Page 70 of Night Hawk
“Probably why Rader didn’t want her to leave him. Maybe Wilshire will know more about them.” She continued on through the directory.
The GPS voice announced their last turn ahead, and Clay clicked on his blinker. He slowed and made the turn onto an even narrower road, then looked at Toni for a long moment. “You’ve been awful quiet.”
“Thinking.” She left it at that. She wasn’t about to tell him her thoughts about him were racing across her forehead like a billboard in Times Square, and looked away before she said something she might regret.
He focused on the road again and sped up. “I know our risk assessment said the risks with this guy are low, even if he drew down on a deputy, but I want you to be careful.”
“Will do,” she said, her mind still on the directory, wondering if someone listed in the pages might know what happened to Lisa.
“Remember, our doors are armor-plated, so please stand behind yours until we have his buy-in.”
She locked gazes for a moment. “I can do this, Clay. Just trust me.”
He opened his mouth as if to respond but pressed his lips tight and looked back at the road. He pulled into Wilshire’s driveway and passed the postedNo Trespassingsign. He continued to a tiny clearing in a property surrounded by tall pines and holding a minuscule house.
He shifted into park, and she got out of the SUV. He slid out on his side, but her attention went to a man stepping onto the porch, rifle in hand. His head was shaved, his beard scraggly, and his face wrinkled. Baggy jeans hung on his slight frame, and he’d paired them with a green undershirt, and an open plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off. She spotted a large tattoo on his left forearm but couldn’t make it out.
“Get going now,” he shouted. “This is private property. Whatever you’re selling I don’t want it.”
She remained behind the door. “I’m not selling anything.”
“Don’t care. Don’t want you here.”
“My name is Toni Long. My father was murdered a year ago, and I’m trying to find his killer.”
“And you think I had something to do with that? Don’t even know him.”
“No, no.” She started to wave a hand, but realized he might think she was going for her gun and stopped.
He nodded at Clay. “And who’s this guy?”
“My friend, Clay Byrd. He’s helping me find my father’s killer.”
“Again. What does this have to do with me?”
“While investigating my father’s death, I learned I have a sister. Lisa. She went missing from my grandparents’ house when she was twelve. Do you remember her?”
“Of course I do,” he said, but his tone had softened. “Everyone in town knew about that. Your grandparents attended my church. We prayed for Lisa and them for months.”
“My grandparents mentioned that you visited before Lisa went missing.”
His gun jerked back up. “So they finally told someone. Suppose you’ll be thinking I had something to do with it.”
“No,” she said in her most believable tone. “I just want to ask you a few questions. Mind if we come in?”
His eyes narrowed for a moment, deepening his many wrinkles, then he stepped back from the door. “I’ll give you five minutes. I’m not putting my gun away, so don’t think you can pull one over on me.”
“Thank you.” Toni stepped around her open door.
“Hands up where I can see them,” he demanded.
She lifted her arms and started up the dirt driveway and into the small clearing. His bare feet were planted on the porch, his eyes pinned on her. How had a former youth leader changed to this suspicious man standing before them? Was he even a believer anymore?
Maybe he knew who abducted Lisa. Maybe someone he trusted. That could account for his change. She would ask, but that would put him on the defensive right off the bat.
She reached the rickety steps, and he backed off even more. She smiled at him, but he kept glowering at them as they climbed the creaking wooden stairs. Inside the dark cabin where an overhead light struggled to illuminate the single room that contained the kitchen and small dining area, she caught a fishy smell and spotted a large bass half cleaned on the kitchen counter.
She strolled across the pine floors to the worn plaid couch by a stone fireplace spitting out oppressive heat. No wonder the guy wore the sleeveless shirt and no shoes. She removed her jacket, as did Clay. He didn’t sit but leaned against the wall nearby. Thankfully, she had on a blazer to cover her gun, and Clay’s was hidden under his overshirt.
