Page 41 of N8
He glanced at his watch. “Not long.”
She gave a loud sigh. “That’s what you always say,” she gently scolded him.
He chuckled. “I’ll see you when I get home,” Biggs revised. “’Bye.” Dropping the phone into his pocket, he turned the basket around and went off to get the laundry detergent.
He hadn’t meant to stay so late at the office, but the events of that day had thrown him and his entire agenda in a tizzy. In fact, he hadn’t stopped thinking about those seven people who’d come to him seeking his help.
The memory of the one woman, K8, repeated itself over and over. He’d almost passed out when he’d seen her split into two people. The guy with the additional arms—was it T8 or P8?—his “gift,” if that’s what it was called, wasn’t as extreme as the woman’s, but it had been shocking enough. Which made him all more curious to learn what the others could do, since he’d been told their abilities weren’t as obvious.
Grabbing a jug of detergent from the shelf, he returned to the front of the store to check out. Thankfully, he didn’t have anything that needed refrigeration, which meant he didn’t have to rush the few other errands he needed to do before finally heading home.
He was aware of the intermittent chatter over the radio. Other than Sowels, who was manning dispatch, Barthos, Pridgett, and MacDavis were on night patrol. Three guys overseeing nearly sixty-eight square miles.
I don’t have enough manpower as it is.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
At the intersection, he flipped his blinker before turning onto the street that would take him to the post office. Out of habit, he glanced over at the sheriff’s office on the opposite corner of the intersection and caught sight of two large white vans sitting to the side of the front parking lot. Normally, he wouldn’t have given them a second thought, but these two vans immediately pressed his suspicious button. For one thing, there were no side windows on the vehicles. For another, there was no lettering on the panel sides, either, which meant they were privately owned, and not company trucks. Reason number three, they were parked one behind the other, at the far end of the lot where the street lights wouldn’t shine directly on them.
And reason number four, in the deepening dusk, he could just make out a guy in a dark-colored jumpsuit standing beside the first van and talking to one of his deputies. Which deputy, he couldn’t identify. Not yet, anyway.
The light changed. Biggs turned onto the street, but made a you-ee and pulled into the parking lot of the little strip mall instead. Parking near the dumpster, he killed the lights and grabbed his binoculars to get a better look-see.
It was Alicia Milton. She was still in her uniform, which meant she hadn’t gone home after her shift. And judging by her hand gestures, she seemed to be giving Jumpsuit Man directions.
Biggs frowned. Since when did one of his people hang around the office this late after their shift? If someone needed directions, why didn’t they park in the lot as usual and go inside?
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she’d arranged to meet them.” He reconsidered the idea. “Nah. Not possible. My imagination’s working overtime,” he accused himself.
He continued to doubt his lawman’s intuition until Milton produced something from her pocket. Peering through the binoculars, he saw her unfold a sheet of paper. The man was asking her something, to which she nodded in response. This time she turned and pointed east.
East.
Biggs felt a chill go through him. “Awright. Two plus what equals four? Or in this case, what doesn’t add up, but you’d bet your bottom dollar you’re right on the money? Are you giving these guys directions to the old Trautman place?”
The guy in the jumpsuit said something to the deputy, who seemed to grow increasingly agitated. She looked to be arguing with the man, who appeared to brush her off, and climbed back inside the van. Milton stomped her foot as the two vehicles exited the driveway and took off.
As soon as they were out of range, he gunned the engine and raced across the intersection. He hit his lights as he entered the parking area, alerting Milton. In his headlights, he saw the woman was crying, her face splotched and pale. Throwing open his car door, he jumped out and strode up to her. “Who were those men?” he demanded.
She hiccupped. Her eyes grew wide with fear. She’d been caught, and she damn well knew the shit was going to hit the fan big time.
“Answerme! Who were those men?”
She still held the piece of paper in her hand. He reached down and jerked it out of her grasp. One look at the seven headshots on it confirmed his worst fear.
“Fuck!”
Running back to his car, he grabbed the mic. “All cars! All cars!! Barthos! Pridgett! MacDavis! Do you read me? Get over to the Trautman place ASAP! This is a Code Two! Get your butts over to the Trautman place ASAP, and go in dark! Be on the lookout for two white vans containing unknown number of subjects wearing dark-colored jumpsuits. Subjects may be armed and dangerous. Confirm!”
“This is Pridgett! Confirmed! ETA sixteen minutes!”
“Barthos here, Sheriff! ETA approximately twenty minutes!”
“MacDavis here! Ten-four on the Code Two. ETA ten minutes!”
“Sowels! Do you read me?” Biggs barked.
“Ten-four, Sheriff!”
