Miguel’s instincts twitched. “They took something from here.” He focused his light on the floor. Julia did, too.
They noticed scrape marks around the marble memory bench at the same time.
“It’s been moved,” Julia commented.
Miguel flipped it over, and they aimed their flashlights at its bottom, legs, and the space beneath it. Running his hand along the bottom, Miguel loosened it, and it fell off to reveal an empty hidden compartment.
“What do you think used to be here?” Julia asked.
“Probably cash. Bank cards. Fake IDs. I hope to hell there wasn’t a gun hidden inside the bench.”
“So do I. But I also think it wouldn’t matter. Those two are capable of turning anything into a weapon.”
Miguel didn’t disagree. “Julia, we can’t wait until morning. We need to check in with Trey and have him call the Feds while we notify local law enforcement. I want a description of that truck ASAP, so I can share it with Tex.”
“All right. I’ll call Trey, and you call the local PD.”
Since the Lake Forest PD were taking their sweet time, Miguel continued his ghost story. “Grace Finnigan told her tale to Tawny, who promised that we would solve the mystery.”
“And did you?”
Miguel grinned. “Yep. We found Brecken Finnigan’s bones in Doolin Cave and reunited the couple. We made a significant historical discovery, but no one will ever know about it. We buried Brecken Finnigan next to his wife. Grace will never hauntFinnigan Castle again, but the local community will continue to believe that she does.”
“You know, Miguel, these adventures you guys have are almost too incredible to believe.”
“Well, I have yet to meet Santa Claus,” he deadpanned.
Julia laughed and nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re killing me, Miguel.”
Her laughter, a light, tinkling sound, caused Miguel’s pulse to race a little. He enjoyed the sensation, for it reminded him that he hadn’t died with Ashley Laine. That he was alive, that his blood and his heart could once again pulsate with life.
Maybe because the darkness hid his face, or maybe because Julia sparked something long dormant inside of him, Miguel blurted, “I like to hear you laugh.”
Julia leaned so close to him that the heat from her body raised his pulse even more. “I like to hear you sing. And?—”
Blue and red flashing lights and car doors slamming interrupted the intimate moment. Miguel and Julia sprang apart and raised their hands with their shields in one palm. They had already holstered their guns. Uniformed officers trained powerful lights and Glocks on them as they covered a big, burly, redhaired man dressed in a suit.
“Lake Forest PD! I’m Detective Kelly. Identify yourselves!” He spoke with a strong Irish accent.
“Officer Miguel Rivera, Laguna Beach PD. I’m the one who called this in.”
“Agent Julia Washburn, DEA.”
“Washburn?” the detective repeated. “Are you related to Secretary of State Barbara Washburn who just announced her candidacy for President?”
“Yes, sir. I’m her daughter.”
“Stand down!” Detective Kelly bellowed at the officers in a commanding tone. He addressed Julia. “DEA? I thought this was about a pair of dangerous fugitives. The Anderson siblings?”
“It is, Detective Kelly. My mother has a vested interest in this case and sent me with Officer Rivera to investigate.”
That wasn’t a lie. Miguel and Julia had kept Barbara abreast of their plan, and she had encouraged them to fly to Illinois.
“Why?”
“There’s no time to explain,” Miguel answered. “Axis and Axalia stole a truck from the premises and are miles away by now. We need the make and model of that truck so we can track them.”
“It’s an old Dodge Ram pickup truck,” an officer behind Detective Kelly interjected. “I’ve seen it multiple times.”
