“He’s dead.”
Chapter Fifteen
An adrenaline rush spiked through Emily’s body, and she crawled past Brett’s inert form on the floor of the trailer. She lunged toward a basket next to an unmade bed and grabbed the sides, staring down into a jumble of blankets, one of Wyatt’s pacifiers discarded in the middle.
She grabbed it and spun around. Holding it out to Nash, who’d stepped over Brett’s body. “Wyatt was here. Brett did kidnap him and now someone else has him. We’re too late.”
She scrabbled forward on her hands and knees and bunched up Brett’s shirt with both hands, avoiding the bloody exit wound on his head. “Where is he, you SOB? Who has him?”
Crouching beside her, Nash placed a hand on her shoulder. “Careful, Emily. Don’t disturb the evidence.”
She released Brett’s shirt and brushed her hands together. “There’s not going to be much evidence. They must’ve used a silencer on the gun or everyone in the compound here would’ve come running.”
“Get on your phone and call 911.”
“How are we going to explain our presence here?” She pulled her phone from her pocket anyway. The sooner the police knew this dirtbag was dead, the sooner they could go after the next suspect—who might not be so willing to keep Wyatt alive.
“Now you’re asking me that?” Nash glanced at her over his shoulder as his hands moved through Brett’s clothing. “Maybe Jaycee mentioned this place to me or—”
“My God. What have you done?”
Emily held her phone out to the man with the long braid, who was pointing an accusatory finger at Nash still hunched over Brett’s body, his flashlight giving his face an ancient cast.
“I’m on the phone to 911 now.” She rambled off the nature of the emergency and then paused. “Where should I say we are?”
“Let me do it.” Nash pushed to his feet, shoving his own phone in his pocket. He took the phone from her and started speaking with the 911 operator.
Emily squeezed past Nash and out to the porch, where the man with the braid was now throwing up over the side. She took several steps away from him and gulped in some fresh air to replace the fetid odor from the trailer.
When the man had wiped his mouth and straightened up, she called to him, “Are you okay?”
“What happened in there?”
“Someone shot Brett in the head, killed him.” She added that last part needlessly. “He was wanted for questioning in a murder and kidnapping. Did you see him with a baby?”
The man narrowed his eyes so that they glittered in the dark like one of those night creatures they’d passed on their way here. “We saw the baby. My wife helped him with the little one. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Yeah, because he kidnapped him.” Emily clamped a hand on her hip. “Didn’t you know he was wanted? Didn’t you see his picture on TV?”
The man shrugged. “People come and people go.”
Emily clenched her jaw. No wonder Brett knew he’d be safe here—no questions asked, no police.
A few other people wandered from their trailers and motor homes. A woman called out, “What happened, Zeke?”
The Native American, presumably Zeke, spit into the dirt. “That smell left a taste in my mouth.”
“That’s death.”
Zeke nodded to her and turned to answer questions from the residents. A few broke past him and approached Brett’s trailer.
Emily took a step forward. “You need to stay back. That’s a crime scene. You don’t wanna go in there anyway. Trust me.”
A man with a buzz cut and bad teeth leered at her. “Trust you? Why should we trust you? Are you a cop?”
Emily almost smiled at the question. Depends on who you ask.
But there was a cop on the scene. Where the hell was Nash and what the hell was he doing in there?
“She’s not, but I am.” Nash emerged from the trailer, large and in charge. “Border Patrol, and this man was wanted by the police for questioning in a murder and kidnapping. Why didn’t one of you fine citizens call the police?”
“The police? Border Patrol?” The skinhead blew his nose into the dirt. “We don’t like your kind around here.”
Nash deliberately walked between her and the skinhead, creating a barrier between them, looming over the smaller man.
“Skeeter, give it a rest.” Zeke grabbed a handful of Skeeter’s grimy shirt and pulled him back. “They already called 911. I heard them. So, if you don’t want to be around when the cops get here, I suggest you go back to your domiciles or head out for a while.”
The residents grumbled, but several left the scene, including Skeeter, and a few minutes later a couple of motorcycles revved up and took off.
Emily cupped the pacifier between her hands and rested her chin on the tips of her fingers. “When are they going to get here?”
“A patrol car’s on the way. It’ll take another thirty to forty minutes for Espinoza and the Pima County Sheriff’s Department to get out here.” Nash circled her wrists with his long fingers. “Are you okay?”
She closed her eyes for a second. “Pretty gruesome in there, but the worst was seeing that empty makeshift crib. At least Brett wanted to keep Wyatt alive for some reason. What do the others want with him?”
“Again, the fact that we didn’t find Wyatt dead in that trailer next to Brett is a good sign. Brett didn’t kill Wyatt when he shot Alice because the baby served a greater purpose for him. The same applies here.”
“Excuse me.”
Emily turned toward the soft voice. An older woman with short gray hair and a sleeve of tattoos raised her hand and waved. She’d been standing next to Zeke.
“Yes?” Emily raised her chin. She was done getting attacked here when they were the ones who’d had a dead man in their midst.
The woman tilted her head. “Is the baby okay?”
“You were the one helping Brett with the baby?” Emily pressed a
