah, we . . .” Her attention was diverted by the dog. Having gobbled up every last morsel, he picked something up from the floor and turned toward them. Her gaze narrowed. “What’s he got?” Horror filled her. “Is that a . . . Did you give my dog a clown?”

  “What? No. It’s a rag-doll thing.”

  She jabbed a finger at the offending item. “With a round red nose and a painted face and mouth?”

  He turned to inspect the toy more closely. Then grinned at her. “You afraid of clowns, Cady?”

  “Do not,” she warned him, “make this about me.” She wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t. That didn’t mean she wanted one in the house. The damn thing was creepy.

  “I took him to my place for a while last night so he could play with Sadie.” Sadie was his yellow Lab. “She gave it to him. He’s been quite taken with it.”

  Cady turned her reproachful gaze on Hero, who’d sat and dropped the toy, thankfully, but kept one paw possessively on top of it. He must have had it in the doghouse. “So this is the reason you wouldn’t come into the house? Burglars aren’t going to take you seriously if you carry that thing around. The optics are terrible.”

  Seeming unconcerned, Hero picked up the clown and ambled into the living room.

  “I’m having second thoughts about your dog-sitting ability,” she told Ryder.

  A smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. “I guess you need to be more specific about the necessary qualifications. It could have been worse. It could have been a mime.”

  She didn’t shudder. But it was close. “Do those teardrops painted beneath its eyes have the same meaning as they do on prison tats?”

  He laughed out loud at that, genuinely amused. “We can discuss it over a beer downtown if you like.”

  Cady hesitated, tempted, before shaking her head. “I’d probably fall asleep before I finished it. And I really need to familiarize myself with the background on a warrant I was recently assigned. Lots of history. Not many leads.”

  “Yeah?” Ryder followed her out of the kitchen to the tiny living room. “Anything interesting?”

  Cady picked up the holstered weapon she’d abandoned and went to put it away in the bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “Drug dealers. One’s wanted for questioning in three child homicides.”

  “Oh sure. What’s his name? Forrester?”

  Stunned, she walked back out toward Ryder, who’d moved the folder off the recliner and sat down. “You read the file? When?”

  “Nope. We’ve gotten plenty of BOLOs about him, though. The guy seems to be a ghost. Is that the meeting you were pulled into today?”

  Nodding, she perched on the edge of the couch next to the chair. “Yeah. I have to dive into the investigation this weekend to see if I can find a rock they haven’t turned over trying to find him.”

  He looked good in the recliner. It seemed churlish not to acknowledge it. The soft leather that had enticed her to splurge had been called “rawhide brown” and was nearly the same streaky color as his hair. His broad shoulders filled it in a way hers never would.

  Cady scrubbed both hands over her face. She was more exhausted than she’d thought if she was dwelling on Ryder Talbot’s physical attributes. Although she’d spent more than a few pleasurable nights exploring them.

  “You’re dead on your feet. You’ll be better off grabbing some sleep first. If you don’t spend every minute on Forrester this weekend, you could drop by my place sometime. My sister and nephews are going to be in town. Not her husband, though, since he’s already made an excuse, lucky bastard,” he said amusedly. Cady stilled.

  She had enough trouble navigating her own family. Although she had nothing against kids, she had about as much experience with them as she did alternate life-forms. It came, she supposed, from being deprived of a childhood herself.

  When she dropped her hands, he was regarding her with a slight smile, accompanied by the ever-watchful look in his eyes. It took more effort than it should have to keep the edge of panic from her voice. “I spend Saturdays with my mom, remember? Then I plan to work on getting up-to-date on Forrester.”

  He was already nodding. “Figured as much. Just looking for a buffer. My mom and sister can be a bit overpowering when they get together and start in on my social life, and the boys have an affinity for wrestling. You could help me tag team them.”

  Her tension was already easing at his indulgent tone. She had the feeling that he’d noted her discomfort and set out to defuse it. “That does sound delightful,” she managed wryly. “But I already took one skull to the face this morning.” She tapped her eye, which, at last examination, had turned a fashionable shade of maroon. “I might give wrestling a pass for a few days.”

