Dad, how could you? Those words went through her mind again and again, but she supposed that anyone who’d had a loved one do something like this felt the same. As horrible and unfair and unthinkable as it was, it happened. There was no way of understanding it. There was only the bitter taste of betrayal—by Tug, the man she’d accepted as her father, and by Jeremy, the boy she’d stood up for all her life.
Soon the jostling took its toll. Her body ached from being unable to change positions. Her head pounded from lack of sleep, a surfeit of emotion and the gag cutting into her jaw. Yet Jeremy drove on.
Did he even know where he was going? Did he have any kind of plan?
He’d said his father had killed himself. Was that true, or had Jeremy shot him? He had a gun…?.
Either way, Jeremy had nothing to go back to. No family, no friends. After this he wouldn’t even have his job at Hank’s.
So what could he have in mind? They couldn’t survive out here, not for any length of time. She doubted they had enough food or water for twenty-four hours. They hadn’t stopped anywhere; nothing was open this late. And she wasn’t sure Jeremy had come prepared.
Maybe survival wasn’t what he had in mind. Maybe he only wanted to escape the consequences of what he’d done long enough to spend some time with her, after which he might let her go.
Or he might kill himself and take her with him.
“Isaac?”
Isaac released his breath and stuck his gun back in his waistband. He’d been sure it was Les Weaver, coming to finish what he’d failed to do when he started the fire. But this was a much more familiar voice. It didn’t belong to someone he particularly liked, but running into a man he didn’t like was better than running into a contract killer. “In here.”
Rusty Clegg came around the corner and eyed him from head to foot.
Isaac didn’t appreciate his condescending expression. “Did you have something you wanted to say to me?”
“I thought that was your truck parked off in the trees.” He clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “You just don’t know how to stay out of trouble, do ya?”
“Excuse me?”
He hooked his thumbs in his utility belt and puffed out his chest—to show off the badge on his uniform or make himself seem bigger and tougher, or both. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Probably the same thing you are. I’m looking for Don.”
“By going through his stuff?”
“I’m hoping to find something that can tell me why he hasn’t been seen for two days. And whether or not he’s had contact with someone in Idaho.”
“That’s not your place! You’re not a deputy!”
Isaac raised his eyebrows. “Maybe if you were doing your job I wouldn’t have to be doing it for you.”
His eyes glittered. “You could be arrested for interfering with a police investigation.”
“Last I heard, this wasn’t an official investigation.”
“But if Don’s missing—”
Isaac broke in. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Don’s not just missing, Deputy Clegg. He’s dead.”
This took him aback, wiped the contempt from his face. “How do you know?”
“Let’s call it an educated guess. First of all, Jeremy’s freaking out because he hasn’t seen his father for two days. Don’s never taken off like this before, especially when his car is in the garage. There’s a bullet hole in the wall out there—” he gestured toward the living room “—and a big wet spot on the carpet, where someone used a hell of a lot of bleach.”
“That’s not like finding a body,” he argued.
Isaac propped his hands on his hips. “It’s enough that someone should start looking for one.”
What was left of Rusty’s bravado disappeared and his shoulders slumped. “But…who would want to kill Don?”
“Someone convinced he knows too much. Someone who saw him as a weak link.”
“Based on your theory that Les Weaver shot David on purpose.”
“He did. And I’m going to prove it.”
“Shit.” He ran three fingers over the distress lines in his forehead. “I was there. I was with him. It seemed legit. Weaver was so upset.” A little of his former belligerence returned. “And there was no motive. Weaver was a total stranger, an upstanding citizen from out of state. You wouldn’t have suspected anything, either!”
“That ‘upstanding citizen’ has ties to the Lucchese family.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“One of the most powerful organized crime syndicates in New York City.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked Myles to check. It was that simple.” Heck, even Leland Faust had an uncomfortable feeling about how smoothly that day’s events had been explained and accepted. If Rusty hadn’t taken the easy road, the one Les Weaver had paved for him with his good looks, charity work and attorney trappings, the truth might’ve come out a year ago. And if that had happened, maybe Isaac’s house wouldn’t be in ashes. “I’ve got to be honest with you, Rusty. You should’ve asked a few more questions.”
Crimson suffused the deputy’s face as his lips pulled back to show his teeth. “You’re so full of bullshit, standing there like you know everything. Big Isaac, who swoops in at the last minute to steal my girl.”
So it wasn’t all about Les or David. “Your girl? Claire’s never been yours.” In one way or another, she’d always been his—she’d known it and he’d known it—even when she was with David.
“Without your interference, she might’ve been. She asked me out last week. That was a start. Then you got involved.”
“She wasn’t really interested in you, Rusty. She just wanted to get out.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know shit. And you have no proof Les killed David on purpose. You’re just trying to make me look bad so you look better.” With that he left the kitchen and started going from room to room, calling for Don and Jeremy.
“Jeremy’s with Claire in Libby. So don’t waste your breath yelling for him,” Isaac said. And if Don was home Isaac would already know it, but…Rusty didn’t respond.
Isaac listened as the deputy marched upstairs; when he came back and headed down to the basement, Isaac followed.
“Are you satisfied yet?” he asked when Rusty stood staring at Jeremy’s empty room.
Again, he didn’t answer. He was gaping at a wall covered in pictures of Claire and embellished with poems and dried flowers and drawings of hearts. “What the hell is this?”
Isaac had seen it earlier. He’d found it a bit unsettling but not surprising. “What does it look like?”
“That little creep has it bad.”
So did Rusty. He’d been trying to get together with Claire ever since David was killed. “Creep? You probably have a shrine in your house, too.”
“Screw you.”
Isaac had provoked him so he let it go. They needed to put aside their differences and get to the bottom of what was going on here. “Look, something’s not right. Don’t you think you should call the sheriff and have him send over some forensic techs?”
The stubborn set to his jaw hadn’t lessened. “Hell, no. I’ve seen no sign of a struggle. No forced entry. No blood and no body. Nothing but a little cleaning solution that could’ve been spilled and a bullet that could’ve come from Jeremy messing around with his daddy’s gun.”
“Then where’s Don?”
“Who knows? He’s an adult. Maybe he took off for a few days. He’ll turn up.”
“Dead.” Isaac had heard enough. He was done with Rusty. “That’s it. I’m calling the sheriff myself.” Whirling around, he started up the stairs.