his was awkward even after all these years. Shel was the one who had taken to the language like a native.
Embarrassment flushed Ramon’s face. “My grandfather is going to be upset with me. He told me to watch over you-I mean, the horses.”
“Well then,” Tyrel said, “I guess we ain’t gonna tell your granddaddy. Get up and let’s get you to bed. We got an early morning coming if we’re gonna get everything done.” He reached down and pulled the boy to his feet.
“The mare? How is she?” Ramon glanced at the pen.
“She’s fine. Baby’s fine too. It was an easy birth.”
“Good.” Ramon sounded relieved. Then he focused on Tyrel. “You can deduct tonight from my pay.”
“Ain’t gonna do that,” Tyrel said. “The agreement was that you’d be here if I needed you, not that you’d stay awake the whole time. The way I look at it, you held up your end of things.”
“Thank you.”
“Now let’s get you on to bed.”
›› 0127 Hours
Despite his fatigue and the long day he’d put in, Tyrel couldn’t sleep. That wasn’t unusual. He hadn’t slept all that much when he was a young man, and he’d always been told that old people needed even less sleep.
In front of the television, Tyrel reached for the remote control and switched on ESPN.
For the most part, the ranch operated the way it had when he’d grown up. He still worked the cattle on a horse, and both his sons had learned to ride.
Shel had been the one to bring a motorcycle home one summer, and he’d used it for a while. Until it had broken down on him and left him with a five-mile walk home. Tyrel had taken great satisfaction-maybe a little too great, looking back on it now-pointing out that a horse didn’t break down.
For a time, Shel had nurtured his love for motorcycles anyway. The boy was stubborn, but Tyrel had to admit that Shel hadn’t gotten that from his mama. He’d been cursed with that by his daddy.
The only concession Tyrel had really made to the twenty-first century was the satellite television receiver. He’d done that mostly for Don’s kids, but Tyrel had learned to love the fact that ESPN had sports programming on around the clock.
He checked a few box scores, but none of them really interested him. He hadn’t had a vested interest in a baseball team since Hank Aaron had stepped out of the box and Nolan Ryan had come off the hill.
Those were men in Tyrel’s book. They weren’t necessarily supermen or even men who always did the right thing or always succeeded. They were just quiet men who stepped in and got the job done.
That was the kind of man he’d always wanted to be.
That was the kind of man, he realized, that both his sons had become.
The old sadness filled Tyrel then. It had a bittersweet ache that plumbed the very depths of his soul. He closed his eyes and was back there in Qui Nhon staring at the dead soldier’s eyes.
Tyrel hadn’t meant to kill him.
It had just happened.
24
›› NCIS Offices
›› Camp Lejeune, North Carolina
›› 0258 Hours
“Estrella?”
The voice, quiet and unexpected, startled United States Navy Petty Officer Third Class Estrella Montoya. She turned from her computer and looked at the forensics tech Will had called in to handle the couriered drug sample he’d sent from Charlotte.
“Yes?” Estrella said, then cleared her throat. She hadn’t spoken in hours. The last time she’d had conversation with anyone, it was to tell her son, Nicky, a bedtime story. He was currently staying with Nita, Joe, and Celia for the night since Estrella had to run files.
Actually, she didn’t have to. Will had cleared her for the evening. But Estrella had worked with Will long enough to know that he wasn’t going to stop trying to figure out a way to get Victor Gant away from Shel.
After she’d heard the story of how the motorcycle gang leader had walked out of FBI custody and accosted Will in the hospital parking lot, Estrella had known she wasn’t going to rest until she found Will the leverage he was looking for.
She thought she had that now. If forensics had come up with the physical tie they needed to the unsolved case she’d found, they were golden.
The forensics guy was a human scarecrow. Philip Carmichael was tall and lean, with a lantern jaw and razor-cut blond hair that sprouted from his head like a weed. His ill-fitting white lab coat hung on him. Despite the soft drinks and candy he habitually ate, nothing seemed to find a home on his too-thin frame.
“I got the spectroscopy results from that sample Will sent.” Philip pushed them in her direction.
Estrella leaned back in her ergonomic chair as she took the pages. Her Latino heritage marked her with bronze hair and an olive complexion. She had brown eyes and a full figure that belied the strength and endurance she had.
A quick scan of the printouts confirmed what she’d hoped for.
“The two samples are a match,” she said.
“Definitely.” Philip leaned back against the desk behind him. He fished an energy drink from the pocket of his lab coat.
“Have you got electronic copies of these printouts?”
“I’ve already e-mailed them to you. I wanted to stretch my legs, so I thought I would bring you the paper copy.”
“I appreciate the extra effort. I know Will does too.”
“Hey,” Philip said, “I love being here. This job is so much cooler than the video store I worked at till I got my science degree. I just appreciate Commander Coburn taking a chance on me.”
“Will’s a good judge of character. You brought your good luck on yourself.”
Philip smiled.
Estrella logged on to her e-mail, brought up the messages Philip had sent her, added the files she’d been working on, and started sending.
If this didn’t give Will the leverage he needed, Estrella didn’t know what would.
›› Denny’s Restaurant
›› 4541 Sunset Road
›› Charlotte, North Carolina
›› 0311 Hours
“Having Gerald willing to testify that he sold that pistol to Victor Gant isn’t going to give us anything,” Tarlton said.
Will nodded. They all knew that, but someone had to say it. They sat at one of the restaurant’s back booths. None of them was operating at prime. Tarlton looked burned, and Will knew he and Remy were operating on even less sleep than the police chief.
“There’s nothing in any of these files we can hope to use against Victor Gant.” Tarlton waved at the copious piles of paper he’d dug out of the police department records. They sat in cardboard boxes in the booth beside him.
“If there’d been anything there,” Will said, “you’d have taken him down before now. We were just hoping to find something that you hadn’t.”
“Last best shot,” Tarlton agreed. “The only thing I could possibly get Gant for is carrying concealed. With his prison record, I could get an arrest warrant for that.”
“But you weren’t there when the FBI took him into custody,” Will said.
“No. I could get some witnesses from the bar who saw them take weapons off Gant, but then I’m sure I could get other witnesses who say that only Fat Mike Wiley had a weapon.”
