“We going to wipe the house?” Navarro said.
“Don’t have time for that,” Dalton said.
“You guys have prints all over it, I imagine. Not to mention all that other shit.”
Dalton turned back toward the structure. “I thought we’d have more time.” He gave a head shake. “Only thing to do is cut and run. Or burn it.”
“That’d attract some attention, don’t you think?” Harris said.
Dalton considered that. “Probably would.”
“But that’d take care of the prints,” Navarro said.
Dalton turned the options over in his mind and came to a decision. “Let’s get out of here. Distance is our friend right now. Once we clean house, we can come back by and torch it on the way out. If it attracts attention then, who cares?”
“What if they find it before that?”
“We’ll deal with that when and if we have to.”
CHAPTER 52
“Did you hear that?” Harper said.
Cain, Harper, and Cassie were still connected via the satellite phones.
“I did,” Cain replied.
“Hear what?” Cassie asked.
“Shotgun,” Cain said. The discharge had been muffled by the trees and the rain, but remained unmistakable. “Nothing else makes that sound.”
“Where?” Cassie said.
“North of my position. I’m headed that way.”
“Want me to come down?” Harper asked.
“Stand in place. Let me see what’s what.”
“I’m on the way,” Cassie said. “Maybe you should wait until I get there.”
“This is what Bobby’s good at,” Harper said. “Let us handle this.”
“But I’m the chief of police.”
“We’re here to help,” Harper said.
“Where are you?” Cain asked.
“North of you. Coming around the county highway. Maybe five miles away.”
“Round up your crew,” Cain said. “Keep your eyes open in case I spook whoever it is back to the road.”
“So, you’re not waiting?”
“Nope. If this is related to whoever killed Duckworth, time is critical.”
Cassie hesitated a few seconds, then said, “Okay. Be careful.”
“Always.”
Cain closed the phone and slipped it into one of the many zippered jacket pockets. He removed one of his throwing knives from its sheath along his right thigh. Quickly, quietly, senses on edge, he moved uphill, in the direction of the shotgun blast. The rain strengthened, hammered the trees overhead, and splattered the water in the creek, now wider, slower moving.
Who had fired the shotgun? Who was he stalking? Did this person have anything to do with the killing of Scotty Duckworth? If so, who the hell was he shooting at? Made no sense. But then, shotguns didn’t have to make sense. They just had to be avoided.
Cain worked his way upstream through the thick growth of trees and shrubs, remaining a good thirty feet away from the creek, where the cover was less dense. Still able to catch glimpses of it through gaps in the trees, he paralleled the ribbon of water. He twisted and side-stepped his lean frame between the foliage, pausing every few yards to listen.
After he had covered a hundred yards or so, a sound caught his attention. He squatted near the trunk of a pine tree, its water-logged limbs providing cover. At first he heard nothing, then there it was again. Someone was coming toward him. He fisted the knife, ready for close-quarter combat if needed.
The sounds increased. Whoever it was wasn’t in stealth mode. They were moving quickly, sacrificing stealth for speed. He scanned the trees. Movement. Near the creek. A man came into view. He carried a shotgun in one hand. He stopped, looked back uphill. He cocked his head as though listening. He moved on, hugging the edge of the creek.
Cain followed, taking a somewhat parallel and down-angling path that would eventually intersect with the man’s route, and bring Cain up behind him.
The man stopped, turned, looked back. Cain froze. The man continued forward, downward. The pursuit continued for only a couple of minutes before things came together in Cain’s favor. The rain increased, as did the breeze. The creek narrowed and its floor elevated, adding turbulence. And noise. Cain took advantage.
Now only yards behind the man, he pushed between two trees and was on him before he knew Cain was there. He clutched the man’s hair and brought the blade to his throat.
“Drop the weapon,” Cain said.
The man stiffened but did not release the shotgun.
“Now.”
The shotgun struck the rocks and clattered to the water’s edge.
“Please,” the man said.
“Who are you?”
“Buck. My name’s Buck.”
Cain let go of his hair, grasped his arm, spinning him around. He lowered the knife to his side. “I’m Bobby Cain. We’ve been looking for you.”
“What?”
“Your father hired me and my partner to find you.”
Buck staggered. Cain thought he might fall but he recovered his footing.
“My father?”
“Yes.” Cain looked back up the hill. “Are they behind you?”
“They were. I think I lost them.”
Cain pulled him into the trees. “Sit.”
“What?”
“We wait.”
Buck wanted to talk, but Cain waved him into silence. After ten minutes, no one appeared. Cain stood. “Let’s go.”
As they ascended the slope, where Duckworth’s car was, Buck asked, “What’s all this?”
“The bad guys killed a cop, I suspect.”
“They did. I overheard Dalton telling Jessie about it.”
“So it was Dalton Southwell that killed Officer Duckworth?”
“How’d you know that name?”
“That’s what we do.”
“It’s his brother Dennie that got shot. Jessie is one of Dalton’s men.”
“How’s he doing? Dennie?”
“Actually, better than he should, given the circumstances.”
“Your father said you were a pretty good surgeon,” Cain said.
“More lucky than good.”
“Somehow, I think not.”
They rose up to the parking area. Wasn’t easy. The ground wet, the slope steep, but they made it. Buck with a helping hand from Cain.
Cain introduced Harper.
“You can’t imagine how good it is to see you guys,” Buck said. “Even if I don’t know who the hell you are.” He smiled.
Harper explained. Sort of. Merely repeating the same speech that they “find people” and “fix problems.”
Buck considered that, nodded. “There are others. Dalton brought in some help.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know for sure, but from what he told Jessie, three guys. They showed up just as I was running away.” He swiped water and grime from his face with the towel Harper had retrieved from the
