And There He Kept Her (Ben Packard #1)(23)

“Tell me about your brother’s drug dealing,” he said.

Alissa turned away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Come on, Alissa. There are only a few reasons to have two cell phones. One is you have a separate phone for work. I fall into that category. Then you have guys who are cheating on their wives. Your brother’s not old enough for that. That leaves drug dealers.”

“It must be nice having such a simple view of the world,” Alissa shot back.

Packard laughed. “It’s called experience. It comes with getting old.”

“Whatever.”

“Your mom said he carries a blue backpack everywhere. Seen it anywhere?”

“No.”

“Where do you think he is?”

“I wish I knew.” She sounded like she meant it.

They rode in silence for a minute. Packard said, “Your brother’s a senior this year. What’s his plan?”

“He’s saving all his money to move to Minneapolis this summer.”

“How does he make money?”

Alissa gave him a look like Nice try.

“You think you’d know if he was into harder drugs? If he and Jenny were using?”

“Jenny doesn’t use shit. She’s been getting my brother to clean up his act. He’s not dragging her down. She’s lifting him up. He has a plan to get away from this town and it’s because of her.”

Alissa sounded both bitter and sad. When her brother was gone, it was just going to be her and her mother. Who would look out for her? Who would try to lift her up? Probably not the boy with the zits and the dirt bike.

They were getting closer to the school. Packard purposefully slowed down to give them more time. “Look, I’m not here because your brother sells drugs. I could give a damn about that right now. I’m trying to find him and Jenny. Neither one of them has their cell phone on them. Jenny doesn’t have her diabetes supplies. Right now that other phone is the only way to get hold of them. That’s all I’m interested in.”

“I’ve been calling it. He doesn’t answer.”

“Give me the number. I have other ways to track it besides just calling.”

The school was three blocks ahead on the left. “Stop here and let me out,” Alissa said.

“Give me the number and I’ll stop.”

“I’m not a narc.”

“The whole school’s going to think otherwise when I pull up front and we get out together. I’ll walk you to the cafeteria to make sure you get your lunch.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Don’t make me be an asshole. Give me the phone number.”

Alissa sighed and reached into the bag between her legs. She took out a cheap smartphone and scrolled through the contacts. She shoved it at him in her left hand and stared out the window on her right side.

Packard turned right at the next corner and pulled over. Alissa had the number saved on her phone as Jesse2. He dialed the number on his own phone and let it ring. It went to voice mail after four rings. He ended the call, then dialed his own number from Alissa’s phone so her number showed up on his when the call connected. He hung up again and handed the phone back to Alissa. “Thank you,” he said.

She shoved the phone in her bag, gathered up the straps, and pushed her door open.

“Your mom’s right about getting pregnant. You’ll be trapped here forever if—”

Alissa slammed her door. She showed him the same finger she’d shown the nosy neighbor.

Packard pulled away from the curb, laughing. This was why the sheriff hadn’t assigned him to cover the high school. He didn’t know how to relate to kids at all. They were all criminals or morons in his mind.





Chapter Eight


The first woman Emmett kidnapped worked at the gas station where he bought beer once a week. Wanda. Late twenties. Blond hair, wide hips. She had giant breasts, just like he liked. Not very bright—she had a hell of a time counting change.

He’d never been good at talking to women. The last decade of his marriage had passed more or less in total silence. Between visits to the gas station, he practiced things he would say to Wanda, imagined whole conversations they might have, but when the time came, standing there with his wallet out, he could only manage a few croaked words. Busy today? Snow’s coming. Wanda wasn’t particularly chatty. She had a pretty smile but not the kind that invited you to linger.

The run-down gas station where she worked was on a rural road between towns, backed into a clearing and surrounded by trees. A yellowing sign on a pole advertised CANOOS 4 RENT and CHAINSAW SH RPNING. The two red pumps out front had mechanical dials that spun the gallons and the price. Most of the customers were out-of-towners who stopped to buy alcohol, or gas for the boat, or something from the dusty shelves they needed for a weekend at the cabin.

The day he came in with his arm in a sling, Wanda said, “Oh…hi…” Her voice trailed off as she blanked on his name. Did she know his name? He didn’t think so. He didn’t remember ever telling her.

“What happened?” she asked.

He went to the beer cooler against the wall to her left, using the tail of his long shirt to grab the handle and open the door. “I hurt my arm,” he said as he dropped the first case on the counter.