Page 37 of Bait and Switch (Subtle Deceptions #2)

TWENTY-TWO

Gabriel

Thursday

They were stuck in the poorly ventilated TCSO interview rooms for several hours since each responding agency wanted to interview them.

Eventually, they were separated and taken to different rooms, various offices appropriated for the task, then brought back together to wait it out in the original room—which unfortunately still smelled like fear-sweat and Spurring’s dirty socks.

The state investigator was a guy around Gabe’s age who introduced himself as Lane Boyd. Sizing him up, Gabe immediately decided that Boyd was not one to fuck around with.

“I’d like to talk to all three of you at once,” Boyd said in a way that wasn’t a question or a polite request. “As we’ve already established, my name is Lane Boyd.”

Gabe waited for him to share the rest of his title.

He did not, which again gave Gabe more reason to think that Boyd was not someone to fuck around with.

The agent was quietly perceptive, one of those who didn’t miss much and probably heard more than suspects wanted him to. Not that they were suspects.

Boyd set his cell phone on the table, poked at the screen, and then looked up at them.

“This interview is being recorded. Please state your full names and dates of birth.”

Once that was over with, and Gabe had tucked away the knowledge that Casey’s middle name was Hank, the next round of questioning began.

“Tell me about this backpack you discovered and consequently removed from a possible crime scene.” He directed this quasi-request at Casey.

Casey leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and shot the investigator his signature Look. The chair squeaked slightly, protesting his bulk.

Lane Boyd did not blink, he didn’t even breathe funny, which Gabe found impressive. He met Casey’s stare with his own equally unreadable one.

“I am exceedingly unimpressed that you, Ranger Lundin, along with your associates Gabriel Karne and Elton Cox, removed what potentially could be vital evidence in a missing persons case.”

“It was a decision made in the moment,” Casey responded dryly, equally unimpressed and unintimidated.

Gabe reminded himself that Casey was law enforcement in his own right. Which, as a former con artist, he shouldn’t find as hot as he did.

“I didn’t know, and still don’t, if it was Rizzi or someone else who attacked me. I made the snap decision not to leave the bag up there. Suzie Warner’s family deserves to know what’s been found after all these years. They deserve closure—especially after what happened in there.”

Boyd grunted noncommittally. “What else can you tell me about the encounter last evening.” Again, not a question.

Casey repeated what he’d told Gabe and Elton, with both of them filling in bits and pieces as he did so. Boyd winced when Casey described the out-of-the-blue attack.

“It’s a damn good thing your friends showed up.”

They were all silent for a heartbeat. Gabe couldn’t say what everyone else was thinking, but Casey could easily have been killed and maybe his body hidden away like the missing girl’s. They might never have known what had happened to him.

“I don’t know what it is about that site,” Casey said, breaking the silence, “or Gordon MacDonald’s property that has Rizzi and other unknowns buzzing like disturbed hornets. Maybe it was because Rizzi knew Suzie Warner’s bag was hidden up there—because he was the one who hid it?”

“But you aren’t convinced,” said Boyd.

“I’m not convinced that’s the only reason.” He shrugged. “But it could be. I could be wrong.”

“I’m going to need to take that bag into custody.”

Did he want to cuff it too?

Casey must have sensed Gabe was about to lose control of his snark; he drew his eyebrows together and turned his megawatt glare Gabe’s direction.

Sexy. For his part, Gabe released a deep sigh and rolled his eyes.

It was Elton who rose to his feet and dug around in his pants pocket.

Pulling out his keyring, he handed it to Boyd and rattled off his address and where they’d left the bag.

“The dog’s name is Bowie, and he probably won’t bite. ”

“The cat’s name is Keith, and she probably will,” Gabe added.

“Bowie and Keith, got it.” But it was said with a smile, so Gabe decided Lane Boyd was at least okay.

Boyd called in yet another G-man and gave him the lowdown on the backpack and Elton’s address. “Right, boss, I’m on it. Be back shortly.”

The door hadn’t yet clicked shut again when Casey spoke again. “My brother, Mickie Lundin, is behind bars for the murder of Maya Crane because of the lying asshole sheriff. How long before he’s freed?”

Boyd glanced up from the papers he’d been flipping through to look across the table at Casey. He had piercing blue eyes, and Gabe was tempted to make a Paul Newman joke but managed to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s a process. Release could happen as early as next week.

But don’t get your hopes up because we do need to go through the files and interview Rizzi, and don’t forget, it’s the holidays.

However,” he added quickly at the impending thunderstorm looming in Casey’s expression, “it won’t be months. There’s just a lot of paperwork.”

Through the room’s window, Gabe watched Chief Deputy Spurring walk in.

By his expression, he was as stunned as everyone else in the building.

How deeply involved was Spurring? Had he been a part of Rizzi’s web of lies?

Gabe supposed that Lane Boyd and others would be tasked to ferret out that information.

There was another movement in the bullpen, and over Casey’s shoulder, Gabe saw Rizzi emerge from wherever they’d been keeping him.

The still handcuffed ex-sheriff was being led out of the station by one of Boyd’s unnamed G-men, probably to be taken to a higher security location.