  “I noticed but was too gentlemanly to call attention to it.” He shoved out of the chair and stretched.

  “Another reason to thank you.” Cady rose as well and walked him to the front door. “In addition to your dog duties.”

  Ryder zipped up his coat. “You’ve done the same for me.” He nodded in the direction of Hero, who was stretched out on the floor, spooning that damn clown. “Wasn’t sure you were in a grateful mood, seeing his new friend.”

  “It tempers my appreciation somewhat,” she allowed. Hopefully the dog would get tired of it. Or better yet, she could replace it with something else. Squeak toys were out. Every one she’d brought home for him had been destroyed in a matter of hours while he removed the noisemaker. The clown doll, though, he protected like his long-absent doggie jewels.

  Upon reaching the door, Ryder turned, pulled her close, and kissed her again, this time more thoroughly. When he lifted his head, he ordered, “Eat. Tend to your eye. Sleep. And have a little pity and give me a call this weekend. It’ll be a welcome reprieve from the female interrogation and hooligan guerrilla warfare.”

  Cady’s smile lacked sympathy. “Better you than me, pal.”

  Chapter 6

  Dylan froze as a noise sounded outside the darkened house. When it wasn’t repeated, he got up and went to the blinds at the big picture window. Peeked through them. He saw nothing. No movement. No lights. No traffic on the road beyond the drive. He dropped the blind, still rattled. He’d found a small stash of weed in the back of one of Colton’s dresser drawers earlier and rolled a joint. It had chilled him out for a while, but now he just felt paranoid.

  The only light inside the home came from the TV screen. He’d been playing Call of Duty for hours. He looked at the time on the screen. Nearly eleven. Mom should have been off almost an hour ago. But like he’d told that marshal, she didn’t always come home right after work. Not till the bars closed mostly. What he hadn’t told Marshal Maddix was that a lot of times, his mom didn’t come home at all.

  To distract himself, he went to the small kitchen and pulled open the door of the refrigerator, as if it had magically filled itself since the last time he looked. Three eggs. A bunch of yogurt and a twelve-pack. He should have asked that marshal
to let him order some takeout. She probably would have. Maybe they had an expense account for that sort of thing. The cheeseburgers and pie he’d had hours earlier were a dim memory. He had the munchies something fierce.

  Dylan was scavenging fruitlessly through the cupboards when another sound brought him up short. This time it was right outside the kitchen door. He made a move toward it, then stopped. What the hell would he do if he lifted the shade and there was a face looking through the glass at him? Forrester’s face?

  This was stupid. He was being a pussy. The self-castigation didn’t stop Dylan from sprinting across the kitchen to a drawer. Grabbing a knife from it. It was barely sharp enough to cut through a burger. He tossed it back inside and reached for the scissors instead. At least they looked like they could do some damage. He could stab an intruder in the eye with them.

  A lot of good a pair of scissors would be against a high-powered rifle. The thought kept him rooted in place. No one ever told him anything, but he’d heard his mom talking. Ethan and Chad Bahlman had been shot in the head with a semiautomatic. He’d looked up images on the web of what weapons like that did. He regretted it now. The pictures had lodged in his mind, and when he got worried about Forrester—like now—the fear came with its own illustrations.

  The scratching sounds were getting louder, weren’t they? Dylan imagined Forrester, just outside that door, waiting for Dylan to come lift the shade and look out. Imagined seeing the muzzle of that rifle on the other side of the pane if he did.

  The thought had him bolting from the room. If he was going to be on his own all the fucking time, he should at least have something with which to defend himself. He ran past the bedroom he shared with Colton—when he visited—to his mom’s. She had a handgun. He’d seen it in her purse before. He didn’t know what the hell good it did her. She wasn’t the one Forrester was looking to kill. And if he ever found this house, chances were she wouldn’t be around for protection anyway.