Author: Renee Pawlish
Date: 2022-11-01 07:00:00+00:00
Description: Ex-Army Civil Affairs specialist and loner Jo Gunning is headed west, but she detours and finds herself in a small town in rural Alabama. First, she runs afoul of local law enforcement, and then the owner of the local café asks Jo to find the truth about her nephew's death. Jo could have moved on, but she's not one to run when help is needed, so she begins asking questions. However, someone doesn't like her poking around, and they'll do anything to stop her from discovering secrets they want kept in the dark. With enemies at every turn, it will take all of Jo's resourcefulness to survive. This
Publisher: Independently published
Rights: Copyright 2022 Renée Pawlish. All rights reserved.

GUNNING FOR TRUTH

A JO GUNNING THRILLER

RENÉE PAWLISH

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Gunning for Hire

From the Author

Free Book

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Renée’s Bookshelf

Gunning For Truth

A Jo Gunning Thriller

First Digital Edition published by Creative Cat Press
copyright 2022 by Renée Pawlish

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people.

If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your personal use only, then you should return this copy to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I have exercised some creative license in bending geography, settings, and law-enforcement agencies to the whims of the story. This is, after all, a work of fiction. Any similarities between characters in this novel and real persons is strictly coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

T he thump awoke Jo Gunning from a fitful sleep.

She lay on the bed and listened. It was dark in the small motel room, just a hint of moonlight trickling its way in through a crack in the heavy curtains that covered the lone window. Jo listened and assessed, a habit as natural as breathing.

No one was in her room. They couldn’t be—she’d wrapped a hand towel around the door stopper and placed a chair under the handle. Also habits.

She was always careful, had been since she was in Civil Affairs, the Army branch where she’d worked alongside Special Operation Forces in some of the most dangerous areas around the world.

Another thump.

Jo sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stared at the far wall, past the armoire and television. The noise had come from the next room, and raised voices now broke through the silence. She glanced at the clock.

Just after two in the morning.

She sighed. All she wanted was a decent night’s sleep before she traveled on. The motel was near Marion, Alabama, a rural community in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t much, but it was cheap and halfway clean. Perfect for anonymity.

The voices grew louder, the decibel about to hit shouting level. Then a popping sound, a bit tinny, slightly muffled. She knew exactly what it was. Quieter than the thumps on the wall, but far more dangerous. Not uncorking a champagne bottle either. That was a gun shot.

Jo jumped up, slipped on jeans and a T-shirt, and strode to the door. After removing the towel from the door stopper and pulling the chair away, she put her hand on the doorknob. The voices had grown louder.

“… gonna let me…”

That was a man, loud and furious.

Then something from a woman that Jo couldn’t understand.

She opened the door and peeked out.

The parking lot was washed in a hazy yellow glow from the lights hanging along the side of the building. The lone, flickering streetlight at the far end was useless. A dark Dodge Ram pickup truck, parked a few spaces down from Jo’s door, was the only vehicle. Jo didn’t have a car; she hadn’t owned one in a long time. When she was stationed in DC, she could use the Metro, and she didn’t want to deal with the extra expense when she’d been overseas so much. No other guests at a small motel in a lazy town where a large part of the population had drifted off to bigger cities with more economic opportunities.

The shouting continued, and Jo stepped out to the sidewalk, then strode next door. The window was partially open, the voices clearer.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

The man’s voice was low now, with a thick Southern drawl that couldn’t mask the lethal mix of anger and threat.

“I said I was sorry.” The woman sounded shaky.

“Sorry don’t cut it.”

A crack, like skin on skin. A palm on someone’s face.

“I oughta kill—” the man started to say.

Jo knocked on the door before hearing anymore, almost out of reflex. So much for anonymity.

“Now you’ve done it,” his voice came from inside.

Footsteps, and the door opened to reveal a man in black boxers. He stood a couple of inches taller than Jo’s five foot nine, with big arms and legs, a bit of a paunch, and thinning, reddish-blond hair.

“What?” he snapped, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. He stared at her with bloodshot brown eyes.

Jo glanced past him. Light from a nightstand lamp shone on a woman perched on the edge of a queen-size bed. She looked to be about forty, with streaks of gray weaving through her long brown hair. All she had on was underwear and a plain bra. Even though the light was dim, Jo could see red on her cheek.

“Grady . . .” she said as she put a hand to her face.

“Are you okay?” Jo asked.

“She’s fine,” Grady said.

Jo glanced back and forth between them, taking the whole scene in. “Is there a problem here?”

His gaze was icy. “Mind your own business.”

Jo tilted her head, considering him. Grady seemed like the kind of man who expected to be listened to, for people to jump when he said jump. She’d run into his type before. They didn’t bother her. She smiled at him, friendly.

“I’m in the room next door, and your arguing woke me up, so this”—she gestured toward their room—“is my business.”

Grady’s eyes narrowed, and he jabbed a finger toward her room. “You better get back there right now if you know what’s good for you.”

Jo stared past him to the woman. Once again, she found herself jumping in to help a stranger. And once again, she couldn’t stop herself. If she could right a wrong, she would. It was in her DNA.

“Do you need help?” Jo asked her.

Before the woman could answer, Grady took a step to the left. Jo followed his glance to a half-empty bottle of whiskey, which sat next to a Glock 43 pistol on a round table underneath the window. Grady looked back at Jo.

“Don’t go for it,” she said.

His spine stiffened. “What’re you going to do?”

Jo sighed. “I don’t want any problems, okay? Why don’t you get your stuff and go.” She pointed to the woman. Just leave her alone.”

The man puffed out his bare chest and took a step toward her. “I said, what are you gonna do about it?”

He was bigger than Jo, but his muscles looked flabby, out of use. And he was drunk. As he raised a fist, she stepped toward him, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him in front of her. The move was rapid and unexpected, and it took him off-guard. Just as quickly, she spun him around. He swore and tried to twist out of her grasp, but unlike him she kept herself fit, and she had the element of surprise.

Jo shoved him against the door jamb. His head bounced off the wood, and blood spurted from his nose, a cartoon-bright red spattering the wall. Grady grunted in shock and pain. He tried to resist, but she held him firmly in place.

“I’m going to mess you up good,” he snarled, his face against the wood.

Jo yanked his arm up until he winced again and even let out a small mewl of pain. She looked at the woman.

“Get his clothes.”

The woman blinked at Jo, then went to the end of the bed and picked up Grady’s clothes—worn jeans, a blue shirt with a Budweiser logo, tube socks, and black leather boots.

“Darlene, you better—” he said.

Jo twisted his arm to shut him up. Darlene stood rooted in place.

“Is that his truck?” she asked Darlene.

The woman nodded.

“Put his clothes in it,” Jo said.

Darlene took a couple of hesitant steps, then dashed past Jo and into the parking lot. She hurried to the truck, opened the door, and tossed in Grady’s clothes.

When she turned back, Jo nodded toward the room. “Now get me the gun.”

Darlene hurried back inside, ignoring Grady’s threats. The man continued to struggle, but between the booze and being out of shape, he was no match for Jo. He cursed even more as Darlene grabbed the Glock and handed it to Jo. She took the weapon, then stepped back and aimed it at Grady. He turned around carefully, his hands up, hatred in his eyes.

“What, are you gonna shoot me?” He sneered. Blood dribbled over his lips, and he snorted and spit onto the sidewalk. The space was probably becoming a biohazard.

Jo shook her head. “That would be a waste of a bullet.” He glared at her, and she gestured with the Glock. “Get into your truck.”

“Can’t I at least get dressed?” he asked.

Jo let out a snort of laughter. “Get in now or I’ll make you strip down and walk away naked.”

His foul language filled the air as he walked barefoot to the truck and got in. Jo removed the Glock’s magazine and locked the slide to the rear to eject the live ammo from the chamber. Pocketing both, she walked to the truck. Grady rolled down the window but didn’t say anything, just continued that hateful glare. She handed him the gun.

“Go home, wherever that is,” Jo said. “Try to mess with Darlene again, you’ll have to deal with me.”

His eyes burned like they wanted to consume her, but he seemed to believe her threat, and he rooted around in his jeans for his keys. He didn’t say a word as he started the truck and jammed it into reverse.

“You better move on if you got any sense,” he said, though his threat didn’t sound nearly as serious as hers, choked by the blood in his nose and throat. “I don’t want to see you anywhere around here again.”

Tires squealed as he backed up and peeled out of the parking lot. She waited until the taillights disappeared down the road and then turned back to Darlene.

“What a pleasant guy.”

Darlene laughed nervously and ran her hands over her arms as if she were washing away any feeling of Grady. She seemed unaware that she was wearing only her underwear and bra.

“Will you be okay?” Jo asked.

Darlene nodded and waved toward the road.

“You really pissed him off.”

Jo shrugged. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“What do I do if he comes back?”

“He’s too embarrassed.” Jo sighed, suddenly tired, and took a step toward her room. “He’s not going to bother you.”

Darlene crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have a car.”

At that, Jo looked around the empty parking lot. “Grady brought you here?”

She nodded. “I guess I could call somebody in the morning to give me a ride back to Greensville.”

“Why not now?”

Darlene sighed and shook her head, looking down. “I don’t want to bother anyone at this time of night.”

“How far is Greensville from here?”

The woman scrunched up her face. “About ten miles southwest.”

Glancing up at the stars, Jo took in a deep breath of the night air. “It’s quiet around here.”

Arlene looked past her at the empty two-lane highway. “What if he comes back?” she repeated.

This time, Jo gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll deal with him. Put a hand towel around the door stopper and jam a chair under the doorknob.” She pointed at Darlene’s room window. “And I’d close that, too.”

“Okay. But it’s hot out, and I gotta sleep.”

“Use the air conditioner.”

“It don’t work so well,” Darlene muttered.

Jo tried not to let her exasperation show on her face. It was almost as if the woman was hoping Grady would return. She didn’t want to get beat up by him, of course, but she couldn’t resist him, either.

As Jo opened her door, she said, “I’ll keep an eye on things. You get some rest. We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.”

“Why do you wanna help me?” Darlene asked.

Jo didn’t hesitate. “You sounded like you were in trouble. I couldn’t let it go.”

“Let’s hope trouble hasn’t found you,” said the woman.

With a grim nod, Jo opened her door and went back into her room.

CHAPTER TWO

S he awoke early the next morning. The motel room smelled musty, but it was quiet, peaceful. She listened for a moment, hearing no noise from the other room. It was 6 a.m., just after sunrise. If Darlene had been drinking like Grady appeared to have been, she was probably hung over and still sleeping.

Jo got up and did a series of exercises, then threw on shorts and a T-shirt, slipped on running shoes, and went outside. Jogging away from the parking lot, she soon passed a couple of abandoned buildings near the motel. Even though it was early, the July heat beat down on her, the air heavy with humidity. The road was quiet, with empty fields on both sides as far as she could see. The occasional vehicle passed by, mostly giving her a wide berth. Farther down the highway, she passed a gas station, but it didn’t look like anyone was there this early.

She ran for half an hour, then turned and headed back to the motel. After finishing her run, she showered and dressed in jeans and an Oxford shirt, then headed over to the motel lobby. An older man, who was sitting behind a short counter, looked up when she walked in.

“I need to stay until four,” she told him.

“You’ll have to pay another day.”

It wasn’t like he had a line of people waiting to rent rooms, but he clearly could use the money, so she acquiesced and paid him.

“Alright, you’re all set. Leave the key on the table in your room when you leave,” he said.

“Any place to get breakfast?” she asked.

He shook his head. “There’s a restaurant at that gas station down the road. There ain’t never been much in this town.” Then he frowned, his eyes distant even though they were looking right at her. “Don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this place going.”

She thanked him and started back down the road to the gas station, at a brisk walk this time. A couple of pickup trucks were gassing up by now, and a few cars had parked outside the small convenience store and attached diner.

The moment she stepped inside, the two men sitting at the short counter gave her an inspection. A waitress told Jo to sit wherever, and she took a booth by a window where she could look out to the parking lot. The pair at the counter talked in low tones, their eyes now conspicuously avoiding her. She ignored them, and when the waitress walked over, she ordered coffee and a big breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes.

She had just finished eating when she saw Darlene appear out of the haze of the road, heading toward the restaurant. Jo signaled her when she walked in, and the woman sauntered over.

“How’re you doing this morning?” Jo asked as Darlene slid into the booth across from her.

“I’ve got a hangover,” she pronounced, her cheeks red.

Jo nodded. “I’m not surprised.”

The waitress came over, and she ordered coffee. The server eyed Darlene as if she knew her, but Darlene gave a little head shake, and she moved away.

Jo studied the woman over her coffee cup. Darlene had tried to pretty herself up with some makeup, but she couldn’t hide the bruise on her left cheek, nor could she do anything about the crow’s feet flaring from the corners of her eyes, or the worry lines across her forehead. Life had been hard on her, and not just last night.

“Come around here often?” Jo asked.

Darlene shrugged. “Once in a while.”

“Are you from around this area?”

Darlene nodded out the window. “Down in Greensville. It’s about ten miles.”

“Are you still planning to get a ride back there?”

“Not until this afternoon. My friend works at the Piggly Wiggly, and she doesn’t get off until four.” She surveyed Jo. “Where’re you from?”

Jo wasn’t sure how to answer that. She’d been born near Montgomery, but she didn’t consider it home. “I’m just passing through.”

Darlene laughed, a low, guttural sound. “No one passes through this area. Nothing’s out here.”

Jo smiled. “I spent some time outside of Montgomery as a kid. I’m headed west, and I passed through there the other day.”

“You’re off the beaten track,” Darlene said.

“I just wanted something out of the way.”

Darlene snickered. “You certainly found that here.”

After taking a sip of coffee, already lukewarm, Jo said, “If you’re from Greensville, why were you with Grady at that motel?”

The stare she got in return was hard as slate. “You know the reason why. Grady and me needed an out-of-the-way place.”

“It seems to me you could do better than that guy,” Jo said.

Darlene opened her mouth, but then she hesitated. “Probably.” Her back went rigid. “He wasn’t happy about what you did to him, and he won’t forget it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Like I said, I’m just passing through, so hopefully he and I won’t run into each other again.”

“You don’t have a car?”

Jo shook her head. “I don’t want the expense or hassle. The bus didn’t come this way. I got off in Birmingham, and I thumbed my way south, and walked.”

“You hitched a ride? Hard to do these days.”

“Every once in a while someone will still stop.”

Darlene gulped some of her own coffee. “If you want to wait until four, my friend Mona could give you a ride to Greensville.”

“That’d be great.” Jo looked out the window to the fields, to all the nothingness around them. “What are you going to do until then?”

“Probably go back to my room, throw up this coffee, and sleep it off.”

Jo couldn’t help but laugh. “Honestly, that sounds like a good plan.”

“Nothing else to do on a Sunday.” Darlene cocked an eyebrow. “And you?”

“I’m going to see the sights.”

Darlene laughed as well, then winced and put a hand to her temples. “Oh man, do I have a headache.”

“Time for you to get some rest.”

The woman nodded, and Jo paid the bill, including Darlene’s coffee. Darlene thanked her, and they left the restaurant together, remaining quiet as they walked back down the road to the motel. Jo felt beads of sweat trickle down her spine. She didn’t want to have to change a second time after already switching out of her running clothes. When they got back to the motel, Darlene took her hand and looked her in the eye.

“Thanks for what you did last night. Grady can be . . . a handful.”

“You should watch yourself,” was all Jo said.

Darlene shrugged, opened her door, and disappeared inside.

Jo went into her own room and turned on the TV. She flipped channels for a while until a special ringtone on her phone interrupted her. Dack Pendleton, her friend and former colleague from the Special Forces, was video-calling. She answered, and his tanned face appeared on the screen. He was good-looking, with closely cropped brown hair, an angular jaw, and a wide smile. Dack looked at her with soft blue eyes, then glanced down, and she knew he was typing.

Jo enabled the live-caption feature and waited. A moment later, Dack’s typed message came through. “Hey, lady. How’s life?” It was transferred into an altered electronic voice, somewhat tinny and impersonal, but she imagined hearing his tenor voice. She smiled.

“It’s not bad.”

He made a point of looking past her. “I see you’re in another charming luxury abode.”

Jo laughed. “Yeah, this place is a real joy.” She took a moment to tell him exactly where she was, and about the incident with Grady the previous night. When she finished and looked back at the screen, Dack was studying her.

“What?” she said.

“Don’t get yourself into any trouble. Any more trouble, I mean.”

She held up her hands. “In this place? What trouble can I get into?”

He shook his head slowly. “You already did. You always think you need to help people.”

Rolling her eyes, she shrugged. “There’s nothing going on here.”

“I think it’s best to give that guy Grady a wide berth.”

“I plan to,” she said. “I’m getting a ride to Greensville later today, and I’ll probably spend the night there, then keep heading west.”

“If you’re looking for something to do, I could always use the help.”

Dack had his own contract security firm that offered incident response, security consulting, and training services. It was a perfect fit for him, given his past in the Army. Like Jo, he was an expert marksman, was skilled at hand-to-hand combat, and knew how to gather intelligence. Starting his own company hadn’t been in his plans, but when the operation they’d been on together in Syria went badly, that had changed everything for him.

He stared at her, then typed, “You’ve got that brooding look.”

“It’s nothing,” she said.

He shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. If you came to work for me and something went wrong . . .”

Jo could hide what she felt from a lot of people, but not from him. She sighed. “I can’t help it.”

Dack moved closer to the screen, and his eyes danced with concern.

“How long are you going to blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault?”

She held up her hand. “We’ve been over this before. It was my fault.”

He shook his head vehemently and opened his mouth, showing a stub where his tongue should’ve been. Jo forced herself to look at it, to at least do him the favor of not looking away. Then he clamped his jaw shut and typed. She imagined anger in his voice.

“My tongue was cut out by an enemy insurgent. You didn’t do that.”

She stared at him. “I was the one who said we could trust the woman. It was my intelligence that said where to execute the raid to get the HVT.” And the raid for the high-value target, who was supposed to give them information on a terrorist cell, had gone terribly wrong. “I should’ve realized I wasn’t getting good information, and we shouldn’t have gone to meet him.”

Dack jabbed a finger at her. “Your intelligence was good. You vetted that woman, and you had no way to know that she was setting us up. You were cleared of any wrongdoing. We’ve been over this a hundred times and it doesn’t change.”

“I should’ve known,” she repeated, as she always did.

He jabbed a finger at the screen. “It wasn’t your fault, and you need to remember that you’re the one that made sure I was rescued. You know a rescue normally doesn’t happen. Most people who are caught in our positions are tortured and killed, their bodies drug through the streets, or worse. That didn’t happen to me because you were there to get people going, to get a team back in. It was your intelligence that knew where the terrorists had taken me.” He looked at her intently. “You know that’s true. I owe my life to you.”

Jo glanced away.

“Jo. Let go of yourself for a second and listen. You know I’m right,” he said.

She finally nodded. “It’s hard to hear that. I doubt myself all the time.”

His expression softened. “I know you do, but you don’t need to. You were a great soldier, the best I’ve ever seen. You have to stop blaming yourself, and you have to stop trying to right a wrong that never was—and that couldn’t be changed even if it had been.”

She looked at his eyes for a long time before she answered. “All right.”

Dack exhaled and smiled. “Good. Now that we’re done with that, you know you have to go see your family at some point.”

She let out a little laugh. “You’re not going let me off the hook today, are you?”

“Nope.”

Jo drew in a breath. “You know Dad’s still mad at me.”

“Sounds like you two have to work out some things.”

She knew she did, and he knew she was avoiding going back to Colorado, where her father, Will, lived, where she’d purchased a small mountain cabin in Salida as well several years ago. She’d hardly been there since, too busy with CA to visit, but she’d wanted a quiet place to go to when she retired, a place where she could be anonymous. Somewhere that no one would bother her. But that also meant her father and sister would be nearby, and every painful piece of the past would be dragged up to address.

Her father still hadn’t forgiven her for not returning home when her mother got sick. She’d thought she had more time. Her mother, Maggie, had been like a towering oak, always capable—when she said she would beat that cancer, it was easy to believe her. She’d fought the disease once, and had been in remission, but the cancer had come back, more aggressively. And Jo’s mission was important, too. They’d worked hard to find an HVT, and she hadn’t wanted to come home during a critical time.

At least that was what she told herself. In truth, Jo hadn’t wanted to see her mother when she was sick; better to keep the strong image of her. But she should’ve known better, should’ve come to see her mother, even if it would shatter that picture.

It didn’t help that Jo had chosen to go into the Army in the first place. Her father had pictured some other career for her. All that had created a rift that still needed to be addressed, but Jo wasn’t ready for that just yet. She wasn’t sure she ever fully would be.

Dack glanced at his watch. “I hate to do this, but I need to go. You’re okay?”

“Never better.” She smiled at him.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. And let me know where you end up next.”

Jo nodded, and he put his hand to the screen. She did the same, and then he ended the call.

Sitting back for a moment against the thin, stiff pillows of the motel bed, she thought about her father. Dack was right. She did need to talk to him, and at some point, she would. But not today.

Jo put the phone down next to her, then lay back on the bed and waited for Darlene’s ride to arrive.

CHAPTER THREE

I t wasn’t until around four thirty that Jo heard a car. Peeking out her window, she saw a beat-up Ford Focus parked in a space next door. A buxom woman in jeans and a white blouse got out, and Darlene emerged from her room. The two hugged and spoke for a second, and then Darlene pointed toward Jo’s door.

Jo picked up her duffel bag, which held a few changes of clothes and some toiletries. She also had a small, folding tactical knife from her military days in her pocket. She didn’t carry a gun. Better to move away from the violence of her past. She’d long since shipped to her dad the few other mementos she’d picked up during her time in the Army and CA. She hadn’t told him what was in the box, and he’d never asked—he hadn’t wanted to know. She traveled lightly, few possessions, nothing to tie her down. She put the room key on the table and stepped out into the heat.

Darlene smiled at her. “My friend’s here.”

“Mona Wilson.” She gave Jo a once-over. “You sure are far from anywhere.”

Her voice was high, almost squeaky. She wore heavy makeup, with her long brown hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She surveyed Jo again, up and down, then pointed at her vehicle.

“Darlene said you don’t have a car, either.”

Jo nodded. “That’s right.”

“Well, hop in,” Mona squeaked.

“If you don’t mind,” Jo said.

“It wouldn’t be very neighborly of me if I didn’t help,” said the woman. “And for today at least, you’re my neighbor.”

Darlene shut her door and got in the front passenger seat. She had nothing with her except her purse. Jo got in the back, while Mona slid behind the wheel, started the car, and cranked the air-conditioner. The cold blast filtered back quickly, and it felt good.

“Where’re you headed?” Mona asked as she threw the Ford in reverse and headed out to the highway. Her drawl wasn’t quite as pronounced as Darlene’s.

“West,” Jo said, her voice noncommittal.

“You got a job?”

Mona was chatty, and Jo felt pretty much talked out for the day. She shook her head. “Not right now.” She hadn’t worked since she got out of the military. She wasn’t sure what she would do, or when. Right now, she just wanted to make her slow way west.

The woman sighed. “I wish I didn’t have a job. I’m sick of that grocery store.”

“At least it pays the bills,” Darlene said.

Mona nodded. “You got me on that one.”

The two began chatting about work, and Jo noticed that they didn’t say anything about Grady, the previous evening, or the bruise under Darlene’s eye. As the conversation went on, it was clear they were being careful to actively avoid the subject. Once they’d talked through their lousy jobs, they lapsed into silence. Mona turned up the radio, some country song by an artist Jo didn’t know, though he had a pleasant voice. As they drew closer to Greensville, Jo broke the silence.

“What’s there to do in this town?”

“Not a whole lot,” Darlene said with a laugh.

Mona glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You aren’t planning on staying, are you?”

Jo shrugged. “It’s too late to go anywhere else tonight.”

Mona frowned and stared straight ahead. Her grip on the wheel grew harder. “There’s the county courthouse, a hospital, and the municipal airport in Marion.”

“And a country club,” Darlene said sarcastically.

“Sure,” Mona agreed. “But nothing in Greensville. Take my word, you don’t want to stay around here.”

“Why is that?” Jo asked.

“There’s nothing but trouble here.” Darlene glanced out the window. “You want to go far away.”

Jo tried to make eye contact with her, but she kept her face turned away. An uneasy tension filled the car, as mysterious as Darlene’s comment.

As Mona drove into the Greensville city limits, Jo gazed out the window. Houses on large lots dotted either side of the two-lane road. Downtown was a mix of two- and three-story brick buildings, with old-fashioned lampposts scattered along wide sidewalks. Few of the businesses appeared open on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

“I could drop you off at the motel,” Mona said. “You could get a room, then get a ride with a trucker out of town tomorrow.”

“Motel sounds fine,” Jo said.

She puzzled over Mona’s last comment, and everything Darlene said—this seeming push to get her to leave town as soon as possible. What was that all about?

Mona drove down Main Street, turned a corner, and stopped at a small motel on Ford Street. It was L-shaped, with a large parking lot, but only a few cars. Jo grabbed her duffel bag and got out, a wave of wet heat hitting her like she’d stepped into a sauna. Mona rolled down her window.

“Thanks for the ride,” Jo said.

“Any time.” Mona smiled back.

Jo bent down and looked past her.

“Take care of yourself,” she said to Darlene. “And stay away from Grady.”

Mona snorted. Darlene glared at her, then turned back.

“You watch out for him, too,” she said, looking Jo in the eyes.

Standing straight, Jo watched as Mona drove out of the parking lot. Then she went into the motel lobby and paid for a room at the far end of the building. She didn’t see any other guests around as she walked out of the office.

The motel was ancient, her room nothing but old carpet and linoleum in the bathroom. The queen-sized bed was clean, though, and that was all that mattered to her. She put her duffel bag down and washed up, then placed a small square of paper in between the door and jamb as she left. There’d be no room service tonight—hell, this place might not even have it in the morning—and if the paper wasn’t there when she returned, she’d know someone had entered while she was gone.

The town remained conspicuously absent of people as she walked down the street to a restaurant called Shirley’s that the motel clerk had recommended. A sign said it was open until nine.

