Twisted Creek

Chapter 12

Early Saturday

September 21, 2006

0100 hours

The wind whirled as if shoving winter across the chilling lake. Trees, already dry and brown, rattled like paper bags as Luke Morgan moved through the late-night shadows.

No hint of the easygoing bum who’d walked the shores for the past week remained. Now, a trained soldier moved stealthily through the night, measuring his steps, evaluating his surroundings.

Luke had done this kind of surveillance more times than he could remember. Drug dealers, thieves, and murderers moved in shadow. If he planned to catch them, he had to do the same.

Half a mile inland from the far north shore of the lake, he found what he’d been looking for-a burned-out hull of a cabin. Kicking the ashes, he shined his flashlight on wood still smoldering. The place could have easily burned two nights ago when the fog had been so thick no one would have noticed the smoke. The rain that had followed that night would have erased most of the clues, but not all. Luke would come back at dawn and piece together what had happened. He might be able to reason out how long the meth lab had been operating and how many people probably worked there. The criminals who set up labs were like fire ants. They get burned out of one place, they just move to another.

He’d already called headquarters and informed them of the facts. This was the third cabin he’d found. All had been burned. The first looked to have been set six months ago, a second two months ago, and now this. All the facts told him two things he didn’t want to admit. One, a meth lab was in full operation at Twisted Creek, and two, it was growing in production. If they had already wasted three cabins he’d be willing to bet they were now setting up shop in the fourth. Eventually they’d run out of the most isolated spots and move in closer to where people lived.

And when they did, someone would get hurt.

He had to admit these guys were good at covering their tracks. He’d found no tire tracks on roads into the labs so they must have reached them by boat. Then, when they cleared out, they left nothing but ashes.

As he walked back toward home, Luke circled close to the cabins near Jefferson’s Crossing. The Andrews Company cabin came into view first. It had half the lights inside burning. Luke had no trouble standing in the trees and looking into the house.

Timothy Andrews sat in a recliner with a book almost touching his nose.

Luke took the time to survey the place. Leather furniture, a big fireplace, books stacked in little piles everywhere, and one huge wall covered with rifles.

He moved closer until he stood a few feet from the light and studied the rifles. He’d seen a collection like this before. Remingtons. Numbered replicas as fine as the originals made for every year of production.

Luke glanced back at Timothy. Why would a young man think about drowning when he had twenty or more guns available?

Luke laughed. He was thinking like a cop, not a bookworm. He’d worked two years in Houston as a policeman before he’d got on with the ATF. During those two years, three of the men from his training class had been shot, two had committed suicide with their service weapons, one was run over by a drunk while he directed traffic, and none died by drowning. It wasn’t a way he thought about dying. Maybe that was why Jefferson’s death bothered Luke.

Moving back into the night, Luke crossed Allie’s property. He wanted to circle round and see if she’d fallen asleep on the porch again, but he didn’t dare in his black clothes. He’d probably scare her to death if she heard as much as a twig snap.

This morning she’d caught him sleeping on the dock with a pole in his hand. By the time she sat down near him, Luke was awake, but he didn’t move. She waited a few minutes and then began flipping water on him. When he finally looked at her, she tried to tell him it must be raining.

He’d thought of tossing her into the lake. It took all his control to remind himself to keep his distance. Friendship was all he’d offer her. He didn’t have time in his life for more, even if she were interested.

She’d done the strangest thing an hour later. She’d borrowed his old canoe and paddled out to Timothy. Luke couldn’t hear what she’d said to the boy, but Timothy had nodded several times.

Then she’d paddled back and thanked him for the use of his boat.

When she started to walk away, he had to ask what she’d been up to and all she said was that she asked the kid to dinner Sunday night.

The rest of the day she’d done her best to ignore Luke and he’d returned the favor.