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1
Kaylyn’s Pit Stop wasn’t what I expected. Hurricane, Utah, and the surrounding area had experienced explosive growth in recent years, providing patrons with new options, and it looked like it had hit Kaylyn’s hard. The ancient gas station still appeared to be in service, despite a new establishment across the street featuring ten pumps in front and another four to the side for trucks and RVs. Kaylyn’s had only two, neither of which were in use, and both were so rusty I wouldn’t even consider filling up here.
A sign hung on the propped-open door indicating Kaylyn’s was accepting business, but it otherwise looked abandoned. The peeling white paint and faded dirty-gray exterior made me wonder if I was in the right spot.
I didn’t see Mike Rikter, nor did I see his SUV. The only vehicle was a Chevy Malibu. It had been over an hour and a half since I’d gotten Rikter’s call while attending an off-road festival outside St. George, and I’d spent much of that time on the road working my way here through road construction.
Looking around a final time, I went inside. A young clerk looked up from his phone, glanced at me, and returned his attention back to his device with a yawn and an annoyed expression. He seemed hopeful I wouldn’t engage him in conversation. Judging from his acne-riddled baby face, the kid was probably just out of high school. His lips became a thin line when we made eye contact. It appeared he might have trouble with face-to-face communications. Rather than approach him, I made my way through the congested aisles, passing expired snacks. A package of Doritos had to be older than a decade from the dated branding. A thick layer of dust on top confirmed my suspicions.
I spotted Rikter at a tiny brown table frowning at a laptop after I came around a display of used paperbacks. His hair was short, he was a decade and a half younger than me, and even sitting down, it was obvious he was a tall man who worked out regularly.
He looked up with a tiny scowl. “What took so long, Hoffman? I thought you were outside St. George.”
He rarely showed emotion, and he certainly wasn’t somebody who enjoyed waiting on another person, not if he had other options.
“You’re lucky I’m down this way at all. I could’ve been four hours north instead.” I frowned, sitting across from him in a chair that rocked because one leg was shorter than the others. I refused to explain I’d been caught in a standstill for twenty minutes and that it had been slow going well before that. “What’s this about?”
Mike had refused to say much over the phone, only that he needed my help because somebody he knew was in trouble.
And he’d said one odd thing, that he was “out of his depth.”
Which worried me. Rikter was one of the most capable men I knew. I didn’t know everything about his background, but I’d confirmed without telling him that he was a former Marine sniper who’d also worked for the CIA before becoming a freelance contractor. I often turned to him when I needed something done that required discretion.
“Or is the more appropriate question, who is this about?” I asked when he didn’t respond.
He hesitated, and it seemed he might not want to tell me anything, but then he glanced in the direction of the clerk while shaking his head and lowering his voice. “Scott Edgar. A man I knew in the Corps.” He gave me a pointed look and spoke even quieter. “Edgar’s dead. Cops are still milling around where he was found, but they’re never going to figure out what happened. They won’t know the right questions to ask. Not when investigating a man like Edgar. While I’m putting together the pieces, I need somebody who understands the cops. Who can tell me if I’m walking too close to a line. I might also need you to talk with them. Hopefully, they don’t suspect me, but if they do, I need you to convince them to look elsewhere. The only reason I’m here at all is that they don’t know enough about Edgar to do a thorough job.”
He’s seriously asking me to convince the cops they can’t handle this? I wondered.
I raised an eyebrow. “Do they have reason to think you did something?”
“I don’t believe so, no. Edgar called me early this morning, said he had a few questions about something that happened several years back.”
An incident?
I couldn’t say for sure, but I was convinced he was talking about his employment with the CIA, and I assumed Rikter and Edgar had both worked there. I waited for more, but Rikter was done.
“Which is?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you.”
Which confirms my assumption.
I leaned back, chuckling to cover my irritation. “Rikter, you dragged me all the way out here while I’m on vacation, and now you’re playing coy? I need to know what I’m dealing with if you’re going to pull me into a mess. What was Edgar currently doing? Can you tell me that? Surely that’s not classified. You make it sound like he was smuggling illegal arms or working with terrorists.”
“You’re not far wrong.”
“Mob? Mafia?”
Rikter shook his head. “I doubt they’re as organized as that but something close to it.”
“Why did he want to meet?”
“Edgar was searching for something and thought I’d know what he needed.”
I repressed a sigh at Rikter’s reluctance to share. “You can’t tell an attorney?” I wasn’t officially representing Rikter, but that was an easy fix if there was information he wanted kept confidential.
Rikter sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Not unless you have clearance.”
“When did you know something was wrong?” I asked, taking a different tack.
He checked his watch. “I approached our rendezvous at 10:55 AM but stopped when I saw all the cops.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“No, I stayed back to observe.”
Something about the way he said “observe” suggested he’d used a drone; perhaps it was only because I knew how he liked to work.
Well, that’s not suspicious. Was he reviewing drone footage when I found him? Is that why he closed his laptop so fast?
I knew Rikter was doing exactly that as soon as the question occurred to me.
“You’re monitoring them now?” I asked.
He gave me a look like that was a dumb question.
“For how long?” I asked.
“Most of the day. They’re just finishing. Should we go examine the place?”
I wanted to know more, but Rikter was at the limit of what he’d say for the moment. While I didn’t see the harm of helping, I couldn’t shake a foreboding feeling.
“How far away is it?”
“Ten miles. Let’s take your Jeep. They probably noticed my rental.” He noticed my curiosity. “My car’s in the shop.”
