The call ended.

  “It would be nice if our department could afford to use Veritas’s services on a regular basis,” he said. “Not that I’m dissing our criminalists, but the Veritas team members take things up a notch and work faster.”

  “I am very fortunate to have a connection,” Malone said sincerely. “They often help my clients for no charge, and I know they do a lot of other pro bono work too.”

  “Reed’s lucky to be married to someone who works there. Wish I could marry into a connection.” He chuckled.

  Their gazes met, and her expression changed from interest in the boxes to interest in him. He hoped she wasn’t thinking he was serious. He wouldn’t entertain the idea of marriage even as a joke. Getting married was the last thing on his life’s to-do list.

  He jerked his gaze free and went back to searching his box. They silently worked their way through stacks of boxed memories while the air sizzled with tension. Finally, he happened upon what looked like office records. He dug through the files to find records compiled by the executor for the Rices’ will. A white binder held the accident report and a photocopy of a bill of sale for the Mustang.

  He held up the accident report and she stepped closer to view it.

  “Says here that the roads were wet,” Ian said. “Your dad lost control on a curve, and the car plunged over an embankment then hit several trees—just like Reed said.”

  “Yeah, it’s what we were told, but seeing it in print…” Malone choked up and shuddered.

  Oh, man. Ian wanted to comfort her. Badly. She’d suffered so much, in many ways like the families he helped on a daily basis. Better to think of her like one of his victim’s family members and move on.

  He took out the bill of sale for the Mustang and handed it to her. “The car was totaled, but the executor sold it instead of taking the insurance money.”

  “To a Freddie Peck.” She looked up at Ian. “And the receipt has the VIN number. Can we look it up right now?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I can access the information on my laptop.”

  He escorted her into the house. Malone sat on the velvet couch, dropped the bill of sale on the table in front of her, and clutched her fingers in her lap. She nibbled on her lower lip, and he had to look away before he imagined kissing that very lip.

  He grabbed his laptop, dropped onto the far end of the couch, and picked up the bill of sale. He logged into the department’s restricted system and entered the VIN number. Individuals could look up VIN numbers online, but no matter the money paid for such a service, the report would never reveal the owner’s name and address.

  He clicked enter and sat back while the icon churned on the screen. When it opened to reveal the record for the Mustang, he caught Freddie Peck’s name.

  He read down the record.

  “Looks like we’ve got good news and bad news,” he said to Malone. “Which do you want first?”

  “Bad news.”

  “The records show the vehicle still belongs to Peck,” Ian said. “He was issued a salvage title at purchase. Means the vehicle wasn’t roadworthy at the time. A regular Oregon title has never been issued beyond the one your parents held, so he must not have rebuilt it.”

  “What did he do with it then?”

  “My guess, and it’s just that, a guess.” Ian kept hold of her gaze. “He scrapped it and never did the paperwork.”

  “Like we thought.” She ran a hand through her thick hair. “You said there was good news.”

  Ian nodded. “He still lives at the same address in Gaston, and we can ask him in person what he did with the car.”

  Ian opened Malone’s front door two hours later, Clay spun, his hand on his sidearm.

  “Stand down,” Ian said. “We’re just coming out to go to Gaston.”

  “Roger that.” Clay informed his brothers over their comms unit that Ian and Malone were exiting the house.

  Ian took a long look around before he led Malone down the walkway. He didn’t care if the super protection team was on her detail. He felt personally responsible for her, just like he had back in high school, and he would do his due diligence. Besides, all good law enforcement officers would do the same thing. Trust was something that went out the window not long after joining a law enforcement agency, and every moment of a workday was devoted to finding the truth and staying alive while doing it.

  Brendan waited in front of the garage, his hair blowing in the crisp late afternoon wind, his eyes alert. Aiden had taken a stance at the vehicle by the open back door. If possible, his intensity beat Brendan’s.

