you.”
“Besides six mercenaries stopping at a diner in the middle of nowhere for a meal?”
“Right. Besides that.”
They found the point where the team entered. There were some curious glances from other customers, but nothing worth noting. They moved forward, watching in slightly accelerated speed while the team sat, ordered, waited for their meal.
A man came in and sat down in a booth near the table the men occupied. Kit watched him, curious about his interested reaction to the guys. He kept looking at them surreptitiously. When the waitress came to take his order, he looked frustrated. He nodded toward the men and asked her something. She shrugged and shook her head. He must have said something that bothered the waitress, for she sent him an aggravated glance.
“Who is that, Mandy? Do you know him?”
“That’s Alan Buchanan, the plumber.”
The men received their food. They were laughing, had the waitress laughing. The plumber received his food. He barely touched it. He seemed to be avoiding looking at the men again, but he had his ears pinned to them. He picked up a French-fry and nibbled it.
“What were you guys talking about?” Kit asked.
“Sports. The surprise weekend celebration Greer’s parents gave him when he came home from Afghanistan. Val’s new boots. Nothing of any interest to anyone around us,” Owen said.
“Look, he’s texting someone.”
“Or maybe he got a text.”
“No, he didn’t read then answer. He took out his phone and started typing.”
Greer rolled away to a different computer. “I’m on it. I’ll check his phone records.”
“Maybe one of his employees was having problems and he sent a message to him,” Mandy offered.
“If a worker’s having a plumbing problem and needs to review it with the boss, he won’t do it in a text message” Kit said. “That requires immediate contact via a phone call. A text could be ignored or not received.”
“Got his records up. He did not send or receive a text yesterday at all.”
“I want that phone.” Kit looked at Owen. “I’ll send Rocco and Kelan to his house to get it.”
“You think Rocco’s ready?” Owen asked, his pale blue eyes intense as he looked at Kit.
“It’s the best thing for him.”
Amir was already in the coffee shop when Alan arrived. Alan tried to keep all expression from his face, but he knew there’d be no good outcome from this meeting. He had not complied with the man’s last directive.
“Hello, Mr. Buchanan. I have already ordered. Why don’t you get what you would like and join me?” Amir asked in his deceptively gentle voice, his Middle Eastern accent making his words soft and lyrical.
Alan’s only response was a brief nod as he accepted the short reprieve placing an order would give him. Minutes later, latte in hand, he sat at Amir’s table. The man smiled at him, and it felt like a knife’s unsheathing.
“You failed in your last task.”
“I did not fail. The construction manager wound up in the hospital.”
“He should have wound up in the morgue, no? It doesn’t matter,” Amir waved a hand dismissively. “I have another task. When it is complete, I will return your papers to you and release you from our agreement.” He used his foot to push a bag over next to Alan.
Alan leaned over and looked inside. There were three large boxes wrapped in pretty bows.
“You will place these boxes, one each, in the pole barn, the stable, and the arena, next to the northwest corner of each. Understood?”
Alan nodded. “And when it is done, I will be released?”
Amir smiled. “Of course. You will call me from the phone in the bag. When it is done, I will overnight your papers to you.” Amir studied Alan until he began to squirm. “You will not fail me in this task. There will be no second chances.”
“They have men patrolling the site now. They’ll see me. I may not be able to do it tonight.” And his stepdaughter had returned from college. He’d have to work around her as well.
“We all have our challenges, Mr. Buchanan. I want it done in the morning, anyway-once the crew is onsite. They know you. No one will be suspicious to see you there. I am confident you will find a way to be successful. It is, after all, your future at stake.”
Alan dropped his gaze to his cup. Tomorrow or the next day, this would all be over. He would be a free man. He’d go somewhere they could never find him. Mexico, maybe. He’d never be their puppet again. He raised his coffee cup to Amir.
“Here’s to my freedom.”
Amir nodded and lifted his cup. “To your freedom, of course.”
Rocco was the last to come in for supper that night. After a long afternoon working the fence line in the upper pastures, he’d needed a quick shower. By the time he had dressed and rejoined the group, they had all settled at the table, leaving only one empty seat between Mandy and Kit.
The smell of grilled meat hit him hard. The windows were open, drawing smoke from the grill back into the house. He took his seat, sending a look around the table. Maybe having so many men around Mandy made him feel off-kilter. She gave him a tentative smile as she poured him some tea. The ice cracked and clinked as the liquid filled his glass.
Kit brought in a tray of hamburgers and hotdogs. Another blast of grill smoke followed him inside. Rocco felt queasy. A clammy chill spread across his skin from the draft of the ceiling fan. He drew a deep, slow breath, trying to calm himself. The silence was coming-he could feel it stalking him. He didn’t want it. He wanted to hear, to participate, to be a human among humans, not a ghost stuck between two worlds.
Mandy passed the platter of meat toward him. The hotdogs were blackened and blistered in places. He shook his head, staring at the platter. It’s only hotdogs, he told himself. Grilled fucking hotdogs. He was breathing too fast. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop. He was trying to get some air that didn’t smell like singed flesh. And dust. He shut his eyes and saw the stuff of nightmares.
“Rocco? You okay?” The voice of an angel.
Mandy.
He opened his eyes. Her hand was on his arm. His fingers held the edge of the table in a claw-like grip. He yanked free of her hold, looking for the pieces of burned flesh on him. Nothing was there. He couldn’t see it yet, but he could feel it. She’d said he could trust her eyes, but obviously she couldn’t see the flesh when it was just forming, and by the time it covered his arms, it was too late. It would cover anyone who was touching him, like flames spreading from body to body.
Overhead the fan moved in a slow, nauseating circle, its blades cutting loudly through the air.
Wh-oo-oosh. Wh-oo-oosh. Wh-oo-oosh.
“Rocco, it’s all good. You’re cool. It’s all cool,” Kit told him, a hand resting heavily on his shoulder, another on his arm, as if to anchor him. Rocco looked down again, seeing the drying blood and burned flakes of flesh that covered his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He swiped it off, but for every bit he removed, more settled on him.
“No! No!” He didn’t know if he spoke aloud, or even which language he used. Bile rose in his throat as his nose filled with the stench of rotting bodies. The black flesh was alive, it moved down his arms and onto Kit.
Rocco ripped his arm away from Kit’s hold and jumped to his feet, his chair flying back across the wood floor.
