tractors and farm equipment. The brown dirt road ran past the cracker house and all the way down to 27, it’s length over a mile long. The tire tracks appeared to stop at the house.
“We need to go down,” I shouted.
Morris landed the chopper in a pasture two hundred yards from the cracker house. The grass was knee-high, and my foot sank in a pile of ancient cow dung as I jumped from the cockpit. Buster strained at his leash, the enticing smells too much to bear.
Long climbed out and headed straight for the ramshackle structure. The strap on his holster was unbuckled, his fingers gripping the handle of his gun. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to shoot himself in the leg.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m going to storm the house and rescue my daughter,” Long said.
“That’s a good way to get Sara hurt.”
“Do you have another plan in mind?”
“We need to find their vehicle, and make sure those tire tracks are theirs,” I said. “For all we know, they might belong to someone else.”
Long backed down. “All right. We’ll do it your way.”
I made Long get behind me, and approached the house. The windows were covered in plywood, and a yellow “No Trespassing” sign was stuck on the front door. I tested the knob, and found it locked.
I circled the house while checking the boards on the windows. They were nailed down tight. The house had not been lived in for years, and I turned my attention to the grounds. There was farm equipment scattered around, including rusted combines and ground busters. The age of the equipment confirmed that the place had been abandoned. Buster continued to strain his leash. A part of me wanted to let him go to see what he could find. But I knew the woods were filled with gators, wild boars, and panthers. If Buster ran across one of these animals, he’d be ripped apart, and my company would lose half of its employees.
“This is a goddamn waste of time,” Long said a few minutes later.
“You can leave if you want to,” I said.
We were standing by the dirt road next to the house. I spent a moment studying the tire tracks I’d seen from the air. They were fresh, and about a half inch deep in the soft earth. The tracks left the road, and I followed them around the house with my eyes peeled to the ground.
Behind the house was a shaded backyard. There was no grass, the ground as hard as a rock. The tracks disappeared, and I got on my knees, and placed my cheek next to the ground. My grandfather had taught me how to track, and my eyes picked up the faint disruption in the earth. It was the outline of a car’s tires going straight into the forest. I stood up and dusted myself off.
“What did you find?”Long asked.
I brought my fingers to my lips and shushed him. Long grew infuriated.
“Are they in there?” he asked.
I pulled out my cell phone. Long was my client, and I had an obligation to tell him what I knew. But my greater obligation was to making sure no harm came to Sara. I needed backup, and I called Burrell’s number.
“Who are you calling?” Long asked.
“The police.”
“But they might get away! We have to save Sara!”
Long had watched too many TV cop shows. In those shows, the heroes saved the day during the last few minutes of the program, and shot the bad guys while rescuing the victim. In real life, the police showed up and displayed a massive show of force that convinced the bad guys to throw down their weapons and give up. That was the script I was going to follow.
Long drew his gun from its holster. It was a Glock 19, and it looked like it had come right out of the box.
“Put that away before you hurt yourself,” I said.
“Like hell I will.”
Long ran into the forest brandishing his gun. He was going to get us killed if I didn’t do something. Dropping my phone into my pocket, I started to run after him. I had not taken five steps when I heard a gunshot, followed by Long’s ghastly scream.
CHAPTER 34
Carl, you all right?” I called out. “Help me!” Long screamed.
I instinctively drew my Colt. Someone had taken Karl’s gun away from him. That was usually what happened when people who didn’t know how to handle firearms decided to play John Wayne.
I cautiously entered the forest. Buster was glued to my side, his hackles sticking straight up. The forest was thick with oak and punk trees, the ground peppered with tiny flecks of light. Dozens of birds chattered overhead, and I heard the unmistakable rustle of a squirrel running across a pile of leaves.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I saw Long hanging upside down thirty feet from where I stood. He had walked into some kind of animal trap, and been jerked into the air. Blood ran freely down his leg, and there was a nasty bullet hole in his shoe. The stupid son-of-a-bitch had shot himself in the foot.
“I’m trapped,” Long gasped.
Long was lucky to be hanging upside down, since it restricted the amount of blood he was losing. I started toward him, then froze.
To Long’s right was a clearing filled with tree stumps. In the middle of the clearing stood Mouse and the giant with their shirts off. The navy Jeep Cherokee was parked behind them, and had a camouflage tarp covering its roof.
The giant was swinging a tree limb in his hands like a Louisville Slugger, and was preparing to bash Long’s skull in. He had a perfectly round, childlike face, the skin soft and without lines. Living on the beach, I’d seen plenty of muscle heads, and none had held a candle to this guy. He had muscles on his muscles.
Buster went low to the ground, and emitted a menacing growl. The giant checked his swing and glared at my dog.
“Bad dog,” the giant said.
Buster sprang forward and let out a vicious bark. The giant jumped back in fear and dropped the limb to the ground.
“Bad dog,” he said again.
The giant talked like a little kid. It occurred to me that he wasn’t the one I should be focusing on. His partner was the problem.
I shifted my attention to Mouse. He was small and emaciated. His sunken chest was covered in crude ink tattoos that told me he’d done time in the federal pen. He was holding the Glock, and was aiming it directly behind him at the front seat of the Jeep.
“Drop your gun, or I’ll kill the girl,” Mouse said.
I looked inside the Jeep. Sara Long sat in the passenger seat. She was tied up, and had duct tape over her mouth. Her beautiful face was distorted with fear. Her terrified eyes locked onto mine.
I cursed myself. I should never have let Long come along for the ride. In all my years hunting down missing kids, I’d never let a parent do that. I’d let the money Long had given me cloud my judgment, and now I was paying for it.
I took a step back without lowering my Colt.
“Drop your gun right now, or she’s history,” Mouse said.
I saw the giant pick up the limb from the ground, and rest it on his shoulder. He was going to smack Karl right in the back of the head with it.
“Not happening,” I said.
I aimed at a tattoo directly above Mouse’s heart. Fear flashed across his eyes.
“You want to cut a deal?” Mouse asked.
“What kind of deal?”
“Back up with your fucking dog, and we’ll leave and not kill the girl or her daddy.”
