Expired Refuge Read online

  Expired Refuge

  LAST CHANCE COUNTY BOOK ONE

  Lisa Phillips

  Copyright 2020 Lisa Phillips

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher Lisa Phillips

  Cover design Lisa Phillips

  Edited by www.jenwieber.com

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  One

  According to intel, this was where it would go down. Police Lieutenant Conroy Barnes watched the feed on his laptop, which was sitting on a folding table in the janitor’s closet of the high school. Low light meant it was hard to see what was happening. But he could make out enough.

  The undercover was about to make the sale.

  He could hear her every breath through the microphone. The second his officer made the exchange, cash for drugs, he was clear to move in.

  Conroy watched as the dealer reached into a pocket. Even behind the door, he was ready to pull his weapon and step in. His officer was also armed and wearing a bulletproof vest. Not a foolproof plan, but she understood the risks, and they had been over all the contingencies.

  The department was big enough they could have brought in several officers as backup, or even a couple of detectives. Each of them worked as part of a SWAT team when it was necessary. But tonight’s operation had to be done discretely in order that word didn’t get back to anyone that the police had snatched up this guy.

  The drug dealer, who conducted business under the moniker “Iceman,” pulled a small baggie from his pocket. “You got the money?”

  Conroy held his breath, watching the screen as he waited for the right words. He didn’t like being the one on the other end of the video feed. He much preferred the front lines, but he also had a high profile in this town. His officer was new, which meant few people knew she was a cop.

  So he’d put her in as an undercover.

  And she was turning out to be seriously good at it. Though, with her history, he wasn’t entirely shocked. She impressed him, but she was also his underling and barely twenty-four. He was creeping towards his thirties.

  “Got it right here.” Her voice was steady which shouldn’t surprise him given everything he knew about Jessica Ridgeman. She might be green, but she was also proving to be a serious asset.

  With just enough desperation in her voice, she said, “It’ll be a good weekend.”

  That was the signal. Conroy shoved open the fire door and led with his weapon. Cold night air hit him like being slammed with a thousand ice picks.

  “Police! Hands up!” He approached the suspect they had been surveilling who was still standing with Officer Ridgeman.

  Iceman whipped around. Conroy saw him realize this had been a setup. He released the cash and pulled a knife.

  “Drop it!” There was no way he would be so stupid as to hurt a cop just because he was about to be arrested. Then again, smart criminals didn’t usually get caught this easily.

  Dollar bills hit the ground. Iceman swiped the knife toward the customer, Jessica Ridgeman. She reacted with the reflexes of a police officer trained and, evidently, completely comfortable working undercover. Conroy had never seen someone under his command so cool in the face of a weapon. This newcomer to Last Chance County was going to fit in well.

  She swiped at it with a flat palm, connecting with Iceman’s wrist. The knife dropped.

  “Hands up.” Conroy held his gun aimed at the man. “You’re under arrest.”

  The drug dealer grunted. Then he made the choice so many of them did when faced with poor odds.

  He ran for it.

  Iceman took off across the quad toward the field and the neighborhood behind the high school.

  His officer took a half step back, shook out her hand, and said, “Ow.”

  “You okay, Jess?”

  “I will be if you go arrest that guy, Lieutenant.” She pulled her gun. “I’ll get the car.”

  He took that as a green light and took off after the drug dealer. Iceman’s real name was Simon Petrov and he seemed, by all accounts, a low-level guy. The man on the street dealing hand-to-hand with townspeople hooked on destruction. Not the boss.

  Conroy wanted to sit Petrov down in his interview room and ask him to testify against the person who supplied him with the drugs. Whether that meant just straight testimony, or if it involved Petrov being put back on the street to get Conroy evidence on the one who got him the supply—a supply he then divided up and sold off for a cut. Conroy didn’t mind either way if it got him the boss in cuffs.

  Petrov made it all the way to the far end of the field. He went right through the break in the fence and took the walking path that ran along the back of the neighborhood.

  Conroy pumped his arms and legs, his hiking boots pounding the salted path. Snow had been shoveled off the sidewalk for dog walkers and kids going to school, but he was going to send the landscaper a gift basket if he managed to get all the way to the end without slipping or sliding on the ice.

  Petrov disappeared at the end of the path, turning into the neighborhood. Mostly larger family homes at this end, he didn’t figure anything good would come of Petrov breaking into one. The last thing Conroy needed was to spend the night working a hostage situation. Or a homicide scene. He’d worked exactly one murder in the last six months, and even a ratio that low didn’t sit well with him.

  One of his plans if he became the chief of police was to work on reducing violent crime. This town—affectionately known to all who lived here as Last Chance County—was supposed to be a safe haven, a place people could live their lives peacefully and quietly.