When she stepped in, a rush of cool air greeted her. Two families sat in booths against a wall, and they turned their heads to glance as she entered. Two men—one White and the other Black—sat at a table near a long bar. They both gave Jo a long look, then went back to their meals. She sidled up to the bar and perched on a stool. The bartender, a plump woman with short, curly gray hair, came over. She looked tired, as if she’d been working there all her life, but her smile was friendly.

“How are you doing this evening?” she asked.

Jo smiled back. “Not bad. I heard this was a good place to eat.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Would you like a drink?”

She nodded. “Something on draft. Your call.”

The woman poured a light beer and set it down, along with a menu.

“Today’s special is the meatloaf. I’d say it’s pretty good. It was my grandmother’s recipe.”

Jo didn’t bother with the menu. “If you recommend it, I’ll try it. Is this your place?”

The woman nodded. “Yep. I’m Shirley Flynn. Born and raised here, too stupid to leave.” Her Southern drawl was pleasant, filled with kindness.

Jo laughed. “Most people like to stay close to home.” Although that hadn’t been the case for her, she didn’t say so. The reasons were too complicated, but they started with clashes with her dad, arguments that grew more intense as Jo neared graduation. She’d always known he loved her, but he wanted her to do what he wanted, and she’d always had a mind of her own. “I’m sure Greensville is a great place.”

Shirley’s face expressed a mix of sadness and regret. “I’ll get your order in.”

She went to the end of the bar and disappeared behind a door. Jo sipped her beer and studied the others through the mirror behind the bar. The families had gone back to eating. One of them had little kids, who appeared to be keeping their parents busy. The other had a teenage son, and he kept glancing toward Jo. She was not from here, the stranger, the eyesore, sticking out in a tiny place like this. Her gaze moved to the two men at the table. They had leaned in closely, talking in earnest. The one with short blond hair and a beard raised his voice.

“. . . dealing with that problem. We’ll get it taken care of.”

The black man said something, his drawl thicker than the first guy’s, and Jo missed some of the words but she caught, “Mr. Pollack ain’t happy.”

“Yeah, I know,” the man with the beard said.

They lowered their voices again, and Jo heard something about someone coming, but she couldn’t hear more. Shirley emerged from the kitchen and began wiping down the bar.

“That meatloaf will be ready in a minute,” she said.

Jo nodded. “No problem. I’m not in any hurry.”

Shirley moved closer. “You passing through?”

That seemed to be the question on everyone’s minds. Jo shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Shirley stopped wiping and eyed her. “There isn’t anything to do around here.”

“Tourism isn’t big?”

“You have a sense of humor, at least.” Shirley smiled. “So did my husband. That man could make me laugh.”

The past tense didn’t escape Jo. “What happened?” she asked gently.

“He died in a car accident last year.” The bartender sighed. “My house seems so empty without him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jo had witnessed a lot of tragedy, but she wasn’t completely jaded. She could almost feel Shirley’s loss.

“That’s okay.” She switched back to her previous topic. “Like I said, there isn’t much for a stranger to do here.”

Jo took the hint. “Is there a bus stop?”

Shirley shook her head. “Trucks go through. You could probably hitch a ride with someone up to Tuscaloosa.”

Jo glanced in the mirror. The two men at the table weren’t talking anymore, and though they kept their eyes focused down, they were clearly listening. Shirley seemed to have noticed as well. She looked like she was about to say something, but then she glanced at the bearded man, her eyes widened, and she went back in the kitchen. Jo continued to nurse her beer. One of the families put money on their table, then got up and left. Shirley returned with a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, both smothered in a thick brown gravy, along with some vegetables. She set it down in front of Jo.

“I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Jo said. She tried the meatloaf first. “Wow. It is delicious.”

Shirley smiled, this time looking more relaxed. “That’s kind of you to say. I love to cook, always have. Guess it’s not surprising I took this place over.”

“Well, my compliments.”

As Jo ate, she watched the woman busy herself at the bar, a wary look on her face.

“Is everything okay?” Jo finally asked.

Shirley contemplated her, hemmed and hawed a bit, then said, “What brought you here?”

Jo took another few bites as she considered her answer. “I spent some time near Montgomery as a kid. I went back there, poked around a bit.”

She wasn’t sure what she hoped to get by returning there, maybe a sense of connection, but it had felt odd seeing her old neighborhood. The area had changed, and Jo quickly realized she had along with it. So she moved on instead of lingering.

“That’s it?”

Jo didn’t understand the suspicion in her voice. She didn’t understand anything about whatever was going on here. It went well beyond just her being a stranger in town. She was intrigued, and if she was honest with herself, it gave her a distraction, something to occupy her time. And another reason to delay her trip to Colorado.

“Yes,” she said after a long pause.

The man with the beard met Jo’s gaze in the mirror. Then his gaze flicked to Shirley. “Any problems?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, Seth. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

Seth gave Jo a pointed look, lingering on her. “Okay.”

Behind her, chairs scraped, and Seth and his friend got up. Jo watched in the mirror as they stared at her. Seth paid Shirley, then sauntered out the door, followed by his friend.

“It seems like Seth was concerned for you,” Jo said.

Shirley moved closer so the remaining family at the table didn’t hear.

“There was some trouble a while back.”

“Oh?”

Jo waited, and Shirley went to the empty table, took the money, and grabbed the dishes. She scurried into the kitchen, and when she came back, she started wiping the bar again. Jo finished her food, sipped some beer, and waited. When Shirley didn’t say anything, Jo spun on her stool.

“What kind of trouble?”

Shirley looked around as if concerned someone would still be listening in, but only the family remained. “With my nephew,” she said finally. “They”—she nodded toward the door—“think I hired someone to figure out what was going on.”

“What happened?”

Before the woman could elaborate, the door opened and a stream of light filled the bar. Shirley glanced that way, and fear washed across her face like a raging river. Jo turned to look. A man with thinning reddish-blond hair was silhouetted in the doorway.

Grady. Looking him over, her stomach tightening with recognition, she realized she still didn’t know his last name.

He stepped into the restaurant, followed by three other burly men. Grady wore jeans and a plaid button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His boots clicked on the hardwood floor as he crossed to Jo. Taking off his dark sunglasses, he moved his face close to hers. Twenty-four hours later, his nose was swollen, like he’d been stung by a bee.

“I thought I told you to move on.”

Jo glanced around. The family at the table had quieted, the parents watching what was going on with uneasy looks on their faces, the kids oblivious. Then the father quickly got up, left money on the table, and hustled the rest out the door. Looking back at Shirley, Jo saw that she was clearly frightened. She turned to Grady.

“You told me to move on if I had any sense. Now, maybe I don’t have sense.” Jo swiveled on the stool, her hands at her sides, ready. “Or maybe I’ll move on when I feel like it.” She didn’t like to be pushed around, especially by a jerk like Grady. He reminded her of a soldier who’d tried to have his way with her, and she’d kicked him in the family jewels. He’d left her alone after that, but she hadn’t reported the incident for fear of what it might do to her career. Over time, she’d regretted not doing that, and she vowed that she would always stand up for herself, and others.

He placed a hand on the edge of the bar. “Seems like we need to teach you a lesson.”

“Grady, don’t—” Shirley started to say.

“You keep your mouth shut, or what happened to Merle will happen to you.”

Shirley took a step back as if he’d slapped her, and she began to visibly tremble. She didn’t say another word, but hatred burned in her eyes.

“Let’s go outside,” Grady said to Jo.

The three men with him, all dressed similarly, flexed their muscles and positioned themselves around Jo. Shirley looked at her, a plea in her eyes. She didn’t want trouble in her restaurant.

“You’re making a mistake,” Jo said to Grady.

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “No, you are, if you don’t come with me.”

Jo drew in a breath, irritated at having to deal with this. She’d been looking for a meal in a quiet place, that was all. Grady hadn’t factored into her plans. Pushing her plate away, she pulled some money from her pocket, laid the bills on the bar, and stood up.

“Lead the way.”

Grady stepped back, still wary of her, but emboldened by the presence of his three pals. Jo didn’t waste any more time, and headed out of the restaurant.

CHAPTER FOUR

A  cobalt-blue sky greeted her as she stepped out to the sidewalk, but it didn’t make her feel any more welcome. She didn’t see anyone other than the four men. Grady’s dark Dodge Ram pickup sat at the curb, alongside another truck, the only vehicles on the road. Sunday evening in a small town, everybody at home. Jo turned to look at Grady, his three pals still flanking him. He glowered and jabbed a finger at her.

“I told you to move on outta here.”

Jo smiled at him. “Actually, you told me to leave Marion, not here. This just happened to be where I could get to next.”

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he said.

She contemplated him. “I’m not looking for any problems. If I don’t see you causing any trouble, I’ll move along in the morning.”

He shook his head. “Not good enough. I want you out of town tonight.”

“Not going to happen. I have every right to be here.” She stared back. “I’ll find a ride in the morning.”

Grady took a step toward her, and his men moved in order to surround her once more. Jo had no problem handling one person, even two. She could do that with the knife in her pocket. But four was another matter. Usually there was the lead man. That would be Grady, the one causing the trouble. Then you had the followers, some who might be as eager as their leader, but some who might be reluctant, who would bail once their leader was incapacitated. The problem, as Jo saw it, was that they all seemed to be in the first category. They almost seemed professional. Things were out of balance. Even for the best, this wasn’t a fair fight. She braced herself.

Grady took another couple of steps toward her. “Where’s your car?”

She held up her hands. “I don’t have one. I told you, I need to get a ride.”

“Who don’t have a car?” one of the other men said.

He was big, with a goatee and a chest as thick as a sequoia tree. But he was heavy on his feet, too used to his bulk scaring people on its own. He wasn’t ready for a fight.

Jo pointed toward the restaurant. “I want to finish my beer and go back to the motel.”

Grady shook his head, once back and forth, slow. “Get outta here.” He pushed his sleeves up even higher. “Otherwise, we’ll mess you up good.”

“You’d beat up a woman?”

“Payback for last night.”

He stepped closer, and she braced herself, her arms loose at her sides. He’d know from last night’s experience not to get too close, but as he let the other men move around her, he tensed up. It was close quarters; she was in a bad situation. Leaving Grady where he was, Jo shot a sudden hand out to her left, connecting with the man closest to her, the one with the goatee. He had no time to move, and she had the element of surprise. She caught him square on the jaw, a perfect hit, and he dropped to his knees. He wouldn’t be rising anytime soon.

One down.

The guy to her right flipped his baseball cap as he barreled toward her. She sidestepped him, but another man came at her from the left. She ducked and punched him in the face, but then the one in the baseball cap righted himself, turned, and hit her in the stomach.

It was a good blow. Jo staggered backward, bent over. The man she’d hit in the face had staggered to his feet, and he caught her arm and twisted it up behind her. She started to pull his weight toward her, but then the man in the baseball cap pinned her other arm behind her. Grady moved in, and she was able to kick him, but the blow wasn’t very powerful. He knocked her leg away and punched her in the stomach. Her breath went out of her, and she gasped. No matter how tough she was, every advantage was on their side at this point. Then Grady backhanded her. As he pulled his hand back for another blow, she heard the blip of a siren. Grady’s fist stopped, and he looked up. Jo glanced over her shoulder.

A sheriff’s vehicle screeched to a stop next to Grady’s truck. Grady scowled at the sedan, then took a step back and waited. The two men still held Jo, while the one she’d punched in the jaw staggered to his feet, blood gushing from a cut on his chin. He pulled a blue handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the cut. The police car’s door opened, and a tall, gangly Black man got out. He wore dark slacks and a pressed white shirt with a sheriff’s star pinned above the left pocket, where a nameplate read “Burleson.” He ran a hand over his head, then donned a wide-brimmed hat and put a hand on a pistol on his belt. Drawing in a breath, he stared at Grady.

Jo glanced back toward the restaurant. Shirley was peeking out the window, but she stayed still. She must’ve called the sheriff.

Burleson surveyed the scene. “What the hell are you all doing?” His voice was even, slightly clipped, not a hint of the Southern twang she’d heard from everyone else. He had a long face, with concave cheeks and bright blue eyes.

Grady gestured. “She was giving me a hard time last night, that’s all. It isn’t any big deal.”

Burleson cocked an eyebrow. “You need three guys to help you?”

Grady’s hands went to his sides. “It’s not what you think.”

The sheriff looked at the others. “Let her go.”

As the two men let go of Jo, she stood straighter. Her cheek smarted where Grady had hit her, and she was sure she’d have a nice bruise on her stomach. But it could’ve been worse. Burleson looked at her.

“What’s your name?”

“Jo Gunning.”

Grady pointed at her. “You need to run her in.”

Burleson shifted on his feet. “On what charges?”

“Vagrancy,” Grady said. “She was causing trouble in Marion last night, and she’s causing trouble here.”

Burleson looked at Jo.

“What were you doing?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t doing anything. I came into town, got some dinner, and I was headed back to my motel.” She gestured at Grady. “Then he showed up and started hassling me.”

“That’s not true,” Grady said. “The moment we stepped into the restaurant, she was mouthing off.”

Burleson glanced toward the restaurant, but Shirley wasn’t at the window anymore. He put his hands on his hips and looked at Jo.

“You need to come with me.”

“On what charges?” Jo asked. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Burleson made a motion with his fingers. “Come on. Don’t give me a hard time, or I’ll have to arrest you.”

“On what charges?” she repeated. “They assaulted me.”

“Prove it,” Grady snarled.

Burleson locked eyes with her. “Somehow, I sense you’re a smart woman. You ought to know that you shouldn’t push things, or it could get ugly again.” He eyed the others.

It was obvious he wasn’t going to arrest Grady or the others. Clearly they had the power, not her. And Burleson was right. If he left, she’d have to deal with Grady and his pals. Jail might be a way out, even if it wasn’t the best option.

“Fine,” she said.

Burleson pulled out handcuffs. “Turn around.”

She did so, and Grady stepped up as the sheriff cuffed her.

“Let me search her.”

“She’s not resisting me,” Burleson said.

“Why him?” Jo protested.

The sheriff ignored her. It didn’t make sense for a citizen to search her, but Burleson didn’t seem to care. Grady came within an inch of Jo’s nose. She smelled mint on his breath, the stale tobacco kind. He squinted at her, then his hands roamed up and down her body, lingering on her hips.

“That’s enough,” Burleson said. “Does she have a weapon?”

“No,” Grady said.

The sheriff looked at him, and Grady took a step back.

“Come on,” Burleson said to Jo.

He led her to his squad car, where he opened the back door and she lowered her head and slid in. She had to lean forward, her cuffed hands pressed against the back seat beneath her. As he shut the door, she heard him say something to Grady. The man waved a dismissive hand. Then he and the other three sauntered back into the restaurant. The sheriff turned around and put his hands on his hips. He stared through the windshield at Jo, then shook his head slightly and walked to the car. Tossing his hat on the passenger seat, he got in.

“Where’re we going?” she asked.

Burleson looked at her in the rearview mirror. “To the station. We’ll settle things there.”

The tone was definitive, so she sat back and kept quiet as he drove down the street.

CHAPTER FIVE

T he sheriff was quiet on the short drive to the station. Jo was a great negotiator, with excellent communication skills that she’d used in CA, but she decided now was not the time to say anything. Better to assess whatever happened next and go from there.

The car turned off Main Street and soon pulled up to a small brick building with a steep pitched roof. Burleson snatched up his hat, got out, then crammed the hat onto his head. He looked around, but even from her position Jo could see that the street was empty.

Opening the back door, the sheriff gestured for Jo to get out. It wasn’t easy with her hands behind her back.

“Let’s go,” he said.

He put a gentle hand on her elbow, shut the car door, and led her into the building. A lone woman in uniform sat behind a desk, staring at a computer screen. She looked up when Burleson and Jo walked in.

“Trouble on a Sunday evening?” Surprise in her tone. Things didn’t happen here on Sundays. “You going to make my overtime difficult?”

“Nothing to worry about, Elaine,” Burleson said.

Elaine leaned back in her chair. She was plump, with dark eyes and skin and long black hair.

“You need me to tidy up the cell?” she asked.

“We’ll see,” said Burleson.

He escorted Jo across the room and opened an office door with his name painted on the glass. As he led her inside, he glanced at Elaine. Then he shut the door, pulled out a ring of keys, and uncuffed Jo.

“Empty your pockets onto the desk.”

She hesitated. She was being illegally detained, but what would happen if she protested? Best not to make waves.

Jo stepped up to the desk. She never carried a purse. It was an inconvenience in her jobs in the military, and it was now. She pulled out the knife, an ID, a couple of credit cards, and some cash from her right front pocket and put them on the desk. From another pocket, she put down the motel key and her cell phone. She glanced around the cramped office as she did, taking in everything she could. A few pictures of Burleson with some deputies hung on the wall behind him, as well as a few plaques, but otherwise the walls were sparse, nothing showy. Two wooden file cabinets sat in one corner, a gun case in another near his desk. Her gaze settled on Burleson.

He eyed her pockets. “Is that it?”

She nodded. “I travel light.”

The sheriff pointed at a heavy oak chair sitting across from his desk.

“Take a seat.”

As Jo sat down, he stepped around his desk, took off his hat, and set it down. Then he unbuckled his belt and laid it carefully beside the hat, keeping his gun within easy reach. He smoothed his hair and looked at her. The swivel chair was comfortable, with a padded seat, and she leaned back, placing her hands on the armrests where he could see them. He picked up her ID and studied it.

“Josephine Ann Gunning. Thirty-four years old.” Burleson peered at her over the ID. “This license is expired. You don’t have a current one?”

“Not anymore. I don’t need it.”

“You don’t have a car?”

She shook her head. “Not at the moment.”

“Where do you live?”

“Nowhere.”

He glanced at the ID again. “You don’t live in Salida, Colorado?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got a place there, but I haven’t been there in years.”

“Where do you receive mail?”

“An APO box.” He stared at her, so she clarified. “Army Post Office.” It was close to Dack’s house, and when she left Washington, DC, he’d agreed to check it and forward anything important to her.

“Where do you work?”

“Here and there.”

“No steady job?”

“No.”

“What did you do in the Army?”

“This and that.”

She wasn’t going to tell him that she’d been a highly-trained soldier with Civil Affairs, or that she was an expert markswoman and fluent in several languages. He’d certainly have been surprised to know that she worked with several secretive Special Operations units and had gathered human intelligence in dangerous countries, places where someone like Grady never would’ve lasted.

Burleson nodded with a look as if some prior bit of knowledge now made sense.

“So is Grady right, that you’re a vagrant?” he asked.

“Vagrant implies something negative—not just a migratory existence, but one where a person begs for money or food,” Jo said. “I paid for my meal, and I have a place to stay.”

“You don’t work, but you have money.”

“I’ve got savings.”

She was a frugal person, and when she was overseas, she was too busy to be spending money. Now she had a little nest egg, and she didn’t have to worry about bills or other expenses that would drain her account.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Just traveling through.”

“Really? Nothing more than that?” He didn’t try to keep the skepticism out of his tone.

She let the air swell with silence for a beat. “That’s what I said.”

“Grady says you were giving him a hard time.”

“That’s not what happened, and I have witnesses. You can ask the others at the bar. I was—”

Burleson held up a hand to interrupt her. “I’m not worried about Grady.” He let out a weighty breath. “He’s full of himself. I just want to know what exactly you did to piss him off.”

It didn’t appear as if he was going to arrest her. At least not yet. But she had to be careful.

“He wasn’t playing nice with a woman named Darlene,” she said.

“Darlene Eckleberry?”

“I don’t know her last name. She was probably about forty, a little shorter than me. She had long brown hair with some gray in it.”

“That’s Darlene.” Burleson shook his head slowly. “And interfering with whatever was going on with her would certainly piss off Grady. You don’t come between him and a woman.”

Jo stared at him. “You’re the sheriff. You should.”

He didn’t seem to take affront to her bold comment, just raised his eyebrows slightly.

“It’s complicated,” he said.

“Why is that?”

The man steepled his fingers. “You’re not from around here.”

“We’ve established that.”

“Do you know anything about Greensville?”

Jo shook her head. “Seems like a quaint little town.”

He nodded. “It is. And we have our fair share of . . . politics.”

“Grady’s part of that?”

Burleson didn’t answer directly. “What do you know about Rance Pollack?”

“Who?”

He studied her carefully. Jo knew he was trying to decide whether she was telling the truth. She was. She’d never heard of a Rance Pollack.

“You just happen to come to this little town on a Sunday?” he asked.

Jo could be a patient person, more than most she felt, but that patience was wearing thin. “Sheriff, I told you. I’m just passing through. Why all the questions? And who is Rance Pollack?”

His face clouded over. “It’s not important.”

Clearly it was or he wouldn’t have asked, but she could tell he wasn’t going to say more.

“Why was Shirley so scared of Grady?” she asked.

The sheriff scratched his chin. “You saw how he is.”

She pointed at him. “Why are you scared of him?”

“I’m not.” A little too defensive, a little too quick. “You used to be in the military,” he continued. “You know that things aren’t always that easy. Everything isn’t always that straightforward.”

Jo couldn’t argue with that. In battle, lines were often blurred, whether one liked that or not. And Burleson had mentioned politics—in an elected position, he must have to be careful.

“What’s going on with this Pollack guy?” she asked.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” He stared at her for a long time, but she waited without another word. “I don’t want any trouble on a Sunday evening. Or any other time.”

She held up her hands. “I don’t either.”

“What’re your plans?”

Jo shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Again, that was the truth. She wasn’t ready to head west right away. She wanted to take her time. And now that she was here, she was curious about Grady and his influence over Shirley and Burleson. But she wasn’t going to tell the sheriff anything more than she had to.

She kept her calm gaze on him as he studied her. In the outer room, the phone rang, and Jo could hear Elaine talking. Then it grew quiet. Burleson finally drew in a breath and let it out very slowly.

“Tell you what,” said the sheriff. “I’m going to let you go. I want you to head back to your motel, stay the night, and first thing tomorrow, find yourself a ride out of here. You don’t want to stay in this town.”

“Why is that? This seems like a pleasant place.”

“It was, once.” Burleson leaned forward and put his elbows on the edge of the desk. “Look, I have no problem with you. I’m telling you this for your own good. And you don’t want to run into Grady again, either.”

He stood up, and she took it as a sign that she could as well.

“What if I run into him and his thugs on my way to the motel?” she asked.

“I’ll take care of him. You go straight to the motel and stay there.”

Burleson waited as she pocketed her belongings. She put her hand on the doorknob, then looked back at him.

“Is it that bad?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jo didn’t believe a single word.

CHAPTER SIX

S he left the door open, and as she stepped into the main room, Elaine gave her a puzzled smile.

“You have a pleasant evening,” the woman said as she glanced back to Burleson’s office.

Jo nodded and looked back as well. Burleson was staring into space, a troubled expression on his face, like he’d just smelled something rank. After her conversation with him, Jo was even more curious about what was going on in the little town.

When she stepped outside, the sun was setting, the western sky a hazy orange. She instantly missed the air-conditioned building. Wiping sweat off her brow, she walked back to Main Street, turned the corner, and strolled down the sidewalk. About half a block down, Burleson’s squad car passed slowly by. He didn’t wave, but his eyes were on her. She cut across the street and went a block over, as if she were headed to the motel, but then she walked parallel to Main instead.

After a few more blocks, she turned and headed back toward Main Street, then paused in the doorway of an abandoned building. Across Main, she could see Shirley’s Restaurant. Grady’s Dodge Ram and the other truck still sat in front, and Burleson’s squad car had pulled up next to them. She held back and watched as the sky darkened. Shortly after the light faded, the restaurant door opened and Burleson emerged. Jo shrank back into the shadows. The sheriff got into the squad car, backed up, and drove away. Grady and his buddies didn’t follow him out.

Jo pulled out her phone and googled Shirley Flynn’s address, finding her address on a people-search site. She lived on Wray Street. She mapped out the route, gave the restaurant a final look, and walked off.

Shirley lived in a small white house with a long front porch and a carport, set far back from the road. A towering willow oak shaded a dry lawn, but flowerbeds bloomed brightly near the porch even in the dim light. No one was around, so she walked up the driveway and stood in the carport, then peeked through a window. The house was dark. Jo glanced to the next home over, several yards away. A light was on in a window there, but she heard nothing. She tiptoed to the back, leaned against the side of Shirley’s house, and waited.

At 9:20, the sound of a car split the quiet evening, and headlights shone on Shirley’s driveway. A light-colored Nissan sedan pulled into the carport, and the engine died. Jo heard the car door open, and she stepped around the corner, just outside the glow of the headlights. Shirley was getting out of the car, and she jumped when she saw Jo’s shadow.

“It’s just me,” Jo said.

Shirley peered into the darkness, and recognition flashed across her face.

“You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Jo said. She looked past Shirley. The street was still quiet.

“What are you doing here?” the woman asked.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Shirley closed the car door and locked it, then waved at Jo.

“Stay out of the light. Did anyone see you?”

Jo stepped toward the side door of the house, sticking to the shadows as she shook her head.

“It’s been quiet.”

“That’s a relief,” Shirley said.

She walked around the back of the car, and the headlights finally shut off. Stepping by Jo, she opened the side door.

“You should’ve let yourself in. No one locks their doors around here. It would’ve been cooler inside. And safer.”

It was strange how no one seemed to want to say what was going on in the little town, but they didn’t hesitate with cryptic warnings.

Jo followed her into a small kitchen, and Shirley shut the door. The house was indeed cooler, and pleasantly so. A sweet smell lingered from a vase of flowers on a small table. A dim light was on over the stove, but before Shirley turned on any other lights, she closed the blinds in a window by the side door and the front window in the living room. Then she flipped on a lamp.

The living room was small, decorated with a matching sofa and loveseat, both positioned in front of a TV perched on a little entertainment center in the corner. The walls were painted beige, and what appeared to be cheap prints of old paintings hung on two walls. A credenza in a hallway that led to the front door had framed photos of Shirley and a man with gray hair, as well as several of a woman with long blond hair, her age varying in each one. Shirley noticed Jo looking at them.

“That’s my husband, and my daughter. She lives in Montana.” Shirley smiled. “Can you imagine leaving here, where it’s so hot and humid, and going to Montana? I don’t know that I could, but she likes the cold and the snow.”

To Jo, it sounded lovely, especially after so much time in hot, humid DC. “It would certainly be an adjustment.”

Shirley pointed to the couch.

