CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

“Stay down!” Jenna hissed, ducking down behind the blue truck. Sparing only a moment to catch her breath, she peered around the vehicle, waiting for the shooter to reveal himself.

“He’s not going to shoot up his truck,” Jake commented, actually looking relaxed. Before Jenna could reply, the sound of another blast came, striking farther away this time, then silence. Their assailant was firing a shotgun and might be reloading, she thought.

“Jenna.” Jake’s voice cut through her focus, startling her out of her defensive stance. “We’re safe.”

“Safe?” Jenna spat the word out like a curse, her emerald eyes still scanning the shadows. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Jake said with assurance, “those shots were a warning, not an attack. Whoever’s out there isn’t aiming at us. Not even the first time he fired. He would have hit us then if he’d really intended to. He’s close enough, and we were sitting ducks. He’s just trying to scare us into leaving.”

She looked at her deputy then—really looked, noting the calm set of his shoulders, the steady gaze that met hers. This was the demeanor of a man who had faced down the barrel of various guns more times than he cared to count, whose instincts had been honed in the crucible of urban crime. She was familiar with the variety of weapons used in the farmlands, but had seldom faced any of them turning on her.

“Experience,” he elaborated, almost reading her thoughts. “In Kansas City, it was a tactic—scare off the nosy before they get too close. It’s intimidation, nothing more.”

Jenna allowed herself a fraction of a second to absorb this, to let the logic seep in past the instinctive surge of adrenaline. Yet, despite Jake’s conviction, unease remained lodged in her gut.

“Okay,” she finally conceded. “But if this is someone’s idea of warning shots, I want to know exactly what they’re trying to hide.”

Her breath caught as Jake straightened with a fluid motion that seemed at odds with the tension gripping the air. He stepped out from behind the truck holding the gun aloft—an unexpected offering to an unseen adversary. His voice resonated against the stillness. “We’re not here for trouble. Sheriff Graves and I just want to talk.” He put his weapon down on the ground and backed away from it.

Silence followed; neither gunfire nor words came in reply. Jenna felt an odd sense of dislocation wash over her. Jake turned toward her, a silent command in his eyes. Trust warred with apprehension as she followed his lead, her own gun feeling foreign in her hand as she set it down on the earth.

She couldn’t shake the surreal nature of the moment—their weapons lying inert on the ground as if they were atoning for sins not yet committed. Jenna’s senses remained heightened, her mind taut with the anticipation of what might unfold from this gamble.

The rustle of leaves preceded the appearance of a man whose presence seemed wrought from the very soil of the land. Lucas Brennan emerged, his stance echoing the rugged terrain of Genesius County itself—unyielding and worn. His hair, a blend of silver and brown, hung loosely around his shoulders, streaked by the passage of time. His face was a topography of life lived hard and long, each line and wrinkle etched deeply into his weathered skin.

The shotgun held in his hands bore testament to recent use, but had it been reloaded?

“Who are you, really?” His voice was gravel, each word a stone thrown into the calm pond of their surrender.

Jake replied, “This is Sheriff Graves, and I’m Deputy Hawkins.”

Lucas Brennan’s skepticism was visible, his eyes flicking between Jake and Jenna like a wary animal. “Don’t lie to me,” he challenged. “Frank Doyle’s still sheriff ’round these parts, ain’t he?”

Jenna stepped forward, her shadow falling across the discarded weapons on the ground, signaling a peace offering. “Frank Doyle retired two years ago. I was his deputy, and I’m Sheriff Jenna Graves now,” she explained, her tone matter-of-fact.

The news seemed to take a moment to reach the recesses of the man’s guarded mind, as if he were piecing together a puzzle. Jenna could almost see the wheels turning in his head, the isolation of his life here churning with the paranoia that had clearly been his companion for too long.

“Times change, Mr. Brennan,” Jenna continued, her eyes not leaving his. She knew the importance of maintaining a connection, however frayed, in moments like this.

Lucas’s grip on the shotgun loosened ever so slightly, a subtle shift in the standoff that surrounded them. “Why’re you here?” he grumbled, suspicion still coloring his tone.

“We need to talk about Sarah Thompson,” Jake said. “She’s gone missing.”

Recognition sparked in Lucas’s eyes, and with it, a flash of genuine surprise. “Sarah? What happened to her?”

“Disappeared the day before last,” Jenna said, watching him closely. “But we also want to know more about your wife, Melissa. About what happened five years ago.”

For a fleeting second, Jenna saw the walls around Lucas waver. The mention of his wife, a wound time had failed to close, drew out a vulnerability she hadn’t expected to see.

“Melissa?” His voice broke, roughened by sorrow that seemed to well up from the depths of his being. It was a response that spoke volumes, a crack in the facade of the reclusive man before them. It hinted at a story left untold, buried beneath layers of silence and regret.

“We saw her packed bags just now in your basement,” Jenna said. “We know she didn’t leave you—or at least not the way you said she did.”

Lucas exhaled a weary sound that hung in the damp morning air. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and picked up Jake’s gun by the grip, then held it with an outstretched hand. “Here,” he said, his voice devoid of hostility.

Jenna watched as Jake accepted his weapon, the metal glinting briefly in the sunlight. Lucas then nodded toward Jenna’s sidearm, still lying on the ground where she’d set it moments before. She picked it up, the familiar weight settling into her palm like a silent promise of safety. Despite the urge to snap handcuffs around this man’s wrists for the pain he might have caused Melissa—and Sarah—she was aware of Jake’s reluctance to escalate the situation. Trusting his judgment, she holstered her gun, her gaze never leaving Lucas.

“Alright, Lucas,” Jenna began, her voice steady, “let’s talk.”

