Instead, he looked out the window, reported their destination to the dispatcher, and gave Traci the directions.
She pulled in front of a nondescript house in the heart of one of the largest subdivisions in town. “This is it?”
“Yep.” He unbuckled his seat belt and took a deep breath. He needed to control himself and keep it together. He needed to remind himself that Lance having been the one to leave the note was only a hunch. It was a good one, but it wasn’t based on evidence or facts.
Traci had unbuckled but was still staring up the house. “I’m just going to say it. This place surprises me.”
“Why? Did you expect us to pull into a run-down trailer park or something?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Probably.”
He gave her a sideways look. “What’s on your mind, Lucky? Maybe that it looks like the house you grew up in?”
“Uh, no.” She glanced at him and quirked a brow. “You know I didn’t grow up in a place half as nice as this, right?”
“I don’t know much about you besides your service record, and that you didn’t know about your sisters until recently.”
“The three of us were separated when we were real young. Shannon and I were toddlers and Kimber was just a newborn.”
“Separated by whom?”
“By the adoption agency, I guess. Back then, I guess they didn’t think there was anything wrong with separating siblings.”
“I know Shannon grew up in a small town in West Virginia.”
“She did.” Looking straight ahead, Traci added. “Kimber was adopted by a couple up in New York. I was never adopted. I grew up in a group home in Cleveland.”
He knew enough that he was able to read between the lines. “That sucks.”
‘Yeah.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to run us down memory lane. Let’s go pay a visit to Mr. and Mrs. . . . ?”
“Wengard.”
She nodded and then got out and slipped her cell phone into a pocket. He did the same and led the way up the walkway, looking around the yard as he did.
Everything seemed quiet. Not abandoned, but definitely not a lot of life. Two lights shone through the windows. One on the bottom floor in what looked like the living room. One upstairs in what was probably a bedroom. Those were sure signs that they were out of town.
Still . . . he could be wrong.
He knocked. Listened for movement. When he didn’t hear anything, he knocked again.
After another minute went by, Traci looked his way. “Seems pretty quiet.”
“Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”
“I’m going to take a walk around the back.”
He nodded, stepping back to see what the neighbors were doing. The woman to the right looked to be watching television. The house on the other side looked quiet, but from the looks of the sports equipment on the lawn and in the driveway, it was a foregone conclusion that the kids were at school and their parents were at work.
Traci came back. “Nothing to see back there. Blinds were down. Porch needs shoveling.”
“I looked at the neighbors’ houses. Nothing much to see there, either. I’m guessing everyone’s at school and work.
“Want to do you want to do?”
That simple question meant a lot to him. Even though Traci likely had plenty of her own reports to type up and other work to do, she was willing to put it aside for his needs. Here she was, pretty much telling him that she’d sit and stake out the property, knock on doors, do whatever he wanted. That kind of generosity in a department was rare.
He didn’t want to take advantage of it, especially since they were only visiting the Wengard’s place on a hunch. “Come on. Let’s move on.”
“All right . . . Do you want to drive now?”
“Nah. You go ahead.”
She smiled at him, obviously pleased about that. “How about we visit a couple of parks?”
He laughed. “Sure.” He was partial to visiting the public areas around Bridgeport a couple times a week. If a teenager was in trouble, he or she might be hanging around there. Sometimes he might even find an older person walking or sitting by themselves. He liked taking a minute to talk to folks. It was good small-town police work. Bridgeport officers were a part of the community, and the citizens appreciated them.
He believed these interactions were important, and they were. Just like a lot of other police departments, Bridgeport’s motto was Protect and Serve, and he saw that as looking out for the people in small ways, too.
But Traci? Well, it was obvious she was still getting the hang of not being busy every minute of the day. Sometimes he felt the need to remind her that just because they weren’t dealing with homicides, impaired drivers, and lots of domestic violence cases didn’t mean their work wasn’t important.
She pulled out onto the street and drove along slowly. “Freedom Park first?”
“Sure. It’s right around the corner.”
“I remember.”
Just as he was about to ask how she was feeling, getting used to the slower pace, she spoke again. “So, I’m just going to say it. I think Shannon likes you.”
Well, that little tidbit came out of nowhere. Ignoring the burst of happiness that ran through him at the news, he spoke carefully. “She told you that?”
“Not in so many words. She and I might not be super close yet, we’re close enough for me to see the way she looks at you.”
“And?”
“And it’s affectionate. Maybe more like longing.” She drew to a stop, flipped on her turn signal, and then made a right. “I think you need to take her out on a real date.”
Glad he wasn’t driving, he gaped at her. When she smiled, he coughed. “Are you pulling my leg?”
“No, sir, I am not.” She pulled into the park. It was going on eleven thirty, overcast, and about thirty-eight degrees. The park was empty. “Want me to drive to the back?”
“Yeah.” He scanned the area, hoping that they wouldn’t see anyone. And, luckily, they didn’t.
After Traci made a loop, she pulled out onto the street. “Palmer Park now?”
“Yep.”
Just as she was turning left, a white Chevy pickup truck zipped by, going easily thirty miles over the speed limit.
“Yee-haw,” Traci said with a grin. She turned on the siren and picked up speed. While she tailed the truck, Dylan pulled out the computer to enter in the plates.