“Why don’t you sit down? Would you like something to drink?”

“A glass of water,” Jo said.

Shirley nodded. “I’ll take something stronger, if you don’t mind.”

Jo shook her head. “I don’t.”

The woman went into the kitchen, and Jo heard her bustling about, glass clinking. She returned with a pint glass full of water, which she handed to Jo before sitting down and sipping from her own, a highball with dark liquid. She sighed.

“That tastes good.” Shirley looked at Jo over her drink. “Carl didn’t arrest you?”

Jo raised an eyebrow. “Carl?”

“Sheriff Burleson.” Shirley snickered. “I’ve known him since we were kids, went to school with him. He’s not Sheriff to me, just Carl.”

Jo smiled. “No, he didn’t arrest me.” She took a sip of water, and realized as she did that she hadn’t drank anything since the restaurant. It was a welcome relief. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Why’s that?”

“You called Burleson to get Grady off my back.”

Shirley waved a dismissive hand. “I knew you could handle yourself against Grady, but him bringing in the others like that? Well, that wasn’t fair.”

“Who were they?”

“Just some friends of his. They hang around together, think they’re tough.”

“How did you know I could handle myself?”

“I heard some about you. This is a small town, and people talk. Word was already going around about how somebody took on Grady at a motel in Marion.” She tipped her head at Jo. “Sounds like you put him in his place. You can handle yourself.”

“Usually.” Jo thought over the last several hours. “Why is everybody so scared of Grady?”

“He’s got the backing of the right people.”

“Rance Pollack?”

Shirley nodded. “I see you’ve heard of him.”

“Just in passing. Who is he?”

Shirley took another sip of her drink. “The Pollacks practically own this town. Over the years, they’ve bought up the land around here, and a lot of the real estate as well. The family even owns the building where the restaurant is. If I don’t stay in line, they’ll raise the rent and price me out.”

“I saw a lot of abandoned buildings around town. Wouldn’t the Pollacks want rent money versus having another vacant space?”

“I don’t know.” She grimaced. “And now Rance is financing a new sawmill that’ll supply timber to some of the pressure-treated pine lumber factories. It’ll bring a lot more jobs to the area, and we sure need that around here.”

There was something dark in her tone, casting a shadow over the words.

“You’re not thrilled about the new sawmill?”

Shirley didn’t hesitate. “I think the Pollacks are cooking up something more, and I don’t trust Rance farther than I could throw him. He carries himself well, went to a good college in Virginia, acts better than everyone else. But he’s not a man you want to cross, if you know what I mean. There’s been plenty of bad stuff happening around here over the years, but you keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. If you don’t, you don’t have a job.”

“You don’t like Rance?”

“I grew up with him, too. He was all right back then, arrogant though. His daddy was a mean man. Dead now, and I won’t say God rest his soul. His soul doesn’t deserve that.”

“Is Grady connected to Rance?”

Shirley sipped the last of her drink and set the glass down on an end table. “I can’t say for sure, but probably. If that’s true, it makes things more difficult.”

“Why is that?”

Shirley looked at her in surprise. “You don’t know about Grady, do you?”

Jo shifted in her chair, curious. “What about him?”

Her voice lowered. “He’s a town deputy.”

She nodded slowly. “Now it makes more sense.”

“What?”

“I couldn’t figure out why Burleson would haul me into the station, solely based on what Grady had said. But if he was wary of Grady, that follows.” And it now made more sense that Burleson hadn’t resisted when Grady wanted to search her himself.

She sniffed. “Carl’s in charge, but he has to be wary of Grady. If he gets on Grady’s wrong side, it’ll go right back to Rance Pollack.”

“Sheriff is an elected position.”

“Sure it is. But the Pollacks control the town’s politics. If Carl does anything they don’t like, he’ll lose his job. Don’t get me wrong, Carl’s a good guy, but he’s not going to cross them.”

Jo stared at her. “At the restaurant, you mentioned something about people thinking you hired someone to figure out what was going on. Mentioned a relative, I think. What did you mean by that?”

The sadness that Jo had seen earlier swept across Shirley’s face like a crashing wave. She put her hands in her lap and looked away.

“Someone killed my nephew.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“S omeone killed your nephew,” Jo repeated. The words hung in the air for a moment. “What happened?”

Shirley regarded her warily. “I can’t prove it, but I think Grady did it. Or he was behind it.”

“Merle?”

“Yes.”

“I remember Grady said something about him at the restaurant. That what happened to him might happen to you.”

Shirley took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Merle Latham was my sister’s boy. He was named after Merle Haggard.” Her smile was soft with memory. “My sister sure did love Merle Haggard. She knew every song and sang them all the time. I got so sick of it. Once I moved out of the house, I never played his songs. But now, I’d like nothing more than to sit with her and listen to his CDs.”

“Where’s your sister now?”

“She died right after Merle graduated from high school. Lung cancer. I always told her she should quit smoking, but she didn’t quit. The cancer got her quick.”

“I’m sorry,” Jo murmured.

She again thought of her mom, and her cancer. And her father wanting her to take leave and come home. Yet all she felt was a familiar sense of resentment.

It wasn’t just the mission she’d been involved in—she and her mother hadn’t been seeing eye to eye for some time. Maggie could be overbearing, always thought her ways were the best. Jo wasn’t sure what had changed; Mom hadn’t been like that when Jo was growing up. But once Jo was in the military, she’d wanted Jo to settle down. Jo wasn’t ready for that, hadn’t been sure exactly what she wanted. She’d had a good relationship with her mom, and it felt as if that were crumbling under Maggie’s judgment.

Still, she should’ve come home to see her, for what would’ve been the final time, and she knew it. So did Will. And she knew that whenever she saw her father, they would have words about her choice, and she’d have to face her regrets. It was one of the reasons why she’d avoided going back to Colorado now. Jo shook herself from those thoughts and looked at Shirley.

“What happened to Merle after your sister died?”

Shirley picked up her glass, sipped at the ice, and set the glass back down. This seemed to be conjuring up bad memories for her now, just as it had for Jo.

“Merle was smart, even got himself a scholarship to Wallace Community College. He went one semester, but he just couldn’t handle his mom’s death, so he dropped out. He went north, up into Tennessee and Kentucky, then ended up in Chicago for a while. Got himself hooked on heroin, and I think he was dealing as well. It was a mess. I tried to watch out for him, but he was a stubborn boy, wouldn’t listen to me. His older brother, Jimmy, went into the Marines, and he did all right for himself. Merle, he just wouldn’t listen. I finally got him to come back here, and he seemed to clean himself up.”

Her voice faded off, and after a few second, Jo prompted her. “And then?”

Shirley blinked hard, as if it was all right in front of her again. “He was working day labor, clearing timber at a place a few miles outside of town. It seemed like a good job, and he was making some friends.

I thought everything was going along well. But then Carl came over to the restaurant one night about a month ago and told me that Merle had shot himself.” Her voice choked, and she took a moment to gather herself. “I couldn’t believe it. Merle was a good boy, and he didn’t mess with anybody around here. He was getting himself straightened out, I swear, and he seemed okay.” She tapped the armrest, almost hammering on it. “I don’t buy that he killed himself. He’d had a run-in with Grady a few weeks before he died, and I think that had something to do with his death. I don’t know if Merle pissed him off, or if he got between Grady and a woman, but that man knows more than he’s saying.”

“What did Grady say?”

“He denied knowing anything about it. Said they didn’t have an argument, that Merle was drunk and Grady was just trying to get him home safely. But I don’t buy that.”

“There were witnesses to their fight?”

She nodded. “A man named Dean Blackwood, one of the guys Merle worked with, heard something. I talked to him, but all he said was that Grady and Merle were talking, and then Merle walked away. Dean claimed wasn’t a big deal, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“Why would Dean lie about it?”

“He’s scared of Grady? Like everybody else around here?” She shrugged. “Regardless, Dean pretty much just brushed me off.”

Jo considered that. “And Burleson? He looked into Merle’s death?”

She snorted. “Carl investigated it, if you could call it that. He went out where Merle’s body was found and told me there wasn’t evidence of anybody else being around. He didn’t know why Merle was out where he was. There were no witnesses, and no way to know for sure what happened. The way Carl described it, if it wasn’t suicide, a ghost would’ve had to shoot Merle.”

“Where was his body found?”

“Up past the timber site, to the west of where they’re clearing trees now. I didn’t tell you, but Grady owns a piece of that place.”

“Really?”

Shirley nodded. “Yep. He and his brother run it. His brother’s there most of the time since Grady’s a deputy. Anyway, Carl thought maybe Merle went out walking after work, to get away from everybody, and then he shot himself. That doesn’t make any sense, though. Merle didn’t like to be by himself. He wanted to hang around with people. He wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t in any trouble, and he had no reason to do that to himself.”

Jo tried to paint a picture of the scene in her mind from the sparse details, but it was still too vague. “His vehicle was found near there?”

“Yeah. He drove an old pickup. My other nephew, Jimmy, came for the funeral, and he took the truck when he left.”

“What about Jimmy? Did he believe Merle killed himself?”

“They didn’t talk much, so Jimmy wouldn’t have had any idea how Merle was doing, or what his mood was.”

Jo let it all sit as she finished her water. Then she cleared her throat. “You’re pretty certain you’re not wrong.”

Shirley nodded. “I know Merle was doing well. I don’t just believe that, I know it.”

Jo knew how good people could be at wearing different faces, but she wasn’t going to say anything at the moment.

“Was there an autopsy?”

Shirley shrugged. “The coroner told me it was cut and dried. A clear case of suicide.” She threw up her hands. “How am I supposed to do anything? I asked questions, said that I didn’t think Merle would kill himself, but the coroner told me that’s the way it was.” She sighed. “But somehow, I expect Grady got to him.”

“I can see how you’d suspect Grady, but it doesn’t sound like you have proof.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not crazy.”

“No,” Jo said. “I don’t think you are.”

“Something’s going on around here.” Shirley grew thoughtful. “You want to know something weird? The day after Merle died, Rance Pollack’s daughter, Addison, drowned up near the Dixie Reservoir.”

Lot of death for such a small town. “Was there anything suspicious about it?”

Shirley shook her head. “Not as far as I ever heard. She liked to go skinny-dipping up there, and she’d had too much to drink. I guess she swam out too far, got tired, and didn’t have the strength to make it back to shore. Her body was found the next day by some kids who went there to swim. All the talk was that she was too drunk. The reservoir’s closed for now.” Her mouth pinched. “Addison was quite the looker, but she had a temper, and she knew how to party. I always thought she was spoiled. Her parents gave her everything she ever wanted, and she didn’t have to lift a finger for anything. I think Rance pulled some strings to get her accepted at the University of Alabama, and she managed to get a degree there, but she didn’t do anything with it. She just hung around town and caused trouble with the boys. I heard Rance was going to give her a job at the new sawmill, but obviously that’s not going to happen now.”

“That must’ve been devastating for the Pollacks.”

Shirley’s face grew dark once more, blending into the shadows of the room. “I rarely see him, but Rance has been stoic about it. His wife, Leah, doesn’t hardly do anything since the drowning. I didn’t go to the funeral, heard that it was a small affair with just a few of their friends. They have another daughter, Scarlett, and she comes into the restaurant once in a while. She’s as wild as Addison was, but she’s never given me any problems. She hasn’t said much about her sister’s death, either. I suppose she’ll be working at the sawmill once she finishes college. She’s at Alabama, too, although she’s home for the summer.”

“Does she work now?”

Shirley laughed. “She doesn’t have to lift a finger for anything, just like her sister. Even having a job at the mill would be a token, just something to keep her busy. Rance probably wants her out of his hair.”

“Did either one ever hook up with Grady?”

“Those girls would be young for him.”

“Doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen,” Jo said. “I’ve seen worse.”

Shirley thought about that, and her lips turned in disgust. “I never heard of either one being with him, but I guess you’re right.”

“Two deaths in a span of a couple of days,” Jo mused aloud.

“That was certainly unusual, and it brought some attention from the sheriff’s department in Marion. They didn’t find anything suspicious, but it’s had people talking. Since Merle died, I’ve said something here and there about hiring somebody to find out what really happened to him. Grady’s worried about that prospect, I can tell. But there’s more. Some of Rance’s men come into the restaurant, and I hear them talking. They seem antsy, and there’s been a rumor of someone new coming into town. I don’t know what that’s about.”

“They talk business in front of you?”

“I overhear things.” Shirley shrugged. “Besides, Rance and his men don’t fear anyone.”

“Something with the sawmill?”

“Maybe.”

Jo considered all that Shirley had said. The woman’s story made sense, but there were missing pieces. The only way to find out was to poke around and ask questions. Jo looked at Shirley, saw the sadness and desperation in her eyes, a yearning to know what had happened to her nephew. It was heartbreaking, and Jo felt herself being drawn in.

“So you think Grady murdered your nephew and he’s covering it up?”

“I do.” She studied Jo. “You seem like you know what you’re doing. I’ve got five thousand dollars. It’s yours if you find out what really happened to Merle.”

Jo thought about that. “It sure seems like everyone wants to run me out of town.”

“I’m afraid Rance will try to run me out of town, too. There’s something fishy going on in this place. Rance is suspicious of me, and others, too. I don’t know everything that’s happening, not close, but before he does anything to me, I need to find out what happened to Merle.”

“Where would you go?”

Shirley chuckled without humor. “I’m not a fan of the snow, but I could go to Montana, be closer to my daughter. I could figure out a way to start up a new place there, I know what I’m doing with running a restaurant. With my husband gone, there’s not much left for me here. The town will grow and change with the new sawmill coming in. More people, more traffic. I’m not sure I can watch us get sucked up into something bigger. It’s time for me to move on.”

Jo got up and poured herself another glass of water as she mulled over their conversation. Returning, she set it on the table and looked at Shirley.

“I could stick around for a few days, ask a few questions. I don’t know what I’ll find, though.”

“You really do need to be careful of Grady.”

Jo nodded. “I will be. I suppose I should be asking questions at that timber site.”

“You could try to get on as a day laborer, like Merle did, and then ask around. Just be careful, though. Grady’s not usually there because he’s on patrol, and based on what’s happened between you and Grady, I don’t think he’d tell his brother about you.”

“You never know.”

“Right.”.

“You said the site is a few miles out of town? I don’t have a car.”

Shirley gave her directions. “It’s not too far, and cars will be headed out that way. You could probably catch a ride. But you need to get there early.”

“Okay.”

The woman stared at her, looking confused almost. “I didn’t really think you would help me out. Why are you doing this?”

Jo frowned. She wasn’t sure how to answer. She wasn’t even fully sure of her own motivations, just that this felt right. “Like I said, everyone keeps telling me to leave. That makes me curious. And I don’t mind helping out.”

They both stood up, and Shirley walked Jo toward the side door.

“If you need anything from me, just holler.” She gave Jo her cell phone number.

“Are you at the restaurant tomorrow?” Jo asked.

Shirley shook her head. “I try to take Mondays off, so Vicki will run things tomorrow, she’s a friend of mine. She and Dennis—that’s my cook—they hold down the fort.” She scowled. “You watch your back, okay? If Grady sees you, he won’t be happy that you’re sticking around.”

“I’ll be going to the lumber site early, so hopefully I won’t run into him. And I’ll be careful to avoid him.”

“Are you staying at the motel?”

“Yes.”

“Want a ride there?”

Jo shook her head. “I’ll walk.”

“Suit yourself.”

Shirley waited until Jo was partway down the drive before shutting the door behind her. Jo glanced at the stars, then walked quietly down the street.

CHAPTER EIGHT

R ance Pollack rocked in a chair on the veranda of his house. A square of dim light from the living room window shone on the front porch. Rance felt the shadows envelop him like a suffocating blanket. Ceiling fans stirred the hot air, providing little relief. But it was better than being inside, where tension filled the space like an angry storm cloud. He glanced around.

He’d lived in this spacious two-story house all his life. His great-grandfather had built the place on forty acres, had a family, then passed on the house and land to his son. And so on. Rance had seen both his parents die in the master bedroom upstairs. If he was lucky, he’d die up there too, in his sleep. But for now, he stared into the darkness, brooding. The Pollack family had been through a lot over the years, and they’d not only survived, they’d thrived, making themselves rich in the process.

So how were things going so horribly wrong?

He shook his head. It was hard to hang on to your wealth, hard to keep everything going. Times changed—sources dried up, and new revenue streams had to be found. The new sawmill would provide a lot of that, hopefully. There were a lot of upfront costs, though. Plenty of red tape and hands that had to be greased. Right now, money was going out faster than it was coming in. That would change, of course, and hopefully soon. But the pressures were mounting.

Some, he could handle. Rance knew how to deal with people and politicians. But this other thing. This was unexpected, and it had brought unwanted attention. He sipped his bourbon and sighed. Just one more serving on a very full plate.

He rocked in the chair, then started as voices interrupted the silence. Leah and Scarlett fighting. Their voices rose, something about a party that his daughter wanted to attend.

He shook his head again. Scarlett was being difficult, always had been. But it’d been worse since Addison had drowned. She and her mama were at odds all the time now. He tuned out their voices and peered into the yard. Then his phone rang.

“Yes?” he said.

His voice was smooth, not too deep to scare people, not too high to be offensive, and with only a hint of a Southern accent. Rance was a cultured man, after all. He’d been educated not at Alabama or another Southern university; instead, he’d gone to William and Mary, in Virginia. He hadn’t fit in at first, but he’d quickly learned to drop his old voice so as not to stand out. He learned a lot in his college years, not just about business, but about people. Rance studied them, saw how they operated, heard what they wanted. He educated himself on how to control and manipulate them. Those skills had served him well over the years.

“We’ve got a problem,” Seth said. His voice was harsh, rasping like gravel from too many cigarettes.

“On top of everything else?” Rance asked.

“Yeah. Someone’s poking around, possibly asking questions.”

“By the way you say that, I assume it’s not the person we’re expecting?”

Seth hesitated for a moment. “Were you expecting a woman?”

Rance thought about that. He hadn’t been told who to expect, so it wasn’t impossible. However, that would’ve been unusual. His associates were generally hard men with no qualms about violence. He thought again. Women could be violent, too, and at times more heartless than their counterparts. Could this be who they’d sent?

“What’s going on?” he asked.

The man spoke for a long time, and Rance listened. Once again, someone had acted foolishly and brought unwanted attention to them all. When the voice on the other end stopped, Rance was quiet, and he remained so long enough that Seth spoke again.

“Well?”

“Find out what this woman is up to,” Rance said. “And make sure she stays in the dark about everything. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes. What about Grady?”

Rance took another sip of his drink. “I’ll deal with him, but for now, business as usual. We have to show we’re ready on our end.”

“Yes, sir.”

The call ended, and Rance stared at the phone for a minute, then swiped the screen and dialed another number.

Grady answered after one ring.

“What have you done now?” Rance asked before the man could even get out a “hello.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Don’t play games with me,” Rance snapped.

Grady breathed a couple times before answering. “I didn’t want to bother you with it now.”

“We need to meet and discuss this.”

“In town?”

“At the construction site. I’ll call you.”

With that, he ended the call. The abruptness would create fear, which was what he wanted. Fear prompted people to do his bidding. It left him with few friends, but who needed friends? He could always find someone for the occasional drink, or to golf. His wife was his companionship, and that was enough.

Lifting his glass, Rance drained the last of the bourbon and rattled the ice. The argument inside had stopped at some point—he hadn’t noticed until now. The screen door squeaked loudly. Pollack glanced over as Leah stepped onto the porch.

His wife was in her late forties now, just a couple of years younger than him, but she looked great. Birthing two daughters and being well into middle age had done little to change her. She was petite and thin, muscles still taut from regular workouts. You couldn’t tell that she drank daily, or that she enjoyed her share of fried foods. She still had one helluva body. That was good genes. Her hair was as long and brown as when he’d first seen her, and now, as then, her makeup was artfully applied.

Rance could’ve chosen plenty of women at William and Mary. He’d had plenty, had a lot of fun then, but held off on any commitments until he returned to Alabama. Then he went after Leah, who was from a small town farther south. A woman with breeding, just like him, someone who cared about traditions and the family name.

They’d been a good match—at least until the cracks had started showing.

Leah turned and saw him, then strode to the other rocking chair and sat down. She had a glass in her hand. He knew from experience it was straight vodka on ice. A flowery perfume wafted with her.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with that girl,” Leah pronounced.

She had a soft Southern voice, the kind that people found pleasant. Now, however, her anger was clear.

“She wants to go to a party tomorrow?” he asked.

Leah took a drink, her face relaxing with it before she nodded “With a bunch of town kids. She said it’s in town, but you know those kids, they’ll probably go out to the reservoir, even though they’re not supposed to. And who does she think she’s kidding? We don’t pay thousands of dollars a year for her to attend a private school, just to have her highfalutin’ around town with those boys.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt.” Pollack didn’t want the drama.

He felt her eyes on him. Even in the shadows, he knew they were cold.

“Rance Pollack, you had better not take her side,” she snipped.

“Darlin’, I’m not taking anybody’s side. I don’t want to be involved at all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stared at her. “I think you know.”

Grief flashed across her face, quickly replaced by defiance. Her jaw locked as she stared back, leaning into the low light.

“It wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen, you know,” she said.

“I know.” He eased the words out. “But it did. And now I have to deal with it.”

“I thought it was all taken care of.”

Rance shook his head. “Someone may be asking questions.”

“Not just—”

“Not just her,” Pollack interrupted. A hard edge crept into his tone. “This whole thing has brought unwanted attention.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t help things now.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s Scarlett?”

“She went upstairs. She’s angry.” Leah shook her head. “Seems like her perpetual state these days.”

“Yes, but she’s smart. We have to be careful.”

“I know,” she said, a little too quickly. She let out a loud breath and repeated, “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

Rance rattled the ice again. “No, Darlin’, it wasn’t.” He stood up. “I need another drink.”

He went back inside before his own anger got the best of him.

CHAPTER NINE

J o was up early the next morning. First she stretched her muscles, and then she performed an exercise routine that helped keep her in great physical shape. Lunges and leg swings, then single-leg deadlifts, side planks, and push-ups. It was just her and the exercises, a time when she felt quiet, at peace. When she finished, she was breathing hard, but she felt good. She drank some water as she peeked out the window blinds. The first shards of dawn light were peeking over the nearby buildings.

After a quick shower, she dressed and left her motel room, setting up the square of paper as always. She told the man at the office not to bother with room service, then walked the few blocks to Shirley’s Restaurant, keeping a careful eye out for Grady’s truck or any law enforcement vehicles. Several other trucks and two cars were parked in front.

When she entered, the restaurant was crowded, with plenty of men in jeans and work shirts eating breakfast. She glanced around for safety, then sat at the bar next to a younger Black man with cornrows. He gave her a curt nod and went back to his breakfast. A woman with long dark hair was behind the bar, and Jo ordered a breakfast of eggs, bacon, juice, and toast, hungry as always in the morning. She sipped coffee until the food arrived, and she ate quickly. Jo could feel plenty of eyes on her, none particularly friendly. The man next to her finished his meal and left without a word.

Once she’d finished eating, Jo didn’t waste any time before heading outside.

The muggy morning air enveloped her as she started down Main Street. Jo stuck out her thumb and kept walking. Plenty of cars and trucks passed, but no one stopped. She was sure she recognized a truck or two that had been parked in front of the restaurant, but none of them pulled over for her. She was a stranger in town, and most people didn’t hitchhike these days, anyway.

She’d allowed herself plenty of time to get to the timber site, in case she had to walk the whole distance, but she lucked out about halfway there. The low rumble of a truck drew closer, and as she turned, the noise grew louder. She moved farther off the road, and a Ford pickup truck with a suspension lift kit and huge mud-terrain tires slowed to a stop ahead of her. Jo hustled to the door as the passenger window rolled down. A man with a tanned face looked down on her, one arm casually resting on the steering wheel. He looked to be in his early thirties, and he wore jeans and a blue T-shirt. Tufts of blond hair stuck out from under an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. She couldn’t see his eyes through a pair of dark sunglasses.

“I’ll bet you haven’t had too many offers of a ride,” he said. His voice was deep and strong.

“That’s true.” She shrugged and gestured down the road. “I’m not going far, just to the timber site.”

He smiled, revealing deep dimples. “You’re in luck. That’s where I’m heading. Hop in.”

Jo thanked him and stepped up into the truck. He was already peeling down the road as she put on her seatbelt. The cab had a woodsy smell from an air freshener tree hanging below the rearview mirror, and a gun rack held two shotguns. She was sure they were loaded. As the truck picked up speed, he glanced at her.

“You’re not from around here.”

“It’s that obvious?” she asked.

He chuckled. “You looking for a job at the timber site?”

Jo nodded. “I hear it pays good.”

“It does, if you can handle the work.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Let them find out later that she could handle the rough work, and anybody who tried to cross her. She was stronger than she looked, probably in as good of shape as anybody at the site.

“I’m Dean,” he said.

“Jo.”

She made a point of not eyeing him, but she wondered if this was the man who’d seen Grady and Merle arguing. If the argument had actually happened. She couldn’t think of a casual way to bring it up, so she tried a different tact.

“You live in Greensville?”

“Yeah.” Then Dean shook his head. “Not in town, a little farther down Highway Fourteen, near the cemetery.”

“You like it around here?”

He shrugged. “It’s all right.” Dean didn’t say anything more, just stared straight ahead. Still no way in to discuss Merle, so she kept quiet. Hopefully an opportunity would present itself later. She shifted in the seat.

“It’s hot already.” She gave him a big smile.

He glanced at her, and she ran a hand through her hair. Jo wasn’t good at flirting, but she gave it her best. If he thought she liked him, found him attractive, that might loosen his tongue. He smiled back but remained silent.

Soon, he turned onto a dirt road. For a moment, she wondered if he was stupid enough to try something on her, but then she looked in her side mirror and saw another truck turn as well. They drove for about half a mile, and he slowed and passed through an open gate. Several trucks and a few cars were lined up off the right side of the road. Dean pulled in at the end and glanced at her.

“See those two guys over there?”

She looked where he pointed. At the edge of a large clearing, a young man with stringy brown locks and another with red hair pulled into a ponytail were waiting near a truck with a trailer and a log truck. Nearby was another trailer truck and two pickups, along with a heavy-duty van. Jo looked back at Dean.

