Together, they had investigated corruption cases, missing persons, financial crimes, organized theft, and public officials who believed their positions made them untouchable.
Daniel had retired five years before Samuel.
Unlike Samuel, however, Daniel had never completely left the world behind.
He still knew people.
People who knew people.
People who could find information without leaving a trace.
"Where are you now?" Daniel asked.
"Twenty miles outside Bellweather."
"Go to your daughter's house."
"I was planning to."
"Don't tell her anything yet."
Samuel frowned.
"Why?"
"Because if someone has access to her information, I want to know before she does."
Samuel's grip tightened around the steering wheel.
"You think this is connected to something?"
"I don't know."
"Daniel."
"I said I don't know."
Samuel exhaled.
"Then what do you know?"
"I know the deputy who stopped you."
Samuel waited.
"His name is Tyler Boone."
"How do you know?"
"Because three years ago, he was named in an internal complaint."
Samuel's expression hardened.
"What kind?"
"Evidence handling."
That was enough.
Samuel didn't need more.
Evidence handling was sacred in law enforcement.
You could survive a bad decision.
You could survive a bad arrest.
You could even survive a bad investigation.
But once an officer began manipulating evidence, every case around him became questionable.
"What happened?" Samuel asked.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"The complaint disappeared."
Samuel stared at the road.
"And the other deputy?"
"Still looking."
"Daniel."
"Yes?"
"If this has anything to do with Claire, I need to know."
"I know."
Samuel ended the call.
For several minutes, he drove without speaking.
Then his phone rang.
Claire.
"Dad?"
"I'm almost there."
"You sound strange."
"Long drive."
"Did something happen?"
Samuel hesitated.
"No."
That was the first lie he had ever told his daughter.
He hated it.
But Daniel's warning stayed in his mind.
Don't tell her anything yet.
Ten minutes later, Samuel turned onto Claire's road.
Her house stood at the end of a quiet lane.
White siding.
Green shutters.
A small porch.
Two flower boxes beneath the windows.
It wasn't much.
But Claire loved it.
Samuel parked.
He stepped out.
Before he reached the porch, the front door opened.
Claire ran toward him.
"Dad!"
Samuel smiled.
She hugged him.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
The highway.
The deputies.
The badge.
The money.
All of it.
There was only his daughter.
"You made it."
"I said I would."
"You always say that."
"And sometimes I even mean it."
She laughed.
"Come inside."
Samuel picked up his bag.
Claire led him through the house.
The living room was half packed with boxes.
The kitchen had plastic sheets covering the floor.
"Looks like a construction site," Samuel said.
"It feels like one."
"How bad is the roof?"
"Bad."
"The furnace?"
"Dead."
"Kitchen?"
"Don't ask."
Samuel smiled.
"Good thing I came."
Claire looked at him.
"Actually, Dad, I need to tell you something."
Samuel stopped.
"What?"
She hesitated.
Then she pointed toward the dining room table.
There was an envelope sitting there.
A plain white envelope.
No stamp.
No name.
Samuel's smile disappeared.
"Where did that come from?"
"I don't know."
"When did you find it?"
"This morning."
"Was anyone here?"
"No."
Samuel approached the table.
He didn't touch the envelope.
"What does it say?"
Claire turned it around.
Three words had been written across the front.
YOU SHOULD LEAVE.
Samuel looked at his daughter.
She whispered,
"Do you know what this means?"
Samuel stared at the handwriting.
He recognized it.
Not the person.
The method.
Block letters.
Heavy pressure.
Deliberately distorted.
Whoever wrote it didn't want to be recognized.
But they wanted to be understood.
Samuel finally picked up the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
He pulled it out.
His breath stopped.
It showed him standing beside his car on the highway.
Taken from a distance.
Taken that morning.