The farmhouse porch creaked as Lucas led them to a trio of mismatched chairs, remnants of a life once shared. Jenna’s eyes swept over the small homestead, the rows of crops beyond speaking of solitary toil. The humid June breeze carried the scent of earth and growing things, a stark counterpoint to the sounds that had shattered that tranquility.

“Lucas,” Jenna started, her tone even but firm, “you told people Melissa left you. That was five years ago. What really happened to her?”

“That’s… complicated,” Lucas admitted, his gaze distant. “She did pack her bags. Said she couldn’t stand me anymore. But she didn’t leave—not at first, anyway.”

“Go on,” Jenna urged, her mind piecing together the fragments of Melissa Brennan’s last known day.

“Melissa had this library book, see?” Lucas continued, pointing in the general direction of Trentville. “It was overdue. She wouldn’t leave without returning it. Took the bus into town.”

Jenna’s breath hitched sharply. Those words sounded like an echo from her dream. “This book is overdue,” the woman had said. “I’ve got to return it.”

“And then?” Jenna prompted, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying.

Lucas’s hands clenched involuntarily. “She never came home.” His eyes met Jenna’s, and for a moment, she glimpsed the raw edge of his uncertainty. “I’ve kept her suitcases… just in case.”

Jenna leaned back in her chair, her emerald eyes reflecting the morning light. There was something true here, buried beneath layers of regret and silence.

“Lucas,” she addressed the man sitting across from her on the creaky porch, “why didn’t you tell Sheriff Doyle the truth about Melissa’s disappearance?”

Lucas Brennan shifted, his chair groaning under his wiry frame. “Doyle and I—we’ve had our differences.” His voice was gruff, with an undercurrent of defiance. “Arrests for assault, misunderstandings… He wouldn’t have believed me if I told him Birdie just vanished.”

Jenna observed Lucas closely, noting the way his jaw clenched when he spoke of the former sheriff. Doyle had been her mentor, but she knew his relationship with the townsfolk could sometimes be fraught. She also understood the weight of suspicion that could fall on a man with Lucas’s history.

“Out of fear, then,” Jenna surmised, “you chose silence.”

Lucas looked away, his gaze settling on the distant tree line as if searching for something only he could see. “I told everyone she left, because in a way, she did. Said it straight out—she was leaving me.” A shadow of vulnerability crossed his weather-beaten face. “The truth is, I’m still waiting for her to walk back through that door.”

Jenna’s intuition flickered, a silent pulse at the back of her mind. It wasn’t evidence, nothing concrete, yet there was something in Lucas’s demeanor that suggested genuine loss rather than guilt—and also shame at his cowardice for never telling the truth until now. Beside her, Jake remained quiet, his expression unreadable, but she could sense his belief in Lucas’s words.

“Lucas,” she began, her voice softer now, “if there’s anything else you remember about that day, anything at all, it might help us find out what happened to both Melissa and Sarah Thompson.”

But Lucas merely shook his head.

“Where were you the afternoon and evening before last, Lucas?” Jake asked. “When Sarah Thompson disappeared.”

“Right here,” Lucas replied, a defiant note in his tone. “But there ain’t no one to vouch for me.” His eyes flickered briefly to Jenna.

Jenna’s gaze never wavered from Lucas as she posed her next question. “How do you know Sarah Thompson?”

“Through Birdie,” he answered, a softness entering his voice. “They met not long before Birdie disappeared. Must have been right around the time Sarah moved to Trentville. They’d spend hours together, mostly at the library. Books were their thing, not mine.”

The simplicity in his response gnawed at Jenna’s intuition. It wasn’t a confession, nor a solid alibi, but rather a glimpse into a shared history between the missing women. Jenna filed away this detail; such connections often formed the crux of unsolved cases.

“Thank you for your time, Lucas,” Jake said, extending a courteous nod. “We’ll be on our way now.”

As they retreated to the safety of their vehicle, Jenna wrestled with her frustration and confusion. She slid behind the wheel while Jake settled into the passenger seat.

“Alright, Jake, why? Why are you so sure he didn’t do it?” she asked, flicking a glance his way.

“Because that man never killed anyone,” Jake replied calmly, a certainty in his voice that belied his easy demeanor.

Jenna furrowed her brow, not entirely convinced. “And how can you be so sure about that?” There was an edge to her voice—an impatience for logic amid the chaos of her thoughts.

Jake turned to her, his sandy hair catching the light as he flashed a playful, knowing smile. “Come on, Jenna. You’re not the only one around here who has instincts.”

The remark elicited a half-smile from Jenna, despite the frustration nipping at her heels. It was true; Jake had proven himself more than once since leaving Kansas City behind for the quiet rhythm of Trentville, Missouri. His words resonated with a part of her psyche that she couldn’t ignore—the same part that told her Piper was still out there somewhere.

“Okay, then, Mr. I-Know-What-I’m-Doing-Better-Than-My-Boss,” Jenna conceded, not willing to let her pride cloud her judgment. “What do we do next?”

Jake leaned back, contemplating their next move. The silence stretched between them, giving way to the hum of the engine and the rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. Then he looked at her expectantly, passing the decision back into her hands.

“We head back to headquarters,” Jenna said decisively. “We regroup.”

“Sounds like a plan. Or as close as we’ve got to a plan.”

Jake’s words resonated with her own instincts, yet Jenna couldn’t shake the feeling that something critical was slipping through their grasp. With a sigh, she started the engine and maneuvered the car onto the dirt road, the dust settling slowly in their wake as they headed back toward headquarters.

As she navigated the familiar route to the Genesius County Sheriff’s Office, Jenna’s mind raced through the events of the morning. They had gone to Lucas Brennan’s with questions and left with even more. Now, it was time to sift through what they knew, to find the way out of this tangled web.