  Ian nodded at both men as he waited for Malone to slide into the back seat. He climbed in after her and quickly closed the door. Ian didn’t like leaving his vehicle behind, but it was easier to ride with the Byrds for the nearly hour drive to Peck’s place in the small country town of Gaston.

  Aiden set off, and Malone’s leg kept touching Ian’s as she seemed more willing to sit closer to him than Clay. He should probably take it as a compliment, but her touch was bringing to mind all kinds of things not related to their upcoming visit.

  Visit. Right. Focus on that. They hadn’t called ahead to see if Peck was home. Ian didn’t want the man to know they were coming. The element of surprise more often than not brought out the truth. When people didn’t have time to concoct a story, any attempt at lying was easily spotted. Not that Ian expected Peck to cover anything up.

  A quick search by Nick confirmed there was no connection between Peck and the Rice family except for the car purchase. Peck had been a mechanic at the time and had been on social security disability since about that time and hadn’t worked at all.

  Aiden pulled out onto the highway, and Ian relaxed a notch. With the armored vehicle, he didn’t have to be worried, but he wouldn’t let his guard totally when he was with Malone until the killer was behind bars.

  He grabbed his phone to catch up on emails and texts. First email was from Londyn. “Londyn located Junior’s doctor. She’ll interview him and request the records.”

  He got a murmur of good job from Aiden, but Malone didn’t speak. She started chewing on that lip again. Ian wanted to ask what had her spooked, but he didn’t want to open that topic with the Byrd brothers in the vehicle.

  Ian put his phone away when they approached Peck’s three-acre plot predominantly covered with stately pines and maple trees. A winding dirt driveway led them toward a large clearing that held a small house needing a new roof and a fresh coat of paint. Peck had the drive posted with no-trespassing signs, which could spell trouble, though it was just as likely that the guy simply didn’t like company.

  Aiden parked in front of the small house, where a long wheelchair ramp ran to the door. A white metal garage with two tall doors stood further back in the lot.

  Aiden looked over the seat at them. “We’ll go ahead and make sure things are safe.”

  Ian might want Malone to hang back, but he wouldn’t take the chance that the sheer presence of the brothers might scare Peck off.

  “That’s a negative,” Ian said. “You all stay with Malone. I’m talking to the guy first.”

  Ian didn’t wait for agreement but got out and marched through thick piles of colorful maple leaves that crunched under his feet. At the door, he knocked on the worn wood that had once been painted white.

  Seated in a motorized scooter, a man with a long silvery beard and equally long hair opened the door and glared up at Ian. “Didn’t you see the signs? This is private property, and I don’t appreciate trespassers.”

  Ian held out his credentials and introduced himself.

  “And you need an entire posse to talk to me?” He ran a hand down his beard and looked at Aiden and Brendan, who hadn’t listened to Ian and had come to stand at the end of the ramp. “I ain’t got no beef with the law. I’ll answer your questions.”

  “You alone here?” Ian asked.

  “Wife’s gone into town for groceries, so yeah.”

  “Mind if I look inside and confirm that?”

  Peck narrowed his eyes. “Mind, yeah, but if it’ll get you to leave sooner, I’ll let you.”

  He rolled back, the cart’s motor humming and the wheels squeaking. Ian entered the large room that served as kitchen, dining, and living area and smelled of cooked cabbage. There were two open doors on the back wall. The furniture was worn mauve and blue fabrics popular in the early nineties. Ian crossed the room to the doors and peeked inside to find a small bathroom and bedroom with a patchwork quilt on the bed.

  Peck was telling the truth. He was alone. At least inside the house.

  Ian poked his head back outside and looked at the brothers. “He’s alone. Malone can come in.”

  “Malone?” Peck asked. “Who’s that?”

  “Someone who wants to talk to you.”

  “Don’t know a Malone,” Peck grumbled. “Don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman.”

  Aiden escorted Malone through the door and signaled to Ian that they would be watching the exterior.

  Peck ran his gaze over Malone. “Woman, I see.”

