Gone South (A Butterscotch Jones Mystery Book 3) by Melanie Jackson

portable. The man was semiconscious and wearing latex gloves. Dawson holstered his firearm and bent to attend to the fallen figure. His first move was to remove the gun in his holster.
    “No ID but he has lockpicks.”
    “Get a photo of him and send it off . Let’s see if we can get a match.” There was no doubt in his mind that this was a hired thug. But hired by who m ? He’d love to question the intruder, but there were just too many sensitive toes loitering around this case to take him in .
    “Don’t leave any fingerprints,” he added for Reese’s benefit as the idiot was reaching for an open desk drawer .
    Though it was probably pointless, Desoto drew his own weapon and cautiously moved f a rther into the apartment, glancing quickly at the kitchen and then the empty bedroom. The covers were kicked onto the floor , but that indicated haste and not a fight.
    A breeze was blowing through the curtains covering an open window at the end of the living room. Desoto pulled the curtains aside to reveal a fire escape leading down to the parking lot behind the complex. He watched as a man and woman ran across the pavement and climbed into a Range Rover then sped away. There was enough light to see the halo of red caused by the woman’s long hair. Thirty seconds later, another vehicle came to life and started after the couple. The license on the Escalade was obscured by mud.
    “Reese, Dawson, we’re done here,” Desoto barked. “Take the gun but leave the man. We’ll send it back for a ballistics check.”
    “We aren’t going to arrest him?” Reese asked.
    “We are Americans in Canada. We have no authority to arrest anyone . We are also trespassing in a police officer’s private residence .”
    “Oh. Right.”
    The three men stepped back into the hall outside the apartment. Once there, Desoto removed a handkerchief from his pocket , wiped the light switch , and then used it to polish the doorknob.
    “Dawson, I want you to get on the horn and find us a flight to McIntyre’s Gulch,” Desoto ordered as they retreated to the elevator. He used his handkerchief to press the call button . “It’ll have to be something small and private — and probably damned expe nsive — but we need it now. Wake up who m ever you have to.”
    “I already have a name . ” Dawson was pleased with himself . “ There’s only one pilot who flies there regularly.”
    “Is his name Jones or McIntyre?” Desoto asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Which?”
    “Both.”
    “We’re headed for hillbilly hell,” Reese muttered.
    Desoto didn’t disagree, but i t was time to meet the elusive Butterscotch Jones. That is if she lived long enough to make it back to her home.
     

Chapter 8
     
    I was having an inner debate. On the one hand, I clearly needed help, at least until I got to t he Gulch. I had no car, no gun, and no friends to shelter me. But on the other, I didn’t want Chuck catching any bullets meant for me. That he was there and still wanting to aid me made me grateful but also pissed me off, and though it was a waste of time, I wished my father wasn’t so far away so I could go back to the hospital and shoot him myself.
    “So, we are sure that the intruder was after something and not there to kill or rob us?” Chuck said as he pulled out of the parking lot. It was nice of him to say “ us ” when really the killer just wanted me.
    I turned in my seat and looked out the back window. There was another car on the road but it was hanging back and in the dark I couldn’t make out what it was. Probably I was being paranoid, but one of us needed to be.
    “I think so,” I said, settling into my seat. “But I don’t know what they could want. He didn’t tell me anything. Didn’t give me anything. I never even touched the old . …”
    I stopped, remembering how his fingers had brushed my pocket when I had jerked my own hand away. My father had always been a master of sleight of hand, a necessary skill if you cheated at