“They’re looking for work, too,” he said. “Wait with them until the foreman comes. Good luck.”

She smiled again. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”

He laughed as he hopped out of the truck, but Jo felt his eyes follow as she got out and walked over to the two men. Several other men headed toward the trucks, and glancing back, she saw Dean joined a couple of guys he seemed to know. Together, they walked over to the log truck.

Jo waited quietly with the two young men until a black pickup truck drove around the bend from the other direction. It made a circle in the large clearing, then stopped in front of them, and a big, bowlegged man got out. He scratched at a dark beard, said something to Dean, and motioned. The workers got busy, some getting into the trailer trucks, some getting into the back of one of the pickups. The big man ambled over and eyed Jo and her companions.

“All y’all looking for work?” He spat tobacco juice. “The pay’s good, with the economy being what it is.” He named an hourly rate. “If I take y’all on, I better see hard work, or I’ll bring your sorry ass back here and send y’all packin’.”

He was looking at Jo when he said it, but he should’ve been looking at the two young men. Jo guessed neither one was ready for this kind of hard day’s—she was certainly stronger than either one. But the pair squared their shoulders and nodded. Jo was already standing ramrod straight, her Army training kicking into gear. She nodded at the bowlegged man.

“Tell me what you want done.”

He appraised her and seemed satisfied with her boldness. “All right.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “Get in the pickup with the others.”

One of the men started to introduce himself, but the bowlegged man shook his head and walked away.

“If y’all make it a week, then I’ll care about your name,” he called over his shoulder.

Jo suppressed a smile as she led the way to the pickup truck. She got plenty of looks when she climbed in the back, but no one said anything. It was early, and most of the men were either talking in low tones or remained quiet. The big trucks started up and headed down the dirt road. The pickup rumbled to life, and they lurched after the other vehicles. The men swayed with the motion of the truck. She noted a few yawns, and the conversations stopped. It reminded Jo of being in Iraq, riding in a tactical vehicle in a critical zone, where there might’ve been problems. She remembered the nervous feeling then, the knot in the pit of her stomach, her palms sweaty with anxiety. She felt vaguely the same way now, a little apprehensive. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she knew if she wanted to last the day, she was going to have to prove herself.

The vehicles rambled down the road and around a bend, and then they pulled into a work area where tall pine trees had been felled. The pickup stopped, and everyone got out of the back.

“You boys will be in for some fun today,” said a heavyset man in jeans and a dirty white T-shirt. Then he glanced at Jo. “You, too.”

The young men looked nervous, but Jo nodded.

They all gathered around the back of the truck, and the bowlegged man came over and started giving them directions. Jo was paired up with the Black man with cornrows who she’d seen at Shirley’s Restaurant. They were directed to a hillside to their right, where they would help a man operating a winch, dragging logs up the hillside. A foreman supervised Jo’s crew and another.

In the distance, chainsaws started buzzing, and the sound of truck engines filled the air. The man operating the winch gave Jo and the other man some instructions and handed them gloves, and they set to work. Jo quickly proved that she was up to the task, and after a while, the man with cornrows started talking. Once they got past the already-standard stranger, just-looking-for-work conversation, he introduced himself as Keyshawn.

“You must be desperate for money,” he said, and she noted the lack of accent in his voice, “because there’s got to be easier ways to make a buck than doing this.” He wiped the sweat off his brow. “This is hard work.”

“It’s not too bad,” she said.

“Well, if it were me, I’d move on. There are much better places than Greensville.”

“So I hear.”

They worked for a bit, helping guide logs up the hillside. The sun beat down on them, but Keyshawn didn’t seem to notice. He was a hard worker, did everything he was told to do and more. Jo looked around for Dean a few times, but she never saw him.

The hours flew by, and Jo worked as hard as she had in a long while. Around twelve thirty, the crew broke for lunch. She sat down in the shade of a big pine and rested. Keyshawn saw her and walked over.

“You don’t have lunch?”

She smiled. “I was so worried about getting here early, I didn’t think about it.”

“Mind if I sit down?”

“No problem.”

He got comfortable near her, then offered her a can of potted meat and saltines, along with an RC Cola.

“Thanks,” she said.

He took a few bites as he studied her. “You weren’t always a day laborer.” She shook her head. “What’d you do before this?”

“I was in the Army.”

“No kidding? Me too. I served in Afghanistan.”

“Guess you made it out okay?”

She’d known people who hadn’t been so lucky, could still picture them, even if their memories had begun to fade. And more who had come back with scars, and not just physical ones.

“Call me lucky.” He smiled. “I grew up, though. Lost my innocence and my Southern drawl. Or part of it anyway.”

Jo laughed. “I detect just a trace.”

“Where’d you serve?”

“I was in Afghanistan, too, but I think I’m older thank you, so it was probably before you served.”

His eyes crinkled. “What else did you do?”

“Civil Affairs.”

“Oh, wow. Did you work with Special Ops?”

“Some.”

He grunted at her terseness. “I get it.”

Her instinct was to not talk about her military career, but it might be a way to build rapport with Keyshawn. She chided herself for being too quick to shut him down.

Jo finished the potted meat and drank some Cola. “I had some crazy missions.”

Keyshawn looked like he was about to ask more, but then the foreman signaled them.

“Lunch break’s over,” he hollered. “Back to work.”

They walked back down the hillside and began hooking up another log to the winch. During gaps in the labor, Keyshawn started asking Jo questions about Special Ops and her time in CA, and she kept the conversation going, careful of course not to reveal classified information. But she knew she was running out of time. It would only be so long before Grady found out she hadn’t left town. If she was going to find information at the timber site, she’d need to get it soon.

It seemed she had built some rapport with Keyshawn at least, so she steered the conversation in a different direction.

“I heard there was some trouble here a while back.”

He glanced up the hill at the foreman, then back at her. His eyes were wary. “What’re you talking about?”

She cocked her head. “What’s the matter?”

Keyshawn stared at his hands. There was still plenty of noise farther up the hillside, but it was quieter where they were. He adjusted his gloves, seeming unsure what to say. They worked for a minute, and then his curiosity got the best of him.

“What’d you hear?”

Jo decided to be blunt. “Heard some guy got killed.” She pointed up the hillside. “Right up over there.”

Keyshawn shook his head. “Whoever told you that was wrong.”

CHAPTER TEN

G rady Townsend arrived at the sawmill construction site before Rance. He knew from experience not to be late. The man would not tolerate that. Rance did not suffer fools lightly, and Grady, unfortunately, knew that he had been a fool. He was going to have to correct that, and fast.

He drove to the far end of the site, past a chain-link fence, and parked in the shade of a tall tree. There, he waited. Fifteen minutes later, right at the specified time, Rance Pollack drove up in a shiny new Ford F-150. It was black, with an extended cab, a silver tool chest in the bed. All the bells and whistles. Rance parked next to Grady’s squad car, driver’s side to driver’s side. Grady looked up as the truck’s tinted window opened. Rance looked down on him, dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes.

“What the hell do you think you’ve been doing?” he asked.

Grady had been thinking through this all morning, and still he hesitated before speaking. “Everything you said.”

Rance shook his head before he could say more.

“It’s bad enough that that old woman is asking questions, but then you mess around with that gal and draw more attention to yourself. What the hell were you thinking?”

Grady opened his mouth, then shut it again. But Rance wasn’t going to let him off the hook. He stared, waiting for an answer. Finally, Grady spoke.

“I was over in Marion. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

Rance held up a hand. “And then you let your temper get the best of you. As always. You brought the attention of a stranger.”

“It won’t happen again.”

The man seethed at him. “You better see that it doesn’t.”

Grady nodded, subservient. Neither said anything more for a minute. From the distance, the cacophony of the construction site drifted to them. Then Rance spoke.

“Has that woman left town?”

Grady hesitated again. “I think so.”

Rance stared at him. “You don’t know?” He took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes tight with anger.

“Carl handled the situation last night.” Grady gulped. “He told her to leave.”

Rance sighed as if he were frustrated with a petulant child. “I heard there were some new people up at your timber site, looking for work. One of them was a woman. About five foot eight, shoulder-length blondish-brown hair. Blue eyes.”

Grady stiffened. “Oh?”

Rance shook his head, then donned the sunglasses again.

“If it’s that woman, you’d better get on it. We don’t need any more attention.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rance swore softly as his window slid up without a sound. Then he pulled away from Grady’s squad car and peeled off down the road.

Watching him go, Grady cursed Jo Gunning and all the problems that she’d brought. After a moment, he pulled out his cell phone and called Fred.

“Did you hire a woman day laborer this morning?”

“I’m not sure,” his brother said. “Sugarman’s managing things.”

“Well, find out if you did,” Grady snapped. “And if she’s there, run her off, now.”

“Okay.” Fred didn’t ask any more questions.

“Let me know if she causes any trouble.”

“Okay,” he repeated.

Grady ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket, then started the squad car and drove away from the construction site. He spent the afternoon patrolling town, saying hello to people, seeing that things were running smoothly. No one gave him any problems. They never did.

As it was getting close to evening, he was parked in the lot of an abandoned building, watching Main Street, when a dark sedan suddenly materialized next to him. The passenger window rolled down, so Grady rolled down his own.

“Hello, Grady,” Hernandez said.

Framed by his dark hair and hard face, the man’s eyes were black and emotionless, like an empty well.

Grady kept a straight face, but he was instantly worried. No one had said Hernandez was coming into town, certainly not Rance. Did that mean Rance didn’t know he was around, or had he withheld the information from Grady? Either way, it wasn’t good news.

Hernandez seemed to sense his trepidation, and he pounced on it.

“What’s going on with the problem?” he asked.

Grady put his arm on the side of the door and forced himself to return the man’s stare.

“Everything’s fine. We’ve cleaned things up and moved operations. No one knows anything.”

Hernandez stared at him. “That’s not what I hear.”

Grady sucked in a breath and tried to remain calm. Of course that wasn’t what they’d heard, or Hernandez wouldn’t have come here. The deputy tried to reassure him.

“Things are okay. Nobody knows what’s going on.”

“Nobody?”

“There’s a woman around town, but it’s not a big deal.”

Grady silently cursed himself. He had no idea if Hernandez knew about Jo Gunning—in fact, the deputy still had no idea why Jo Gunning was here. He shouldn’t have said anything before he knew more.

“Who is this woman?” Hernandez asked.

Grady shook his head. “Nobody. She doesn’t have anything to do with the situation. She’s just a stranger, passing through.”

“What does she look like?”

He gave a description, while Hernandez listened quietly. He didn’t say anything when Grady finished, just let him get good and uncomfortable. Then he spoke.

“Is that all?”

Grady nodded. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing to worry about. You wasted a trip here.”

The man mulled on that for a few seconds. “I see.” He waited another beat. “If there’s nothing else?”

It was all Grady could do to not say more. It was his tendency to try to talk his way out of uncomfortable situations, try to explain things and then explain them more. But he’d already dug himself a hole, so he kept quiet.

Hernandez gave him a curt nod and rolled up the window. The sedan drove forward and stopped. The man looked in the rearview mirror for a moment, then finally turned onto Main Street and vanished.

Grady rolled up his window and let out a loud string of curses Then he started the squad car and turned the opposite direction, toward the timber site. Damn that woman, Jo Gunning. Why the hell was she here, and what was she going to do?

He had to find her before things got worse.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

J o shrugged at Keyshawn’s response and continued pushing. “The guy wasn’t killed off to the west?”

He spat derisively. “Merle wasn’t killed on the job site, so you don’t need to worry about that.” He nodded his head off to the right. “His body was found a ways from here. Up over the next hillside. You follow the highway to the next road and turn up there. And he shot himself, okay? Nobody did anything to him.”

She acted surprised. “He committed suicide? I hadn’t heard that. Was he bummed out or something?”

Keyshawn continued his work for a moment, then said, “He seemed all right to me, but you never know. I had a brother—he seemed like he was doing okay, but he was into drugs and stuff. You could tell he started getting depressed. He finally shot himself too.” He got a faraway look, his eyes somewhere beyond her, beyond the present. “It happens.”

“Merle killed himself,” she mused. “His family must’ve been upset.”

He nodded. “He’s got an aunt, that’s it. She runs the restaurant in town.”

“Shirley?”

“Yeah, that’s her. I saw you there this morning,” he said.

“It’s a great place to eat. I had dinner there last night, and I talked with Shirley. She seems like a nice lady.”

She didn’t say anything about the trouble with Grady and his friends, of course.

Keyshawn’s eyes were on her now, and they felt prying. “What did Shirley tell you?”

Jo remained noncommittal. “She wanted to know what I was doing, that kind of thing.” She smiled at him. “You know, I’m the stranger in town, so everybody has questions.”

“And she mentioned Merle, right?”

“Yeah, she talked about him some.”

“Merle wasn’t murdered, he killed himself.” Caution flickered in his eyes. “Shirley needs to be careful what she talks about.”

“Why’s that?”

Another glance around. Keyshawn lowered his voice. “You don’t want to piss off certain people, and Shirley’s doing that.” He nodded toward the logs. “This work ain’t hard to figure out, but Merle seemed like he was always making mistakes. One time he even screwed up, got another guy’s leg rolled up under a log. The guy was okay, but that should’ve cost Merle his job. And they kept him on anyway. How does that make sense?”

“You think he should’ve been fired?”

Keyshawn shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe they needed the workers. His buddy, Seth, was always bailing him out, though.”

That was one of the men she’d seen at Shirley’s last night. “Where’s Seth now?”

“He’s over at the new mill site.” He cursed under his breath. “And even with his screwups, Merle was going to be with a construction crew there. He didn’t have any construction experience, either.” Bitterness filled his voice. “I’d love to work there.” He waved a hand around. “It would be better than this. How the hell Merle got on that crew and I didn’t, I have no idea. It don’t make any sense. I think Seth pulled some strings. I can’t stand that guy—all he does is hassle people, gives you a hard time. He really doesn’t like me.”

It sounded to Jo like the tension between Seth and Keyshawn was the obvious reason why he didn’t get hired on with the construction crew. But Merle didn’t sound like a stellar employee, so why had he?

“Shirley said Merle had some problems a while back, but that he’d cleaned himself up.”

They hooked up another log before he answered.

“Shirley talks to my mama some. She’s convinced that somebody killed her nephew, but I don’t know. Merle had gotten himself into plenty of trouble over the years, and maybe this was just one more time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Keyshawn was slow to reply. “Shirley didn’t know everything about Merle, okay? And he got into something with Grady Townsend.” He wiped his brow and looked at her. “That’s the deputy sheriff. If you stick around, you need to stay away from him.”

She nodded wryly. “I’ve heard of him.”

“Keep your distance. I mean it, if you know what’s good for you.”

Jo wanted to get off the subject of Grady. “So Merle went up that road with a gun?”

“Why don’t you tell me more about your time in Afghanistan?” he asked.

She frowned. “It’s just curious about Merle.”

He stared at her, then sighed, seeming disappointed she wouldn’t change the subject. “I just heard he drove up that road and killed himself, and they found his body later. Shirley needs to let it go, and you should, too.”

They were about to hook up another log when the black pickup truck drove up, and the big bowlegged man got out. He stomped over to the supervisor and spoke to him for a moment, shielding his eyes and looking down the hillside. Jo felt like he was looking right at her.

“That’s Sugarman, but he ain’t sweet,” Keyshawn said. “You keep an eye out for him. The only person worse than him is Rance Pollack.”

“I’ve heard the Pollack name.”

Keyshawn sneered. “If you see him, you cross to the other side of the street. That man is meaner than a rattlesnake. He runs this town, and if he doesn’t like you, you’ll be gone.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’ll find a way to get your butt thrown in jail, or worse.” He stared at her. “I’m giving you some good advice; you should take it.”

The foreman hollered and waved at Jo. Then Sugarman walked partway down the hill, with the foreman following him. The other men working nearby stopped and watched. Sugarman put his hands on his hips as he glared at Jo from ten or so yards away.

“What’s your name?” he called out.

“Jo.”

“What the hell are you doing on my jobsite?”

She glanced at Keyshawn, then back at him.

“I’m working.”

“Not anymore, you ain’t.” He pointed behind him. “You come with me.”

“What did you do?” Keyshawn murmured.

Sugarman’s head jerked to him. “What did you say?”

Keyshawn shook his head. “I just said it’s hot out here.”

The man put beady eyes on him. “You want to mess with me?”

“No, sir.” Keyshawn didn’t shift his gaze off the ground.

Sugarman looked around at everyone and spat. “Get back to work!”

The men busied themselves again, and the foreman glanced at Sugarman.

“We’re behind schedule,” said the newcomer.

The foreman looked at him, then at Jo. “And you’re taking someone away.”

Sugarman hefted up his pants. “You deal with what you have.” He started up the hill toward his truck, hollering back, “Come with me, girl.”

“Be careful,” Keyshawn whispered.

“I’ll see you around,” she said, keeping the words quiet as well.

She stepped past the foreman and followed Sugarman to his truck.

“Get in,” he ordered her when she reached it.

Jo went to the passenger side, and Sugarman slipped behind the wheel. He jammed the key in the ignition, and the truck roared to life. His anger filled the ca as he put it in gear and they lurched down the road. He punched the gas, going fast.

“Who the hell do you think you are, causing trouble around here?” he snarled.

“I didn’t do anything. I’m just working.”

“You got no business coming around here asking questions.”

How had he known? It had to be Grady. She wasn’t sure how he would’ve known she’d come to his work site, but he must’ve. That was okay. She’d gotten some answers—though they had only led to more questions. It appeared Shirley had been right about Merle’s death not being what it seemed.

Sugarman gripped the wheel hard as he tore around a bend, past the clearing and the trucks and cars parked on the side of the road. He continued toward the highway, then hit the brakes and came to a screeching halt. He pointed out the windshield.

“You get on that road, and you keep walking. We don’t want to see you around Greensville, you hear?”

She opened the truck door. “It’s a free country. I can go where I want.”

He showed her a set of crooked teeth—not a smile, but a glare.

“I hear you’re staying at the motel. Get your stuff and move on, or you’ll be in trouble.”

Sugarman hit the gas, and the truck pulled forward, slamming the passenger door shut with momentum. He flipped a U-turn on the highway, then got back onto the dirt road and stopped. He looked out the window at her, and she gave him an amiable wave, which produced another glare in return.

East was Marion, and the road where Merle’s body might’ve been.

West was Greensville and her motel, where her belongings were.

She started walking down the highway toward Greensville, and when she heard the truck drive away, she stopped and turned around. She watched until Sugarman’s vehicle disappeared in a cloud of dust. From the work site, she could still hear the faint sounds of chainsaws and heavy machinery. Then she turned and started toward Marion.

CHAPTER TWELVE

J o didn’t bother thumbing a ride. There were no trees close to the road as she walked down the two-lane highway, and it was impossible to escape the heat. Cars and trucks passed by, but no one slowed down for her. After about a mile, a dirt road appeared, heading off in the direction that Keyshawn had mentioned. She heard a few trucks pass on the highway as she struck off down the dirt road. It was narrow, but it had been well-traveled, no weeds poking up from the dirt. The ground was uneven, hard and dry, almost impossible to leave tracks on. Thick woods to the left and right.

As she walked, she listened for the lingering sounds of trucks or chainsaws, hearing neither She was either too far away now, or work may have stopped for the day. She didn’t see anyone else on the road.

Jo had walked over a mile when she rounded a bend and stopped. Up ahead, the road was blocked by a large steel gate. Pinned to it was a sign that read “No Trespassing.” Barbed-wire fencing at least six feet high ran from either side of the gate and disappeared into the trees. Jo glanced around for surveillance cameras, but she didn’t spot anything. She drew closer to the gate, then saw a keypad fixed to a steel post. She looked around again.

Why have the fencing so high if someone could just climb over right here.

She approached, remaining wary. Jo was naturally suspicious, had been since she was a kid. It sometimes caused problems, made her seem aloof to others, but it had saved her neck multiple times. For a minute, she just stopped and listened again. She was too far from the highway to hear any traffic. It was quiet, peaceful, but something didn’t seem right.

Stepping away from the gate and into the trees, she paused in a grassy area a few yards in, where she bent down and tore off a couple of blades of grass. She walked back to the gate and laid a blade of grass on a metal cross-piece, her fingers about five inches from the gate. Then she slowly slid her hand forward. As her fingers neared the metal, she felt a strong pulse in the blade of grass.

Jo stepped back, glad she hadn’t tried to climb the gate. That would’ve been a big shock. Someone badly wanted to keep people out—which made her even more curious about what was on the other side.

It was still quiet as she walked into the trees. She moved along the fence for a few minutes, but it stretched on as far as she could see. The barbed wires were close, the lowest one near the ground, not leaving enough room for a person to crawl underneath. She finally spun around and returned to the gate, then walked a similar distance in the other direction. The fencing continued on, not even turning a corner. Someone owned a lot of property.

The gate was well out of sight behind her, and she searched around and finally found two long logs. Jo took them back to the fence, then laid one over the barbed wire closest to the ground. She pushed up the next wire with the other log and propped the end on the ground. That gave her a good opening, and she was able to crawl through without touching it.

Standing up, Jo brushed herself off, then made her way through the trees toward the dirt road. She scanned the trees and terrain. Still no signs of any surveillance video, so she trekked up a hill, parallel to the road. After a mile, she rounded a bend in the road and saw a little shack in a clearing. She held back and watched.

The shack was old, made of weathered boards with peeling paint, the walls not quite square anymore, but someone had taken the time to place camouflage netting on the sloped metal roof so that it would be harder to spot from the air.

The only sounds around her came from the wind and the occasional bird call. Jo worked her way around the clearing and studied the shack. There was just one door, and no windows. When she got back to where she’d started, she grabbed a small rock and threw it at the door. It hit it with a heavy thud and bounced away.

She waited.

Nothing happened, so she crossed the clearing and approached the door. Although the rest of the shack seemed old, the door, doorjamb, and lock were newer, and all appeared sturdy. For good measure, a padlock and hasp had been installed as well. She tried the door handle.

Locked.

Who had gone to all this trouble to shore up the door, and why? And was this where Merle Latham had killed himself? She saw no evidence of that, no blood on the ground or on the building, not that she would have after all this time.

Jo walked behind the shack, where the road continued up a hill. She followed it, but it hadn’t been used in a long time, so grass and weeds sprouted from the ground. After a hundred yards, it petered out on the other side of the hill. She cut across a field and eventually stumbled upon the remnants of a foundation. Sometime in the past, a small house or barn had been out here, but it was long gone. Something glinted in the late-afternoon sunlight, and she dropped to her knees and watched. When nothing happened, she walked on until she ran across more fencing.

A blade of grass determined that the fencing wire was electrified here as well. Past the fence and down a hillside was a reservoir. On the far side, a road led to the water’s edge. No one was around, no boats on the water. It was idyllic, a scene that felt wrong to disturb. She finally turned and walked past the old foundation, back toward the shack. As she came down the hillside, she heard it in the distance.

Rumbling, that distinct engine sound.

A truck.

She darted away from the road and into the trees. The motor grew louder as she hurried on. Once the shack was in view again, she crouched down behind a large tree.

A dark truck drove up the road. It stopped at the edge of the clearing, and two men got out.

The driver was stocky, with a green baseball cap covering dark hair. He wore jeans, a blue Oxford shirt, and heavy boots. The passenger was younger and taller, so gangly his limbs were like wet noodles. They both looked around.

“. . . said he saw her on the road.” The driver’s voice carried to Jo.

“If she came up here, how’d she get past the electric fence?” the passenger asked.

The driver shrugged. “It’s not like it can’t be done, but I’m not going to walk all over the place trying to figure out how.”

They moved toward the shack and inspected the door. Satisfied that the lock hadn’t been tampered with, they walked around the shack. When they got back to the front, the driver put his hands on his hips.

“This is probably a waste of time.”

“And it’s hotter than hell.” The other man wiped his forehead. “So what if she sees this? They’re not using the shack now, so she’s not going to know anything.”

“I guess we have to make everybody happy.”

The passenger muttered unhappily. “Hell, I don’t know why they’re worried about this place now anyway. It’s been cleaned up ever since Merle was up here.”

“He sure caused a mess of things.” The driver sounded disgusted, disdainful.

“And he paid for it. Besides, he ain’t our problem now. Should we go back?”

The driver turned to face his partner. “What if she’s out here somewhere? You want to explain to him that we didn’t really look around?”

“All right, let’s go.” The passenger pointed up toward the reservoir. “I’ll head that way first.”

The driver nodded. “I’ll go this way.” He pointed in Jo’s direction.

The passenger disappeared around the other side of the shack, appearing a moment later and walking the same way she had toward the back of the property. The driver waited a moment, then started toward Jo.

She stayed in a crouch and crept slowly backward. Tall grass surrounded her. The driver was making better time than she was, and it wouldn’t be long before he overtook her. She felt around on the ground until her hand closed on a rock. Picking it up, she hurled it in the other direction. An old trick, but effective. When it landed several yards away, the driver whirled and looked in that direction, his back stiff.

He listened, then moved off toward where it had gone, not bothering to cover his noise. Jo took advantage and raced in the other direction. She started up the hillside, dodging from tree to tree.

But that was when her luck ran out. She looked up to see that the passenger had crested the top of the hill, and he was looking her way.

“Hey!” he yelled.

Jo dropped to the ground and glanced behind her. The driver was gazing toward the other man.

“What?” the driver called out.

“I thought I saw something. Over there.”

The driver started walking in her direction once more, his head swiveling as he looked around.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

J o didn’t move a muscle as she peeked through the tall grass.

The driver stomped over to the other man, who was gesturing to his right, twenty yards away from Jo. Neither one had a weapon. No guns, no knives that she could see. They’d probably thought they wouldn’t find anyone. Bad move on their part.

She stayed still as they eyed the terrain, then finally turned the other way. Making as little noise as possible, she crept through the grass. When she glanced over her shoulder, the two men were looking in her direction. Jo froze. They scanned around, shielding their eyes with their hands. She took a slow breath and waited. If she moved now, she risked them seeing the grass stirring, no matter how careful she was.

The men started walking her way. Jo felt the knife in her pocket. It would be useless now, unless she wanted to kill this man. And she didn’t. She looked around for something to use as a weapon and saw a tree branch about three feet long, maybe two inches in diameter. Around the size of a baseball bat. Workable, if they got close enough for her to use it. She pulled it toward her, inch by inch.