  Malone gave him a quizzical look.

  “Didn’t know if a name like Malone belonged to a man or woman,” Peck said.

  “It can be either, and people get confused all the time.” Malone smiled at the older man. “Thank you for talking to us, Mr. Peck.”

  He squinted up at her. “Am I supposed to know you?”

  She shook her head. “In the mid-nineties you bought a vintage Mustang that belonged to my parents.”

  “Yeah, right. I bought a Mustang. So?”

  “So records say you still have it,” Ian said.

  “I do.” Peck fired Ian a testy look. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  Malone’s eyebrow arched. “But you never applied for a regular registration.”

  “That’s because it’s sitting in my workshop in the same condition as the day I bought it.” He grimaced. “Planned to restore it, but not a month after I bought it, a motorcycle crash left me paralyzed. Try fixing up a car without the use of your legs. Doesn’t work so well.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Malone said.

  “You got nothing to be sorry for,” he muttered.

  “How did you hear about the car?” Ian asked, thinking it was best for them to move on.

  “It was towed to the shop where I was a mechanic.” He looked at Malone again, his bushy eyebrows knitted together. “So it was your parents who died in the crash?”

  She nodded.

  He took a deep breath. “I’m real sorry about that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you look the vehicle over before you bought it?” Ian asked.

  “I saw enough to know that if I couldn’t get it roadworthy I could recoup my money in parts.” His gaze turned skeptical. “Sounds like you’re looking for something in particular.”

  “We’ve recently learned that the car accident might not have been an accident,” Malone said. “We hoped you still had the car so we could have a look and determine if it was tampered with.”

  Those heavy silver brows dipped then rose. “You mean like someone sabotaged it to cause an accident?”

  “It’s possible,” Malone said, her focus riveted to the old man.

  Peck shook his head. “Man, that’s cold.”

  “Can you tell by looking at a car if it’s been tampered with?” Ian asked.

  Peck shook his head. “Not me, but I can walk you through checking a few things.”

  “Could we do it now?” Malone asked, sounding hopeful. “I would really like to know what happened to them.”

  “Follow me.” Peck motored to the door. “And bring your monkeys along too. Might need their help.”

  He whirred outside and down the ramp, then mowed down leaves and tall grass heading toward the garage. Ian motioned for Aiden, Brendan, and Clay to follow, and they all tromped through the brittle leaves and thick scrub to arrive at the building.

  “One of you bruisers lift the door,” Peck said. “Hasn’t been opened in some time. Could be a challenge.”

  Brendan grabbed the handle and tugged. Took a few attempts and two hands, but he finally got the corroded door to grind up and along the tracks, the squeal putting Ian on edge. The candy-apple red Mustang sat just inside, facing forward. The front end was smashed into the passenger compartment, the passenger side wheel bent at an odd angle.

  Malone gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth.

  “I shoulda warned you it was bad to look at,” Peck said. “These old cars aren’t designed for impact like today’s models are.”

  “I knew it was totaled, but I didn’t imagine it was this bad.” She shook her head. “Looks like they had to pry the doors open.”

  Peck gave a solemn nod. “Honestly, looking at it now, I don’t know why I was thinking I could restore it. Young and naïve, I guess.”

  “So how do we see if the car was tampered with?” Ian asked.

  “There are two simple but very effective ways to mess with a car and cause an accident,” Peck said. “First is to cut the brake line. Second, to loosen the tie rods.” Peck wheeled closer to the car. “I would think the police would’ve checked the brakes, but probably not the tie rod.”

  “Can you explain what that is?” Malone asked, moving next to him.

  “Metal bars that connect the tires to the body of the vehicle. We’ll need to jack up the frame to get a good look.” He pointed at the workbench. “There’re a few jacks over there. Grab ’em, and I’ll tell you where to put ’em.”

  Ian was closest to the bench, so he picked up two rusty looking bottle jacks and started to hand one to Peck.

  Peck held up his hands. “Not me. One of you guys will have to do it. Start with the front tire.”