  He’d grown up here, and during those years, as well as his years as a cop, Conroy had seen the best and worst of this place. He never wanted to be anywhere else. And except for the odd vacation in Hawaii during which he complained about the heat nearly constantly, driving his sister, her husband, and their kids crazy, Conroy was going to stay here until the day he died.

  His earpiece crackled. Officer Ridgeman’s voice came through loud and clear. “You copy me, Lieutenant?”

  “Heading down Aspect now, about to cross Herrin Ridge.”

  The center of the neighborhood had a huge roundabout, grassed over in the middle with a kids play area where his niece and nephew loved to spend their time.

  Petrov vaulted over a downed tree trunk and ran across the road to the center of the roundabout. Most of the snow here had melted, except for what was rolled into snowmen that now were nothing more than mounds of dirty, white stuff. Remnants of facial features and buttons—carrots and pieces of charcoal from someone’s barbecue—lay on the frosty grass.

  “He’s on the north side of
Aspect.”

  “Copy that,” Ridgeman said. “I’m almost to Charmer.”

  That street ran along the top end of the neighborhood, a busy main road with strip malls on either side. A grocery store, a library, and the gym he worked out at. Plenty of potential spots for Petrov to come across another innocent bystander and make this situation more complicated than it already was.

  “We need to cut him off at the light.”

  “I’m stuck behind a semi.” And she sounded exceedingly irritated about that.

  Conroy heard her use the sirens and knew she would have lights flashing. Ridgeman was a city girl, accustomed to employing defensive driving tactics just to change lanes. “Hurry it up, officer.”

  “Copy that.”

  She might have only been here two months, ever since her grandfather had gotten sick, but she was solid. Only on the job a few years, when he had been doing this for nearly twelve. Still, Ridgeman was going to be an asset to the team. It was that way with all the people in his department. He could tell who would fit, who would stick it out, and who wouldn’t last.

  Conroy picked up his pace, knowing the end of this foot chase was in sight.

  It had to be.

  The alternative was innocent citizens in danger.

  Petrov had started to slow. Winded, maybe not sure where to run next considering he had a bullheaded police lieutenant right behind him.

  Conroy called out, “Give it up, Petrov. There’s nowhere to go.”

  But he didn’t. Petrov glanced left, and then right. After that second of indecision, he raced toward the grocery store parking lot. What was he going to do, steal a car?

  Conroy passed the chain-link fence that separated the neighborhood from the grocery store parking lot. A vehicle came out of nowhere. The driver slammed on his brakes, which locked and squealed as he started to slide on the icy asphalt toward Conroy.

  He jumped out of the way and hit the ground, rolling as his mind flashed back to that night. The screech of metal and the sound of the impact. Blood, everywhere.

  “You okay, boss?”

  He could hear the sirens now, and not over the comms.

  “Lieutenant?”

  “Yeah.” He picked himself up off the ground and allowed the sound of approaching police sirens to relax him in the way it always did. Help was almost here, even if he was practically the boss now and she was only one of his officers.

  He said, “I’m okay.”

  “I see Petrov. He’s running past the front entrance.”

  “Let’s cut him off.”

  Conroy ran toward the front doors of the grocery store and saw Petrov. A customer came out cart first, loaded with bags. She was a slender woman in skinny jeans and a huge, green coat. Her boots were edged with fluff that matched the collar of her jacket and her hood was up.

  “Stop!” He yelled as loud as he could, both to Petrov and as a warning to the woman. “Police!”

  She shifted immediately. There was a split second of decision-making before she rammed the shopping cart into Petrov’s hip. He cried out and went down to the asphalt in a heap.

  The woman didn’t move. She just held onto the handle of her cart and watched.

  Ridgeman pulled up in the car, lights flashing. She got out and held her weapon on Petrov while Conroy put the cuffs on.

  “That was nice.” He hauled Petrov to his feet and moved the guy toward Ridgeman. Conroy was breathing hard, harder than he would have liked. “Now I don’t have to hit the gym on the way home. I already got my run in for the day.”

  Petrov said nothing.

  “You good to take this one in, Officer?”

  “Sure thing, Lieutenant.” Ridgeman smirked, took hold of Petrov’s arm and led him to the back of her black and white patrol car. She loaded him inside, glanced once back at Conroy with another smirk he didn’t get, and then drove away.

  Conroy turned to the woman. “Thanks for your help.” Never mind that it had been dangerous. It also should never have been necessary for a civilian to get involved in the takedown of a suspect. He was still grateful, and it couldn’t be denied that no one had been hurt.

  “I’d say ‘anytime’ but that would be a lie.” She squeezed the handle of her shopping cart and shoved it forward.

  There was something about her that… “Hold up one second. I’m going to need you to sign some paperwork.”

