Sassy Blonde - Stacey Kennedy Page 0,40

out his legs, keeping Maisie’s hand on his thigh. “Hilarious. Care to tell me how you know I’m at a police station?”

At that, Maisie’s gaze jerked to him. The remainder of the color left her face, leaving her ghostly white. He made a mental note to find some juice and maybe a chocolate bar after the call, to get her sugar up. He didn’t want her passing out or throwing up.

“Your dad called,” Beckett replied. “He put me on standby to come and get you guys, since he’s stuck at the station, figured you might need a ride.”

Hayes called his father on the way to the police station after the cops showed up at the amusement park. He explained the situation, desperate to get more eyes out there looking for his truck and the Three Chicks Brewery trailer. He appreciated his father’s kind sentiment. “Thanks for being on standby. We’re hanging tight for now. I’ll let you know if we need that ride.”

Beckett said, “Sounds good. It’s un-fucking-real that someone would take the truck at a beer festival. Pretty ballsy. The place had to be packed.”

Hayes shifted in his seat, his chest tightening as the guilt of their reality washed over him. “We were at an amusement park on the way to Boulder this morning. It happened there.”

A pause. Then Beckett chuckled. “Well, I’m glad to hear that Maisie is rubbing off on you. I don’t think I’ve seen you do anything spontaneous or fun in a long time.” Another hesitation, then Hayes chuckled lightly, acknowledging the truth in the statement, as Beckett added, “But, man, I’m sorry this happened. Shitty deal.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Hayes agreed.

Two male officers, with fresh steaming coffee cups walked by, the keys on their belts jingling, when Beckett asked, “How’s Maisie holding up?”

Hayes slid his gaze to her. Her knee bounced a mile a minute, the nail on her thumb bit down to nothing.

“Hanging in there.” He scrubbed at his face, rubbing his tired eyes. “I’m hoping this gets wrapped up soon. My dad made some calls to a few sheriffs. They’ve got units looking for my truck, and the detective working the case seems on top of it.”

“That’s good. What time do you have to get to Boulder for the festival?”

“Five, at the latest.” Hayes looked at the clock on the wall. They still had three hours to find the truck and the trailer. When Maisie’s knee began bouncing faster, he squeezed her hand tight, continuing to brush his thumb across her soft skin. “We’ve got time,” he said to reassure her.

Beckett’s heavy voice showed his doubts. “What chance do you really think you’ll make it to the festival?” When Hayes didn’t answer, Beckett snorted. “That bad, eh?”

“Yeah.” At this point, there was a fifty-fifty chance they’d find his truck in time, but Hayes knew the mind of a criminal. They wanted the beer. They’d likely stolen the truck and trailer simply for that. Clara and Amelia could always drive more beer up for the festival, if they found the trailer with the jockey box, but Hayes wasn’t sure they’d have the time to pull that off. And of course, there was the other fifty percent chance that they wouldn’t find the truck at all.

Beckett asked, “They’ve got no leads whatsoever?”

“None that the detective working the case knows about, but from what I hear, this isn’t the first time a car has gone missing from the amusement park over the last few weeks.”

“Pricks,” Beckett muttered.

Hayes nearly responded when he noticed a man coming down the hallway. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ll reach out if we need that ride.”

“Good luck.”

The call ended, and Hayes nudged Maisie’s arm. “I suspect we’ve got news.”

She glanced to her left and stiffened enough that Hayes held her hand tighter.

Detective Stewart, an older gentleman who was likely not far off from retirement strode toward them. He was a fit guy, obviously lifted weights to keep in shape. His bushy salt-and-pepper beard matched the stylish cut of hair on his head. When they’d first been introduced, he’d worn a three-piece suit. Now his white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. The firm set of his mouth wasn’t a good sign.

“We’ve found your truck and trailer,” the detective said, stopping next to Maisie.

She rose on shaky legs. Hayes followed suit, sliding an arm around her back, bringing her close, as she asked, “Where?”

Detective Stewart said, “In a rural area, about five miles from here.”

“Thank God,” Maisie breathed. “Can we go