Officer out of Uniform (Lock and Key Book 2) (3 page)

The scene that’d stopped him looked like something out of a horror movie, and it was just a few yards from the roadside.

Henry tore his gaze away and glanced to where a long driveway led back to a rural home. The house was almost invisible behind a screen of pines, but Henry knew exactly who it belonged to, as most of the officers who worked at Riley likely did.

It was the warden’s place.

Henry reached for the Glock he kept in the console and unfastened his seatbelt as the bitter taste of adrenaline filled his mouth. Glancing back at the bloody scene baking in the sun, he could make out the warden’s square jaw and short grey hair. His body had been put on display in front of the closely spaced pines, where it was clearly meant to be seen.

As soon as Henry opened his truck door, the smell of death hit him like a ton of bricks. He had to brace himself against it, actually had to fight half a moment’s urge to turn back around and drive away. It was a disgusting scent, one that had been burnt into the olfactory region of his brain years ago, in Afghanistan.

Memories crowded his mind, blurring with the scene in front of him, bending reality. He had to fight to keep a clear head, to focus on one nightmare at a time as he moved forward, weapon at the ready.

The North Carolina heat was unforgiving. It wasn’t as scorching as the desert sun, but the climate was more humid, a fact which more than made up for the temperature difference. There was no way around it – in the South, a body started smelling awfully fast in July.

At least the smell answered Henry’s primary question – the one he’d already suspected the answer to, but couldn’t have left without confirming beyond any doubt.

The warden was definitely dead. Dead, and the way he’d died wasn’t one Henry would wish on anyone.

* * * * *

“Shit, that stings.” Randy Levinson jerked forward, immediately sorry he’d leaned against the pine towering behind him. His shoulders were a bright lobster red, courtesy of his latest sunburn. The pine bark had felt like a branding iron against his skin, and it’d left a smudge of sap on his arm. No way would he be scrubbing that off any time soon.

“Shit,” he repeated, a little more quietly this time. He didn’t want the prick who’d just stumbled upon his little set-up to hear him.

He didn’t, of course. Didn’t even turn in Randy’s direction. Instead he stood a few yards from the body Randy had left on display, weapon drawn.

Randy bit back a laugh. He’d really outdone himself, this time. The scene he’d left by the roadside wasn’t something you could just look away from. After getting everything situated he’d only had to wait about ten minutes for someone to drive by, and judging by the uniform the guy wore, things couldn’t have worked out more perfectly.

Randy raised his new rifle. A Blaser R8. Jesus, it was a beauty. For all the hunting Randy had done, he’d never laid hands on anything so nice ‘til today. He’d found it in the warden’s gun safe after he’d killed him. The key had just been setting on top of the safe, like the gun was meant for Randy. Until then he’d been scraping by with just a 9mm, one he’d stolen out of an unlocked car.

Funny how things like that worked out, sometimes. People just assumed that anyone with a badge could do no wrong, but Randy knew that being on the right side of the law didn’t mean being
right
. Hell, he knew it better than anyone, besides maybe Troy.

The thought made his chest feel tight and full of broken glass. Hot broken glass, little pieces of rage that dug deep into his insides, reminding him why he was back in Riley County.

Troy had never met Randy at the blind in South Carolina like they’d planned, had never made it out of the backwoods county that housed the prison they’d risked their lives to escape from. The last time Randy had laid eyes on his brother had been when they’d both been running for their lives, fresh off the broken-down prison bus. There was no undoing the fact that Troy was dead, no making it right.

But there was always revenge. That was something.

The prison officer who’d pulled his blue truck over on the side of the road showed up crystal-clear in the Blaser’s scope. Looking at a target through it was like watching a hunting show on high definition TV.

A fresh, stabbing wave of anger swept through Randy. Back when he’d had to hunt for food – to put dinner on the table and avoid another asskicking from his dad, if he was lucky – he’d done it with a rifle older than he’d been.

The prison warden had to have spent a good five grand on this gun, at least. Probably all so that he could make his dick feel bigger, like a fancy rifle made him more of a man. Randy tipped his head back from the scope and looked down at the weapon, stricken by a combination of bitter resentment and reluctant awe.

It didn’t matter who’d bought the gun or why. He was going to put it to good use. Call it providence, or just a lucky fucking break. After the hell he’d been through, he deserved it. Grinning, he raised the weapon again, peered through the scope.

It’d be so easy to kill the CO in his crosshairs, one from Riley – Randy could tell by the uniform. The years he’d spent inside that prison had left their stain on his memory, and he’d recognize the dark blue get-up anywhere. With the help of the Blaser’s scope, he could even make out the words and insignia on the sleeve patches. The stock of the gun fit easily against his shoulder, so that holding it felt natural. There was no real ache or strain on his arm, and he had a feeling the gun wouldn’t kick too bad.

He longed to pull the trigger and test it out.

Instead, he just watched – watched the officer prowl around the side of his truck, gaze shifting from the body to the house and surrounding woods.

Randy wasn’t afraid of getting shot – he was well hidden and he’d be able to pick the bastard off without even revealing himself, if he wanted to. But he’d wanted a witness to the scene he’d laid out, and that was what he’d gotten. Sure, he could off this guy and wait for another vehicle to come along, but that wasn’t part of his plan, and he’d planned the hell out of this.

