He turned an ear toward the house and showed her an index finger. “Just wait.”
“For our country’s sake, I hope this tactic isn’t part of the CIA handbook.”
He smirked at her before facing the structure and cupping hands around his mouth, making a circle. “I guess you must be deaf too, you old codger.”
A few seconds passed before a raspy voice came from the dwelling. “I can still see well enough to put one between your beady little eyes, Noah Randall.”
Randall laughed and inclined toward Devlin. “We’re good now.”
She took the hand he proposed.
He tugged, “Let’s go,” and helped her to her feet.
The two of them crossed an open expanse, she on his left.
While brushing debris from her clothing, she noticed two, rusted 1950-something Chevrolets behind the house. The structure was in worse condition than the shack she and Randall had escaped. The Chevy’s were surrounded by tall grass and prickly weeds. The vehicle’s windows were missing. She surveyed the area. The entire property was a field of tall grass and weeds with blotches of barren dirt.
A mid-sixties man emerged from the shadows of the front porch wearing an undone Hawaiian shirt, khaki-colored, knee-length shorts, and brown leather sandals. His tanned skin was weathered, including the strip down the center of his head, under the thin strands of a gray-haired comb over. He propped a Winchester 30-30 lever-action gun against the railing and buttoned his shirt.
Randall eyed the man’s not-yet-concealed paunch and lifted a finger. “You’ve gotten fat.”
The older man shot back two words that rhymed with ‘pluck two’ before giving Devlin a sharp look. “My apologies, ma’am. I’m not usually crass like that, but,” he jerked a thumb toward Randall, “he brings out the worst in me.”
She smiled at the homeowner, “That’s all right,” and regarded the younger male. “Since meeting him, I’ve had a few of those words cross my mind too.”
Randall held hands out to his sides. “I haven’t even introduced you two, and you’re ganging up on me?”
The portly man waved off Randall and took Devlin’s hand. Addressing her, he half bowed, “Mr. William Steele,” his black-and-white, bushy mustache dancing as he spoke, “at your service.”
“Deputy Marshal Jessica Devlin.”
“Pleased to meet you, young lady.”
Randall crossed arms over his chest and grinned at Steele. “All that’s missing is your tutu and curtsy.”
Steele whipped his head toward his friend, “Fu—” before eyeing Devlin. “See what I mean? He’s the devil, I tell you...always tempting me to let loose with the foul words.”
She smiled.
Randall laughed.
“You look like you could use a cold drink, Jes—” Steele paused, “may I call you Jessica?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, Jessica.”
Randall rolled his eyes. “You’re getting soft, you old geezer. Let’s have that drink already...before all this sappiness turns my stomach.”
Escorting Devlin to the house, Steele glanced at him. “Who says you’re getting anything to drink?”
Randall was last through the door. “I thought you were supposed to give out tetanus shots before welcoming guests into your,” he saw an insect slither into a dark corner, “home.”
Walking behind Devlin, Steele held a fist above his shoulder; one finger was straight out.
Randall smiled.
Steele bypassed her and raised a carpet remnant. The rising trapdoor underneath matched perfectly with the surrounding floorboards.
Randall dipped his head toward the opening. “That’s new.”
The elder man headed down a lighted staircase. “A lot has changed since you were last here.” He pivoted his upper body and leveled a digit at Devlin’s feet. “Watch that first step, Jessica. It’s a little deeper than the rest.”
She followed him into a carpeted and paneled cavernous space with a white, tiled ceiling. The far corners had makeshift walls that created a couple of semi-private rooms. The near corner on the left was a kitchen area, and the corner to the right appeared to be an open bathroom with a shower stall. In the center of the dugout was the living room—sofa, easy chair, coffee table and large flat-screen television.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess.” Steele gathered a few papers, clothing, and shoes from the floor, and tucked them out of sight. “I don’t get many visitors.”
“Yeah,” Randall glanced around at the plush accommodations, “and those that do stop by...you just shoot.”
Steele laughed. “Make yourself at home, and I’ll get us some drinks.”
“I have to know.” Randall sat on the left side of the couch while Devlin took the right half. “What is this place? How’d you set this up?”
Steele returned and handed out water bottles before falling into the easy chair. “This whole area,” he tipped his beverage back, “used to be an old mining operation. It was abandoned decades ago. I stumbled upon it by accident...during an assignment. Afterwards, I did some investigating and found the structure to be secure. So I built myself a little hideaway.” He pointed a finger upward. “People see that crap-hole up top and just,” he sliced a flat hand horizontally through the air, “pass me by.”
“How did you see us coming?”
Steele smiled at his good friend. “Trail cams...the perimeter’s covered out to two hundred yards.” He chuckled and took another pull of his drink. “I must admit. I didn’t recognize you,” he pretended to scratch his face, “with the beard.” He gestured at Devlin. “But I figured anyone traveling with such a classy lady couldn’t be that bad of a guy.”
“Well I’m,” she gave the man on the couch a quick look and eyed the other male, “holding out a little longer before making that claim.”
Randall snorted.
His head bouncing off the back of the chair’s cushion, Steele laughed before he faced his friend and tipped his head toward Devlin. “I like her.”
“You’d like anyone who busts my balls.” He shot a look at Devlin. “Sorry.”
She shook her head, “I’ve heard worse,” and tipped back her refreshment.
Seconds later, Steele’s amusement subsided, and he set his beverage on a nearby table. “So I know this isn’t a social call.” He crossed his legs at the
