No One But You (Silver Springs #2)(97)

“I have to do something! I can’t wait for him to murder us in our sleep. After what happened to my parents, I have to be able to protect those I care about.”

Sadie caught her breath. Had he really just said that? She’d promised herself, if she could only get away from Sly, she’d never give any man the right to lay claim on her again. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake. But she couldn’t pretend she didn’t have feelings for Dawson. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t known each other all that long.

She needed to get out on her own. To figure out who she was these days and what she wanted.

“I understand,” she said. “We just have to be careful. Let’s get Chief Thomas involved, have him waiting for Sly if he comes back tonight.”

“What will that do?”

“It’ll prove that he’s disobeying orders. Did you get pictures of those tire tracks?”

“I did.”

“Email them to him.”

“Even if I do, and Thomas agrees to come out here, he’ll just confront Sly and send him home. He won’t arrest him, Sadie. He may suspend him, but then Sly will have even more reason to hate us—and more time to act on that hate.”

“But we only have to avoid trouble until the investigation here is complete. Hopefully, that won’t take too long.”

“And if Damian Steele doesn’t find anything?”

“I’m hoping it won’t go that way,” she said, because if there was no evidence linking Sly to the fire, she’d have only one escape. She’d have to leave, find someplace Sly could never find her, as she’d been thinking of doing before.

Then whether or not she was falling in love with Dawson would be a moot point. She’d have to sever ties regardless.





25


Dawson felt uneasy as he hung up. He didn’t have any good options when it came to stopping Sly Harris. That meant he had to at least try to go about it the “right” way. But he’d be giving up the element of surprise, and for what? He had no trust for the local authorities, wasn’t sure sacrificing that advantage would do any good in the end, especially because asking for their help included the expectation that they would act against one of their own.

He’d already lost so much. He didn’t want to lose any more. But he couldn’t figure out a better way to go.

He was just about to give in and call Chief Thomas when his phone rang. The number wasn’t one he recognized—there was no name attached to it—but he was glad he answered.

“This is Oscar Hunt.” The caller spoke in a loud, gruff voice. “Big Red told me to give you a jingle.”

Oscar. At last. The possibility this man represented set off a riot of butterflies in Dawson’s stomach. “Yes, thank you. I appreciate you getting back to me.”

“No problem. Red said you’re calling about that vagrant I met in Silver Springs a year ago, when your folks were killed. But I’m not sure I’m going to be able to help you. I mean...what more can I do? I went to the police, gave them a full report.”

Somehow Dawson’s defense attorneys had never been made aware of that report. Otherwise, they would’ve tracked this guy down and asked him to testify. “Do you remember who you talked to?”

“No. It’s been too long. But I’m pretty sure it was the detective investigating the case. I remember, because they had me wait at the station until he could come in even though he’d left for the day.”

“John Garbo.”

“That sounds right.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him?”

“Certainly. I’ve never given a statement before, so it was memorable. The detective was a strange-looking fella. Built like a cannonball. Bald. Funny little triangle of hair below his bottom lip.”

That was John Garbo, all right. He had to be the only man in Silver Springs who was over forty sporting a soul patch on his chin. So what’d happened to that report? Had he deep-sixed it? Stuck it in with a pile of papers no one would ever go through? Maybe he’d put it in the file and just hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. From the beginning he’d been so sure that Dawson was his man he hadn’t been willing to take a close look at anything that didn’t fit the case he was building—just like Dawson’s attorneys had said. “What’d you tell him?”

“Just what I saw, man. That there was a tall, skinny dude trying to bum a ride to Santa Barbara at the station right there as you come out of town.”

The memory of that night, the fight that had ensued when the dude wouldn’t get out of his truck and the creepy sense that he wasn’t right in the head made Dawson slightly queasy to this day. By the time he’d gotten rid of his belligerent passenger, he’d had such a terrible feeling about him—as if he’d been lucky to get away. And then he’d found his parents dead. “When did you see this ‘tall, skinny’ dude?”

“Night before Valentine’s Day, around ten-thirty.”

That was the night his parents were killed, all right. “How can you be so specific? It’s been over a year.” Dawson didn’t want to get suckered in by one of those strange people who fed off the excitement surrounding a high-profile case and tried to insert himself in it. Hard as it was to believe, he knew there were such people.