Free Touch & Go by Lisa Gardner Page A

Wyatt had his act together enough to produce his weapon. At which point, Sky-High Guy, staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, sobered up record quick and dropped his steak knives.
    By the time backup finally arrived—a mere thirty minutes later—Wyatt had the first druggie secured in the backseat of his car, plus a second who’d tried to bolt from the rear of the property. He’d also taken a witness statement from the owner of the residence, the druggies’ mother, who now swore she never wanted to see either of her sons again as they were good-for-nothing pieces of shit that owed her at least twenty bucks, or a dime bag, whichever they could get their hands on first.
    Definitely, never a dull moment in the wilds of New Hampshire.
    BEING A SHERIFF’S DEPUTY involved more than practicing the art of the quick draw, of course. County officers were empowered to write their own search warrants and even arrest warrants, a logistical necessity as the nearest courthouse could be fifty hard miles away, meaning by the time a detective spent two hours driving there and back, the suspect had either split town or covered his tracks. New deputies were generally enthralled by this unparalleled example of police power. Then, inevitably, the full implications would come crashing down—by virtue of writing up legal documents, they each needed to become mini lawyers. Because, sure, they could write up any old damn thing they wanted, and search the property, or arrest the suspect, at which time a judge would review the warrant and if itwasn’t absolutely, positively to the letter of the law, throw the whole thing out, leaving the county detective with no one to blame but him- or herself.
    Wyatt read law magazines in between woodworking publications.
    The final distinction of the sheriff’s departments was that they had jurisdiction over the entire state. Even the New Hampshire state police had to ask for permission to patrol various town and county roads. Not the sheriffs, though. Wyatt could drive anywhere in the state, policing his heart out while displaying his superior knowledge of legalese. Of course, most of his part of the state was populated by bears and moose who could care less, but a man liked to feel good about these things. His powers were considerable, his grasp of law enviable and his domain vast.
    It helped him fall asleep late at night. Assuming his pager didn’t go off.
    Now Wyatt headed for the county sheriff’s department. Normally, he’d work out of his cruiser, especially in a matter that warranted some urgency. But his cruiser’s GPS could only take him as far as the nearest road. Given the working theory of an abduction scenario, odds were their target would involve more rugged terrain, possibly the deep woods. Hence, he wanted the handheld GPS tracker, two of his fellow detectives and at least a couple of uniformed officers.
    Inside, the three guys and one gal were already suited up and ready to go.
    He briefed them on the situation, a Boston family, missing since 10:00 P.M. last night, signs of foul play discovered in the home, biggest lead currently being the GPS locator in the husband’s jacket, which had approximately thirteen hours of battery life remaining.
    Wyatt entered the GPS coordinates first on his main computer, and they all gathered round the monitor to see. Good detectives appreciated the stalking power of the Internet as much as any serial killer, and with a few clicks of the mouse, Wyatt was able to bring up satelliteimages of their target coordinates. He zoomed in on snapshots of a rural road, then a large dirt parking lot surrounding a much smaller, dilapidated building, bordered heavily by deep woods. The exact coordinates appeared to be a spot just beyond the cleared parking lot in the woods.
    “I’m thinking that’s the old Stanley’s diner,” Wyatt said.
    Gina, one of their new deputies, nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. Drove by it just a couple of days ago. Boarded up