  It was lame, and he didn’t really need her to do it, but that was what had come out of his mouth. No taking it back now.

  She turned and he saw her face in the yellow glow of the grocery store lights. A nasty gash ran down the side of her face in front of her right ear. “No, I really don’t.”

  His jaw tightened. Mia.

  It had been years since he had seen her last. And with all those images and sensations fresh in his mind, thanks to that car, the past rushed into the present and everything just kind of got blurred. Fear. Anger. Hurt. Why was she here?

  He closed in on her.

  Fury that she would put herself in danger like that almost overwhelmed him. “Then why get involved?”

  “Reflex.” Her eyebrows lifted. “One I will be seriously reconsidering in the future.”

  He stared at the injury on the side of her face. “How did you get hurt?”

  “None of your business.” Mia shoved at her shopping cart again. She headed for her father’s truck parked in the center of the lot under a streetlight. “Good night. Lieutenant.”

  Conroy should have gone over and offered to help with her bags. He also should probably have apologized for getting in her face.

  He did neither of those things, instead opting to head back toward the high school to pick up their equipment.

  As he turned, he spotted a car across the lot. A man sat inside.

  Watching Mia.

  Two

  Mia slammed the front door so hard the windows rattled. She winced, not just at the sound that screamed of potential for more home repairs on her father’s tiny lake cabin, but also at the state of her shoulder, tweaked and still not healed.

  She sighed to the quiet, empty home and then wandered across the threadbare rug to flop on the couch. Another wince.

  She toed off her running shoes. Nothing wrong with her legs. She’d figured going for a morning jog wouldn’t exactly hurt. Except that it did hurt. A lot.

  She leaned her head back. Eyes closed.

  The whole place smelled like her father and his old dog that had passed away. She breathed deep, her body covered in sweat despite the frigid temperatures outside.

  Yeah, she wasn’t doing so hot.

  Infection? No. More like burnout plus injury, plus stress, plus emotional strain. The idea she might need to take another nap was the worst part of it. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Conroy and that look of confusion and surprise on his face.

  Not that she minded the surprise. It was fine to throw a guy like that for a loop when the opportunity arose. She just didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

  Not now. Not ever.

  Especially not now.

  Her phone rang. Mia pushed aside that thought and answered it. “Tathers.” The screen was cold against her good cheek.

  “It’s Hudson.”

  Tate Hudson. Calling back already? “That was fast.”

  “Best private investigator in Last Chance County.”

  “You should put that on your business card.” Hesitation made her pause. “What did you find?” Mia didn’t like her tone. Entirely too hurt, which happened constantly with regards to information about her sister.

  “Train wreck, this kid. Wasn’t hard, since I only had to follow the wake of destruction back to the source.”

  “And?” Her sister was only three years younger, so twenty-four. Hardly a kid, but for a man in his mid-forties, she figured anyone south of thirty was basically a child.

  His turn to pause. “I almost want to give you this one for free, but I got a mortgage I’m paying extra on.”
/>   “Just tell me.”

  Mia half wondered if her sister was dead. A longtime junkie with a rap sheet, no one would have been surprised. But they would have grieved. All that light she’d had as a child, all that potential, gone now from the world.

  Her father chose to bury his head in the sand. Case in point, the fact he was off hunting right now while she was here recuperating. No, she didn’t need him to “take care of her,” but she wouldn’t have minded the company.

  “I found her.”

  “Hudson—”

  “Currently shacked up with a local dealer. A guy with a whole lot of muscle and a stable of ladies of which your sister appears to be the queen bee.”

  Great. A “stable.” She didn’t even want to think about what that meant. “You saw her?”

  “Talked to some acquaintances of mine...a few of his guys. Got the scoop. She’s up there, living the high life.”

  “I’m sure.” Just as Mia was sure it wouldn’t look anything like the high life she might have chosen for her own life.

  Mia squeezed the bridge of her nose. It was tempting to leave her to it, let Meena live her life however she wanted. But there were things left unsaid. “Thanks, Tate. I appreciate it.”

  “That’s it? You’re not planning on making the approach yourself, are you?”

  She said, “You’d rather I pay you to do it?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t go in there without backup. You flash that badge of yours around, let them all know you’re a federal agent, and you’ll wind up full of more holes than you already have.”

  “I regret telling you about that.” A long time ago now. And nothing to do with any of this.

  Tate’s sigh was loud enough she heard it over the phone. “I’m coming over.”

  “No, don’t.” He would end up seeing what a mess she was in. She’d have to take a shower to be presentable since she had just run four miles and now wasn’t even sure she could get up to answer the door. Her legs were still shaking from the exertion of her run.

  She shifted on the couch and planted her stocking feet on the coffee table. If he did come over, he could make her a sandwich. That would be fair.