Destined (The Rangers of Ridge County #1)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EMMETT

I startled awake to the blaring sound of my phone ringing from the pocket of my sweatpants. The room was still dark, and I estimated it was at least an hour before dawn—too early for anyone to be calling with good news.

At the same time I reached for my phone, I noticed the dainty arm and leg draped over my other side. Hair that smelled of vanilla and a hint of citrus rested under my chin, stirring up memories from last night.

The hand that hadn’t been reaching for my phone was pressed against Millie’s back, holding her against me. She shifted in her sleep, and I instinctively pulled her closer. I dragged my hand up her side, appreciating the feel of her curves covered in satin and lace when my phone started ringing again. Fumbling to silence it, I reluctantly slid from her embrace hoping not to wake her in the process.

Closing the bedroom door behind me, I swiped to accept Theo’s call. “Theo, this better be important,” I whispered into the phone as I made my way across the hallway to my bedroom. I had purchased all new furniture after mom left—except for the worn, tobacco colored leather chair in the corner by the picture window. I hadn’t planned to move in here, but there was a level of comfort this room provided I couldn’t quite explain. Especially that chair. If I had more time, I would sit in it and ask Dad for guidance. I didn’t spare a minute, though, heading straight for the closet, anticipating the need to get dressed quickly.

“Sheriff, there’s been a single-car accident with fatalities on Highway 82 a few miles outside of Ranger Ridge’s city limits,” Theo replied.

I hesitated before asking, “Where exactly on Highway 82?”

“About a mile from where we found Molly Maxwell’s vehicle,” Theo stated. “Right in the ridge’s bend,” he continued. “The vehicle must have been traveling at a high rate of speed because it cleared the guardrail and went over.”

Shit. That was a fifty-foot drop, at least. The old highway seemed to be a beacon for bad news lately, and while it could be a coincidence, I was skeptical. Already dressed, I unlocked my gun safe then holstered my department-issued firearm.

“I’m on my way,” I informed Theo before disconnecting the call.

Back in the hallway, I stopped in front of the guest bedroom. Against my better judgment, I quietly opened the door and stepped inside. I was captivated by the woman asleep in my childhood bed. The hallway light filtered in illuminating the room well enough for me to see she’d brought the covers up under her chin, but the leg that had been draped over me was kicked out from under the sheet.

Stealing one last look, I turned and made my way through the house.

In another life, I would have spent the morning worshiping her and that beautiful body.

Sadly, that was not reality.

Swiftly lacing my boots and slipping into my winter gear, I exited the house and secured the door behind me. After double checking the lock, I jogged to my cruiser. I hadn’t bothered with activating the remote start, figuring the cold would help wake me up just as well as a cup of coffee.

I waited until I was at the end of my driveway before turning the lights and siren on. As I sped past Millie’s house, I spared a glance noting nothing appeared out of the ordinary. I made it to the stop sign on our end of Peak Street in under ten minutes and took a moment to send Millie a text message. Hopefully it wouldn’t wake her, but I didn’t want her to think I left for no good reason after such a traumatic evening.

I pulled up to the scene right as the first rays of sun were cresting the snow capped mountain tops. First Responders from every local department were scattered around the roped off area including Theo, who started in my direction as I climbed out of my cruiser.

A road crew had removed the damaged section of the guardrail and placed portable light towers around the crash site. Our search and rescue team must have determined rescue as futile because I spotted Tim and his employee providing assistance with vehicle recovery.

“Deputy Carver,” I addressed Theo when he was within earshot. “What’s the latest?”

“Vehicle caught fire, and the smoke alerted another traveler to the accident. The closest hotshot crew was dispatched for containment, but weather conditions helped minimize the risk of wildfire,” he rattled off as we neared the group at the ridge’s edge. Taking a moment to scan the crowd gathered, I searched for my best friend. “Tags indicate the vehicle was a silver 2022 Nissan Titan registered to Chance Montgomery from Lower Ridge Valley. Our SAR team did note what appeared to be a deceased male driver as well as two deceased passengers,” Theo continued.

I came to an abrupt halt. “I escorted a Chance Montgomery, Jeremy Bolten, and Paul Anderson to a truck matching that exact description last night after an incident at Rowdy’s. Chance willingly volunteered to do a breathalyzer and field sobriety test—both of which he passed.” I paused, once again surveying the scene. “Who’s working on the crash report?” I continued while moving toward the guardrail once again.

“Deputy Yarbrough,” Theo replied.

“Has anyone reached out to the coroner?” I asked.

“Already en route,” Theo answered.

Before we could continue our briefing, the sound of metal scraping against rock filled the air right before Tim shouted, “Stand back!”

