“Think less of me?” he asked, shining the light near her face.
Raising a hand to ward off the glare, she said, “Ah…I’m not sure.”
He snorted. “Well, at least you’re honest.”
The light faded as he shifted it to the bumper. He squatted down and ran his hands along the dented metal. His sigh filtered out into the quiet, cold garage.
“There’s some red paint and scratches on the bumper. Any idea what car Kenny drives?”
“No, why?”
“Because I’m pretty sure someone helped Ray off the road.” He produced a Swiss Army knife and a Ziploc bag.
She realized she was really in over her head when he scraped the bumper with the blade. “Are those paint shavings?”
“Yep. More evidence. Match the car with the paint, and you have more than circumstantial evidence. Too bad his car isn’t here.”
“If Kenny’s ride has dents, he won’t drive it. Plus, he can fix his own car.”
“We’ll check with the DMV. Tie up another thread for the authorities.”
“We still don’t have much.”
He unzipped his fleece and drew out his phone. The camera’s flash made her blink. He took a few more pictures.
“Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can find a second set of tire tracks where they found Ray’s car and take some pictures. Those fuckers.” He pocketed the phone. “Sorry, but I’m pissed.”
She rubbed her arms. “Me too. Besides, I’ve heard that word before.”
A door slammed.
Her head turned sharply, and her whole body locked in place. “Someone’s coming.”
“Shit,” he hissed, scanning the garage with the light.
He grabbed her arm and darted to the next car over, opening the driver’s side door. The car’s overhead light turned on as he reached down and popped the trunk. He shut the door and dragged her to the back. Lifting the lid, he pushed her toward it. She caught sight of a bag of ice melt, jumper cables, and a blanket.
“Get in.”
She hesitated, but when she heard the sound of muffled voices approaching, she threw her leg over, squeezing inside, her spine against the back of the trunk. Tanner plowed into her, arranging his body against hers in spoon fashion before closing the lid. The trunk went dark.
Oh, God, he’d better have a plan to get them out of here! Her heart pounded like a drummer on speed. She knew she was breathing hard, but she couldn’t stop.
“Close your eyes,” Tanner whispered. “Take deep breaths.”
Right. Having a panic attack in a closed trunk with potential killers outside would be a bad idea. Closing her eyes didn’t help much since it was dark anyway. She wiggled, the jumper cables pressing into her thigh.
“Be still,” he ordered in a whisper.
Another door slammed. The voices grew louder. They were male, Meredith recognized, and they were coming closer.
“When’s the car going to the junk yard, Kenny?”
Was that Barlow?
“The truck’s taking it out tomorrow before I open. The compactor only works on Tuesdays. We don’t want any evidence.”
“Shit, this whole thing’s a fucking mess. You were supposed to make sure he left town, not run him off the road.”
“I told you it was an accident!”
“Well, lucky for you, I was the first to arrive at the scene. I didn’t see any evidence, but dammit, Kenny, two bodies is a lot to explain.”
Meredith squeezed her eyes shut. Suddenly it occurred to her that she and Tanner might have left something to give them away—a footprint in the grease on the floor. Anything. Her breathing shattered. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.
“Let’s get the stash and go. We can’t keep any drugs here now.”
“I’ll hide them in my truck until we decide what to do,” Kenny responded.
“Things were going great until that stupid girl died.”
A hand smacked the trunk, and the sound reverberated through Meredith’s bones. All the muscles in her entire body bunched, poising to spring. Oh, please don’t let them find us. Curled up like shrimp, they were defenseless. Especially if Barlow were armed.
“We need to calm down,” Barlow said.
Meredith could almost imagine him trying to convince himself.
“We’ve covered our tracks. They’re both young. Kids do stupid things. No one’s going to believe otherwise.”
“Yeah, but that reporter could cause problems, Larry. The kid called him when he was in trouble, and he called back. I found his name all over Ray’s school crap. He was taking a class from him—investigative journalism. Didn’t know the kid was into that stuff. I looked into this guy, and he’s some big-shot war correspondent. Not the kind to shut up because someone warns him off with a phone call.”