First Surrender (Chance Encounters #3)

Chapter Eighteen

Jackson

“ M rs. Porter, I cannot meet with you today, I am slammed with a case. I apologize but I’ll have to get in touch with you when things slow down.” I end the phone call as painlessly as possible and continue staring at the wall in my office-turned evidence board.

A kidnapping off of I-83 a year and a half ago uncovered a trafficking ring.

Four more people have been declared missing since then.

A domestic extremist group attempted to set off a bomb in the middle of a local race in downtown Lawson.

The boy who wore the backpack that day had been drugged for weeks and used as bait… Where did Thomas Jameson get those drugs?

From the same place as a long-time criminal, drug dealer, and user who supplied his estranged wife with a pill that was laced with fentanyl and ultimately killed her?

It’s too hard to prove.

Declan Randolph was in jail, but could he have done it? Would one of his associates have given Jameson the same type of drugs that Declan had a supply of?

He’s been in jail for almost a year already so why the big rush to get out now?

The investigator on his case was arrested for planting evidence, leading to all of his cases being investigated and overturned. Declan’s included.

What are the chances that would happen right after our deal fell through?

Who would Declan be in contact with that would have the power to set a fire and leave no trace of themselves behind, as well as outing a veteran Detective for an old screw-up?

All my questions continue to lead me back to the same place. There is someone who is controlling all of this. Is it the same person who orchestrated the trafficking scheme and funded Thomas Jameson’s bomb-making extremist group?

But, who?

I start combing through every name I have on the board. I need to find out who their known associates are, who they’re related to, where they grew up, and where they lived before they were arrested. I need to know every detail and find out every single thing that overlaps.

I start with Declan, my most recent subject. Running his known associates, my database comes up with a list of names I’m already familiar with. His posse that comes to sit in on his court hearings and harasses his stepdaughter are all nonviolent, low-level offenders. I go through each person anyway, checking their known associates, and come up empty.

Possession of drugs, Intent to traffic drugs, Possession of drug paraphernalia, etc. are not typically crimes that prelude to committing arson or killing your wife. Except for one charge of Domestic Violence that was dropped years ago.

Nicole Halstead, Natalie’s mother, is listed on the report but the victim is redacted because they were a minor.

My blood starts to heat. Who do I know that would have been a minor then and related to Nicole Halstead?

Son of a bitch.

No wonder Natalie hates Declan. He hurt her and then her mother stayed with the man. No one has protected this girl, ever. I can see why she is so protective of Dec.

That starts me on a path of researching Natalie. She’s 25 which I already knew, her birthday is two days before Christmas and she probably hates that. She was born to Nicole Halstead with no father listed on her birth certificate. Huh, I guess we have something in common after all.

She has a recent ticket out of New York City. A parking ticket that has not been paid. Christ, Nat. The last thing Dec needs is for her to be forced to appear in court in New York.

I pull up the website and pay it before she gets a warrant out for her arrest. This woman, I swear. She will be the death of me in some way.

Having my card out already reminds me to call the hotel and extend the reservation for her and Dec another week.

“She’s already checked out, sir,” the front desk clerk tells me politely.

“What?” I ask way too loudly.

“She checked out yesterday morning. The leftover room balance will be refunded to your card.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“Uh. No, I don’t think so. I don’t usually ask those kinds of questions,” the clerk sounds startled, probably because I’m using my cop voice on her.

“Right, I’m sorry. Have a good day.”

Where the hell did she go? And why hasn’t my deputy checked in with me to tell me that she’s disappeared?

He’s my next call. “Stew, what’s Miss Halstead doing?”

“Well, she’s hanging out in her hotel room I reckon,” Stewart draws, sleepily.

“Uh-huh. Would that be the hotel that she is no longer a guest of? Since she checked out yesterday!”

“Uhh. I guess so?”

“Get back to the office. I’m docking your pay for today unless you get on the road and accomplish some real police work.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

I rub my head, cursing myself for ever taking this job. What was I thinking? I know what I was thinking but did I have any suspicion that it would turn me gray prematurely? No.

Where the hell are you, Nat?

Instead of calling her which would be the sensical thing to do. I dial Lawson Elementary and confirm Dec’s attendance. He’s where he is supposed to be, so she’s not far. That’s a guarantee.

I’m finally diving back into my suspect names when my office door flies open. I’m about to reprimand whoever just did that when I take in a disheveled Roberta, looking at me with concern.

“What is it?”

“It’s your mother.”