Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) Anthony Strong (popular romance novels .TXT) 📖

even though she was desperate to escape, wanted so much to flee for her life, Tiffany remained frozen, unable to tear her eyes away, as death barreled down toward her.

Chapter Thirty

Decker was dreaming about Nancy when a distant crack roused him from sleep. It was gunfire. As a former homicide cop, he would recognize that sound anywhere. He lay there listening and soon heard two more sharp reports.

He rose and went to the window, pulling the curtain back and staring out into the night. Decker wondered who would discharge a weapon in the middle of the desert in the early hours of the morning.

Was someone in trouble?

If they were, he was powerless to help. The shots did not sound close. They could have come from anywhere, reverberating through the canyons and off whatever structures lay hereabouts. It would be impossible to pinpoint from which direction the gunshots had originated, especially since the sound could travel a mile or more. He stayed at the window for a while, listening, but heard no more gunfire.

He gazed out across the landscape, searching for any signs of movement, but saw nothing.

The cluster of tumbledown buildings that made up the ghost town of Haley stood out as stark black outlines against the surrounding landscape. There were no streetlights here, and when his gaze drifted upward, he marveled at the Milky Way arching overhead like some celestial river cutting through the deep emptiness of the cosmos. In that moment, he felt small. Insignificant. While somewhere out there, in the vast expanse of the Mojave Desert, another person, themselves minuscule in the grand scheme of the universe, had squeezed off three shots. Perhaps they were attempting to ward off some imminent danger, like a coyote or mountain lion, or maybe they were shooting at nothing in particular, just for the hell of it. Either way, they had stopped now.

Decker let the curtain fall back into place and returned to his bed. He slid under the covers and closed his eyes. Minutes later, he drifted away and rejoined Nancy in the dream that had been so abruptly interrupted.

Chapter Thirty-One

Harlan Biggs slept through the night for the first time in weeks. He awoke refreshed and more optimistic than he had in a long time. He jumped up and went to the laptop in his office. When he checked his mail, there was a message from Sergeant Lawson. Attached to it was the LVMPD report filed by the two officers who had responded to the incident at the Ghost Canyon Mine. He read it with interest, then read it a second time, just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. Then he noticed the second attachment. An MPEG movie named BodyCam1. He clicked and waited for the file to load, his excitement mounting.

When it played, he maximized the window and leaned close to the screen. The footage was grainy and dark, clearly shot inside the mine. There was no sound. The picture jumped around all over the place. It was mostly just undefined shades of darkness, with an occasional flashlight beam highlighting rocky walls gouged by chisel marks. Once in a while it picked up another person as they stepped into the camera’s path, but beyond this there was nothing of interest.

Harlan yawned. This was not as interesting as he’d first imagined. He wondered why Lawson had bothered to send it. He fumbled for the mouse, intending to shut the video off, but then he froze, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. Now he knew why the sergeant had sent this to him. He clicked on the progress bar at the bottom and dragged it back a couple of minutes to watch the segment again, then did it a third time. His heart was beating fast against his rib cage. This video was better than any report. It was proof positive that his great-great-grandfather’s journal was anything but the alcoholic rantings of a crazy old man.

Shaking, Harlan closed the video and made a copy which he stashed on his cloud account, just to be safe. Then he hurried to the bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans and a denim shirt. He went to the closet and found a pair of hiking boots. Ignoring his Rolex watch, which he would never normally leave behind, Harlan raced from the penthouse and jumped in the elevator.

When he reached the lobby, he went in search of Wagner Mitchell. He found the GM in the casino overseeing the installation of the craps tables.

“You bring your truck today?” Harlan asked, rushing toward him.

“Sure.” Wagner nodded. “Why?”

“I need to borrow it.” Harlan held his hand out. “Give me the keys.”

“What?” Wagner looked confused. “Why don’t you take the Porsche?”

“Because I’m going out into the desert,” Harlan said. “If I end up on a dirt road, it might bottom out. Besides, I don’t want to get dust all over it.”

“You don’t mind getting my new truck dirty?”

“For Pete’s sake, it’s a truck. I’ll give you twenty bucks to take it through the car wash if you’re that worried. Hurry up. Keys,” Harlan snapped his fingers, then he had a better idea. “You know what, on second thought, why don’t you come with me. You can drive.”

“Where?”

“An old ghost town called Haley.” Harlan took off toward the parking garage.

“Haley?” Wagner hurried to catch up with him. “Isn’t that where those folks got killed the other day while they were tromping around some abandoned mine? I saw it on the news.”

“Yeah.” Harlan was passing the buffet restaurant now. He glanced within, at the tables and chairs stacked against one wall, and the tarps laid out on the floor so that they could repaint the walls and ceiling. Once he was past the restaurant, he turned left and saw the exit leading to the parking garage directly ahead.

“Why do you want to go out there?” Wagner asked as they entered the garage and approached a red Ford F150 truck with gleaming chrome rims.

“Because it might