He huffs a full breath and leans back in the seat. “I’m sorry.”
I grip the wheel. “He’s right that we were trespassing.” I shouldn’t have let CJ talk me into stopping at the barn. Aggravating Sheriff Thomas goes against our plan to stay off his radar while we quietly build a case against Jerome Wakefield and his flock.
“Could he really arrest us for that?”
“Yes. Not that it would stick, but the red tape would be a giant clusterfuck not to mention a complete waste of time.”
The hum from my weighted-down tires fills the silence for several miles.
CJ runs a hand through his mop of curls, his eyes on the passing landscape. “His timing is sure interesting.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were inside both of those houses, then we spent forty-five minutes loading up that wood. But the minute we stop at the barn, he rolls up.” CJ glances at me, eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell him what we saw in the window?”
“Because I don’t trust him.”
CJ turns back to the window with a shake of his head. “It lookedlike someone sat below that window, waiting. That message was meant for us.”
“Yet the barn was empty.” At the four-way stop, I turn left, and the tiny town of Elk Flats fills the rearview.
“You saw it though. Someone needs our help.”
What if the message was some kind of prank? Or a trap? “There’s nothing else we can do right now. And it’s beyond our scope.”
“Hold it. You’re telling me we’re going to just turn our backs on this?”
I press the accelerator down, but the truck is sluggish thanks to the heavy load. “I’ll share it with the task force.”
His disapproving huff reminds me of a petulant child, so I ignore it.
“You got a history of starting trouble?” Maybe CJ’s full of shit and that timecard story was his way of trying to make himself look like a hero when the truth is full of holes?
“No, sir.” His tone is firm and confident.
“Then help me understand.”
He runs his left thumb down his thigh, straight down the crease, drawing my attention to the rose tattoo on the back of his hand. There’s writing there too but I can’t read it. “I used to like to party.”
Used to. “You’re an alcoholic.”
He nods. “Sober for over two years.”
“And your sister?”
“She left when I was twelve.”
I frown at the long expanse of road ahead. “Left, as in moved away?”
He chuckles, but it’s dark. “Naw. As in climbed onto the back of some dude’s Harley and rode off into the sunset. I’ve tried to find her, but I don’t think she wants to be found. Lately I’ve been starting to think she might be dead.”
With a slow sigh, I rub at the knot behind my breastbone. “What does Sheriff Thomas have to do with her?”
“I don’t know.”
The sudden heaviness in his tone hints at the emotional toll this has taken. “What’s her name?”
“Molly.”