Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(30)

“Sure thing, Ace.”

He waved and rolled through the gate, and Sara looked at him.

“Did she just call you Ace?”

“It’s an old nickname.” He glanced at her. “I played baseball in high school.”

“Were you any good?”

He shrugged. “Went to UT on a pitching scholarship.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“Why?”

“You’re left-handed.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “So?”

“My dad loves baseball—Orioles fan—and he always said never trust a left-handed pitcher. They’re unpredictable.”

He smiled. “Your dad’s smart.”

She looked out the window, trying not to picture him on a pitcher’s mound, staring down a batter with his super-intense gaze. She didn’t need any more sexy visuals in her head.

“They’re packed tonight,” she said.

“Yep.”

Everywhere she looked were RVs and camper vans. They wended their way down a bumpy gravel road, and Sara surveyed the cars and tents divided by clusters of camp chairs.

“Is it my imagination, or is the neighborhood getting sketchier as we go?” she asked.

“The upper loop has electricity and water hookups. The lower loop doesn’t, so it’s cheaper, kind of a grunge crowd.”

“Great. I’ll fit right in.”

The lower-loop campers were teens and twenty-somethings. They were dressed in shorts and swimsuits and congregated around fire pits with no fires in them.

“Burn ban?” Sara asked.

“It’s county-wide. Been in effect since June.”

The lack of campfires didn’t seem to be diminishing anyone’s fun. People were drinking, eating, and listening to competing stereos. They lounged on chairs and on car hoods—basically any surface available.

“There have to be a hundred cars here,” Sara said. “They must make a fortune.”

“Capacity’s eighty, and yeah, they do. This is their peak weekend.”

“And these friends of Kaylin’s—do they live here?”

“Pretty much. They come and go, kind of on a rotating basis. It’s sort of like a commune. At the time of her disappearance, Kaylin was living with her parents, but she spent a lot of time with her friends out here.”

“And who are they?”

“Luke Kopcek, twenty-two. Tristan Sharp. He’s twenty-four. And Kaylin’s two closest girlfriends, Jill Ortega and Maisy Raines, both nineteen.”

“And what do they do?”

“Whatever they can. Jill works at a coffee shop. Maisy, nothing in particular. Luke’s a lifeguard, and Tristan works part-time at a boat-repair shop in town that’s run by his dad.”

“Anyone have a rap sheet?”

“No.”

The road dipped lower, and they entered a tunnel of trees. On the other side was a line of ramshackle vehicles—an ancient pickup, a hatchback, a two-toned Oldsmobile with a Sierra Club bumper sticker. This campsite had no fire pit, and the activity seemed to center around a yellow VW van that was older than Sara.

People were lounging and milling about, and everyone turned to watch as Nolan rolled past their setup and pulled off the road.

“Do they know you?” Sara asked.

“I’ve been around.”

She slid from Nolan’s truck and scanned the scene. Music drifted over, along with marijuana smoke. Voices quieted as they approached.

Nolan stopped beside a shirtless man sitting in a low-slung chair. He had a cigarette in his hand and a tallboy at his feet.

“Luke,” Nolan said with a nod.

“Detective.” He squinted up at Nolan. “You here to arrest me?” He held up his cigarette. “It’s tobacco, by the way.”

“I don’t care what you’re drinking or smoking. I’m here with some questions.”

From the corner of her eye, Sara saw several young men get up and duck into tents. Not feeling talkative tonight, apparently.

Luke—presumably the boyfriend who had driven Kaylin to White Falls Park the day she disappeared—got up from his chair. He was a head shorter than Nolan, but he had a defiant look in his blue eyes.

“I gave a two-hour interview Sunday. I got nothing more to say.”

“This isn’t about Sunday. It’s about last May. The day Kaylin disappeared.”

His attention turned to Sara, then shifted back to Nolan.

“I’ve got nothing more to say about that, either.” He walked away, leaving Nolan and Sara staring after him.

Undeterred, Nolan turned to a man sitting in a hammock dangling from a nearby tree.

“Chris.” Nolan nodded. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

“You seen Maisy around?”

“Last I heard, she was over at Mustang Wall.”

“Where’s that?”

“Other side of the creek.”

“What about Jill?”

“Think she’s in the van on her iPad.” The kid nodded toward the yellow van. The doors were open, and a tarp had been erected to create a shaded porch. A sticker on the van’s bumper said GOD BLESS JOHNNY CASH.

Nolan looked at Sara. “I’ll talk to Jill first.”