The men fanned out and moved forward. They’d seen too many movies—clearly, they thought they were doing things correctly. But they weren’t taking cover, or trying to be quiet.

Jo didn’t move a muscle. A bug flew toward her face, landing right below her left eye. She ignored it. Didn’t even blink.

“I could’ve sworn I saw something over here,” the passenger whispered, his voice carrying in the stillness.

“Are you sure?”

“Maybe it was an animal.”

“If it was a deer, we would’ve startled it by now.”

“Should we just wait? The others will be here soon.”

“Go toward the fence,” the driver said, not even trying to keep his voice down. If he’d been in combat, that would’ve been it—give away your position, and you’re dead.

The driver was closest to Jo now, the other man was about fifteen feet from him, over to the side. As the first man passed by her, she reached out and grabbed his ankle. In one quick motion, she yanked, and he fell flat on the ground, his breath flying from him in an angry grunt. The other man yelled and ran toward Jo. She leaped up with the log in her hand, and his jaw dropped in surprise. He skidded to a halt, but not far enough away. She swung the makeshift weapon and hit him square in the stomach. He lost his breath as well and doubled over, hands on his knees. Totally defenseless. She kicked him in the side of the head, and he went down, motionless.

By now, the driver had scrambled to his knees. He put a hand on the ground and hurtled himself up. She met him midrise with an elbow, smashing the bridge of his nose. As he fell, she hit him again in the side of the head. He hit the ground, already out cold.

Jo bent down and felt around in the driver’s pockets, but she didn’t find his keys. Out here, in the sticks, he’d probably left them in the car. Not something you would do in the city, with so many people around. But in the woods, no big deal. She left them where they were and ran back toward the shed and the dark truck.

When she reached it, she yanked open the driver-side door and looked inside. The keys were right there, in the ignition. But luck was again not on her side, as she heard the grumble of another truck coming up the road toward the shack.

Darting into the trees, Jo ran away from the shack. She wasn’t worried about noise right now. The sound of the truck would cover her, at least while she was close. And whoever was approaching would be too busy figuring out what had happened to be listening for her. She had to use this time to her advantage.

Staying in a crouch, she made her way up the hillside. When she got to the top, she slowed to a crawl, then positioned herself behind a tree and looked back down the hillside.

A silver truck with spotlights attached to the side doors and mudflaps with silhouettes of a naked woman was now parked by the dark truck in front of the shed. A squad car had pulled up nearby. Two men had gotten out and were looking around, both with rifles in their hands. One was White, with a blond beard. Seth. The other was Black. The pair she’d seen the first night in town, at Shirley’s Restaurant.

Then the third man appeared from the other side of the shack. Grady Townsend. He had binoculars, and he was peering all around. Jo hit the ground. As he began to scan in her direction, she flattened herself further, peering up as much as the terrain would allow. Grady kept looking in her direction as the two men walked the other way, toward the men she’d knocked out.

A few minutes later, shouts rang out, and Grady whirled around toward the commotion. Jo took that opportunity to race up the crest of the hillside. She glanced over her shoulder to see that the Black man had returned, and he was racing in her direction. She ran down a slope and soon reached the barbed-wire fence. Again, she searched around with frantic hands, but didn’t find any fallen logs. She listened, but there was no sound from the men.

Rising, Jo trotted along the fence until she spotted a tall tree with several large branches. She jumped up, caught the lowest one, and hauled herself up. Then she climbed to a solid branch that stretched over the fence. Scooting out, away from the trunk, she hung down and dropped on the other side of the fence. The grass was high here, the trees sparse. She ran in a crouch away from the fence as the noise grew behind her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A fter a minute, Jo ducked down again and waited. Soon, the Black man emerged from the trees, farther down the fence. He was maybe forty, average height, but solid. A thick neck, a wide face. He looked around, then walked the fence line, past Jo, and stopped. A metallic crackle sounded, and he pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt.

“Yeah?” His voice was deep.

“What’s going on?” The voice on the other end was tinny, and quiet from Jo’s position, but it sounded like Grady.

“I don’t see anybody around.”

“Keep looking.”

“For how long?”

“At least until it gets dark.”

“She could be anywhere.”

“If she heads back toward the timber site, they’re watching for her. We need to find out what she knows. And the boss doesn’t want her nosing around.”

“Fine.”

The man hooked the walkie-talkie back on his belt, then stared around for a minute before moving on. Jo started to crawl away, but the man halted near the fence and gazed toward the reservoir. After a long time, he continued along the fence line again, then struck out into the trees toward the shack.

Jo stayed still and listened. When nothing happened, she crawled farther into the woods. She pulled out her cell phone, but she didn’t have a signal. As a last resort she’d hoped to call Shirley, but she couldn’t even do that.

It was after six, and she didn’t know exactly where she was. The timber site was west, somewhere off to her left, the shack behind her. In both directions, people were looking for her, so she decided to head north, toward the reservoir.

She trekked along, wary of running into someone, but it was quiet. To her left, the sun was just a sliver on the horizon. The minutes passed, and as the gloom thickened, she slowed down. The last thing she needed was to twist an ankle out here.

As she walked, she thought about everything that had happened since she’d first hitched a ride to the timber site this morning. Grady, and possibly someone else, didn’t want her anywhere near Greensville, and they certainly didn’t want her around the shack.

Why?

She hadn’t been able to get into the shack. Was something hidden there?

Jo wasn’t sure exactly what operation she was dealing with, but the men involved were obviously dangerous. And based on what she’d heard, Merle Latham had been at the shack as well. He could’ve come up there to kill himself, but why there and not where Shirley thought his body had been discovered? Jo shook her head. A day’s work had led to a day’s worth of questions.

As the light faded, she approached the reservoir. It was large, with a rocky shore. Jo couldn’t tell how deep it was, and she wasn’t going to attempt to find out now. On the other side of the water, a small wooden dock stretched out a few yards from shore. She headed in that direction, walking carefully. Then she came upon a thin path, barely a ribbon in the grassy dirt. She followed that.

The iron-gray dusk soon morphed into full darkness, and she saw a dot of light near the dock. When she was still far from the dock, walking slow and quiet, Jo heard voices again. The trees thinned out, and she came upon a stretch of sandy beach. The light she had seen was a campfire, and several young people surrounded it, some sitting in lawn chairs, others sprawled on the sand. A cooler sat near the fire. Laughter and raucous voices rang out.

Jo inched closer and dropped to a knee. The teenagers were oblivious to her, talking and drinking, their words carrying in the darkness.

“. . . surprised your mama let you come out, Scarlett.”

This came from a boy lying on the sand, propped up on one elbow.

Shirley had mentioned Scarlett. This was Rance Pollack’s daughter.

A girl with long hair responded from one of the seats by the fire. “She just thinks I went to a friend’s house, not the party in town.”

“Yeah, the party,” the boy said. “Who cares about that? It’s more fun out here.”

“Yeah,” someone else agreed.

“You lied to your mama?” the boy asked Scarlett.

She laughed. “There’s a lot my mama doesn’t know about.”

What does that mean? Jo thought.

The fire crackled and popped, and some of the kids laughed. One of them handed what looked like a joint to another, and he toked on it.

“Y’all got anything else?” one of the boys asked.

“Some pills,” Scarlett said.

A girl glanced around. “Is it safe? Not laced?”

“It’s fine,” Scarlett said. “Addison had it. I found it in her room.”

As Jo listened, she wondered how much the Pollacks knew about their daughters’ partying ways.

She handed a bag to a girl, who took a pill and then passed it along. When it got back to Scarlett, she shook her head.

“It’ll be bad enough if I get caught out here. I don’t want to be totally stoned.”

“What’s the deal with your mama?” another girl asked.

Scarlett shrugged. “We’re too good for y’all.” Sarcasm filled her voice. “I’m so sick of hearing about our family reputation. Who cares. She’s crazy.”

A boy next to Scarlett put a hand high up on her thigh. “I’ll tell your mama about your reputation.”

Scarlett pushed his venturing hand away with a laugh. “Stop it, Knox.”

“If your parents find out you’re out with us, they’re going to lose their minds,” another boy said with a grin.

Jo listened carefully—maybe she could glean something about Pollack from all this. Scarlett laughed again. “They don’t know everything that goes on, and they don’t control me, anyway.”

“Yeah, look what happened to your sister.”

Scarlett’s face twisted up, and she stared at the girl who’d spoken.

“I can’t believe you would say that! Especially out here.”

They all went silent for a moment. Then one of the boys held out a new joint for her.

“Hey, we’re sorry. Paula didn’t mean anything by it.”

Scarlett took the joint and shook her head. She dragged on it, held her breath, then blew out smoke.

“My parents have no idea what Addison was up to. And I guess they’ll never know now.”

“Right,” Knox said.

She handed off the joint, then took a sip from a beer sitting beside her. The conversation picked up, and Scarlett seemed to relax.

Jo looked around. There were no boats at the dock, but beyond that, she saw a pickup and a couple of cars. She was tempted to ask the teenagers for a ride, but they would wonder why she was out here, and whoever was searching for her might start asking them questions. Jo didn’t want to get any of them in trouble. She stared past the group. Though she didn’t know the lay of the land, the road by the dock would likely lead back to the highway. How far a walk that would be was anyone’s guess.

She was about to move back into the woods and sneak toward that road when a couple of the teenagers sat up.

“What’s that?” one of them asked.

“Shh!” said another.

They all were stock still, and then, like Jo, they heard it. A vehicle fast approaching. Headlights cut through the darkness, and a few of the teenagers muttered in surprise.

“Who is it?” one of them asked.

A boy leaped to his feet. “No one’s supposed to know we’re out here.”

“I didn’t tell anybody,” a girl said.

By now, the headlights were brighter, and a truck skidded to a stop behind the teenagers’ vehicles. A door opened and then slammed shut. The headlights lit the area.

“Scarlett!” a voice hollered.

Scarlett bolted upright and cursed under her breath, words Jo couldn’t quite hear.

“How did your daddy know you’re here?” a girl asked.

“I don’t know,” Scarlett said, a bit louder.

A tall man with broad shoulders stomped between the two cars and approached the kids. He wore a dark cowboy hat. As he neared the fire, his head swung to and fro. Then he saw Scarlett.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he said over the sound of the truck engine.

“Daddy, it’s okay.” She waved a hand at the others. “We’re just having a little fun.”

He pointed a finger at her. “Your mama is worried to death. And she told you that you weren’t to come out here, and certainly not with these kids.”

“I can do what I want,” she said, crossing her arms in defiance.

The man shook his head. “Not tonight. Come with me.”

Scarlett hesitated, then glanced at the others.

“I have to go,” she said.

She walked away from the fire, careful not to get too close to her father, as if she were being escorted to a prison cell. He tipped his hat back and surveyed the kids.

“You all need to get on home now, you hear? You shouldn’t be out here at all, let alone at night. It’s dangerous. Anything could happen.”

The teenagers stared at him for a moment. Then Knox nodded.

“We’ll be going, sir,” he said.

Scarlett’s father gave them a final scathing look before storming back toward his truck, followed by his daughter. Doors slammed, and the truck backed up. As the headlights swung around, Jo ducked down. The truck turned and tore off down the road. The sound of the engine died out, and the kids looked at each other.

“How did he know we were out here?” one asked.

“Who cares how he figured it out? He’ll get the sheriff out here, for sure. We better get going.”

They grumbled as they gathered their chairs and threw their empty bottles in the cooler, which one of the boys grabbed and packed up. It only took them a few minutes to load everything back in their vehicles. A couple of them poured water on the fire and kicked dirt on it. Smoke filled the air, the scent reminding Jo of camping trips as a kid. Then they piled into the cars and drove away. When their taillights disappeared, Jo emerged from the trees and walked across the sandy beach. She glanced at the first stars in the sky as she headed down the road.

When she came across the highway, she figured she’d walked for about a mile.

The stars were out in force as she started toward Greensville.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

R ance stood at the bar in his office, listening to Leah and Scarlett yell at each other.

“. . . didn’t have to send Daddy out there,” Scarlett was saying.

“What makes you think you can defy me?” Leah’s voice was harsh. “I specifically said you were not to hang out with those boys, and you were not to go to the reservoir.”

“I can do what I want,” Scarlett said. “Besides, it was some other friends, too.”

“I don’t care who it was.”

“Right, as long as they’re the right breeding.” Scarlett spoke in a faux-cultured tone, full of mocking.

“I will not have the family name tarnished.”

“Like Addison did?”

A haunting pause. Rance listened carefully.

“Do not bring up your sister like that,” Leah said.

“Or what?”

“Young lady, you’re grounded.”

“Oh yeah? See how well that worked with Addison.” Scarlett’s tone was poison.

Rance winced as if he’d been hit in the gut. Why was Scarlett so angry?

“How dare you,” Leah said.

She started in on Scarlett again, how she’d called around and found out Scarlett wasn’t where she’d said she’d be. Rance went to the door and shut it, quietly enough that they wouldn’t hear. He was not going to step in the middle of that mess. He was already cleaning up too much as it was. He took a sip of Scotch, an expensive Springbank 21, peaty with a touch of fruitiness. He dialed a number.

“Yes, sir?” Grady answered.

“What’s going on with the woman?” Pollack asked.

Grady cleared his throat. “We’re still looking for her.”

Pollack gritted his teeth. “Still? What the hell is going on?”

“She might’ve been asking questions at the timber site, so we ran her off.”

“What questions?”

“I would assume about Merle.”

“Did she find out anything?”

It took Grady a moment to answer. “She ended up at the shack.” Pollack swore, and Grady went on, his voice meek. “She knocked out two of our men, and she managed to slip into the woods. We’re not sure where. We searched until well after dark, and I’m on my way to Marion now. I promise, we’re doing everything we can to find her.”

“It doesn’t appear to be enough,” Rance said as he sat down on a leather couch.

Grady didn’t respond to that, and Rance didn’t say anything further either. He wanted Grady nervous. And based on the man’s voice when he spoke again, it was working.

“You know Hernandez is in town?”

“You saw him?” Rance asked.

“Yes. Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”

“I wasn’t sure when he was expected.” He kept his tone low and dangerous. Grady should not have been questioning him, but his nervousness was on display.

“Okay.” Grady seemed to realize his mistake.

Rance held up his glass and studied the brown liquid in it, then took another sip. He hadn’t actually been told when to expect Hernandez, or if it would even be Hernandez. The man was dangerous, but at least he was a known quantity. But this other woman . . .

“What did you tell Hernandez about Jo Gunning?” Pollack asked.

“Not much.”

He was sure Grady was lying, so he pressed him. “Tell me exactly what you said.”

Grady cleared his throat. “Just that there’s a woman in town who’s asking some questions.” He rushed to tack on, “I told him we’re taking care of the situation, and that he didn’t have anything to worry about.”

“That’s good. He better not have anything to worry about. And I better not, either.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll find the woman, and she’ll regret that she stuck around.”

“Good.”

With that, Rance ended the call. He gulped down the last of the whisky and set the glass down on the end table with a clink.

Rubbing his chin, Rance thought the situation over. Hernandez being in town meant more pressure. He’d told his associates that everything was fine, that no one was worrying about the town now. But his protests hadn’t helped.

On the one hand, he couldn’t blame his associates. Two deaths so close together had brought attention from law enforcement in Tuscaloosa. That changed things, made everything more dangerous.

Rance had to be even more careful now. Trust had been lost, and he would have to regain it. That would start with the operation going well, no problems. But now, there were complications, and one thought wouldn’t leave his mind.

Who was this woman they were dealing with?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I t was close to midnight, and Jo was still walking along the highway. She figured Grady and the men who’d been searching for her at the shack had likely given up there, but there was a chance one or more of them would drive the highway looking for her. With that in mind, she stayed on the edge of the road. There were few vehicles this time of night, but when one did approach, she ran off to the side before the headlights shone on her. Once the vehicle passed, she returned to the pavement and continued on.

Even this late, it was hot and muggy. She thought back to a time in Iraq, when she’d been with a group in the desert. The heat there had been brutal, suffocating, even in the shade. All she’d wanted then was water, and that was all she wanted now. Jo walked on, the cloying dampness irritating her, making her feel dirty.

Her mind went to the kids at the reservoir. Someone had mentioned getting drugs from the same source Addison Pollack had, but Jo had no idea who that might be. She’d also had her first glimpse of Rance Pollack. He appeared to be a man in control, certainly with his daughter. The other teens had been overly polite, almost seeming scared of him. She wasn’t sure what to think of that.

The sky was just turning gray as Jo approached the outskirts of Greensville. The houses here were far apart, mostly single-story, a few larger two-stories. A couple of lights on in windows. Several early cars and trucks gathered at a gas station on Main Street. Jo stopped inside, where she bought some cheap breakfast sandwiches and a couple of bottles of water. She drank one bottle, then ate the sandwiches and drank the second as she walked side streets back to the motel.

She approached carefully but didn’t see anybody about. A dark sedan was parked near the motel office. When her room was close, she saw that her usual square of paper was in the doorjamb. Jo still approached with caution, listening at the door before putting her key in the lock.

As she opened the door, the hum of the air-conditioner grew louder, but there were no other sounds. Stepping inside, she flicked on the light. The room was as she’d left it, the towel she’d used that morning still hung over the shower rod. No maid service.

No one had been in the room, but even if they had searched it, they would’ve gone away disappointed. Jo didn’t carry much in the way of possessions, nothing to tell them more about her. It was probably just a matter of time before Grady did come to the motel, and she needed to be ready. She wrapped a hand towel around the doorstop, jammed a chair under the doorknob, and turned the air-conditioner on high, then stripped and took a shower. When she finished, she crawled into bed, still naked. The air-conditioner hummed, a steady, soothing background as she closed her eyes. If Grady wanted to find her now, so be it. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep.

She awoke with a start, sensing she’d been out a long time. Grabbing her phone, she checked the time.

It was just after two in the afternoon.

That was way longer than Jo had meant to sleep. She scrambled out of bed, took another quick shower, and threw on jeans and a clean shirt. When she walked outside, the afternoon heat stuck to her. The dark sedan wasn’t in the lot, but an older pickup had replaced it. When she walked into the office, she found a clerk sitting behind the desk, one she hadn’t seen before. He had thinning hair surrounding a pudgy face, and he looked up from his computer with an engaging smile.

“May I help you?”

Jo glanced around. “I was wondering if you might have coffee.”

He leaned back in a swivel chair. “Not since this morning. But I could brew you a pot.”

Jo smiled. “No need to bother. I’ll head over to the restaurant.”

“That’s good eating there.”

“I know.” She looked out the window, thinking about what she’d learned so far. It wasn’t much. She tried to dig for some information while remaining cautious.

“You like living here?”

He smiled. “Sure. It’s a nice town.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about moving somewhere around here, but I hear there was some trouble at the logging site a while back.”

“I don’t know much about that.” He changed the subject. “Are you going to be with us for a while?” Still smiling.

“I’m not sure—”

She didn’t finish the sentence, because a squad car turned into the parking lot. Moving to the side of the front window, Jo watched. The vehicle inched down the parking lot and stopped near her door. A moment later, Grady got out. He adjusted his belt, then reached back into the car for his hat. He put it on, squared his shoulders, and walked toward her door.

Jo turned back to the clerk, who was staring at her.

“I don’t want any problems,” he said.

She gave him a grim smile. “Neither do I.”

Without another word, she slipped out the door, but this time went around the front of the motel. She ran down the short side of the L-shaped building, past empty rooms, and around the corner to the back. She trotted down a quiet alley and came up around the side of the building. Holding her breath, she peeked around the corner. Grady was at the far end of the parking lot, pounding on her door.

“You in there?” he hollered. “Come on now. Answer the door.”

Jo remained silent. No one else appeared. Grady knocked again.

“You didn’t leave town. You were out at the timber site, even after I told you to move on. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m going to run your ass out of here, and you better stay gone. You hear me?”

Jo pulled out her cell phone and called a number she’d memorized.

“Are you okay?” Shirley asked, sounding breathless. “You didn’t call at all, and I didn’t see you around town yesterday. I thought maybe you’d left after all.”

“Not yet,” Jo said. “I ran into a little trouble, but I can’t explain now.”

As she talked, Grady stepped back and surveyed the door.

“Come on out,” he said, his back stiff with anger. “I’ll give you a ride to the county line, and you can head on from there.” He glowered. “You’re causing problems around here, and you’ll be lucky if that’s all I do. I promise you, I could make things a lot worse.”

Jo knew that if she showed her face, Grady would do exactly as he was saying. If she resisted, he’d arrest her. He might try for his pound of flesh even if she didn’t. But she wasn’t ready to leave town. She was more curious than ever to find out what he was up to, what he didn’t want her to know. In some way, she was in her element, and it felt good.

Grady fumed for a moment, then whirled around and marched toward the front office.

“You still there?” Shirley asked.

“Yes,” Jo replied. “I’m going to need a place to stay.”

“Oh?” In the background, dishes and pots and pans clinked. “Hold on,” Shirley said. The sounds faded. “I stepped outside. Something going on at the motel?”

Jo peeked around the corner again. Grady had disappeared into the office.

“You can say that,” she said.

“Go straight over to my place,” Shirley said. “The side door’s unlocked. I’ll be home after four. Vicki’s here and will cover the rest of the evening.”

“What if your neighbors see me?”

“There’s only Pearl Susman, who lives next door, and she usually naps in the afternoon. You don’t have to worry about her, but if she sees you, she’ll call me first. I’ll explain that you’re a friend from out of town.”

“Anyone else?”

“Probably not, but to be safe, go to Third Street, then walk along the creek behind the houses. Pearl has trees at the back of her house, so she probably won’t see you. But if you go around the back, no one else will, either.”

As Shirley was speaking, Grady and the motel manager emerged from the office. The manager stood near the door and watched Jo’s room. His face was pinched with worry. Grady started around the building in the direction Jo had gone. She didn’t have any more time.

“I’ll see you soon,” Jo said.

She ended the call, ran the other way and across the alley, then jogged down another side street. She made her way toward Main and crossed carefully, watchful for Grady’s squad car, then walked to the creek behind Shirley’s house. No one saw her as she stepped along it, and when she reached the back of Shirley’s house, she watched for a minute.

It was quiet, and Jo didn’t see any activity at Pearl’s house, so she climbed a picket fence at the edge of Shirley’s property, then ran across her back yard and up to the side door. As Shirley had said, the door was unlocked, and Jo let herself inside. The house was cool and quiet. She went into the living room and peeked out the window. The street was empty.

Back in the kitchen, she sat down and waited.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T he dark sedan paused in front of the electrified gate, and Hernandez rolled down his window and punched the code into the keypad. The gate slowly swung open, and he drove through. As it shut behind him, he continued on down the road, stopping in front of the shack. Then he cut the engine and got out.

The heat didn’t bother Hernandez. He was used to that where he lived. But everything else . . . he shook his head in disgust. There was nothing to do here, no place where he could go and blend in. The only place to eat was the lone restaurant. The food there wasn’t to his liking, but he’d been around to listen. Unfortunately, he hadn’t learned anything useful.

He wanted to go back home, away from this godforsaken little place. But he’d been told to get here, to assess things. And that was what he was doing.

Hernandez walked around the shack. It was quiet, some sounds of nature and maybe construction far off in the distance, but nothing close by. Pausing at the door, he took a key from his pocket. He inserted it into the padlock and took it off, then unlocked the door and deadbolt.

Inside the shack, Hernandez shined his phone flashlight around. The tiny space was empty except for two cheap tables and some chairs, the shelves along the walls cleaned off, not even a crumb left around. Good.

He made three careful passes but could find no evidence of anything ever having been there. Not a trace.

One task completed, one that never should’ve had to be performed. His eyes narrowed. At least no one had gotten in his way. That would’ve been a mistake.

He stepped back outside, shut off the flashlight, and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Then he locked up the shack, and peered into the woods. Quiet, no one around. That was good—for him and for them. After a minute, he took out his phone again, but he didn’t have a signal.

Cursing this awful place, he stomped to the sedan and drove back down the road. He opened the gate and headed back toward Greensville. When he reached the edge of town, he parked in a lot of an abandoned building and grabbed his cell phone.

Finally, a signal.

He dialed a number and waited, and then a voice spoke in Spanish.

“Do you have an update for me?”

The man on the other end didn’t bother with pleasantries. He never did. He had a business to run, many phone calls to take and many things to do. Wasting his time was not an option.

Hernandez spoke in Spanish as well. “I got into town last night, but I’m going to need a little while.”

“Not too long, I hope.”

He stared out the windshield. “I’ve made initial contact.”

“And?”

“It seems to be more than just the original problem.”

The boss breathed in and out a couple times, barely loud enough to hear. “What more?”

“They say a woman is here. She may be asking questions.”

“A woman? Is she a cop, or DEA?”

“They don’t know yet. No one knows who she is.”

“You don’t believe that?”

“I think they have a name, but they wouldn’t tell me. They claim it’s nobody.”

“And this . . . nobody, is causing the problems?”

“No, that’s the original problem.”

“A problem that caused delays.”

Hernandez hesitated, but there was no avoiding it. “It would seem so. They have people looking into it, and I will as well. And if I’ll find out what she knows, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t interfere.”

“If she’s involved in any way, eliminate her. As cleanly as possible. Nothing comes back to you.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“What else?”

“I’ve been up to the first site. Everything’s been moved, and there’s no trace of anything.”

“And the new place?”

“I haven’t been there yet, but I’m told it will be up and ready.”

“When?”

“When we need it.” No words in response, and Hernandez knew what that meant, so he spoke again first. “I’ll verify everything.”

“Good. There must not be any more delays. If so, I may need to look elsewhere. And I don’t want to do that.”

Malevolence in the voice. Though Hernandez knew it well, his boss was reminding him that he was someone you did not disappoint.

“Do you need me to send anybody else, to help you be more persuasive?” the boss asked.

Hernandez shook his head, then realized the futility of the gesture. He found his voice.

“No, sir, that won’t be necessary. I can take care of everything.”

“Good,” the boss repeated. “The shipment is already on its way, and there’s no way to stop it now, so let me repeat. We can’t afford any delays. I expect a certain amount of loss, but this would be too much.”

“I understand.”

