“You’re kidding. Right?” Fowler said.
“My mom was apparently half Cherokee,” Harper said. “Indian blood and alcohol don’t mix well. She was an alcoholic.”
“What happened to her?” Cassie asked.
Harper shook her head. “Don’t know. Didn’t even know her name. I was only one at the time so, like Bobby, I only know what I was told later.”
“When I was twelve,” Cain said, “Harper thirteen, the family got taken down by the FBI.”
“The FBI?” Hack asked.
“We were more or less a traveling show. Plus scams, thefts, all kinds of mischief.”
“We were packed off to an orphanage and then adopted into separate families,” Harper said. “Didn’t see, or even know what happened to each other until fifteen years later.”
Cain picked it up. “Our paths recrossed while on a mission. In Afghanistan.”
“What kind of mission?” Hack asked.
Cain captured his gaze. “The kind that never existed.”
“Black ops? CIA? That kind of thing?”
“Let’s just say we were tracking down a bad guy.”
“And then?”
Cain shrugged, opened his palms.
Hack gave a nod, said nothing. No one said anything for a full minute, then Cassie took charge, brought the conversation back to the present. Laid out a search plan. One that expanded out from the town. Everyone was assigned a different area to explore.
Cain paid the bill. Cassie protested. He insisted.
Cassie’s cell chimed. After she answered, she mostly listened, then said, “Okay. We’ll be over in a few.”
“What is it?” Fowler asked.
“Something going on over at the Finley place.”
“What?” Hack asked.
“Don’t know. Neighbor said it didn’t seem right.”
“Probably Tommy doing something stupid,” Hack said.
“I’ll go check it out,” Fowler said.
Hack stood. “I’ll do it. I can handle Tommy.” He smiled. “He’s afraid of me.” He headed toward the door with a wave.
“Tommy Finley,” Cassie said. “One of our local drug dealers. Good parents. His sister is a star student and one of our best athletes. Tommy’s an asshole. And a handful for his folks.” She forked her fingers through her blonde spikes. “For me, too.”
CHAPTER 19
Dennie had had a rough night. So had Buck. Even though he had dragged a fairly comfortable chair from the living room into the bedroom where Dennie was now ensconced, he got very little sleep. Only what he could grab between tending to Dennie and listening to his moaning and murmuring, which at times bordered on being coherent. He hoped that in Dennie’s post-anesthesia haze he might reveal something useful, but, in the end, he could only decipher a word here and there, the rest simply noise.
Dennie’s BP had bottomed out a couple of times, once around three a.m., falling to 60. Buck hung the third liter of IV fluids and ran it over the next hour. That helped. He was essentially flying by the seat of his pants. He had no cardiac or 02 Sat monitors, no lab results, no X-rays, none of the equipment he’d have access to in an ICU—where Dennie belonged.
Buck had no illusions that he would get out of this alive. Not a chance. He had seen them, knew their names. If whatever they had done, whatever got Dennie shot, precluded a trip to the hospital, it damn sure meant a witness wouldn’t be cut loose. Unless he found some way out of here, his fate was in Dalton’s very dangerous hands.
Calling for help wouldn’t happen. Dalton had told him the phone lines had been cut and to make sure, Buck had tested one while no one was looking. Dead. He had seen three cell phones. Jessie’s, Dalton’s, and a third that was probably Dennie’s. But they kept them close at hand or in their pockets. Didn’t matter anyway. During the night Jessie had let it slip that the cell service up here in the hills was nonexistent.
Since communication with the outside world was impossible, running seemed his only option. Not a good one, and not one he could likely pull off, but if things fell into place at least he had a plan. Sort of. Probably wouldn’t work but what the hell. Right now, time was his ally. As long as he could make them believe that Dennie would die without him, he was safe. Truth was, now that the surgery had been done and Dennie was as stable as he’d ever be, they could easily load him in the SUV and make a run for it. Wouldn’t be without risk, or without pain for Dennie, but it was doable. Buck would guard that little bit of information with his life. Literally.
Dalton and Jessie had taken turns on watch. Watching him. He had still managed to get a feel for the place. He had already explored the interior layout and, whenever the opportunity arose, he peeled back a curtain to briefly survey the surroundings. A small front and a larger rear yard, the narrow dirt road they had driven up, and a single car garage. Otherwise he saw only trees. Nothing to orient him. No feel for anything beyond a few dozen yards away.
Even if he managed to get out the door, where would he go? Which direction led to help? The final mile or so of the drive here last night seemed to pass through only wilderness. Trees mostly, a few patches of open land, but no signs of civilization. He had tried his best to keep north and south straight but the road twisted, turned, rose, and fell so much that it was a futile effort. Not that it would really help, anyway. Other than somewhere downhill, he had no feel for which direction would lead back toward town.
Another disturbing thing was last night’s dinner. Left over fried chicken, cheese, crackers, and milk. All fresh. There was no way the owners were gone for any extended period of time. Everything looked and felt like they had gone to the movies or out for dinner and would be back at any minute. They never returned, however. Not all night. Where were they? What would happen if they did unexpectedly return?
He knew that whatever Dalton and