Besides, the officer in his crosshairs didn’t deserve to die quick and easy like an ignorant animal nosing around in the underbrush, oblivious. Randy longed to tear his life away from him, but he wanted him to suffer, to feel hunted first. Wanted to make sure the man felt an overwhelming sense of impending doom dogging him, casting a shadow over him everywhere he went.

Just like Troy had, trapped in Riley County up until he’d died. Just like Randy had during his time on the lam, no matter how far he’d run. Always looking over his shoulder, always feeling that crawling sensation between his shoulder blades. Paranoid. Afraid, and for good reason.

Roadside gravel crunched beneath the CO’s boots, and then his truck tires as he drove away.

Randy lowered the Blaser, rubbing a thumb over the leather inlaid in the stock. He turned on his heel and started making his way deeper into the woods, following a carefully pre-planned route. The police would be there soon, and he had no intentions of being caught.

Truth was, returning to Riley County had finally allowed him to shake the exhausting sense of fear that’d followed him all the way to the Mexican border. Back in the heart of where it’d all started, knowing every badge within a fifty mile radius would soon be hunting him, he felt free. Finally free.

And why shouldn’t he? He had a good rifle – the best – and he knew how to use it. A stash of cartridges weighed down his pockets, and he intended to make every one count. It was a game now, and he didn’t just plan to win – he planned to enjoy it. In the end, it wouldn’t matter whether he lived or died. The people who’d killed his brother would suffer more than he ever had, and that was all that mattered.

As for Randy, he’d live his last days in freedom, doing what he loved best – taking what he wanted, doing whatever the fuck he pleased and giving hell to those who deserved it. He’d go out on his own terms, in a blaze of bloody glory.

* * * * *

Henry didn’t drive far, went maybe an eighth of a mile back toward Cypress, his heart beating in double-time. When he stopped, the nightmare he’d rolled up on was in his rearview mirror. Distance had mercifully dulled the gory details, the matte redness of drying blood. He’d be able to see if anyone approached the body, but – hopefully – whoever had murdered the warden wouldn’t be able to see him, if they were still around.

“I’m sure,” he said, gripping his phone hard.

“Shit,” Jeremy said. “The warden? I’d hoped all this was over. Seems stupid now.”

“You think Randy Levinson had something to do with this,” Henry said. It was more of a statement than a question. The same thing had occurred to him as soon as he’d seen the body.

Jeremy sighed. “Given their history, and the way the warden was killed… Kinda seems like a message, don’t you think? Of course, there’s no knowing for sure. But my bet is on Randy.”

“Yeah. Mine too.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t move. We’ll have to question you.”

Henry agreed, though it wasn’t like he’d have any useful information to give. He’d been the first to lay eyes on the scene, but nothing had changed – everything was on display, laid out in a way that no one who saw would ever forget.

* * * * *

Dusk was settling over Riley County, purpling the sky over the tops of pines when Henry finally pulled away from the roadside crime scene and dialed Liam and Grey. Yellow tape had been strung up and the road was crowded with vehicles, all with flashing lights. Henry was the only person in any sort of uniform going instead of staying, and he was glad to leave it all behind.

The three-way call was mildly chaotic, until Henry shut up Grey – who’d immediately started rambling about going to the beach – with the news.

“Are you shitting me?” Grey demanded. “The warden’s dead?”

“I’m serious.”

“Are you sure? Did you … check?”

Henry suppressed a wave of nausea by sheer force of will. “Dead sure. No pun intended.”

“Listen,” he continued, “I know the investigation just started, but Jeremy and I think Randy Levinson may be the killer. It’d be crazy if PERT wasn’t called into the search again, especially with how small the police force is here. Do you guys want to—”

“I’m not leaving Alicia,” Liam said. There was a sharp edge to his voice, and Henry recognized it for what it was: anger. That, and fear. “No way in hell, especially if Randy Levinson is back in Riley County.”

Henry bit his tongue before he could say something stupid. He couldn’t blame Liam for not wanting to leave his fiancée’s side – not after what had happened earlier that summer. Hell, Liam had just returned to work a few days ago, barely recovered from his knife wounds and the surgery they’d required. Thinking about that sent a sharp pang of anger-laced fear sailing through Henry’s chest. What if something happened to Sasha?

Riley County was a small place… Everyone who called the area home was in danger and should be taking extra safety precautions.

Fuck, his stomach felt like a ball of barbed wire. Sasha wasn’t exactly the cautious, reserved type. In fact, those words probably didn’t even register in her vocabulary.

“Henry?” Grey’s voice echoed from the other end of the connection.

“What?”

“Tell me you’re not crawling through the underbrush somewhere with a rifle and a head full of fantasies about being the one to singlehandedly bring down Randy Levinson.”

“You really think I’d be on the phone with you if I was?” Henry snapped, his temper flaring as a sense of frustration swept over him. Sasha lived alone, didn’t even have a dog. Suddenly, he couldn’t stop thinking about her all alone in her apartment, and for once, it didn’t have anything to do with her red bikini.