“What did he say tonight?”
“That it wasn’t finished. There’d be more coming. I guess I’m worried there will be, and that’s probably all there is to it.”
“Why are you worried?”
“Well, Jesus, Gull, who isn’t?”
“No, be specific.”
“Be specific at half past whatever in the morning after twisting myself up into a panic attack?”
The irritation in her tone settled him down. “Yeah.”
“I don’t
“But you’re having a hard time buying he’d set fire to his own daughter’s body. So am I.”
“Yeah, but that’s what makes the most sense. He finds out Dolly’s not only lying but screwing the preacher. They fight about it, he kills her—in a rage, by accident, however. Then panics, does the rest. It broke something in him.”
Tears running down his face, she remembered.
“He shoots at us, kills Latterly. Case closed.”
“Except you don’t quite believe it. Hence—”
“Hence,” she repeated, and snickered.
“That’s right. Hence you have nightmares where Jim—who’s connected to you and to Dolly—verbalizes what you’re already thinking, at least on a subconscious level.”
“Thanks, Dr. Freud.”
“And your fifty minutes are up. You should catch the couple hours’ sleep we’ve got left.”
“We’re still on the floor. The floor was most excellent, but for sleep, the bed’s better.”
“The bed it is.” He rose, grabbed her hand to pull her up. Then, to make her laugh, swept her up in his arms.
Laugh she did. “I may have shed a few this season, but I’m still no lightweight.”
“You’re right.” He dropped her onto the bed. “Next time, you carry me.” He stretched out beside her. “One thing, it looks like your nightmare blew any potential tequila hangover out of me.”
“Always the bright side.”
He snuggled her in, gently stroking her back until he felt her drop off.
After the morning briefing, she got in her run, some weight training and power yoga with Gull for company. She had to admit, having someone who could keep up with her, and more, made the daily routine more fun.
They hit the dining hall together where Dobie slumped over a plate of toast and what Rowan recognized as a glass of Marg’s famed hangover cure.
“Mmm, look at these big, fat sausages.” Rowan clattered the top back on the warmer. “Nothing like pig grease in the morning.”
“I’ll hurt you when I can move without my head blowing up.”
“Hangover?” she asked sweetly. “Gosh, I feel
“Hurt you, and all your kin. Your pets, too.”
She only grinned as she sat down with a full plate. “Not much appetite this morning?”
“I woke up on the floor with Stovic. I may never eat again.”
“How’s Stovic?” Gull asked.
“Last I saw him, his eyes were full of blood, and he was crawling toward his quarters. If I ever pick up a glass of tequila again, shoot me. It’d be a mercy.”
“Drink that,” Rowan advised. “It won’t make you jump up and belt out ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,’ but it’ll take the edge off.”
“It’s brown. And I think something’s moving in there.”
“Trust me.”
When he picked up the Tabasco Lynn kept on the table for him, Rowan started to tell him he wouldn’t need it—then smiled to herself as she cut into a sausage.
Dobie doused the concoction liberally, gave a brisk, bracing nod. “Down the hatch,” he announced. Closing his eyes, he drank it down fast.
And his eyes popped open as his face went from hangover gray to lobster red. “Holy shitfire!”
“Burns like a helitorch.” Struggling with laughter, Rowan ate more sausage. “It may scorch some brain cells while it’s at it, but it fires through the bloodstream. You’ve been purified, my child.”
“He’s not going to speak in tongues, is he?” Gull asked.
“Holy shitfire.
Fascinated, Gull watched sweat pop out on Dobie’s red face. “Flushing out the toxins, I guess. What the hell’s in there?”
“She won’t tell. She makes you start with the M-and-M Breakfast—Motrin and Move-Free—with a full glass of water, then drink that, eat toast, drink more water.”
“Said I had to do my run, too.”
“Yeah.” Rowan nodded at Dobie. “And by lunchtime, you’ll feel mostly human and be able to eat. Somebody ought to drag Stovic down here—and Yangtree. Hey, Cards,” she said when he walked in. “How about hauling Stovic’s and Yangtree’s pitiful asses down here so we can pour some of Marg’s hangover antidote into them?”
He said nothing until he’d taken the chair beside hers, angled it toward her. “L.B. just got word from the cops. The rangers found a gun, half buried a few yards from where they found the preacher’s car. They ran it. It’s one of Brakeman’s.”
“Well.” Deliberately she spread huckleberry jelly on a breakfast biscuit. “I guess that answers that.”
“They went to pick him up this morning. He’s gone, his truck’s gone.”
Jelly dripped off her knife as she stared at him. “You don’t mean as in gone to work.”
“No. It looks like he took camping gear, a shotgun, a rifle, two handguns and a whole hell of a lot of ammo. His wife said she didn’t know where he’d gone, or that he’d packed up in the first place. I don’t know if they believe her or not, but from what L.B. says, nobody seems to have the first goddamn clue where he is.”
“I thought—I heard they were going to take him in after the funeral yesterday.”
“For questioning, yeah. But he has a lawyer and all that, and until they had the gun, Ro, they didn’t have anything on him for this shit.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Gull exploded. “Didn’t they have him under surveillance?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know dick-all about it, Gull. But L.B. says he wants you to stay on base, Ro, unless we catch a fire. He wants you to stay inside as much as possible until we know what the fuck. And he doesn’t want to hear any carping about it.”
“I’ll work in the loft.”
“They’ll get him, Ro. It won’t take them long.”
“Sure.”
He gave her arm an awkward pat. “I’ll roust Yangtree and Stovic. It’ll be fun watching the smoke come out of their ears when they drink the hangover cure.”
In the silence that followed Cards’s exit, Dobie got up, poured himself coffee. “I’m going to say this ’cause I have a lot of respect for you. And because Gull’s got more than that for you. If I took off into the hills back home, if I had the gear—hell, even without it, but if I had the gear, a good gun, a good knife, I could live up there for months. Nobody’d find me I didn’t want finding me.”
Rowan made herself continue eating. “They’ll find his truck, maybe, but they won’t find him. He’ll lose himself in the Bitterroots, or the Rockies. His wife’ll lose her home. She put it up for his bond, and he just fucking broke that. I didn’t believe he’d done it—or not Dolly. He’s running, and left his wife and granddaughter twisting in the wind. He abandoned them.