“What happened a month ago can’t happen now.”

“I know.”

“I want an update as soon as you have one.”

Hernandez nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Another heavy pause. He felt the weight of it pressing down on him.

“It had better be soon,” the boss said.

“It will be,” Hernandez assured him.

The call went dead, and Hernandez put his phone back in his pocket, thinking about what else he had to do. He was already in a dangerous mood and now he felt called out. That made him angrier, not so much at the cartel, but at the fools in this town. They shouldn’t have put him in this situation. He squinted out the window, thinking. Blood stained his hands from many missions like this, and he didn’t mind a little more. And he had a long memory, too. He wouldn’t forget what had happened here.

He put the car in gear and drove down Main Street.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

R ance sat in his truck and stared at the construction site. The air-conditioner was on, but he didn’t notice the coolness, his mind on the strange woman in town. He still didn’t know who she was, and that irritated him. If she was a threat, he’d deal with her. But he had to know first. No need to drawing even more needless attention otherwise.

His phone rang, and he stared at the number. He shouldn’t have been receiving this call, but that was the way things had been lately. He sighed and swiped to answer.

“Everything is ready,” he said.

“And where is the new site?” Hernandez asked.

“It’s in a safe area.”

“I need to know where.”

Rance nodded to himself. “Of course.” He described it to Hernandez, then continued, “It’s isolated. No one will know about it.”

“Do I need to remind you no one should’ve known about the other place?”

Rance bit back a snide remark. That would do no good. “We’ve moved on from that, and everything is taken care of.”

“Is it?”

Rance knew what he meant. The woman. “None of that is a concern. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m paid to worry.”

“It’s being taken care of.” Rance said the words with confidence, but he didn’t know for sure.

“Good. You know that if anything goes wrong, this will be it. There will be consequences.”

“I understand.”

Hernandez ended the call.

Rance stared at the phone, feeling his stomach rumble. That knot had been there for days, and he’d begun carrying Tums with him. He popped a couple in his mouth and chewed slowly. He had placated Hernandez, for now. Swallowing, Rance tried to think a few steps ahead. Once he had things moving forward, he needed to talk to Hernandez’s boss again. He’d heard the boss was named Juan, but he never called him that. The man might be powerful, but so was he. It was time to remind his associates in Mexico of that. Rance stared ahead. Yes, he was a force to be reckoned with. A grim smile grew on his face as his thoughts returned to the present. There was still a lot to do, and he had to keep his men in line.

With a sigh, he dialed Grady.

“What’s the update on the woman?”

Grady exhaled loudly. “It’s not good.”

Rance stared at a truck driving into the construction site. So much money in equipment, building materials, and more. All the upfront costs, which would of course pay down the road. But he had to get down the road first.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Grady cleared his throat. “She was at the motel, but she got away.”

“She got away? Twice now?” Pollack snapped. “How did you let that happen?”

“I—well, she saw me coming, and she ran off.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since yesterday. Wayne, the motel clerk, is supposed to let me know if he sees her return to her room, but I haven’t heard from him.”

“She couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.”

“I know. We’ll find her.”

“Is Carl looking as well?”

“Yes. I told him if he sees her, run her out of town. Make up any charges he wants.”

“Carl didn’t charge her before.”

Grady sighed. “Yes, but he knows he needs to now. No more dancing around it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ll make sure.”

“Sometimes Carl is too nice, and he doesn’t think through things.”

“I know.”

“It should never have come to this.”

“Yes, sir.” Grady’s voice was soft now, duly chastised.

“This woman cannot find out what’s going on around here.”

“She won’t.”

Rance tapped the steering wheel, then said, “Keep me updated. Do I need to remind you how much we have riding on this?”

“No. I understand.”

After ending the call, Rance watched as another truck drove into the construction site. He wondered about Grady. The man had seemed like a great choice at the time. Smart enough, and Rance had liked that he had military experience. He’d been wandering, unsure of himself, and that made him approachable—and a job in law enforcement gave him purpose. Rance knew he was controllable, too, just what he needed.

Grady had done what was asked of him, but he was slipping, and not just in his personal life.

The problem was, could Carl Burleson fill Grady’s shoes? The sheriff was more electable than Grady, and he was nicer, too. That worked well with the townsfolk. And he followed orders, up to a certain point, but how far would he be willing to go? Would he handle the kind of things Grady had?

Rance couldn’t answer that, but at some point, he would have to.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

S hirley’s old Nissan pulled into the carport a little after four. She came in through the kitchen and shut the door before giving Jo a once-over.

“I see you made it okay.”

Jo nodded. “I couldn’t get my stuff from the motel, though. But that’s okay, I didn’t have much, anyway.”

Shirley eyed her. “I can pick something up for you.” She put her keys and purse on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down with a sigh. “I’m getting too old for these long days.”

They sat for a minute in silence. The house was cool and peaceful. The kitchen walls were painted a soft yellow, with flowery curtains on the windows and black-and-white pictures of farm fields on the walls. Jo was gathering her thoughts when Shirley got up.

“Where are my manners? Would you like something to drink?”

Jo hadn’t wanted to go rummage in the kitchen, but she was hungry and thirsty.

“A glass of water would be great.”

Shirley stood up to get it. “And sweet tea for myself,” she said as she sat back down at the table and looked at Jo expectantly. “So, what’s going on?”

“Everything started out okay,” Jo began.

She spent a few minutes telling Shirley how she’d gone to the timber site the previous day, how she’d been hired as a day laborer and about her conversation with Keyshawn. At that point, Shirley began nodding.

“I’ve known Keyshawn’s mama, Beverly Washington, for a long time now. He’s a nice young man, a hard worker.” She frowned. “His older brother got into some trouble, too, and he killed himself. Anyway . . .” Her voice drifted off.

“Were Keyshawn and Merle friends?”

Shirley shook her head. “No. Merle was several years older, so they didn’t run into each other in school. Merle was also the one looking for trouble, and that’s just not Keyshawn. While Merle was away, he went into the Army, and that put him on the right path. He’s got a good work ethic, and he takes care of his mama.”

Jo was careful with her next statement. “Carl told you that Merle was found on the west side of the timber site?”

“Yes. He was in charge of the investigation, and he told me that’s where Merle’s body was found. Why?”

“Keyshawn said Merle was found to the east of the site, up another nearby road.”

She started to describe the area, and Shirley soon interrupted.

“That’s Camden Road. But Carl didn’t say anything about Merle being up there.” The woman frowned. “Why would he tell me the wrong place? You’re sure Keyshawn wasn’t mistaken?”

“I think he’s the one who was right.” Jo told her about being run off the job site and then walking up Camden Road and finding the shack. “You’re sure Merle wasn’t in any kind of trouble?” she asked.

“What’d you hear?”

Jo continued on, describing what she’d overheard from the men at the shack. “That Merle caused a mess of things, but that it had been cleaned up, and he paid for it.”

Shirley’s lips pursed with sadness as she accepted something she hadn’t wanted to. “Damn that boy. When he came back here, he assured me he was staying clean, and I took him at his word.” She fiddled with her glass. “I don’t think he was doing drugs, although he might’ve been drinking a little. But I guess clean in other ways . . .” She sighed. “Maybe he’d gotten himself involved in something illegal.”

“But you don’t know what that was?”

Shirley gave an emphatic head shake. “I don’t. When Merle came back into town, he only stayed with me for a little while before he got a small place around here. He lived by himself, and as far as I know, nobody had any complaints about him.”

“It might be a good idea to talk to his landlord.”

Shirley snorted. “That would be Rance Pollack. I don’t know what he would tell you.”

Jo thought about that. “Where do the Pollacks live?”

“They’ve got a big spread north of town, sixty acres that they parceled off, but they don’t farm anything. A huge, beautiful house there that Rance’s great-grandfather built. The Pollacks have lived in it ever since. It’s tradition.”

“Do people like them?”

Shirley thought for a moment. “They’re friendly enough, in public at least, but everyone knows you don’t cross them. You do, you won’t have a job.”

“That puts a lot of pressure on people.”

“It sure does.” She grimaced.

“What was Merle doing on their property?”

“The Pollacks own a bunch of land around here, have for a long time,” Shirley said. “But I didn’t think they were doing anything up where that shack is.”

“The place looked rundown, but the door was newer, and it was locked up tight. I couldn’t get inside, but based on what those men said, the shack had been used at one time.”

“Something’s going on if they’re after you.” Shirley let out a dry laugh. “It didn’t take you long to stir things up, did it?”

Jo smiled. “That’s true. Someone found out I’d gone out to the timber site, because once this Sugarman guy knew about me, he ran me right off the property.”

Shirley threw up a hand. “Lance Sugarman is full of himself, but he does whatever Grady and his brother, Fred, tell him to do. But you still better watch out for him. He can make trouble for you.”

Jo sipped some water. “Duly noted. Oh also, yesterday morning, I got a ride to the site from a man named Dean.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Dean Blackwood?”

“I didn’t get a last name, and I couldn’t ask without making him suspicious.”

Jo described his appearance. “Blond hair, wearing an Atlanta Braves cap.”

“That’s him alright. He loves the Braves. Did you ask him about Merle’s fight with Grady?”

Jo tipped her head. “I’m supposed to be the stranger in town, remember? How could I know about their fight?”

“Oh, right.”

“But now that I’ve met Dean, I thought I’d go by his place, see what he knows about Merle.”

“As you say, though, how will you do that without him getting suspicious?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”

Shirley gestured behind her. “Take my car. You can’t keep walking around town.”

Jo shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t.”

The woman looked at her, puzzled. “Who doesn’t have a car in this day and age?”

“I used to have one, but when I was in DC, I hardly drove it, so I sold it. And they cost money, with insurance and upkeep.”

“Don’t I know that.” Shirley sipped more of her tea, then looked at Jo. “Are you hungry?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“How about some fried chicken?”

“That sounds delicious.” It truly did, now that she thought about it. “May I help you with anything?”

Shirley shook her head as she got up. “I’ll take care of everything.” She began bustling about the kitchen, getting chicken from the refrigerator. She poured oil into a pan and heated it, and as she combined flour and spices in a bowl, she kept talking. “There’s another stranger in town.” She eyed Jo. “Besides you.”

“Who’s that?”

Shirley shrugged as she poured buttermilk in another bowl and added salt and pepper. She dipped the pieces of chicken into it, then into the dry mixture. “I saw him at the restaurant last evening, and then again for breakfast this morning.”

“What did he look like?”

“Hm, let me think.” Shirley placed the coated pieces of chicken into the pan. “He was Hispanic, I’d say he was about six feet tall, with dark hair and cold eyes. Not friendly at all.” She let out a little laugh as she started to cook the chicken. “You know me, and well, practically everybody in the South. We’re friendly, and I certainly like to make conversation. But this man would have none of it. Don’t get me wrong, he was polite, but he wasn’t a conversationalist. He ordered the roast beef for dinner last night, ate it, and skipped dessert. And he was listening.”

Jo looked at her. “For what?”

Shirley nudged the chicken pieces. “It was like he was trying to find out what everybody around him was doing. The way he cocked his head, curious. He was paying attention to everything.”

“You didn’t get a name, maybe from a credit card?”

She shook her head as she fried the chicken. “He paid cash. Besides taking his order, I don’t think he said ten words. When he finished eating, he thanked me for the meal, then left. I don’t know where he went.”

“Do you know what he’s doing here?”

She shook her head as she turned the chicken pieces. “Might have business at the sawmill construction site, but I don’t know. People noticed him, though, and they certainly noticed you, too. Carl came in yesterday and asked me what I knew about you.”

“What’d you tell him?”

Shirley glanced over her shoulder with a knowing look. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything. I just said you’d come in for some dinner, and that Grady came in, and it appeared the two of you knew each other from somewhere. I also said I didn’t think it was fair for Grady to come after you with three other men, and that was why I’d called him. I left it at that, but Carl’s suspicious.”

Jo drank some more water, then said, “No kidding.” She thought for a second. “Something was definitely going on up at that shack, but could it happen without the Pollacks knowing?”

Shirley shrugged as she finished cooking the chicken. After placing a paper towel on a plate to soak up the excess oil, she started taking the chicken from the pan.

“Rance is busy with the new sawmill. That takes a lot of time, and he’s had to work with a lot of the politicians in the state. He has to keep his nose clean.”

“If Merle was into something bad, possibly illegal, would Pollack want that covered up?”

Shirley nodded her head slowly as she went to the refrigerator and pulled out containers. “I hope you don’t mind leftover potato salad and coleslaw.”

Jo smiled. “Both sound great.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Shirley said as she put the food on the table. “All I know is that Rance can’t afford to have any trouble right now. He has too much riding on this new project.”

She put a couple of plates and silverware on the table, then sat down. Jo took a few pieces of chicken and a generous amount of the sides.

“This fried chicken is delicious,” she said after she took a bite. “I wish I knew how to cook like that.”

“Why don’t you cook?” Shirley asked, a bit of bluntness in her tone.

“I was in the Army, stationed various places all over the world. The food was always there for me, so I didn’t have to. And I didn’t learn from my mother.”

“Not everybody has the same talents,” Shirley said matter-of-factly.

Jo smiled. She hadn’t had a place to call home in a long time, and she wasn’t domestic, at least not in the traditional sense. However, she had other talents, there was no doubt about that. She’d been a great soldier. She was savvy, and had served as an excellent interrogator, too. At least until the mistake on the last mission with Dack. Then she’d questioned her abilities, even though he’d said not to.

They finished the meal in silence, and Jo insisted on helping clean up. As she dried dishes, she thought about this new man in town. Was he just passing through, or was he there for a reason? And did he pose a threat to her?

No way to answer that without learning more.

When they finished with the dishes, they sat back down at the table. “What’re you going to do now?” Shirley asked, a little trepidation in her voice.

Was the woman worried that Grady had scared her off? Jo thought for a moment before speaking.

“I’d like to find Dean Blackwood. You’re sure you don’t mind me borrowing your car?”

Shirley pointed to the keys on the table. “Help yourself. I’m too tired to do much other than watch some TV, maybe read my book.”

Jo took a moment to Google where Dean lived, and then she stood up.

“If he’s not at home, you should try the Horse and Hound,” Shirley said. “It’s one block off Main, near the bank on Cook Street. That’s where Merle hung out, and that’s probably where everyone else would be, too.”

Jo grabbed the keys. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Shirley waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. If I go to bed, the side door’ll be unlocked.”

“Do you work in the morning?”

“Bright and early. I’ll try not to disturb you.”

“Don’t worry. I shouldn’t sleep late anyway.”

Shirley pointed toward the living room. “There’s a spare bedroom, second door on the right. I’ll put out some towels for you.”

Jo glanced that way. “Could you keep the curtains closed?”

“Will do.”

She thanked Shirley, then headed out to the car.

CHAPTER TWENTY

A fter Grady talked to Rance, he went by the station and did some of his own research on Jo Gunning. What he learned stunned him. She was ex-military, ex-Civil Affairs. He couldn’t find where she was employed now, and he wasn’t sure what that meant. Was she undercover? The thought made his stomach turn.

He still didn’t feel well when he left the station.

Grady spent the rest of the afternoon driving around town and even over to Marion, but he never spotted this Gunning woman. When he went up to the timber site and talked to Fred and Sugarman, and no one had seen her around. Grady should’ve gone off shift, but he was irritated, and it didn’t occur to him to go home.

He was worried. Rance had been angry. A certain amount was to be expected, but there had been more to his questions. He was doubting Grady, and Grady was letting him down. He hadn’t been able to find Jo, which should’ve been a piece of cake in this town. Questions swirled in his brain, and not just about her, where she’d come from, why she was here.

What would Rance do if Grady didn’t find her? Would that mean he had lost faith? If that was the case, Grady was good as dead. He had to be careful. Rance was watching him, waiting for results. And Grady had to deliver.

He kept driving around, but he still didn’t see Jo. Around five, he stopped at the restaurant for dinner, and he asked about her. Again, no one had seen her. As he ate, the questions continued to swirl in his mind.

How could she disappear like this? Had she moved on, and they just didn’t realize it yet?

When Grady finished dinner, he drove the few blocks to the station. Elaine had gone home, replaced at the front desk by Dorothy. She and Grady didn’t like each other, and she barely gave him a nod as he walked into the sheriff’s office.

“Shouldn’t you be done for the day?” Carl asked. “The night crew will take over.”

“I’m about to head home,” Grady said.

“Anything going on I should know about?”

He pulled up a chair and sat down across from Carl. “Have you seen that woman around?” he asked, ignoring the sheriff’s question.

Carl arched an eyebrow. “Jo Gunning? I thought she’d left town.”

Grady narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know for sure?”

Sitting back, Carl sipped a diet Pepsi. “Why would I know what she did?”

“You were supposed to charge her with vagrancy.”

“She wasn’t a vagrant.”

“How do you know?”

Carl put the can down. “Is there something more I should know about her?”

Grady told him what he’d learned about Jo. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, but we can’t have her around town. She’s asking questions about Merle’s death. That’s none of her business.”

“Is she with the feds or something?”

“Why would she be with the feds?” Grady asked, a little too quickly. Did Carl know more than he should?

Carl held up his hands. “I’m just asking the question. If she’s not with any law enforcement agency, why does she want to know about Merle’s death? Private investigator, maybe?”

“You didn’t ask her that?”

“We’ve been over this,” Carl said. “She told me about her encounter with you in Marion, and that she was passing through. I advised her that Greensville was not a place where she would want to stay. I didn’t see the need to question her more, nor did I have reason to think she might be with law enforcement. And I didn’t think it was appropriate to charge her with anything. She hadn’t broken the law, and false charges could bring unwanted attention.”

Grady ignored the last remark. “If you find her, you ask her who she’s with. While you run her out of town.”

“On what charges?”

He threw up a hand. “Whatever you want, just get her out of here. You understand me?”

Carl nodded slowly. “Maybe it would be better to just tell her what happened with Merle, that we conducted an investigation, and everything’s fine.”

“Why would you tell a stranger that?”

“In case she’s with law enforcement,” Carl explained. “If we show her we have nothing to hide, she goes away. The more you pester her, the more it could come back on us.”

The deputy glared at him. “If you see her, you keep your mouth shut. Run her out of town, like I’m telling you. That’s it.”

After considering that for a moment, Carl nodded. “Okay, this one’s your call.”

There was something in his tone that Grady didn’t like. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Carl smiled at him. “Nothing. If I see her, I’ll take her to the county line.”

“And you’ll let me know about it.”

The sheriff nodded. “Of course.”

Grady stood up. “You have a good evening.”

He yawned and stretched. “I intend to.”

Grady spun around and left the room. He didn’t say a word to Dorothy as he walked out of the building. When he got to his car, he glanced around. Where the hell was Jo? He shook his head, then drove home, changed clothes, and got right back into his truck.

Unfortunately, he had more to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

H ernandez had been all over the town again, but he still hadn’t seen or heard about a stranger poking around, other than himself. He’d asked the motel manager about other guests, but the man cited privacy issues. Hernandez didn’t want to draw attention to himself, so he didn’t pursue the issue. He chatted with the clerk at the gas station as well, but she hadn’t seen anyone unusual, other than general passersby.

He’d found the other site, and it looked good. They didn’t need much, just a private place to count the shipment and process any product. Out of the way and inconspicuous. It should do.

After all his running around, Hernandez had driven into Marion and checked the motels there. He got the same talk from the other managers about not being able to give out guest names, so he’d parked a little way away and for any strangers, even asked some of the other guests who they’d seen. No one seemed to know of a single woman staying in town. He ate in Marion before driving back to Greensville.

Parked on Main Street, watching what accounted for their rush-hour, he called the boss.

“What do you have for me?”

“I checked the site. It’s in a completely different area, and it’s isolated. From what I can tell, people stay away from there. I don’t think anybody will know it’s being used.”

“That’s what we thought about the other place.”

“I know,” said Hernandez.

“And the other issue?”

Hernandez ran a hand over a stubbly chin. “I’m not sure it’s a problem. I’ve asked questions, but no one seems to know who this woman is. I can’t find any information about a stranger in town, other than me.”

That elicited the slightest laugh—unusual.

“You checked everywhere?”

“I’ve been all over town, and even to the next one over. But everything else is proceeding as planned.”

A deep breath on the other end of the phone. “I don’t like how they seem to be keeping us in the dark.”

Hernandez watched a woman walking down the street. At first, he wondered if this might be the person, but she was joined by a husky man. They locked hands and stopped to talk to someone who exited the restaurant. It was all friendly, familiar. They were locals, no doubt.

“It’s possible this ‘nobody’ is a figment,” Hernandez said. “That I’m chasing a shadow.”

“You don’t think she exists?”

Hernandez shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What would be the point of telling us there is someone interfering if there wasn’t?” the boss mused. “Are they working on something separate?”

“Planning to cut us out?”

“It’s a thought.”

Hernandez stared out the windshield as the man processed the information. He was always prudent, wary—he’d take the data in, assess, and make a decision.

“We need to know for certain if this nobody exists,” said the boss. “If this stranger is the feds or the DEA, I don’t need to tell you what that means for our operation.”

He didn’t. For as much as Hernandez hated this hole-in-the-wall town, it was a great set-up. The fact that it was out of the way made it perfect. No attention, no problems. Until Merle Latham was killed.

“I’ll follow Grady Townsend, see what he’s up to,” Hernandez said. “He may lead me to her, if she’s out there.”

“Do not let him see you.”

“Of course not.”

Hernandez watched the street, waiting for him to speak again.

“We’ll see how things proceed tomorrow. There can be no mistakes on your end.”

“There won’t be.”

The call clicked off, and Hernandez put his phone back in his pocket. Then he sighed, started the vehicle, and went in search of Grady.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A s Jo backed out of Shirley’s driveway, she saw a floppy hat with a wide brim on the passenger seat. Putting it on, she pulled it low to shield her face. Then she drove side streets to the far end of town before getting on Main Street and headed west. A few cars and trucks whizzed by, and she pulled the vizor down to ward off the setting sun. She passed a small cemetery, then slowed as she reached a little ranch-style house set back from the road. It was old, covered in peeling paint, windows dirty and with torn screens. Behind the house was an old barn and silo, both in need of repair.

She turned onto a long dirt drive and pulled up next to Dean’s Ford truck, which dwarfed Shirley’s sedan. She tossed the hat on the passenger seat and got out. It was quiet except for the occasional vehicle on the highway. Jo walked up the porch steps and knocked on a rickety screen door. It rattled, but no one answered. She knocked again, then called out Dean’s name. She thought she heard a voice, so she walked around the side of the house. As she rounded the back corner, she saw the man sitting on a screened-in porch.

“Can I help you?” he asked with a smile.

He wore jeans and a red T-shirt, the Atlanta Braves hat pushed back on his forehead. He was slumped in a chair, a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. An empty bottle sat on the floor nearby.

Jo approached the screen door. “Do you remember me?”

He squinted at her, and then his eyes widened with recognition. He smiled.

“You’re the day laborer. I haven’t seen you around. How’re things going?”

So he hadn’t heard about Sugarman running her off the site. That was good.

He waved a hand. “Come on in and have a seat.”

The hinges squeaked as she opened the screen door. She stepped inside and sat on a metal porch chair next to him, and he held up a beer.

“Want one?”

“Sure.”

Dean reached around behind him and opened a small cooler, pulled out a cheap beer, and handed it to her. She didn’t care that it wasn’t some fancy microbrew; it was cold and tasted good.

“I figured you’re the type to be at the Horse and Hound, rather than drinking alone,” she said.

He stared toward the barn. “Not anymore.”

“Should I avoid it?”

“You do what you like. I got into it with somebody back there, so I’m better off here.” He pointed outside. “Besides, it’s nice enough here.”

Jo pulled at her sweaty shirt. “If you don’t mind the humidity.”

He tipped his head at her. “You’re not from the South, are you?”

“I’ve been all over.”

Dean winked at her, and she realized her flirting earlier had worked. She felt bad to have led him on, even if only slightly. She had to admit, he was a good-looking man. At another time, she might’ve flirted back. But she was too used to it being just her, no one else to explain herself to. She wanted to jump in and ask him about Merle, but if she did that, he might not talk, so she began to build a rapport with him.

Smiling again, she said, “My guess is you’re not from around here, either, but you are a Southern boy.”

It was an open-ended statement, one that would draw more than a yes-no reply from him. And he wanted to talk, to break the ice with her. She was a good interviewer, had used her skills often to get people—usually women—to tell her about the HVTs her teams would be looking for. You had to put them at ease, had to get them to trust you.

“Yeah, I grew up in a small town in Mississippi that you’ve probably never heard of,” he said. “It was okay, but there wasn’t much in the way of jobs or opportunities. You know, the same old story. So I went to Jackson and worked there for a while, but I got tired of the big-city life.”

Jo smiled. “Jackson can’t be more than about a hundred and fifty thousand people.”

He chuckled. “That’s true. Compared to Atlanta, or somewhere like that, it’s small. But versus the tiny town I grew up in, it was huge. I wandered a bit, and then I stumbled through Greensville. Just like you, I started out as a day laborer, and now I’ve been at that job for a couple of years.”

“What do you like about it?”

He finished the beer, lined up the empty with the other one, then got a third bottle from the cooler. He opened it slowly, as if giving himself time to think.

“I like working outside. A desk job isn’t for me. But I don’t know that I’m sticking around much longer.”

Jo cocked an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

He shook his head slowly. “It may be time to move on, that’s all.” He took a drink, then leaned forward and grinned. “So what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

The man seemed more relaxed now, showing interest in her, and she was going to have to crush his hopes that something might happen between them. But there wasn’t time for more subtleties.

“Dean, I actually came here to ask you some questions about Merle Latham.”

Now he scrutinized her carefully, his gaze roving her, but not in a lascivious way. He sat back and took another drink before speaking.

“Are you a cop?”

She shook her head. “I’m just trying to help out.”

“Who?”

“Shirley Flynn.”

He bit his lip. “I like Shirley. She seems like a decent woman.”

“She is. And she wants to know what happened to her nephew.”

“I heard Merle killed himself. That’s really all I know.”

Jo’s bottle was already sweating, and she picked at the wet label for a moment. “You saw Merle and Grady in a fight. Care to talk about that?”

He gulped beer. “No, I do not.”

