The marshal in front of Hailey raised his hand and said, “What about the rain?”
Jonah nodded. “They’re expecting localized flooding around the river, so the sheriff and the police chief are coordinating efforts to minimize the damage. The radar doesn’t look good, though, and I honestly think the mayor’s downplaying it. We’ll see how it plays out and adjust accordingly. Rain or not, Farrell is still our target.”
She tried not to flinch at Jonah’s mention of the mayor, but it didn’t help when two of the guys turned to smirk at her. So what? She and Charles had been divorced for seven years—whatever he was or wasn’t doing in his mayoral duties had nothing to do with her.
She felt Eric’s attention on her. “Something I should know?”
Hailey’s cheeks warmed even more—a definite downside of having red hair and freckles. She turned to her partner. “Why would there be?”
His face said he didn’t buy it, but she wasn’t going to tell him all the details of her personal life if he wasn’t going to do the same. They just weren’t that type of partners, regardless of what most people thought of law enforcement. Hailey didn’t bring her life to work. Not that the guys respected her need to keep her private life private. But that was a whole other set of problems, and she had enough to deal with.
Jonah said, “The clock is ticking. Let’s get to work.”
Eric’s eyes were focused on her. She started to figure out how to explain, but her phone vibrated. She read the email and motioned from Eric to the door with a flick of her fingers. “Let’s go.”
He glanced up. “Where?”
“Jonah!” She was already walking away. “Hanning and I are out!”
Ten minutes later Hailey was driving through town with Eric beside her in her rusty nineties car. He frowned. “You missed the turn.”
“No, I didn’t. This isn’t a latte run.” His unrelenting insistence on following procedure was starting to affect her mood, like the rain clouds overhead that made everything dreary. “As for what this is, you’ll have to trust me.”
The country song on the radio was cut off by a loud buzz. An electronic voice said, “A severe weather alert is still in effect for all counties, including Franklin—”
Eric shut the radio off. “I might be new to the task force, but I’m pretty sure going off on a hunch is frowned upon.”
Hailey pressed her lips together while the windshield wipers fought to quell the rainfall. “It’s probably nothing.”
“But it might be something?”
“You don’t have to come.” She shrugged. “You could get out at the next light and walk back to the office.”
“And if something happens to you? I’ll have to explain to the rest of the task force that I let you get hurt.”
There was the crux of the situation. None of the good old boys on the task force wanted the little girl to get hurt. Apparently they’d overlooked the fact she was a trained marshal, just like them. She’d hardly have picked the toughest federal job—tracking down outstanding warrants, escaped prisoners and federal fugitives—if she was a wimp.
“All we’re going to do is ask Deirdre Phelps if she has any idea where our escaped fugitive is.” Hailey motioned to the backseat with a tilt of her head and made a right turn. “Check out the file yourself.”
“What makes you think this Deirdre Phelps has anything to do with Farrell?”
Hailey hesitated for a minute, but if she was going to jump in then it might as well be with both feet.
After the debacle at the airport she’d been up all night reading and rereading Farrell’s file. It had taken a week to track down his old girlfriend and confirm they were still in contact.
“Deirdre Phelps visited Steve Farrell every month when he was locked up in county for assault.”
Eric flipped through the file. “Her name’s not on the visitor’s log.”
“She used a fake ID. This morning I emailed her picture to a sheriff’s deputy who worked at the jail back then. He just confirmed it was her.”
“That was six years ago.” Eric shook his head. “You didn’t bring this to the team because...”
“You haven’t lived in this part of Oregon long, so let me give you a crash course. Deirdre Phelps is the daughter of Thomas James Phelps the Third. He owns all four Chevy dealerships in the valley. She does not work. She lives in a condo in a gated community, drives a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car and spends her days shopping and getting manicures. She’s practically royalty around here, and you do not mess with daddy’s little girl.”
“Still, couldn’t you have just mentioned it to Jonah?”
“Fine.” Hailey sighed. “Marshal Turner plays golf with Thomas James Phelps the Third.”
Eric huffed out a breath. “Okay, I get it.”
He should have, because Marshal Turner was technically their boss—Jonah’s boss. Two years from retirement, his gut hung over his belt and he spent his days in the office looking at pictures of yachts.
“I just want to ask if she’s seen or heard from her fugitive ex-boyfriend.”
As of a week ago, instead of being transferred to his permanent federal vacation in California, Farrell was now back on the 15 Most Wanted list. And worse, his escape made her miss breakfast the next morning with her daughter.
The security guard at the community’s gate frowned at their badges, but let them in. Was he going to call ahead and warn Princess Phelps they were coming? Hailey couldn’t do much about that, short of threatening him with her weapon. The security guard probably got paid more than she did, working in a neighborhood like this.
The streets were wide and free of cars, as if the residents had been threatened not to park there. The landscaping was immaculate, although waterlogged, since the rain was still falling steady. And yet, somehow not even a stray leaf was on the ground. It was eerie, unlike her homey neighborhood and the dated farmhouse she grew up in. Her roof leaked and the wind whistled through the upstairs hall, but at least her house wasn’t sterile and void of humanity like this place.
Hailey popped the trunk on her Honda and reached for her two pairs of cuffs, the extra magazines for her weapon, and her flashlight. Eric’s eyebrows rose under the bill of his government-issued baseball cap. Go team.
Hailey shook her head. “It’s just a precaution.” And more habit than necessity, even if it could be the difference between life and death. The extra supplies balanced out the professional weight of the star badge on her belt.
“I thought you weren’t worried about this. It isn’t a big thing, remember?”
Hailey rolled her eyes. Kerry liked to use that tone of voice when she needed to remind Hailey of something she’d said. It was like the kid was twelve going on twenty-five.
Eric’s lips twitched.
Hailey frowned at him. “You’re teasing me.”
He shrugged off his jacket and snapped his belt on below his Kevlar vest. “Only a little.”
“Must be a slow day.”
He laughed. The yellowing bruise on his neck from the beanbag round did nothing to mar his looks.
They both pulled on black jackets with US MARSHALS stenciled on the back, and Eric followed her through the ridiculous little gate in the white picket fence of Deirdre Phelps’s townhome.
Hailey unsnapped her gun and rested her hand on it. They were only there to ask Deirdre a few