Page 32 of Distress Signal

“Might have to bring Trey in,” Crew said.

“We’ll see,” Lane replied.

“‘We’ll see’? Are you serious?” Crew asked, incredulous. “I get you’re pissed you got this one so wrong, but there’s a missing woman out there and we have a tech genius for a brother. You don’t think that could help?”

Lane’s hand scraped down his face, and he blew out a long breath. The set of his shoulders—hiked up damn near to his ears—told me his patience was wearing thin.

“Can we get these statements done with?” West asked, sensing what I had. “I’d like to get home sometime before midnight.”

“Shit, yeah,” Lane said, rocking forward and pulling his work phone out of his pocket. He clicked on the voice recorder, stated the case number and purpose for the interview, then nodded at Crew to go first.

Before Crew could start speaking, Lane’s personal phone rang, and he paused the recording to answer.

“Sheriff Lawless.” A beat. “Hey, Reagan. What can I do for you?”

Reagan?

Whatever she said had Lane’s brows rising in surprise. He flipped to a new page in his notebook and started scribbling. “You got a plate?” Lane asked.

A plate for what?

“This is great, Reagan. Thank you. We’ll run this down, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

When he disconnected, I looked at him expectantly.

“Just another lead to run down,” he said, being evasive. “Let’s get these statements done.”

Though I wanted to press, I didn’t. I had no authority here, and he wasn’t obligated to tell me shit.

An hour later, we’d finished rehashing our memories of the recovery of the dead girl.

Though after ten p.m., and it had been a long day for all of us—except maybe Crew, who wasn’t on shift that day—Lane stalled us before we could get up and leave.

“What do you guys remember about that night seven years ago?”

“We were out celebrating,” Crew said slowly. “You’d just been named sheriff, so West and Finn were home on leave, and Owen and I had come too.”

Back then, only Trey and Lane had resided in Dusk Valley. It had been the first time in far too long that all my brothers and I were in the same place.

“I remember Tony Walter acting like a fucking asshat and making a pass at Reagan,” I said.

“Do you think he could be the one?” Lane asked. “Revenge for her rejection and all that?”

My eyes fluttered shut as I conjured memories from thatnight, but I ultimately shook my head. “Reagan went back to her table after I told Tony to leave, and her sister left sometime after that. I think it’s safe to say Tony was long gone by then. Even so, this isn’t his style. He’d smack her around in the parking lot, not abduct her.”

Though it had been a long time since that night, Tony Walter hadn’t changed much. In fact, he may have gotten worse. I was genuinely surprised his liver hadn’t given up on him yet—or that his wife hadn’t packed up herself and her kids and left.

“True,” Lane said, jotting down notes in the ever-present spiral-bound pad he kept in his pocket. “Who else was there that night?”

“Christ,” West said. “It’s been so long, and we’d holed up in the corner, remember? As far away from the door as we could get.”

That was typical of us, especially during those infrequent trips home when all I’d wanted to do was spend time with my family and decompress before West and I shipped back overseas. As local boys and war heroes to boot, Dusk Valley’s residents had no qualms about interrupting our evenings to shoot the shit or sing our praises.

Of course, that night, I’d made an exception for Reagan. I couldn’t have freed myself from the gravitational force dragging me toward her, even if I’d wanted to.

Lane continued scribbling, seeming to lose himself as ideas and memories poured from him onto the pages.

“Anything else?” he asked, at last looking at us.