'It's good of you to accept the blame, Clint, but your lack of initiative explains your lack of progress in the organization.' Harley turned back to Hank's house. 'Let's go see if you at least did this correctly.'
'I can't be responsible if-'
Harley didn't say anything, but his expression must have spoken volumes.
'I'm sorry, sir,' Clint repeated, fearful, respectful. 'We can go in through the back door.'
Both men went into Hank's house. Lena could hear furniture being knocked over, glass breaking, as they moved through the rooms. There was an old cliche that said there were two types of people: leaders and followers. Harley was a leader, but so was Ethan. There was no way the two of them could be working together. Neither man would take orders. Neither would put up with each other's attitudes. Put them in the same room, and you might as well sit back for the most violent cockfight of your life.
The kitchen door opened. Harley came out of the house and walked down the stairs with a spring in his step.
For his part, Clint was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as if he had been sick.
'Find the cops,' Harley tossed over his shoulder. 'Both of them. Find out what they know, and if they give the right answers, find a way to persuade them to go on their merry way.'
'And if they give the wrong answers?'
'Initiative, Clint.' Harley clapped him on the shoulder again, bowed his head as if in prayer.' 'O, God of vengeance, let your glorious justice be seen'!'
Clint seemed uneasy, but he stood there quietly until Harley raised his head. Still, he waited a few more seconds before leading Harley back toward the gate.
As soon as they were gone, Lena slid out from under the truck. She ran so fast out of the backyard that her heart felt like it was going to explode. She found the Mercedes and rolled down all four windows, listening for the motorcycle's pipes as she drove, having to backtrack a few times before she was able to find Harley stopped at a red light outside the library. A white sedan was in front of the bike, and she assumed that Clint was behind the wheel.
The light turned green and the sedan went to the left. Harley went straight, and she followed the bike. The Mercedes' headlights were off, and Lena slowed, hanging back so Harley wouldn't see her. Ideally, two cars were used in a tail, but Lena was hardly in a position to have such luxury. She just kept back as far as she could and hoped Harley wasn't the kind of driver who was constantly checking his rearview mirror. She sure as hell was checking hers. Clint could all too easily have looped around to see if Harley was being followed.
He hadn't, though, at least as far as Lena could see. The road behind her remained clear. When she saw the bike turn into what looked like an abandoned warehouse, she kept on going, steering the car up the hill and finding a spot where she could view what was going on below without being spotted.
She had spent two nights watching the warehouse, grabbing some sleep at the school before making the long journey back to the motel in Florida to regroup during the day. The second night back, she'd brought the camera. Through the lens, she'd been able to better see who was going in and out of the building – the usual suspects, plus a few surprises. It was the surprises that made her start to see her way out of this for the first time since she'd arrived in Reece. Lena just needed to get Jeffrey and Sara out of harm's way, then she would make her move.
Between the motel, the digital camera, and gas for the car, Lena had blown eleven hundred dollars of Hank's emergency cash. She figured she could find a twenty-four-hour Kinko's somewhere and make copies of the camera's flashcard. Photocopies were cheap, and her log of the comings and goings at the abandoned warehouse were meticulous.
Hank had obviously found out something about these guys and their operation. Harley had said as much that first time she had seen him at the house. He'd spoke about Hank's downward spiral in terms of vengeance, and you did not seek revenge on somebody unless they struck at you first. Hank must have tried to play the mother of all poker hands and got caught in a bluff – either that, or they had attacked him at his weakest point, his addiction. He must have fought them at first, but once he got hooked back on the dope again, the struggle was over.
Lena didn't share her uncle's weaknesses, at least not where drugs were concerned. All she wanted out of this was freedom – not justice, not money, not vengeance, though God knew Charlotte and Deacon deserved retribution. Lena couldn't think about either of them now because it was the living she had to protect. Charlotte still had a family. There was still Hank, Sara, and Jeffrey to think about. Lena couldn't afford to bluff. Whether Ethan was behind this or someone else, it didn't matter. First thing in the morning, she was going to lay all her cards on the table.
With the right hand, she might be able to win back some lives. If she lost her own in the process, so be it.
FRIDAY
TWENTY-THREE
Jeffrey had forgotten what it felt like to wake up feeling like a human being. While he was under no illusion that the Holiday Inn of Beaulah, Georgia, was a pantheon of hygienic bliss, all he cared about was that the place
Sara must have felt the same way. She slept so soundly he had actually woken her up to make sure she was okay. And then, since she was awake, he'd persuaded her to stay that way a little longer. Then a little longer still. By the time the sun peeked in between the gap in the curtains, she lay spent, her leg thrown over his, her head resting on his chest. Jeffrey stroked her arm, his mind unable to stay distracted without Sara's help. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something had changed about her lately. Sex had turned much more intense, and at one point this morning he'd felt like she was holding on to him out of fear rather than passion.
The explosion at Hank's bar had scared her. Hell, it had scared him. Jeffrey kept thinking about what Jake Valentine had told him, that his wife refused to have a child until she was certain her husband would be around to help raise it. When he was Valentine's age, Jeffrey would have laughed if someone had told him he'd be adopting a kid one day. He had always assumed that he would end up with Sara, but never that they would have a family together. Somehow, it made him feel even closer to her, like there was something greater in their lives now than just going to work during the week and staying in bed all weekend. Was that how Hank Norton had felt when he'd taken in Lena and Sibyl? Had blood made him feel an even deeper connection?
Jeffrey's cell phone was on the bedside table. He checked it again to make sure all the bars showed the strongest signal and that the battery was fully charged. It had rained all night, a hard, heavy rain that had tapped on their window like a witch trying to get in. Through the heavy curtains, he could
