He’d been on his share of stakeouts over his military career. He’d never liked sitting and waiting, but he’d learned sometimes patience paid off.
An hour later, headlights emerged in the distance. They grew closer, sweeping the road and slowing. Colton’s Jeep pulled into the driveway.
He was alone and carrying a brown bag twisted around a bottle. At the front door, he swayed as he fumbled with keys. After two attempts, the key slid into the lock. The door swung open. He stumbled inside. Lights clicked on.
Seconds later he passed the front window and stopped. He picked up his phone. He gripped the receiver and was soon shouting. The call lasted for over five minutes before he slammed the phone down. He paced the room and then picked up the phone, ripped the cord from the wall, and threw the phone against the wall.
Taggart sat up in his seat. What had pissed Colton off? He must’ve known by now about the press conference. The media was now paying more attention to the festival. Like sharks, they smelled blood and were ready to paint Colton’s day of peace and love in crimson.
Fifteen minutes later, Colton was showered and had changed into fresh clothes. He left the house and drove off in his car.
Taggart switched on his engine. He kept the headlights off as he followed Colton. He maintained a healthy distance and watched as Colton’s Jeep took a right at Route 158. The road led away from town toward the concert venue.
Following this late at night was difficult. He had to keep his distance, so Colton wasn’t tipped off. The man was edgy, angry, and if he was still buzzed, he could be paranoid.
Colton’s next left suggested he was driving to the concert site, so Taggart took a right. He stopped, turned his car around and, after waiting a beat, pulled back on the route to the concert site.
He drove past the entrance and took a right onto the fire access road. His lights off, he drove up the rutted road. His vehicle rocked when the front tire hit a deep hole. Cursing, he righted the car and stopped just short of the mountaintop. He shut off the car and walked through the woods toward the back entrance to the concert site.
As he moved through the woods, headlights washed over the field. The Jeep stopped, and the lights glared ahead into the empty, barren field now stripped of vegetation. Colton got out of his Jeep. He clicked on a flashlight and crossed to where the stage had been. He walked back and forth, flashing his light over the ground. His pace grew faster as he retraced his steps again. He stopped, knelt, and picked up a plastic grocery bag bulging with something.
He jogged back to his Jeep, tossed the bag inside, and nosed the car back toward the exit. Within minutes, the lights of his Jeep vanished down the hill.
Taggart walked through the woods to the spot where Colton had found his bag. What the hell had he taken? Who had called him?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sloane
Wednesday, August 20, 2025, 6:00 a.m.
“You look troubled.”
Grant’s comment rose above the din of the restaurant crowd. “What do I look like when I’m troubled?”
“More intense. Like you’re ready to break into a house or steal something to relieve the pressure.”
That prompted a nod. “I should smile more.”
He looked amused, as if he expected a punch line. “What does it feel like when you smile?”
“Nothing,” I said. “It feels like nothing. But I recognize that it’s effective. People tend to relax when I smile.”
“You were smiling when you spoke at CrimeCon.”
“Conference Sloane smiles because people react well.”
He sipped his coffee. “When we were alone in your room, were you pretending then?”
Sexual satisfaction was a connection I didn’t have to fake. “No.”
Grant nodded, setting down his mug. “Why do you break into houses?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does bending or breaking the rules really ease the pressure?”
The question hit close to home. He’d been a cop. He’d interviewed people like me who’d crossed the legal lines much further than I ever had. He had a good sense of who I was. “It can. And it can also be an effective way of gathering information.”