Spurring backed up far enough that his back hit the wall behind him.

Was he afraid or just getting out of the way?

“Hey, don’t miss this,” Gabe said, nodding out the room’s one window and toward the bullpen.

Casey twisted to see, his eyes narrowing as he watched Eli Rizzi being led away in disgrace. “Couldn’t have happened to a better man,” he said. “I’d say that prison is too good for him, but I imagine it’s going to be pure hell.” He returned his focus to those at the table.

“You’ll bring in forensic investigators to check out the site?” Casey asked Boyd. “Sooner rather than later?”

“Weather depending, yes.”

“You’ll need an expert, someone who knows the area.”

“Are you offering your services?”

“No one is more familiar with The Valley than me or my work partner, Greta Harris.”

Boyd cocked his head. “It’s against protocol, but one of us will call you when we have a team together. We’ll likely contract with WCF, they’re top-notch when it comes to cold cases, and they’ll at least need a guide.”

Gabe was a bit surprised that Boyd shared that much information but maybe he realized it was the only way to keep Casey from interfering. And even then, it probably wasn’t going to be enough.

“WCF?” Elton repeated, his eyebrows a fuzzy white line across his forehead.

“West Coast Forensics,” Boyd clarified. “This is exactly the kind of case they excel at. And Kimball Frye, the owner-slash-COO, owes me a favor right now.”

They were allowed to leave the Sheriff’s Office in the late afternoon, after being unnecessarily reminded once or five times not to talk to anyone about what they’d witnessed. On their way back to Elton’s, they detoured for a much-needed meal at the Geoduck Inn.

“Oh my god,” exclaimed Gabe when they walked in the door, immediately feeling his shoulders start to relax as he drew in a deep breath. “Carb and saturated fat heaven. I’m not going to regret a single bite.”

Elton chose the same table next to the windows as the last time Gabe had been there with him, and the same waitress—possibly owner—came over with menus for them.

“We’ll take three cheeseburger specials and three waters,” Elton said before she could leave.

“Alright,” she laughed. “You guys are hungry.”

“It’s been a day,” Elton confirmed.

She walked away and they were all quiet for a second, just looking at each other. Then Gabe snorted and Elton chuckled.

Casey stared at them both for a few seconds more before letting a smirk curve his lips. “ A day is one way of pitching it.”

Casey’s cell phone buzzed while they were stuffing their faces with fries and burgers.

“It’s Greta,” he said before answering. “Hey, Greta. Yeah, I’ll brief you tomorrow.

Oh, nice. That’s great news. One sec.” To Elton and Gabe, he said, “The person we rescued the other night regained consciousness.” The phone conversation continued for another minute, consisting mostly of grunts and yesses on Casey’s part.

Gabe finished his meal and proceeded to steal one of Casey’s fries, and Casey glared.

Gabe shrugged and grinned back. “A toll for cell phone at the table.”

“You’re lucky he doesn’t take your hand off,” Elton said.

“I’ll risk it.” Gabe reached out for a second fry.

“They must make these from scratch, slice up the potatoes and everything. Best fries I’ve ever had.

” He felt confident making the statement since french fries had been one of Heidi’s few weaknesses.

They’d sampled them up and down the coast and inland as well.

Casey narrowed his eyes and swatted Gabe’s hand away with one hand as he clicked off and put the phone down with the other.

“Normally, rescuers send people off to trauma centers and we never know what happens to them, whether they live or die. But when Carlos woke up, he asked his medical team to personally thank us for him,” Casey told them.

“And if you take one more of my fries, it will be you at the trauma center.”

“Tough talk, tough talk,” teased Gabe, taking another fry regardless of the impending danger.

Maybe because of it. “That’s cool that the guy wanted you to know he’d made it.

Folks like you and Greta make a real difference out there,” Gabe said around another of Casey’s fries.

He had the fleeting thought that he might regret the greasy meal later, but likely not.

He would probably need ice cream. “I’d like to meet her. ”

“Greta and her wife, Abby, are good people,” Elton said. “They usually have a shindig over the holidays. I’ll make sure you get an invite.”

Gabe had kind of put the holiday season out of his mind.

In the best of times, the holidays meant little to Gabe; they’d moved too often to collect any decorations.

Now that he thought about it, he realized he’d already seen houses with colorful lights hanging off the eaves and blow-up Santas and other creatures gracing their lawns all over the island.

Who wants to cart around that crap, Chance?

“But Calvin Perkins is still in the wind,” Casey said, bringing Gabe back to the present.

“In the wind and, frankly, not looking so great. He has a den, a hideout somewhere up there, but even in the dark, I could tell he’s been living rough.

I’m planning on heading up The Valley early tomorrow morning regardless of Agent Boyd.

I can lend a hand, at least provide another set of eyes. I’m sure Greta will go with me.”

“I’ve been thinking, could Rizzi and Stevens have done all this underhanded shit on their own for years?” Gabe mused. “No way. I’d bet my third cell phone in a month that Stevens was just one wing of what Rizzi had been involved in. Possibly not, but I have a gut feeling.”

People like us always listen to our instincts, Chance.