“Shirley thinks you might know more.” She shifted in her chair. “She doesn’t believe Merle killed himself.”

“I’m not sure what you think I know.”

“I’m just looking for the truth.”

Dean drummed the armrest for a moment. “If I tell you anything, it could get me fired.”

“Yes, and I could find myself in a pickle, too. But I’m willing to take that risk for Shirley.”

He stared at her. “You’re right. You could get into some trouble.” Then he pointed his bottle at her. “Did you already get into some trouble with Grady?”

Not much stayed hidden here. No surprise. “You heard something?”

“Maybe.”

He must have heard about someone having a run-in with Grady, and figuring it was her had given him some newfound respect.

“I shouldn’t be telling you anything,” he said.

“No, but if you do, it’ll stay with me.”

Dean took another drink, and the silence stretched between them. He looked all around before his gaze settled back on her. He seemed to have made a decision.

“What the hell. I don’t think I’m going to be here much longer anyway.”

“Moving on?”

He nodded. “It’s time.” He gestured with his free hand. “I don’t have any ties here. I’m renting this dump from Pollack. Like he’ll care if I leave.” Letting out a sigh, he continued, “Shirley told you I saw Grady and Merle fighting?”

“You told her they were talking, not fighting. And you didn’t want to tell her what they were talking about.”

“At the time, I couldn’t. If I said anything, I would’ve had Grady all over me. So I kept my mouth shut.” He gritted his teeth. “But Shirley deserves some answers.”

“What do you know about Merle’s death?”

“About that, nothing. But Grady was sure pissed off at Merle.”

“Shirley was told Grady knows nothing about Merle’s death, that Merle was drunk and Grady was just trying to get him home safely.”

Dean looked at his beer with a grim smile. “I don’t know about that. I’d come out of the Horse and Hound, and Grady and Merle were standing around the corner, and they didn’t see me. Grady told Merle he shouldn’t have stolen from them.”

“From who?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Grady’s timber company? The man was furious, though. He yelled at Merle, told him it was a stupid thing to do, and how in the world did Merle think he wouldn’t be caught, and so on. Merle tried to talk his way out of it, said that there was so much stuff there, he didn’t think anybody would miss it. About that time, Grady saw me, waved, and called out that it wasn’t any big deal.”

“What happened then?”

“Grady put his arm around Merle’s shoulder and looked at me, then repeated that it was no big deal, that I should just go on home. Grady knew me from the timber site, had seen me around, and I already knew I didn’t want to cross him. So I did as he said. I got in my truck and drove home.”

She took a drink. It did seem like a bigger encounter than at first blush, and it sounded like the Grady that she’d encountered. Brash, hair-trigger temper.

“Did Grady ever ask you about the incident?”

He looked at her warily. “He did, the day after Merle died. He asked me what I’d overheard that night, and I said I hadn’t heard anything. Then he told me the same thing that he’d told everyone else, that Merle was drunk and he was helping get him home. He warned me about possible layoffs, said that he hoped I was working hard.” He narrowed his eyes. “I knew what that meant. Keep my mouth shut about Merle, or I’d lose my job.”

“Not a subtle threat, was it?”

“You got that right.”

“But you’re talking to me now.”

Dean picked at his own bottle. “Shirley seems like a good woman, and she deserves answers. If Grady had something to do with Merle’s death, she should know.” He took a longer drink. “And I don’t like the fact that Grady bullies people. That ain’t right. People shouldn’t have to worry about their jobs or anything just because somebody owns the town, and a sheriff’s deputy should be protecting the people, not scaring them.”

“Do you think Grady killed Merle?”

“He was angry enough that night. Could he have lost his temper and gone after Merle? I suppose so, but I have no proof of anything like that.” He rubbed his chin and eyed her. “Man, and I first thought you were coming here because you liked me.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry about that.”

Again, she felt a slight attraction, but now was not the time. Maybe, when this whole thing was all over . . .

He looked her in the eyes. “That’s okay. I actually feel better having told somebody about this.”

Jo nodded. “Is there anybody else that saw the fight, or might know anything?”

“You might talk to Seth Peterson. He and Grady are tight. They’re probably at the Horse and Hound right now. It’s about the only thing to do around here, unless you get a bite at the restaurant. Look for Seth’s silver truck.”

She’d seen Seth at the shack the other day, but she didn’t say so.

His brow furrowed. “I will tell you this. If you’re asking questions, Grady’s not going to like that. You better be careful.” He looked to the sky. “As a matter fact, you might want to wait until it gets dark before you drive back into town. Less chance that he sees you. Stay and finish your beer.”

She agreed that was a good idea, so they talked while she waited for dusk to settled in.

“Have you heard about a stranger in town?” she asked.

He glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes. “Besides you?”

She let out a quick laugh “Yes.”

Dean shook his head. “No. But I’ve been keeping to myself.”

Jo knew the feeling. She’d been keeping to herself for over a year now, ever since she’d left CA. All she wanted was to be alone, and to be left alone. Somehow, that didn’t seem to happen. If someone needed help, she was going to step in.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, and then she left Dean on the porch, still drinking.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I t was almost dark when Jo turned onto the highway. As she pulled away from Dean’s rented house, she saw the cemetery. The gravestones stood like dark sentinels, watching for whatever evil might be coming. She couldn’t shake the ominous feeling as she drove back toward Greensville. As she drew into the outskirts of the town, she slowed down to the speed limit. There was only one car in front of Shirley’s Restaurant. Probably Vicki.

Jo continued down Main Street and saw the bank, so she turned left, and soon found the Horse and Hound bar. It was in a red-brick building with a plastic sign above the door, showing silhouettes of a horse and hound. Very creative. Several cars and trucks were lined up and down the street, and as she passed the bar, she saw more vehicles in a parking lot behind the bar. Then she spotted the silver truck with those raunchy mudflaps.

Seth Peterson’s.

And next to it was Grady’s dark Dodge Ram.

She drove to the end of the block, then flipped a U-turn and parked down the street, where she could still see Seth’s truck. She put Shirley’s hat back on and sat for a minute, thinking. No way she could go into the bar with both men there. But maybe she could follow Seth home and talk to him there. Take the bull by the horns, scare him and see what he would tell her about Merle Latham. Seth might be tough when he was with Grady and his friends, but on his own, a man could be entirely different.

As the night dragged on, people left the bar, some alone, some in groups. Then a skinny man in jeans and a plaid shirt walked out, his arm draped around Darlene Eckleberry. She tottered a bit, obviously drunk. He guided her toward the parking lot, and she flirted with him, flicking her hair, smiling wide. They walked to a white SUV, and he held the door open for her. She seemed to be moving up, at least. Hopefully a better choice than Grady. Jo sighed. It seemed like weeks had passed since she’d seen Darlene and Grady at the motel. That single confrontation had led to so much more.

The vehicles on the street and in the parking lot dissipated. Shortly before eleven, Grady emerged from the bar. He lit a cigarette, smoked for a minute, then pulled out his phone and made a call. He leaned against a street sign and talked.

Jo was curious about what he was saying, so she quietly got out of the sedan and ran around the next block, snuck through an alley, and approached through the far end of the parking lot. She ducked between two trucks and approached the sidewalk. Unfortunately, though, Grady was wrapping up his conversation.

“We’ll be ready for the shipment. Yes, sir. Okay.”

Grady ended the call, swore, then took one last drag off his cigarette. He tossed the butt into the gutter and stomped to his truck. Jo crouched low so he wouldn’t see her. Headlights suddenly shone into the darkness, and the truck roared to life. Tires squealed as he swerved out of the parking lot. She heard the truck head down Main, and then it grew quiet again.

She was about to head back to the Nissan when the bar door opened and Seth Peterson walked out, accompanied by another man with a similar slim build and the same blond hair. Both had babyfaces and dark eyes. Jo ducked down again. Seth draped his arm over the other man’s shoulder.

“Listen Billy, little brother,” he said. “You just do as I told you, and you’ll make a nice chunk of change.”

“Is it really as easy as you say?”

Billy swayed as he walked, his words slurred.

“It’s easy,” Seth said. He glanced around and seemed confident that they were alone. “You meet the truck at eight, you take what they give you, and you drive it where I told you. Ain’t nothing to it.”

Jo held her breath and listened. Hopefully no one else would come out of the bar and see her.

“Someone will meet me?” Billy asked.

“Yes. Like I said, you take it where I told you, and they’ll be waiting for you.”

“ ’s an awful lot of money for just that.”

Seth stopped and peered into Billy’s eyes. “You okay to drive? You’re not too drunk?”

Of course he was. Jo shook her head at both men. How stupid.

“Sure,” Billy assured him. “It ain’t far, anyway.”

They walked toward a beat-up blue truck, and Seth leaned his brother against the side of it. Then he wagged a finger in his face.

“You’re not getting paid to do something difficult, you’re getting paid to keep your mouth shut. You understand?”

Billy nodded. “Yes, sir.” He squinted hard.

“You do it just like I said,” Seth said. “It’ll all be fine.”

“If I don’t, will it be like Merle?”

Merle again. It all went back to him, but she still didn’t know how.

“Don’t mention that name to me. But yeah, there are serious stakes with all this.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Where’s your key?” Seth asked.

His brother dangled keys from his pocket and handed them to Seth, who helped maneuver Billy into the cab.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?”

Jo shook her head again, while Billy just gulped air. “Maybe I’ll just sit here for a minute. You go on home.”

“Tomorrow night. I’m counting on you. Grady’ll probably be out there, too, so you gotta make sure you take care of things right.”

“Okay.”

“And watch out for that woman.”

“The one who beat up JD and Ray?”

“Yeah,” Seth said, irritation clear in his voice.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Alright.” Seth nodded. “I’ll see you at the timber site in the morning.”

Billy gave him a little salute, and Seth crossed the lot to his silver truck. He let out a belch as he got in, then fired up the vehicle and rumbled out of the parking lot. Jo turned back to Billy. He had leaned back in his seat, his head lolling to the side. No one was around, so she dashed over. The passenger door was unlocked, and she quickly hopped in. Billy stirred, looked at her, and his jaw dropped.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” His words came out slow and garbled.

“Tell me what you’re doing tomorrow night,” she snapped.

He squinted at her, and his face worked as he thought through things, everything slowed by his inebriation. His eyebrows knit, and then his jaw dropped.

“You’re the woman. The one they’re looking for.”

“Who’s looking for me?”

Billy shook his head in awe. “Yeah, man. My brother, Grady. Other people. They want to talk to you. They want to know what you know.”

“That doesn’t matter. What’re you up to tomorrow night?”

“Man, I can’t tell you that. I’m being paid good to keep my mouth shut.” He shook his head, not back and forth but around in wobbly circles, trying to focus. “You know how hard it is to find good work around here? I mean, man, this is good work. Easy.”

“What do you have to do?”

“Just drive, a pick-up and a delivery. That’s it.”

“Where?”

“I gotta meet somebody at the rail . . .” He cut off the rest of what he was going to say. Then he giggled. “Woah, I almost blabbed. You know what kind of trouble I’d be in?”

“You have to tell me. It’s important.”

He shook his head. “No way, man.” His head began to loll again. He mumbled something she couldn’t understand. Then, “It’s all going to be okay. My brother trusts me, and that’s cool.”

She tried one more time. “Where’re you meeting the truck?”

“Down the road.”

“What do you know about Merle?”

“Cover-up,” he mumbled.

She nudged him. “What was covered up? His death?”

Billy leaned back into the corner of the cab and crossed his arms. He muttered something again, and then he was fast asleep.

Jo muttered invectives. She was about to shake him awake when a man came out of the bar and headed toward them.

“Billy’s drunk,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Yeah.” She had to make some kind of excuse. “I thought I’d give him a ride home.”

He shook his head. “I’ll do it. Then he can bring me back in the morning for my truck.”

The guy seemed a little drunk himself, but before she could argue, he opened the driver-side door and pushed Billy aside. Jo got out of the cab and ran and across the parking lot before the man could ask her who she was. She went around the building and hurried back to her car.

As she drove off, something prickled the back of her neck. She looked around, but didn’t see anyone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I t was late when Scarlett Pollack stole through the kitchen to the back door of the house. A splash of moonlight hit the hardwood floor as she paused and listened to see if her parents had heard her. Then she shrugged.

Mama and Daddy wouldn’t hear anything. Leah would’ve taken pills, and she would be dead to the world by now. Rance would be sleeping hard, too. He’d been drinking more than usual, and that put him out right away. Then he’d be up at two or three in the morning, roaming the house. She’d found that out one time when she lost track of time and snuck in a little too late. She’d almost gotten caught, but when he sat down to watch TV, she was able to tiptoe back in.

Now, the back door was open, and she eased out the screen door, then quietly shut it. The screen used to squeak, but Addison had dripped olive oil onto the hinges, and that had stopped the noise.

Scarlett smiled to herself as she crept toward the front of the house. She’d learned all about sneaking out from her sister. Addison had been an expert. She’d taught Scarlett how to stay at the edges of the stairs, where the boards wouldn’t creak. She’d told Scarlett about their mama’s pill-popping at night so that she could sleep, and how their daddy drank too much, and that put him into a stupor. Scarlett shook her head. Unfortunately, Addison hadn’t told her about how Daddy would be back up a few hours later. A flash of sadness washed over her like a heavy blanket. She missed Addison so much.

Scarlett shook away the feeling as she reached the corner of the house. She crossed into the yard, outside the bright halo from a light above the front porch. Then she struck into the trees. She ran along the side of the road to the edge of the property. When she got there, a truck was waiting, headlights off. She hopped in and said hello to Knox.

“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice smooth, sweet as peach pie.

She leaned over and kissed him hard, and he put his hand on her thigh. Kenny Chesney played softly on the stereo.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She nodded. “We can’t be out too long.”

“Don’t worry.”

He grinned as he turned the truck around, and they drove down the road. He held her hand, and when they reached the highway, he flicked on his headlights and turned the music up louder. Scarlett rolled down her window and put her head out, smelling the night air. Then she looked at him.

“So much for being grounded.”

He smiled at her. “It didn’t work for your sister. Why would it work for you?”

She gave a satisfied nod at that. They drove a few miles, both singing along to Kenny’s latest hit. Then Knox turned down a dirt road, and after bouncing around a bit, they approached the reservoir. He shut off the headlights and parked. They were the only ones there.

“Let’s go,” he said as he cut the engine and climbed out of the truck.

He grabbed a couple of towels and tossed them on the sandy beach. Scarlett followed him. Knox was already stripping off his clothes as he headed toward the water’s edge. She took off hers as well, and they dove in. The water felt so nice, refreshing after yet another hot day. She swam farther out, where it was deeper.

“That’s far enough,” Knox called out.

Scarlett treaded water and laughed. “Come on. There’s no sharks out here.”

He swam a little farther himself and sputtered, “I’m not worried about that.”

The moon and stars glinted off the dark surface, dancing with the movement of the water. She treaded in place as she looked at him.

“It’s fine.”

“I don’t know how you’re not scared, after what happened to your sister.”

Scarlett frowned and flicked water at him. “Why’d you have to ruin it?” She struck off, back toward shore, past him.

“Hey!” he called out, starting after her.

When she returned to shore, she flopped on a towel. He walked up and looked down at her, water dripping from his long blond bangs.

“What’d I say?” he asked.

She stared out at the water. “It doesn’t make sense. Addison was a good swimmer. She taught me.”

Again, that sadness niggling at her. She turned and wiped a tear away.

“Yeah, but wasn’t she drunk?”

She shook her head. “She partied and swam all the time. She shouldn’t have been that out of it that she’d drown.”

He sat down next to her. She was brooding, and he wasn’t sure what to say.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” was all he managed.

She looked at him, and he leaned over and kissed her. Then he touched her breast. Scarlett moaned, and soon she forgot about her sister for the night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

J o headed toward Main Street, then turned left. It was almost midnight, quiet, as if she were in the middle of the desert. But then the stillness was broken by movement.

She glimpsed it in the rearview mirror, a car behind her, headlights off. Someone coming from the bar. Too drunk to remember to turn on their lights? Or someone coming for her?

Without thinking, she turned right and followed a side street toward the southern edge of town. She drove slowly, and soon the car turned as well, headlights still off. She took another right, then a third, and drove north. When she reached Main, she stopped and peered in the rearview mirror. The car was still behind her. She couldn’t tell the make or model.

She took a fourth right turn and drove a few blocks down Main, but instead of turning left on Wray Street to go to Shirley’s house, she went east, slowly, so she could see what the other car did.

It soon appeared and followed, as expected. She wasn’t going to let the tail know where she was staying, so she drove on the dim street to the edge of town, then sped up. The tail kept pace, never turning on its headlights, never growing too close. The terrain grew darker, the lights from town fading, the sky a canopy of stars.

Now what? She couldn’t easily turn around. There was only one way to go. Farther east.

The speedometer hit fifty. Another glance in the rearview mirror. Movement, subtle, a change in how the shadows appeared. The car was still there.

Jo pressed the gas pedal to the floor—hopefully no animals would dart into the road. She raced on, and the miles flew by. Her speed increased.

Sixty miles per hour. Seventy.

The shadow behind her remained, almost like it was her own.

She had no idea who it was. Grady in a different vehicle, or someone else? Either way, she didn’t want to find out.

Jo glanced at the gas gauge. Almost full. She gripped the wheel and sped toward Marion. It was a bigger town than Greensville, more places for her to evade her tail. She wasn’t the best driver and had never tried to lose anyone on lonely, dark streets like these. But she’d have to try.

Several miles later, she decreased her speed as she approached Marion. It was quiet, no vehicles about. When she hit the first stoplight, she turned right. The other car was a few blocks back, and it disappeared from view. She yanked the wheel and screeched into an alley, then pressed the gas pedal to the floor again. Shirley’s car shot forward. She saw a parked truck ahead and pulled in front of it, slamming on the brakes. The Nissan screeched to a halt. She glanced in the side mirror. A sedan raced past the alley entrance.

Jo hit the gas again, and the Nissan shot forward. She reached the street, turning left and then right onto the main road. Now she raced back toward Greensville, quickly hitting eighty. She didn’t see the car behind her. The miles raced by, but she didn’t slow down until she passed the gas station at the edge of town. It was dark—no chance to gas up tonight, not that she needed to.

No one followed her as she headed down Main, then turned on Third Street. She parked near the creek, got out and locked the car, then snuck into the woods, where she hid behind some trees. Her racing heart finally slowed, and she took a moment to collect her thoughts.

Who had been following her, and why? She went through options. Grady might’ve sent someone after her. If that was the case and they found her and roughed her up, or worse, it wouldn’t be traced back to him.

Rance Pollack? But why him?

Or was there someone else who didn’t want her asking questions about Merle Latham?

The minutes turned into an hour, and then she heard a car. A dark sedan soon drove down Third, headlights off. When it neared Shirley’s Nissan, it stopped. It was far enough away that Jo couldn’t make out a license plate number. The sedan stayed back for a minute, then reversed.

Jo remained still.

The creek bubbled to her left, a peaceful sound. Somewhere in the neighborhood, a dog barked and then was quiet. Jo’s nerves tingled. The sedan finally backed up, turned around, and drove slowly down the road.

She stayed a while longer, then stole along the edge of the creek to the back of Shirley’s house. She watched for a long time. It was dark and still, and the same at Shirley’s neighbor. Pearl evidently wasn’t a night owl.

After a long time, Jo hopped over the picket fence and into the yard, then up to the corner of the house. She stared into the street, not seeing see anyone or any vehicle, so she stole to the side door and let herself in. After locking it behind her, she hurried to the front door and locked it as well. Then she moved back into the living room and peeked around the window curtains.

No cars parked on the street. She retreated and quietly checked the house. Wonderfully cool, invitingly still. Shirley had her bedroom door cracked open, and Jo could see her sleeping form on the bed. Jo peeked into the spare bedroom. The blinds were closed, but a small nightstand lamp bathed the room in dim light. A painting of mountains hung above a twin bed with towels on it. Jo longed to sleep, but it wouldn’t happen yet. She tiptoed back into the living room, sat on the couch, and peeked out the front window.

Then she began to track the time in her head as she waited and watched.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

S hirley came in to the living room at six. Her jaw dropped when she saw Jo glancing out the window.

“What’re you doing up?”

“I haven’t been to bed,” Jo said.

The woman gestured at her. “Come into the kitchen and tell me what’s going on while I make coffee.”

Jo sat at the table and told her about the previous evening, her conversation with Dean Blackwood, then what had happened at the Horse and Hound. “Unfortunately, it looks like Merle might’ve been involved in something illegal. Certainly something shady.”

She told Shirley what she’d overheard Seth and Billy saying, and the woman’s eyes crinkled with sadness. “Oh, Merle.” Her voice choked up. “He just couldn’t keep himself out of trouble. And it looks like it cost him his life.” Her expression hardened. “But if Grady killed him, he better watch out. He will not get away with it.”

“There’s more.”

When she finished sharing how someone had followed her all the way to the next town, Shirley had her hands on her hips. A warm coffee aroma filled the air, a seeming contradiction to the alarm in their conversation.

“I drove your car hard,” Jo concluded. “I hope I didn’t damage it.”

“The car’s practically as old as me, so don’t worry about it.”

Jo smiled. She liked this woman, liked her spunk. Her own mom was similar, didn’t take guff from anyone. Unfortunately, that included Jo.

Shirley glanced out a side window. “Where’s the car now?”

“I parked it on Third Street.”

“I’d let you use the car today, but I need to go to Marion to stock up on supplies.”

“I can get around town on foot.”

“I can’t believe someone would chase you.” Shirley fumed for a moment, then pulled out a coffee cup and looked over. Jo shook her head, and Shirley poured herself a cup. “I’ve never seen Grady drive a dark sedan, but it’s possible. Or maybe his brother has one. But why follow you like that?”

Jo stretched. “If it was Grady, he’s trying to intimidate me, scare me off still. Or it could’ve been someone who doesn’t know the Nissan is yours, or that I borrowed it, and they were trying to find out who was driving it.”

Shirley sipped coffee. “Maybe that stranger who was in town was following you.” She held the cup tightly. “If I see him at the restaurant, I’ll try to find out who he is.”

“If he’s still in town.” Jo held up a warning hand. “If you see him, be careful what questions you ask. We have no idea who he is, or why he’s in town.”

She didn’t tell Shirley she’d seen the dark sedan drive down the street once, shortly after returning to the house and setting up watch. Jo hadn’t been able to see the driver, but whoever it was seemed to be searching for the owner of the Nissan. That potentially put Shirley in danger. She figured the woman would be okay for the time being—she would be at the restaurant or running errands all day, and that gave Jo time to find whoever had tailed her.

Shirley pointed toward the couch in the living room. “Honey, if you were watching all night long, you can bet I know you’re concerned.”

Jo smiled. “And speaking of your car, I need to get it.”

“I can.”

Not a chance. “You get ready for work.”

“I’m ready. I’ll get a bite at the restaurant, but I could fix you something, if you want.”

“Don’t go to any trouble,” Jo said as she headed for the side door.

She ignored that. “I’ll whip something up.

Jo thanked her and peeked out the door. She didn’t see anyone, so she slipped outside. With a shudder, she realized she was a lot more worried than she was letting on. Her actions had brought attention to Shirley, and she didn’t want to put the woman in any danger.

The heat was already like a thick cloud despite the clear blue sky. No cars had appeared on the street in the time that Jo had talked to Shirley, so she crossed the back yard, climbed the picket fence, and hurried back toward Shirley’s car. She watched from the creek, and when she didn’t see anyone, she drove the Nissan back over. When she walked in the side door, Shirley had a plate of eggs and toast ready, with a glass of orange juice on the side.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

Jo nodded, thanked her for the breakfast, and started to eat. “Maybe you should stay with Pearl after work. Just until I can figure out what’s going on.”

Shirley drained her coffee and put her cup in the sink with a clunk. “Nobody’s going to scare me. I’ve got guns in this house, and I’ll get them out when I get home.”

Jo wasn’t happy about her decision, but Shirley’s determined look told her not to argue. And, if whoever had followed Jo had figured out she wasn’t Shirley, they wouldn’t have a reason to harm her. Jo had to hope for that.

“What’re you going to do today?” Shirley asked. “You must be tired.”

Jo nodded. “I am. I’m going to sleep for a while, and then I need to find whoever was after me. I’m pretty sure that dark sedan was parked at the motel the other day, so I might be able to find them there.” She took another couple of bites. “I’ll have to be careful, though, because Grady probably told the motel clerk to watch for me.”

Shirley pursed her lips. “That would be Wayne. He’s a nice man, but he’ll do as he’s told.”

“I’ll be careful.” Jo sipped juice. “I’d also like to talk to Keyshawn again. I think he knows more about what Merle was doing, but he was scared to tell me.”

“You think he was involved in whatever is going on with Seth and Grady?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. Keyshawn is such a nice young man, and his mama never talks about him doing anything wrong.”

Jo held up a hand. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. I have no idea what Keyshawn might’ve been up to, I just want to talk to him. Knowing something isn’t the same as doing something.”

“He still lives at home with Beverly. They’re on Peach Street, across town. He’ll be at work today, but I’m sure you could chat with him when he gets home. He keeps an eye out for her. She was sick a while back. Cancer, just like my sister. It’s in remission, but Keyshawn’s still there.”

“Good to hear it’s in remission,” Jo said.

“Anyway,” Shirley changed the subject. “Keyshawn could rent a place, but the money would just be going to Rance Pollack, and Keyshawn doesn’t want that. He doesn’t like Rance.”

“Why?”

“He had a run-in with the man when he was younger. I don’t know what it was about, but it was serious. And since Beverly’s already paying rent to the Pollacks, Keyshawn figures that’s enough.”

“Sounds like you’ve gotten an earful about that.”

Shirley laughed. “Oh you can be sure of that. Beverly’s rented from the Pollacks for years. It’s been tough, because Rance can raise rent whenever he wants to. One time, she saw a lease that had the rent a thousand dollars higher than it should have been. Beverly caught the error, and Rance corrected it, but it shows you what he can do if he wants to.” She grabbed her purse off the table. “I lease the restaurant space from him, and like I said, I worry what he’ll do if I keep poking into what happened to Merle. He could jack my rent way up and force me out of business.”

“We won’t let that happen,” Jo said.