  Ian dropped to the dirt floor by the car.

  “Jack up under the body of the car to let the suspension hang down,” Peck said.

  Ian placed the jack and glanced back at Peck. “Here good?”

  Peck nodded.

  Ian cranked the jack until the tire hung free.

  “Now grab the tire at three and nine o’clock position.” Peck leaned forward. “Push and pull on it. You shouldn’t feel any movement.”

  He took hold of the tire as directed and shook it. The wheel rattled and wobbled.

  “You definitely have a malfunctioning tie rod,” Peck said. “We call that a death wobble.”

  Malone took a sharp breath. “What happens exactly?”

  “Worst case scenario?” He rubbed a hand over his whiskered jaw. “If a tie rod completely fails, the wheel will break free of the steering assembly. That causes the driver to lose the ability to steer the vehicle.”

  “And someone could crash,” Ian added.

  “Would most likely crash.” Peck sat upright. “I need you to look at the nuts holding all of the tie-rods. It’s like a long metal arm going from the body to the tire. Don’t have a cell phone but know you can make a video call to one of these other guys or Malone as you look. They can show me what you see, and I can tell you if you’re in the right place.”

  “I have Malone’s number.” Ian got out his phone and placed the call, then crawled under the car and aimed the camera at what he thought he should be looking at.

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s it.” Peck sounded excited. “You’re looking at the ball joint. Check that nut. It looks like it’s about to fall off.”

  Ian snapped on a latex glove, thankful he always carried them in his jacket pocket, and grasped the nut. It came off in his hands.

  “Just like I thought,” Peck said. “Been loosened. That could happen on its own. Not likely that loose, but it could. We find more than one of them like that, and you have a legitimate case of tampering.”

  Feeling sick to his stomach, Ian moved to the other side of the car, where the wheel was already dangling. How had Malone’s dad felt when he couldn’t steer the car, his wife depending on him? It was the stuff of Ian’s nightmares. Someone counting on him and him not being there for them.

  “No need for you to look at this one,” he said.

  “Show it to me,” Malone called out.

  Ian was glad she was holding the phone for Peck so she didn’t see this in person. It was going to be bad enough on video. He aimed the camera at the spot where the nut should have been located, but the ball joint was no longer connected to the tire. “The tie rod doesn’t appear to be damaged, but the nut is missing.”

  “How could the deputies have missed this?” Malone cried. “It’s so obvious.”

  “We’re looking for tampering,” Ian said. “They probably weren’t.”

  “And crash investigations in rural counties weren’t as thorough back in the day,” Peck added. “They must’ve thought the crash caused the tire issue.”

  Ian took a few pictures of the ball joint, crawled out from beneath the car, and came around the vehicle to look at Peck. “In your opinion, then, this definitely wasn’t an accident.”

  Peck shook his head hard, his hair flying in the breeze. “Not an accident at all. Someone wanted this car to crash.”

  Ian looked at Malone. “And now the question is, who murdered your parents?”

  The silence in the Nighthawk SUV was nearly deafening, and Malone couldn’t think with the tension pressing in on her. Why wasn’t anyone talking? Throwing out questions or scenarios? She couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “Why is everyone so quiet?” she asked.

  “Guess we’re waiting on a cue from you.” Ian faced her. “You just learned your parents were most likely murdered. That’s got to be hard to hear.”

  She swiveled to face him. “It is, but you know me. I’m a doer. And I want to do something about it. Find the person responsible.”

  He frowned.

  She didn’t like that response. Not at all. Her gut cramped. “What’s wrong?”

  He lifted a hand as if he was going to take hers then let it drop. “I want you to have realistic expectations for what we just found.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll get forensics to process the car. We might get a break and find evidence, but can we use any of it to convict the killer? The car hasn’t been under control of law enforcement, and a defense attorney could easily say the tie rod nuts were loosened after Peck bought the car. The evidence we located today might not help.”