Page 35 of Twice Missing
Noah's jaw clenched. "They're reacting to the attention on the motel. It's too much of a coincidence."
"It's possible," McKenzie conceded, his tone cautious. "But let's not jump to conclusions. We're still gathering evidence. We need to be thorough, Noah. We can't afford to make assumptions, not with stakes this high."
Noah nodded reluctantly. He knew McKenzie was right, but the need for action, for retribution, burned in his chest. "What about the offshore account?"
McKenzie shot him a sideways glance. "We're still looking into it. Things don't happen at the snap of fingers, you know. These investigations take time, especially when we're dealing with international banking."
Noah leaned back in his seat, watching the snow-covered landscape roll by. The Adirondacks stretched out before them, peaks shrouded in a light mist that was slowly burning off in the morning sun. Despite the clear sky, the air outside looked bitingly cold. The car's heater hummed softly, creating a cocoon of warmth.
"So," Noah said after a while, breaking the contemplative silence that had fallen between them, "how'd it go with Rivera?"
McKenzie grimaced, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "She stripped a length off me, that's for sure. But it was mostly because she ended up with egg on her face from Grayson's firm and the state attorney's office."
Noah nodded, understanding the politics at play. The Emily Carter case had become a political hot potato, with various agencies and influential figures all vying for control or distancing themselves from it. “I know it couldn't have been easy."
"That's life," McKenzie replied, his eyes on the road but his voice warm with loyalty. "Whatever it takes to crack this case and keep you and your family safe."
As they continued north, the conversation drifted to lighter topics — McKenzie's latest attempt at home brewing, Noah's kids' school projects, and their favorite local diners along this stretch of highway. It was a welcome distraction from the weight of the case and the events of the previous night.
About an hour into the drive, McKenzie pulled over at a small roadside diner. The neon "Open" sign buzzedfaintly, and the smell of fresh coffee and bacon wafted out as a trucker pushed open the door.
"Quick pit stop," McKenzie announced, killing the engine. "Need to stretch my legs and top up the coffee. You hungry?"
Noah realized he was, in fact, starving. Hospital food had done little to satisfy him. "Yeah, I could eat."
They entered the diner, a bell jingling overhead. The warmth and smell of grilled food enveloped them. They slid into a worn vinyl booth, ordered coffee and breakfast specials, and for a moment, it felt like any other day on the job.
As they waited for their food, McKenzie's mind wandered back to the case. "What do you think we'll find on the reservation?"
Noah shrugged, stirring his coffee. "Hard to say. These communities can be pretty closed off to outsiders, especially law enforcement. We'll need to tread carefully."
McKenzie nodded, thinking of the delicate nature of their investigation. "I just hope this lead pans out."
Their food arrived, and they ate in companionable silence, both lost in thought about the day ahead.
As they crossedinto the St. Regis Mohawk Reservation, the landscape began to change. Modern houses mingled with traditional longhouses, and billboards advertising local businesses dotted the roadside. The transition wassubtle at first, then more pronounced as they delved deeper into the territory.
"They call this the Green Mile," McKenzie said, gesturing to a stretch of road lined with cannabis dispensaries. Their colorful signs and modern facades stood out against the backdrop of more traditional buildings.
Noah nodded, taking in the sight. "Quite a contrast to what I expected."
"The reservation's been quick to capitalize on the legalization," McKenzie explained. "It's become a significant part of their economy."
Alongside the marijuana shops, Noah noticed several smoke shops, their signs advertising tax-free cigarettes and other tobacco products. The juxtaposition of old and new, traditional and modern, was striking.
They pulled into a gas station called Fur Trap. The name conjured images of the area's trapping history, a reminder of the complex relationship between Native communities and the land. McKenzie started filling up the tank while Noah headed inside to pay and ask about the bracelet.
As he approached the store, he noticed a group of young Natives lounging on the bed of a pickup truck. They were drinking from brown paper bags, their laughter cutting off as they spotted Noah. Their eyes followed him, a mix of curiosity and wariness in their gazes.
Inside, Noah approached the clerk, aware of a couple of the men following him in. The store was small but well-stocked, with a mix of typical convenience store fare andlocal products. Behind the counter, dreamcatchers and other traditional crafts hung on display.
He paid for the gas and then pulled out the evidence bag containing the bracelet. "Excuse me," he said, trying to keep his tone casual, “I’m from State Police. Have you seen anything like this before?"
The man behind the counter barely glanced at it. "Nope," he said flatly, his disinterest palpable.
Noah noticed the security cameras behind the counter, catching glimpses of the men watching him. The atmosphere in the store had grown tense, the silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerators.
Thanking the clerk, Noah headed outside, immediately sensing the shift in mood. The group from the truck had moved closer, their body language hostile.