The charred skeleton of Chance’s Nissan Titan continued to smolder as it rolled to a stop a few feet from the edge. Tim and his employee worked to carefully unfasten the hooks as I approached.

“Let’s clear the area,” I bellowed, watching as everyone retreated. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in my gut warning me something wasn’t adding up, so I circled the vehicle looking for anything suspicious. At first glance, nothing caught my attention. It wasn’t until my second time around that I noticed the extensive damage to the tailgate of the truck. Considering its overall condition, it would have been easy to overlook.

“Deputy Yarbrough, can you bring me the crash report you’ve been working on?” I called out over my shoulder.

“Sheriff, here’s what I have compiled so far,” Jeff stated before handing me all the information he had gathered.

I skimmed it before asking, “No evidence to support this degree of damage to the rear of the vehicle?”

Jeff cleared his throat before replying, “Given the trajectory and angle the vehicle landed, the rear end should have sustained the least amount of damage.”

It wasn’t a lot to go off of, but it was enough to warrant having forensics come out and collect evidence. After calling the rest of my deputies over, I relayed my suspicions to them as a group. “I’ll need someone to document the names of everyone who is on scene,” I delegated, letting them decide amongst themselves who would take which responsibility.

On a hunch, I sent the remainder of my deputies to canvas the area of the highway before the bend. Jogging back to my cruiser, I popped the hatch to retrieve the crime scene equipment I kept stashed in case of instances like this. I was loading my arms with everything I thought I might need when I felt a large hand clamp down on my shoulder. Hand on my weapon, I turned and was greeted by the face of a man I would know anywhere.

“Denver, what the hell?” I laughed as I pulled him in for a brotherly embrace, clapping him on the back. I hadn’t seen my best friend in months, and while catching up with him under better circumstances would have been ideal, I’d take what I could get.

Growing up, Denver Tate had been the wild child, always chasing the next adrenaline rush. By the age of eighteen, he had already wrecked two motorcycles and was covered in tattoos. So it came as no surprise when he told me he wanted to be a firefighter right after high school graduation. He’d spent most of his time since then rising through the ranks of the largest station in the Valley until a few years back when he made the abrupt decision to apply for the Hotshot Crew based out of Spruce Heights. Since then, I only ever saw him when I ventured to the ski resort up on the mountain. I missed him. Though, I couldn’t help but be a little bitter over his self-imposed exile. Especially considering he never offered an explanation for it.

“Didn’t want to interrupt while you were in Sheriff mode,” he smirked, steering the conversation to the situation at hand.

“Thanks,” I sighed. “I have forensics en route. Then I need to notify the families of the deceased,” I relayed, already dreading the conversations to come. Locking my cruiser, I started back toward the potential crime scene hoping to find answers instead of more questions.

Walking at my side, Denver commented, “Shit, man. I don’t know how you do it.”

Honestly, neither did I. The unsolved cases were starting to pile up and had me second guessing myself at every turn. I sighed before stopping and looking toward my team scouring the roadway in search of evidence that probably wasn’t there.

“Then I’m going to have to sit my sisters down and tell them,” I huffed, realizing I would have to tell Millie, too. There were days when I loathed this job, and today was definitely one of them.

Angling toward him, I watched as he raised his eyebrows before asking, “What do they have to do with any of this?”

“It’s a long story, but my sisters and a friend of ours were with these men at Rowdy’s last night before an…incident…ended their evening together rather abruptly,” I replied, looking toward the burnt remains. It was hard to hold on to the anger I had for Paul considering the scene in front of us.

“What happened?” he asked tensely. In my periphery, I noticed the hard set of his jaw and the rigidity of his stance.

“One of them decided to get a little rough with Millie,” I said through gritted teeth before adding, “But I handled it.”

“Millie?” Denver repeated her name like a question, his demeanor instantly relaxing .

“Just a friend,” I mumbled. A friend I crawled into bed with last night then left to wake up alone this morning. Maybe I should send her another text message. Dropping my supplies near the rear end of the truck, I reached into the kit pulling out gloves, evidence bags, and markers.

Denver scoffed, but before he could say anything more, another member of his crew called for him. I peered up at him, and he held my gaze as he took a few steps backward. “We’re not finished with this conversation, Emmett,” he grinned.

I lifted my chin in acknowledgement.

“We’ll talk soon!” he shouted before turning and jogging back to where his crew was gathering up their gear to leave.

I didn’t have much time to dwell on Millie or how distanced my relationship with my best friend had become because the forensics team arrived moments after Denver’s crew left. They set to work immediately, and it didn’t take long to confirm my suspicions.

We were standing in the middle of another homicide site not even a mile from Molly Maxwell’s.

Nothing about this was coincidental, I would bet my badge on it.