Tennessee Takedown. Lena Diaz
I suppose. It was kind of hard to tell with all that body armor on.” She didn’t bother to mention she’d seen him later without the armor. “Maybe a seven. Yeah, I could stretch it to a seven.”
“Seven? That’s not hot. That’s lukewarm,” Lauren scoffed. “What’s his name?”
“Dillon Gray.”
“Hmm. Dillon’s good. Not too keen on Gray, though. Sounds kind of morose, depressing. Maybe I’ll change his name when I embellish the story to my cruise ship friends at dinner.”
Ashley laughed. “You do that. Oh, darn it.” She jumped up from the couch and headed into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?”
She dug into the cabinet under the sink until she found a large metal mixing bowl. “Looks like that roof repair last week didn’t hold. There’s a healthy drip coming through the living room ceiling again.”
“Dang, girl. I told you to argue with the landlord about using cheap roofers.”
“I know, but I’m leaving in a few days, so what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t, as long as the roof doesn’t come down on you.”
“Maybe it’s not the roofer’s fault.” She placed the bowl under the leak and peered up at the plaster ceiling. “As hard as it’s been raining, even a good roof might leak right now.”
“You are way too nice, as always. If it were up to me, I’d call the landlord and...”
“And what?” Ashley repositioned the bowl. The drips were coming faster now. Getting some sleep tonight wasn’t looking like a good prospect, not if she had to keep emptying out the water and listening to the pinging sound of the constant drips. She crossed back to the couch but paused when she realized her friend still hadn’t answered.
“Lauren, are you still there?”
Silence.
She pulled the phone away and looked at the screen. Great. The call had been dropped. She plopped down on the couch and dialed Lauren’s number. No ringing. Nothing. Maybe Lauren’s phone wasn’t the problem. She tried to get a dial tone, but it was like the phone was...dead.
Weird, that had never happened here before. The storm must have shorted something out, or maybe knocked down the nearest cell tower.
She tossed the phone down and grabbed the TV remote off the coffee table. Casting a disparaging glance at the drips rapidly filling the bowl across the room, she yanked the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her.
Thunder boomed again, this time sounding more as if it was from the back of the house than from overhead.
She paused with her finger on the remote’s power button. Wait. There hadn’t been any lightning that time. She slowly lowered her hand. Another sound came from behind her, down the hall.
Someone was inside the house.
Chapter Three
Dillon wrestled the steering wheel to keep his Jeep on the road. The last time he’d seen a storm this bad, the bridge over Little River washed out, stranding an entire Cub Scout troop on Cooper’s Bluff, the mile-long, uninhabited island smack-dab in the middle of the river. Thankfully the mayor had learned his lesson from that fiasco. This time he’d paid attention to the weather reports and Cooper’s Bluff had been evacuated earlier this afternoon, the bridge closed until the weather broke. Since the storm wasn’t expected to ease until tomorrow morning, the entire police department was on standby for storm-related emergencies.
Which was why Dillon was out in the middle of the blasted thing.
This was a hell of a way to spend his evening after facing off with a crazed shooter earlier today and spending the next hour listening to his boss’s tirade about chain of command and following orders. Dillon had been on the verge of telling his boss to take a hike and walking out when Thornton received his first call from the weather station, warning him the storm was going to be worse than originally thought. Thornton had immediately called for all hands on deck. Everyone had to be ready to go if and when a call for help came in.
Dillon would have rather stayed at the station and worked on the workplace-shooting investigation. But he had a four-wheel drive with a winch, which meant he was in high demand to help stranded motorists escape rapidly rising water on some of the more isolated, two-lane roads. He’d spent the past six hours pulling half a dozen vehicles out of swollen ditches. Now his shoulders and back ached and all he wanted to do was pop the top on an ice-cold beer, lie down in his recliner and sleep.
The squawk of his cell phone had him clenching the steering wheel even harder. He ignored the first ring, irrationally hoping whoever was calling would call someone else instead, preferably someone who hadn’t been working solid since sunup and was bone weary.
But when the phone rang again, his shoulders slumped and he answered, “Gray.”
“Detective Gray, this is Nancy, nine-one-one operator. I have Lauren Wilkes on the line. She specifically asked to speak to you. Something about her friend possibly being in trouble. Should I patch her through?”
Dillon let out a long sigh. That cold beer would have to wait a little bit longer. “Go ahead, Nancy. Thanks.”
“Pleasure.”
The line clicked twice.
“Miss Wilkes, Detective Gray is on the line,” the operator said. “Go ahead with your emergency.”
“Emergency? Well, ah, yes. Thank you.” The young woman’s voice sounded nervous. “Detective Gray? Are you there?”
“I’m here. How can I help you?”
“I feel a little silly. I’m not sure anything is really wrong, but after what happened this morning I’m kind of nervous. I mean, there’s the storm and all and maybe phones do that sometimes but I remember she told me your name and so when—”
“Miss Wilkes,” Dillon interrupted. “Take a breath.”
“What? Oh, yes. Okay.”
“Tell me why you called.” He pulled the Jeep to the side of the road. It was too dangerous trying to talk on the phone and fight the wheel in this wind and rain.
“It’s my friend. I was talking to her and the phone went dead. I tried calling her back, over and over, but the call doesn’t go through. I was wondering if you could check on her. I’m, ah, not close by, so it’s not like I can hop in the car and go over there.”
Dillon thumped his forehead on the steering wheel. “Ma’am, if the Smoky Mountains were by the ocean I’d call the storm we’re in right now a hurricane. Storms this bad always knock landlines down.”
“Oh, well, it’s not a landline. It’s her cell phone. Do storms knock those out, too?”
He straightened in his seat. “Not usually, no. I suppose something could have happened to a cell tower.” Although he couldn’t remember that ever happening around here before. He grabbed the notebook and pen lying in the console. “What’s your friend’s name and address? I’ll do a wellness check for you.”
“Oh, would you, please? That would be awesome. And if you’ll call me back and let me know she’s okay, I’d really appreciate it. I mean, we’ve been friends forever. I kind of get worried—”
“Ma’am, the name and address?”
“Oh, right. Sorry. She’s renting a house at 1010 Little River Road. Her name is Ashley Parrish.”
Dillon stiffened. Every cell in his body went on alert. Cell phone towers could go out, he supposed, but it was a hell of a coincidence for that to happen to the woman who’d survived a workplace shooting just this morning. He tossed the notebook and pen in the console and whipped the Jeep back onto the road.