“I don’t want word getting out on this,” the sheriff said.
“That’s why I didn’t go through the dispatcher. I thought we could get Tommy over at T&T Towing to pull it out. I’ve already gotten permission from the new owner of the property—Luke Crawford—so a warrant isn’t necessary. But I would suggest we do this now before anyone else finds out. I want to be there when you bring up the pickup.”
McCall knew she had overstepped her boundaries. She half expected her boss to tell her that not only didn’t he give a damn about her suggestions, but he was also locking her up for obstructing his investigation.
To her surprise, he rose from his seat, picked up his coat on the way out the door, saying, “You better turn in your vehicle and ride with me. I can give you a ride home.”
LUKE SAT IN the shade, drinking a cold beer and watching the road into his place. He hadn’t been able to reach his uncle and he was growing more concerned by the minute.
In the distance, he saw vehicles coming up the ranch road. Dust rose behind them into the twilight and floated south on the light breeze.
A perfect spring evening. Unless a pickup had been found in your stock pond that might belong to the missing father of the woman you loved—and lost.
As the tow truck roared into the yard followed by the sheriff’s patrol SUV, Luke rose, put down the beer he’d hardly touched and watched the sheriff climb out. Grant Sheridan had an even grimmer expression on his face than usual.
Deputy McCall Winchester climbed out of the other side.
“I understand you’ve given McCall permission to drag your stock pond?” the sheriff asked.
Luke nodded. “Like I told her, it’s all yours.” He saw McCall glance around as if looking for someone. It hit him: she’d expected him to call Buzz to warn him. And damned if he hadn’t. Would Buzz be here now if he had reached him—or on his way to South America via Mexico?
In retrospect, he was glad he hadn’t reached him. The way Buzz felt about McCall and the Winchesters, he thought it better to let this play out before Buzz got the news. He didn’t want Buzz making matters worse. It would be bad enough if that really was Trace Winchester’s pickup buried in the mud of his stock pond—and Buzz knew something about it.
As they followed the tow truck down to the stock pond, Luke couldn’t help but notice how nervous McCall was. He doubted anyone else had noticed since she hid it well.
But he knew her intimately. Even making love once changed things between a man and a woman. Especially when that woman was McCall. She kept so much of herself hidden behind her tough-girl attitude. Only once had she let down her guard with him. No wonder she’d hated him after she’d thought he’d betrayed her.
“You sure you want to see this?” he asked McCall now as the sheriff went over to talk to the tow truck driver and his assistant, who was suiting up for the dive.
McCall looked over at him, frowning as if she didn’t understand his concern. “My father’s body isn’t in the truck.”
“You’re sure about that?” he asked, studying her. If she was telling the truth, then why was she so nervous? Whose body did she think was going to be in there?
The diver disappeared under the water with a light, only to return moments later to come back for the cable.
Luke watched McCall out of the corner of his eye as the diver slipped under the surface. He reappeared after a short time and signaled the tow truck driver. The cable tightened as the engine mounted on the back of the tow truck began to rev.
Something moved below the surface of the water sending up bubbles then waves that lapped at the shore. Out of the rust-colored water a large pickup-shaped object emerged.
Chapter Eleven
Dark water ran from the pickup, gushing to the ground as McCall tried to see what was inside the cab. But the interior was a cave of darkness behind the slimed-over windows.
She felt Grant’s hand on her arm.
“Remember the deal we made,” the sheriff reminded her. “You got to come along but you stay out of it.”
She nodded and took a step back as he walked over to the truck and rubbed off some of the slime to check the color. McCall had already seen that it was black. A 1983 Chevy pickup. Just like the one her father had been driving the day he disappeared.
As the water draining from the cab slowed, Grant glanced back at her. With deliberate motions, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then reached to open the passenger’s side door.
McCall gasped as a large object swept out from the pickup on a wave of dirty water.
“What the hell?” the sheriff cried, jumping back.
McCall couldn’t help herself. She stepped forward as if propelled by an invisible force, stopping short when she recognized what had been at the center of the sludge.
Waterlogged, mud-filled boots had apparently been wrapped up in a wool plaid hunting coat.
She stepped past Grant to look into the cab of the pickup but couldn’t tell what else might be in there, given all the sludge.
Stumbling back, she was surprised when she felt strong arms steady her.
“Easy,” Luke said.
She hadn’t realized she was trembling until she felt him put an arm around her and lead her away from the truck and into the shade of his house he was building.
For a moment, she stood in his embrace, then, fearful at how wonderful it felt, moved just far enough away that he wasn’t touching her, cursing her stupid pride.
Luke dusted off a spot on some lumber beside the house. “Here, sit in the shade.”
She sat, feeling faint and touched by his concern for her. “I hadn’t expected...” Words deserted her.
“Seeing the pickup like that
