When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(50)

CHAPTER 22





FLORA





NOT BEING MUCH OF A sleeper, I spend most of the night pacing. Shortly after four, I hear a commotion in the hall and come out of my room in time to catch D.D. exiting hers. She provides me a brief update of the situation at the mayor’s place, then she and Kimberly disappear out the motel doors to do their policing business, leaving me behind.

It still takes me another hour to find my courage.

I wish I could explain it, even to myself, but I can’t.

Take on a known rapist? Check.

Walk down a dark alley where a suspected predator snatches his prey? Check.

Race into a burning building to confront a killer, save a pregnant woman, track an arsonist? Check, check, check.

Knock on the door of the handsome man staying in the room next to mine . . . ?

I pace the deserted lobby. Roam the tiny dining area, which at this time of morning doesn’t offer lights, coffee, or even Pop-Tarts. Finally, back down the hallway I go, telling myself I’m brave, I’m strong, I’m a survivor.

I’m shaking by the time I reach Keith’s door. I get my hand up to knock. I think of my friend Sarah, who’s gone back to college and now has a boyfriend. I think of the way her face lights up when she talks about her life. From surviving to thriving.

She did it. I can do it.

I’m still standing there, frozen with my fist midair when the door swings open. Keith appears, fully dressed and not looking surprised to see me.

“Kimberly and D.D. left,” he says.

I belatedly pull down my hand. “There’s been a death. Mayor’s wife. Hanging.”

“Suicide or murder?”

“That’s what they’re trying to figure out.”

Keith frowns at me. “What does that mean for us today?”

I take a deep breath. Will he think I’m crazy? Then again, Keith has been remarkably adaptable so far.

“I want to rent an ATV again,” I tell him. “I want to visit the guy they were talking about last night—the loner, Walt Davies.”

“The guy who shoots cops on sight?”

“We’re not cops.”

Keith arches a brow. “We’re trespassers. A guy who shoots cops probably shoots trespassers, too.”

“Then we’re trespassers who will need to talk very, very fast.”

Keith doesn’t say no. He considers me for a moment instead. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I need to do something. And this . . .” I frown, I don’t know how to put it into words. Ever since I heard Walt Davies’s name last night, it’s been stuck in my brain. Because I heard it before? Or because I have a thing for crazy loners?

I say at last, “Yesterday, D.D. had us trying out local food looking for matches. But Jacob had other appetites.”

“Drugs and alcohol,” Keith fills in.

“Exactly. If this Walt Davies guy is the local supplier of moonshine and dope, there’s a good chance Jacob would’ve sought him out. Especially given Walt’s reputation as the town outsider. All the better in Jacob’s world.”

“Makes sense. But the sheriff said he was going to send two deputies to talk to the guy. So again, why us?”

I give him a look. “That was before this morning’s suspicious death. I bet any officer who’s slept more than two hours is now assigned to that scene. So why not us? We can’t help out at the inn, but as civilians, we might be the right choice for talking to the local paranoid schizophrenic.”

“And just like that, I’m worried again.”

“In or out?”

We both know the answer. Keith is Keith. He will follow me anywhere, even down to Georgia and up a hiking trail to a grave.

“The ATV rental won’t be open for another few hours,” he says at last.

“Then we’ll go to the diner.”

“Our last meal?”

“That’s the spirit.”

He smiles. Quickly, so I don’t have time to think about it, I stretch up and kiss his cheek. He turns his head just enough to meet my lips with his. I don’t pull back. We stand there, lips to lips, in suspended animation.

Slowly I draw back. His blue eyes are darker now, harder to read.

“I’ll get my jacket,” he murmurs.



* * *



—

OVER BREAKFAST, KEITH WORKS HIS computer magic while I pick my way through a bowl of yogurt. It’s easy enough to identify Walt Davies’s address, then look it up on Google Maps. Next, Keith pulls up the network of ATV trails to identify the closest connector.

I can’t decide the best strategy for approaching a man who’s been described as an anti-government survivalist. Head straight down the driveway, hands in the air? Or approach from the rear, getting the lay of the land?

Keith gives me a condescending look, then boots up Google Earth. “You want recon? This is recon.”

I obediently ooh and aah as his laptop screen fills with images. I value the internet as a tool, but I’m a hands-on girl, more prone to footwork than keyboard strokes. Still, Keith is good.

First thing we learn, Walt Davies doesn’t just have property, he has property. The lot appears to be a good twenty acres tucked away from everything. And he doesn’t have only a house but a compound. We make out four structures almost immediately. A medium-sized cabin that’s probably the main residence, an even larger detached building that could be an oversized garage or a barn, and two small dots we guess are sheds.