The children piled out of Edgar's truck as he parked behind Karen's station wagon. He was glad to see her car. It meant Karen was home and he could take a break from his baby-sitting duties. He waved as Cody and Elizabeth called out their thanks and told them to send Karen down to see him. They ran around the side of the house and out of sight.
Inside, the house was too damn quiet without Margaret to fill the place up with the sounds of her presence. Edgar shed his boots in the living room and padded to the kitchen, thinking it was time to start thawing one of the meals in the freezer so he could have it for dinner. On the refrigerator door was a note. He removed the magnet and read it. All it said was that Karen might be working a little late, but would be home soon. She must have forgotten to take it down after she got back. He crumpled it up and threw it in the trash under the kitchen sink.
He got a meal out of the freezer, put it on the counter, and started back to the living room when Elizabeth slammed through the back door.
'Is my mom here?' she asked breathlessly.
'No, sweetie. Isn't she at your house?'
'No,' Elizabeth replied.
'Where could she be?'
Edgar rumpled Elizabeth's hair.
'Don't worry.
She left a note for us that she might have to work late.'
'But our car is here,' Elizabeth replied.
'Mom should be home, if the car is here.'
'Not necessarily,' Edgar answered.
'Listen, you go get Cody and we'll drive to Uncle Phil's.'
'Right now?'
'Sure. By the time we get back, I'm sure your mom will be home.'
'Promise?'
'I promise.'
After Elizabeth left, Edgar thought about Karen's note and fished it out of the trash. She had signed it 'Peanut.' Now that was kind of strange. He couldn't remember a time when Karen had appreciated his nickname for her. He used it in spite of his best attempts to break the habit, and she almost always reacted with a frown when it slipped out.
He read the note again. Even the handwriting looked slanted and jerky, not at all like Karen's fluid script. There was a crossed-out Z before the word 'soon' at the end of the note.
Slash Z, Edgar thought, stuffing the note in his pocket. It couldn't mean anything else. He hurried to get his boots and round up the children. Something was wrong, but for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what it could be.
Karen probed Phil on the ride to the Slash Z, using the humblest attitude she could manage, trying to match the obsequious demeanor of Phil's wife, Doris. The ploy worked; Phil got puffed up with self-importance and started talking. The garbage that poured from his mouth was truly amazing.
He talked about the Catron County Militia with a zealot's passion, and he described his attempt to kill Jim Stiles like a schoolyard bully bragging on himself.
She tried to maintain a servile tone, while her mind raced over the implications of Phil's confession.
'What are you going to do to me?' she asked meekly.
Phil guffawed.
'You're going to have to disappear.'
Karen dropped the charade, and her voice cracked with hostility.
'In other words, you're going to kill me.'
'It's a family tradition,' Phil replied.
'What does that mean?'
He looked at her like a hawk that had spotted its prey.
'I'll let my father explain.'
'If I'm reported missing, Catron County will be crawling with cops from all over the state. It isn't going to be that easy.'
'Omar can handle them.'
Karen laughed.
'In your dreams he can. Omar isn't smart enough to take the heat. It won't take much to crack him wide open.'
'You're only going to be missing, Karen. That's the key word.' Phil smiled.
'All Omar has to do is put everyone to work scouring the countryside for you.'
'A missing ADA is a whole different matter from a lost tourist.'
Phil made the turn onto the Slash Z road before answering.
'You know what? I have half a mind to strip you naked and stuff a sock in your mouth before we get to the ranch. Hell, I just may do it. Pop would get a big kick out of it, I bet.'
Phil's raw sexual glance sent a shiver up Karen's spine. She leaned against the seat and stared at her cuffed hands. Phil's rifle was in the gun rack, but she doubted she could get to it before he could react.
She needed to hit him with something, but there was nothing substantial in sight to do it with.
After a mile on the flats, the ranch road cut through some low hills.
Phil drove with one eye on the road and the other on her, shifting his gaze back and forth before each curve. There were pools of standing water in the ruts from the heavy morning rain, and Phil slowed down a bit going through them. Silently, Karen started counting seconds between Phil's glances. There was about a ten-second break in eye contact.
The next curve came up, and Phil's eyes moved back to the road. Karen pivoted on the seat, brought her legs up, and kicked at Phil's face with her boots.
He saw the blow coming and threw up a hand to deflect it. Karen's foot slammed into the steering wheel. Phil clamped his hand on her calf and lost control of the truck. They lunged off the road into an arroyo.
Phil wrenched the wheel as they slid sideways down the slope.
Karen kicked Phil in the cheek with her free leg.
The truck fishtailed into a tree, bounced, and landed on its side.
Phil's head snapped against the doorpost, and Karen landed on top of him, her knees grinding into his ribs.
She waited for him to move, but he remained still.
She pushed herself upright until her head bumped the passenger door. She swung the door open, gripped the roof with both hands, pulled herself free, and landed hard on her feet. Unsteadily she walked to the front of the truck. Through the cracked windshield she could see that Phil was out cold. She had to get the handcuffs off before he regained consciousness. She shattered the glass with a large rock, reached in, and fumbled in his shirt pocket for the handcuff key.
Her hands were shaking, and it took several attempts to get the key in the lock. Wooziness hit her, and she stopped until it passed. She got the cuffs off, wrapped Phil's arms through the steering wheel, cuffed him, and threw away the key. She crawled halfway into the cab, picked up the rifle from the floorboard, and scrambled out.
She sat on the ground and trembled, her eyes locked on Phil's unconscious face, wondering where the insanity in him came from and why she hadn't seen it before. Maybe it had been there all the time, lurking under the surface. Maybe it was the legacy of bitterness and rage passed on from father to son.
Finally calm, she considered her options. She could walk to the highway and try to flag down some help or head to the ranch. There wasn't enough time to turn back. It would be the ranch, she decided, even if she had to face down Omar Gatewood and Uncle Eugene by herself to free Kerney.
She checked the Winchester, found it fully loaded, and set out for the Slash Z. Impatiently, Stiles checked his watch every few minutes. The thought that Kerney and Karen might be in trouble gnawed at him, but he didn't have anything solid to back up the feeling. He gave in to his anxiety and started punching in Phil Cox's number on the