Shirley patted her on the shoulder. “You be careful, you hear?” Then she smiled. “What am I saying? You were in the Army, right?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“This and that. I worked with Special Ops,” Jo said candidly.

“Oh, so you went after some really bad people.”

Jo shrugged. “Something like that.” There was so much people didn’t understand. They couldn’t fathom what the operations she had been on were really like. No words could adequately describe the danger. She’d tried with her family and some friends from college, but their faces would go blank, shutting out what she was saying. Eventually, she’d given up trying to get people to understand. Sometimes she herself had to compartmentalize what that had happened. If she really thought about it, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

Shirley seemed to assess her in a new light. “I can’t thank you enough for your help. But no matter what you did before, you be careful now. Don’t underestimate Grady Townsend.”

“Don’t you, either.”

“I’m a tough old woman.”

Shirley raised a hand in goodbye, then stepped out the door. She glanced over her shoulder. “You better lock it.”

Jo nodded. The sound of the old Nissan’s engine started up. Jo locked the door and watched until Shirley backed out the drive, then washed her dishes and put them away. It reminded her of growing up, doing her chores before she could play. Or do her homework, she thought wryly. She’d been a good student, though, hadn’t minded her lessons too much. When she finished, she looked out the front window and assured herself no one was spying on the house. She walked back into the spare bedroom, moved the towels off the bed, stripped down, and crawled under the covers. Within seconds, she was asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“W hat do you have for me?” the boss asked.

“The other problem,” Hernandez said. “I confirmed it’s a woman. I was tailing Grady and I saw her.”

Hernandez sat on the edge of his bed in his motel room and stared at the dark paneling on the opposite wall. He cursed silently. This place was as bad as any south of the border. The tiny towns, the poverty. He was reminded of the first woman he’d been with, the whore. The room had been cheap, like this. But she had been beautiful, made it easy to overlook everything else. He didn’t have that comfort here.

“The woman’s very good,” Hernandez continued, though he wished he could keep his mind on the other woman, not the one causing all the problems.

“How so?”

Hernandez rubbed his chin. “She knew I was following her, and she lost me.”

“Hard to do.”

He didn’t respond to that. It wasn’t a compliment, because the underlying tone hinted that he should’ve been better than that.

“Who is she?” the boss asked.

“I don’t have a name.”

Not yet, he thought. He’d been up early, had seen the old woman drive her car to the restaurant. Her name was Shirley—he knew that from his visits to the restaurant. But he’d decided not to dine there today. She wouldn’t tell him anything, he could tell somehow. But why had the other woman been driving the bartender’s car last night?

“You’ve asked.”

“They know, but they won’t tell me.” Hernandez didn’t hide his irritation. “I could push them.”

“Not yet. I want to see what they tell me about the other problem.”

“You think they’re lying to you?”

His boss exhaled heavily. “Yes.”

That wasn’t good, not just for the operation, but for Hernandez. He was used to looking over his shoulder, but he would have to be extra cautious.

“What about the motel? It’s the only one in town?”

“Yes, but I haven’t seen her here.”

“And the front desk?”

Hernandez stared at the wall. “I’ve asked who else is staying here, but they won’t tell me. Privacy.”

“Is it time for some force?”

The suggestion surprised Hernandez, especially so quickly. The boss usually wanted things under the radar. They operated like wraiths, unseen, unknown.

“It would draw attention,” Hernandez said.

“Then be discreet.”

He stared at the wall. “Fine.”

“Anything else?”

“The woman was driving the old lady’s car.”

“Who is this old woman?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But it bothers you, that she is involved?”

“Yes.”

His boss took another loud breath. “See what is going on, and give me an update when you know more.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I do not like where things are headed.”

“I know.”

The boss muttered under his breath, and the call ended. Hernandez stared at a line in the paneling, thinking. His boss was concerned. More than ever before. He ignored the “No Smoking” placard sitting on a tiny table and lit a cigarette. There had been too much attention drawn to their operation before. He exhaled a thick cloud into the air.

Did the boss have a bigger plan, after this shipment?

When he was done smoking, he crushed the cigarette out in a metal trashcan. Then he grabbed his Glock, tucked it in his waistband, and pulled his shirt over it. The oppressive warmth hit him as he stepped out of the room and walked down to the motel office. Hernandez stared at the manager’s pudgy face in distaste. The man turned down some music playing on his computer and smiled, seeming oblivious.

“Everything okay?”

Hernandez sat down at a chair in front of the desk. He wrinkled his nose at the musty odor of the space, then spoke.

“It’s quiet around here.”

The man kept that smile, almost like it was frozen on his face. “It’s a small town. Not much happens.”

“Except for a death a while back.”

Now the man frowned at the bluntness. “You heard about that?”

Hernandez stared at him and changed subjects. “I am the only one at this motel?”

He shook his head. “We have a couple of other guests.”

“Their names?” Hernandez said.

The manager cleared his throat. “Sir, you asked me about this before, and I told you, I can’t reveal the names of guests.”

Hernandez shook his head slowly, showing his disappointment with the answer. He lifted his shirt, exposing the butt of the Glock. The man’s gaze went to the pistol, then back to Hernandez. His eyes widened.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he said.

Hernandez smiled at him. “The names of your guests.”

The manager rested his hands on the keyboard, and after a moment, he began to type. “We have a couple with a small daughter. The Kolinskys.” He spelled the name. “And there’s a woman named Josephine Gunning.”

“What room is she in?”

“Thirteen.”

Hernandez resisted a laugh. An unlucky number. He narrowed his eyes.

“Is she here now?” he asked.

The manager shook his head. “I don’t know. She might be gone, but she hasn’t checked out yet.”

A vague answer. “Gone where?”

The manager shrugged. “I don’t know. I could leave a message for her, in case she returns.”

Hernandez shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. But don’t tell her I was asking about her.” He winked. “I want to surprise her.”

The manager forced a nod, but didn’t say anything.

“Not a word of this to anyone,” Hernandez said.

He nodded. “Of course. But please, leave our guests alone.”

“Of course.” Hernandez exposed his crooked teeth in a dark smile as he whirled around and left the office.

He took his car out of the parking lot and drove it down the block. The street remained empty as he walked back to the motel. After sneaking behind the building to come around the far side, he approached room thirteen and tried the door.

Locked.

Hernandez glanced toward the office, then pulled out a small knife and jimmied the cheap lock. Gingerly, he opened the door. A quick inspection revealed a nearly empty room, some clothes in a duffel bag the only thing showing it had been occupied.

He stepped outside, quietly shut the door, and ran back behind the building to his car. The whole time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T he roads were empty as Jo headed away from Shirley’s house the next afternoon. She was careful as she approached Main Street, and she was surprised to see Dean Blackwood’s Ford truck heading in the direction of his house, not the timber site.

She stepped to the curb and waved at him. His face tightened when he recognized her. The truck didn’t slow, as if he were ignoring her, but then he pulled over and rolled down the passenger-side window. Rock music blared, and he turned it down.

“Why aren’t you at work?” she asked. Then she saw his face. An ugly purple bruise had formed under his dark sunglasses, and his lip was swollen. “What happened?”

“They think I’m talking about Merle’s death.” He gritted his teeth. “They don’t like questions being asked.”

“Who?”

“Grady, for one.”

She stared at him. “He did that to you?”

Dean eyed a car that passed, then looked back at Jo. He put a hand on the steering wheel.

“Grady wanted to know what I was doing talking to Shirley.”

She swore. “They saw her car at your house last night.”

He nodded. “I told them Shirley and I are friends, that’s all. Nothing about you.” He pointed toward his face. “They didn’t believe that. I went to work this morning, and Fred, Grady’s brother, told me I was fired. He didn’t give me a reason why, just said get lost. Grady was waiting for me at my truck. He asked me a bunch of questions, and then . . .”

She could tell he was worried about Grady and what he might do. He glanced in the rearview mirror again. “I gotta go. I’m out of this town. You should go, too.”

With that, he hit the gas and the truck tore away from the curb. Jo didn’t waste any time, dashing across Main. Stepping into an alley, she called Shirley. The woman answered, her voice frazzled. Conversations spilled in from the background.

“Is everything okay there?” Jo asked.

“Sure. No problems, it’s just busy. What’s wrong?”

“Grady thinks you were asking Dean questions.” Jo quickly told her what had just happened.

“Grady was in here earlier. He didn’t say anything about that, although he did ask how I was doing. In a kind of pointed way. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything.”

“I don’t like it,” Jo said. “Can you go somewhere safe?”

Shirley’s laugh held no humor. “Grady’s not going to do anything to me here. There are people around all day long, and Dennis is in the kitchen. Grady may be a fool, but he’s not so stupid that he’d do something in front of a bunch of people. I’m not going to let him scare me off. Besides, I need to run into Marion to stock up on some things for the home, and here.”

Her voice was firm, and Jo knew she’d waste words arguing with Shirley. But the situation had grown more hazardous, and she wouldn’t forgive herself if something happened to the woman.

“I want to know if Grady shows up there again,” Jo said.

“I’ll let you know.”

“And when you leave for the day, you go to Pearl’s house, okay? You stay there until I get back tonight. That’s not negotiable.”

Shirley started to protest, but then sighed. “Okay, I’ll do that. But Grady’s not going to stop me. If he did something to my nephew, he’s going to pay for it.”

Jo stared into the street. “He will.”

“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.”

Pocketing her phone, Jo walked down Ford Street, cut across another side street, and approached the back of the motel through an alley. She watched for a minute, wondering about a way to talk to the manager, Wayne. Then a squad car drove down Ford Street. She railed silently at her bad luck and ducked down as the squad car slowed. She couldn’t tell if Grady was driving, but she knew she’d been spotted.

The squad car stopped at the end of the parking lot, but Jo was already racing down the side of the building. She heard the car turn as she crossed the alley and ran down another street. The engine revved as it sped up. In this section of town, the houses were closer together, most with chain-link fences.

Jo darted between two ranch-style houses, climbed a fence, and ran through a back yard. A dog looked startled, but she’d reached the back fence by the time it started chasing her. She leaped up, got a foothold halfway up the fence, then sailed over it like a pole vaulter. After running through another yard, she let herself out through a gate. When she reached the next street, the squad car was just turning the corner.

She crossed and darted into an alley. She’d run track in high school, and she was fast, but she couldn’t outrace a car. Her only option would be outmaneuvering it.

The vehicle turned down the alley and barreled toward her. Jo looked around. She could cut through another yard, but backup had probably been called. It was just a matter of time before they caught her. She skidded to a stop and stepped to the side. The squad car screeched in front of her, and she peered into the car, surprised to see the driver wasn’t Grady.

Sheriff Carl Burleson got out of the vehicle, put a hand on the butt of his gun, and stared at her. Jo took a wary stance, arms at her side, prepared for anything.

“Why were you running from me?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. He exhaled heavily, glanced around, then met her gaze.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Why?”

He shook his head, impatient. “I’m not going to arrest you. But we need to talk.”

When she still didn’t move, he opened the back door, then looked back at her with a small smile.

“Come on, it’s okay.”

Jo ran through her options. None of them were good. Fighting or running would only lead to her arrest, or worse. She stared at the back seat. Going with him would be a risk, but she had to admit she was curious what he wanted.

Burleson kept a hand on the door handle as she stepped over to the vehicle and got inside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

L eah Pollack looked up when Scarlett came into the kitchen. She sighed, not wanting to deal with her daughter right then.

“Are you behaving yourself, young lady?” Leah asked as she sat at the island with a cup of coffee.

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “I’m bored.”

Leah resisted another sigh. It was one thing to deal with a teenager, but Scarlett was pushing buttons she didn’t know she had.

“How can you be bored?” she said, trying not to snap at her daughter. “You slept all morning. Half the day’s gone.”

“There’s nothing to do around here.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you disobeyed us the other night.”

“What’s the big deal about going to the reservoir?” Scarlett muttered.

Leah contemplated her daughter. She had hoped she would be easier to raise than Addison had been, but it wasn’t turning out that way. Still, she had to try to get Scarlett to understand. Leah sipped coffee and gazed at her second child.

“I know this thing with Addison has been upsetting—”

“Upsetting?” Fire spewed in Scarlett’s tone. “My sister, your daughter, is dead, and you think it’s just upsetting?”

Leah put down her cup, struggling for more patience. “I know the situation has been difficult, but it’ll get better.”

Scarlett stared at her. “How? Addison’s gone, and I can’t talk to you about anything.”

She sat back as if she’d been slapped. “You can talk to me about things.”

“Yeah, right. Just like Addison could.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Leah leaned over the island. “No. Please, tell me what you mean.” Her daughter now had her attention. She wondered how much Scarlett knew, and if she’d been so preoccupied she’d missed something.

“There was . . . stuff going on with Addison. She couldn’t talk to you, because you wouldn’t listen. She knew all you care about is the family name, the reputation.”

“This family name is important.”

“It’s not even your family name.”

Again as if she’d been slapped. Leah stared at her daughter.

“I took on the Pollack name a long time ago, and it’s as important as my own. This family is important in this town; you need to remember that. People look up to us, and everything that we have is because of what we do around here.”

“The family,” Scarlett sneered. “I’m so sick of hearing about that. And so was Addison.”

“You leave your sister out of this.”

Scarlett studied her mom, and her voice dropped. “I know more than you think I do.”

Leah’s eyes narrowed. “About what?”

The girl cocked her head, petulant. “About Addison.”

Leah pointed slowly at her. “Then you should know the family name had to be protected.”

Rance walked into the room, and his face immediately fell, as if he could feel the dark cloud hanging there. He looked to Leah, then Scarlett.

“Maybe I’ll tell everybody,” Scarlett announced as she stomped out of the room.

Rance waited until she left, then turned to his wife.

“Tell everybody what?”

“I’m not sure.”

Rance silently fixed himself a sandwich, moved to the island, and looked at her.

“You need to keep her under control,” he said. “I don’t have time for this now.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Leah snapped.

Her face softened when she saw how he looked, his haggard eyes, stress lines cutting through his brow. He was under a lot of pressure, probably more than she realized. He did everything for this family, and it was disappointing that Addison, and now Scarlett, didn’t understand.

“Is there anything I can help with?” she asked.

He took a couple bites of his turkey sandwich and shook his head. He went to the refrigerator for a Coke, opened it, and took a drink.

“A lot of questions are being asked.” He took another gulp of Coke. “It’s not good.”

“About Merle?”

He nodded. “I might’ve been able to contain things, but with Shirley . . .” He looked at the soda can. “She won’t let things go. I’m going to have to do something about it.”

“Like what?”

Rance looked across the island at her, and she was surprised at the anger in his eyes.

“I’m not sure,” he said. Then he gestured with his head toward the doorway where Scarlett had gone. “I need you to keep her in line, okay? If we’re not careful, she’s going to turn out just like her sister.”

Even though Addison had been beautiful, and smart, his comment was not a compliment. A wild child was not what Leah wanted as a mother, and certainly not two.

“I’ll take care of her, but are you sure I can’t help?” Leah pressed.

Rance shook his head and pushed his plate away. “I’ll know more tonight. We’ll see how things go, and then I can make some decisions. I can’t have any problems in the meantime.”

She nodded. “You won’t.”

He walked around the counter, pecked her on the cheek, and left.

Leah stared out the back window. Their yard was beautiful, the grass green, flowers all around. The yard sloped up into the hillside to the woods behind the house. It was peaceful out here, away from town, but she hardly noticed, her mind a swirling eddy of chaotic thoughts. How could she help her husband? He might not want her to, but she was sure she could remedy the situation, take some of the stress away from him.

She cleaned up the kitchen, then went to talk to Scarlett.

CHAPTER THIRTY

G rady was sitting in the parking lot of an abandoned building, one of a few where he liked to go, where he could see Main Street but be away from people’s prying eyes. He’d spent some of the previous evening and this morning driving around, searching for Jo Gunning. He’d never seen her, but he had seen Shirley Flynn’s Nissan at Dean Blackwood’s house. Grady had called his brother after that, told him to get rid of Blackwood. He shouldn’t be talking to the woman.

This morning, Grady had stopped at the restaurant and talked to Shirley himself, but she’d kept her mouth shut, acted as if everything was okay. Everyone else in town was acting as if all was fine, too.

He knew people didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. He touched the gold badge on his shirt. That spoke for a lot. He thought about how he’d gotten here. All he’d ever heard from his parents was how he wasn’t smart enough for college, how that expense would be a waste of money. Their lack of faith in his abilities hit him hard, and he didn’t bother submitting applications to any universities. What was the point?

But there wasn’t a hell of a lot to do in a small town like this. He’d flitted around, gotten himself in a bit of trouble, and then his daddy had told him he better join the Army or else. So Grady did that. He hated the Army almost as much as he hated his daddy, but the military had straightened him out. At least to an extent.

He watched a couple of teenagers walk out of an alley. They saw him, waved, then sauntered on as if they were doing nothing. But he knew better. They were selling drugs. Hopefully the good stuff, not the crap laced with fentanyl. That was posing a bigger and bigger problem, drawing more attention from outside. But the damn kids. You couldn’t stop them from trying things. They were attracted to drugs like bugs to a zapper. And if they weren’t careful, they’d be zapped, too.

His mind wandered back to the Army. He hadn’t much liked the traveling like some of his pals. Grady had missed home, so when he finished his four years, he came back to Greensville. He still hadn’t been sure what he wanted to do, and that was when Rance Pollack approached him, told him he ought to consider working with the sheriff’s department. Rance assured him he was smart enough to handle the job, and Grady applied for the position and got it. He was surprised, but in a small town, how many other people would’ve applied? He enjoyed the work at first, enjoyed how people looked at him differently. With respect. He’d never had that before.

He gnawed his lip. That had changed when Rance approached him again, for favors. First, it had been to ignore when Addison was drunk driving at thirteen. She’d plowed into a tree, and was lucky neither she nor anyone else had been injured.

Then there was the incident with Rance’s wife, Leah, where she’d gotten into a cat fight with another woman in town and had run over her flowerbeds. Leah was usually too ladylike for any behavior like that, but she’d been going through a hard time. At least that was Rance’s excuse. Grady laughed now, thinking about it. Those two women hated each other.

Still, looking the other way hadn’t seemed like a big deal.

But Rance asked for more, and before Grady knew it, he had been looking away at much bigger things. He’d been paid to do so, and the money was good. His will to do the right thing eroded. He started going down to Mississippi to gamble, and he had his share of women. Rance reeled him in, a weak fish, too beaten down to struggle. And then he became involved in big things, even murder. He had blood on his hands now.

What would Rance do to him if he couldn’t find Jo Gunning? If the man didn’t trust him anymore, he was a huge liability. He didn’t think Rance would trust the night crew, bring them into the operation, but he wasn’t sure about Carl. That was a concern.

Grady was about to leave the parking lot when the dark sedan pulled up next to him. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed it approaching.

Hernandez rolled down the passenger window and stared at Grady. Grady squared his shoulders and stared back. He was trying for tough, but he didn’t think he was succeeding. The man was a loose cannon, and that made Grady nervous.

“The woman is Josephine Gunning,” Hernandez said.

“How did you find out her name?” Grady ran his tongue over his lower lip. He should’ve kept his mouth shut.

“The motel manager. He didn’t want to tell me at first.”

“What did you do to him?”

Hernandez’s smile was chilly. “A little persuasion.” Grady’s jaw dropped, and Hernandez said, “He’s fine.”

He kept a straight face, but he could barely hide his apprehension. Would this man scare everyone in town to get what he wanted? And the fact that he had done so to Wayne, the motel manager, meant Hernandez—or his bosses—were increasingly desperate to find Gunning. And that wasn’t good for Grady.

Hernandez narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about this woman before?”

Grady gripped the steering wheel harder so that Hernandez wouldn’t see his hand trembling.

“I didn’t think it mattered. She doesn’t concern you.”

Hernandez locked eyes with him, then seemed to make a decision, that he wouldn’t press the issue of Grady’s evasiveness just yet. He stretched his neck as if preparing for a fight. Grady gulped.

“I saw her last night,” Hernandez said.

“Where?” the deputy asked, a little too fast.

“If you were doing your job, you’d know.” Grady didn’t say anything. Hernandez took a long time to respond further. “Outside the Horse and Hound,” he said at last.

Grady tried not to show any emotion, but his nerves prickled with dread. He’d been at the bar, and so had Jo Gunning. Had she seen him, or anyone else? Had she heard anything? He swore to himself. She was jeopardizing everything.

“Where’d she go?” he asked.

“I followed her toward Marion. Then I lost her. Whoever she is, she’s good. She’s not just an average citizen.”

“I told you before, she’s nobody.”

“She was driving an old Nissan.”

The deputy raised his eyebrows, and Hernandez pounced on it.

“Who owns that car?”

“Shirley Flynn.” Grady said the name before thinking. A menacing flash swept across Hernandez’s face, and he quickly followed up with, “She’s just an old lady in town. You don’t need to worry about her.”

Hernandez was smart, though. It would only be a matter of time, and probably not much at that, before he connected the dots and realized Merle Latham was Shirley’s nephew. And that would be bad for Shirley.

Grady thought of something else. Had Gunning been at Dean Blackwood’s house the previous evening, not Shirley? Which brought up another question. Had Shirley hired her to find out what had happened to Merle?

Grady sighed. He had no regret about Dean losing his job, though.

“Why would this other woman have Shirley’s car?” Hernandez asked, his tone hard.

“I don’t know,” Grady said. “It’s okay, though. I told you, we’ve got everything taken care of.” But he was growing more and more worried.

Hernandez dropped a hand to the seat, where Grady couldn’t see it. He glanced around. Would Hernandez do something here? The deputy wouldn’t put anything past him. Hernandez stared him down.

“Jo Gunning.” His tone was firm. “You’ve not seen her today?”

Grady shook his head. “We’ll find her, and we’ll take care of her.”

“You just said you had taken care of her.”

He hemmed and hawed. “I will. Just worry about tonight.”

“You worry about yourself.”

With that black comment, Hernandez faced forward, hit the gas, and peeled away. Grady watched asphalt spit behind the tires before the car turned the corner.

Grady ran a hand over his face. Everything was going badly.

He pulled out his phone and called Rance, but got no answer. He left a message to call back, then tried Carl, but the sheriff didn’t answer either. Hopefully he was having better luck finding this woman.

He slammed the car into gear and drove to Main Street, then raced to Shirley’s Restaurant. He parked down the street, stomped up the sidewalk, and yanked open the door. When he got inside, Shirley was behind the bar. He jerked his hat off and stormed up. She eyed him as he slid onto a barstool.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, a little too pleasant.

“You need to quit asking questions,” he said in a low voice.

She smiled at him. “Coffee?”

He didn’t say anything as she got a cup and saucer, then poured him some.

“Shirley, listen to me.” He took a sip. “It’s time to let things go.”

She put both palms on the bar and glared at him. “I’m not letting anything go until I know what happened to Merle.”

“You need to stop,” he repeated.

“Did you kill Merle?”

Grady slammed the cup down, coffee spilling into the saucer. “I told you, I didn’t.”

“Then who did?”

The deputy glanced around. A couple of other people at the tables were listening to them. He leaned forward and lowered his voice even more.

“Merle committed suicide, and that’s that.”

She matched his volume as well. “You know damn well that’s not true.”

“What’re you doing with that woman?”

“Who?” Her tone was all faux innocence.

“Jo Gunning.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

She was lying, and not even doing a good job hiding it. He ran a hand through his hair. “What have you been telling her?”

Shirly shook her head. “Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She had your car last night.”

A shrug. “I don’t know what you mean. I was home all night.”

Grady stared at her. “Stop looking around. And stop talking to Jo Gunning as well. You’re wasting your time.”

“I’m going to keep asking questions until I know what really happened to Merle.” She gave him a stare that went right to the bone. “You need to tell me what you know.”

“There’s nothing going on. Listen to me. I’m the deputy sheriff talking here, not the little boy you babysat.”

“Good reminder. I used to put you over my knee, and I’m tempted to do that now.”

“You should show me some respect,” he snarled.

“You haven’t deserved that in a long time, Grady, and you know it.”

He glared at her.

“You killed Merle, right?” Her voice broke. “What did he ever do to you?”

“Watch your back,” he said. He shoved the cup away, grabbed his hat, and stalked out of the restaurant. “Stupid old woman,” he muttered to himself as he walked back to his squad car.

She was going to find herself in a lot of trouble.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

S heriff Burleson slid behind the wheel and drove out of the alley. Jo didn’t say anything, wary to see where he would go. The car was clean and smelled of air freshener, tidy as his pressed uniform. Neither thing meant she trusted him. He turned toward Main Street, then glanced in the rearview mirror.

“You’re sure causing me a lot of problems.”

She shrugged. “Oh?”

He stopped at Main, turned, and headed toward the station. “I thought you were going to leave town,” he said.

Jo tilted her head with a small smile. “You asked me to leave, but I never told you that’s what I would do.”

Burleson let out a short, humorless laugh. “You got me on that one.” He parked in front of the station, grabbed his hat, then opened her door. When she got out, he said, “I told you I wasn’t going to arrest you.”

“Not yet,” she muttered, but he didn’t hear her.

He walked in front of her, easy-going, as if to show her he wasn’t a threat. She wondered how he was playing her, and what his end goal was. The man stood at the entrance and let her enter the building first. Elaine was there, typing on the computer. She glanced up, saw Jo, and furrowed her brow. Then she looked at the sheriff.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded. “Nothing to worry about.”

Again, Burleson held the door for Jo. She stepped into his office and took a seat. He laid his hat on his desk and stared at her for a long moment before he sitting as well. He rubbed his chin, looking deep in thought.

“Why don’t you want to leave town?” His tone implied he was going for laid-back. “I would think by now you would know, this isn’t the most welcoming place.”

She contemplated him, his thoughtful manner, his soft eyes. How he was almost pleading with her. She wasn’t sure what to think of him.

“I’m not ready to leave yet.”

His hand dropped from his chin. “Why are you asking about Merle Latham’s death?”

“I’m curious.”

“There’s nothing suspicious about his death.”

“How do I know? I haven’t seen any paperwork on the investigation. I’m just taking your word for it.”

“You were in the Army, correct?”

She nodded. “At one time.”

“I did a little research. I’ll bet you’re a good investigator. You know, people can’t put things past you.”

“Maybe.”

He pondered that, then seemed to come to a decision. “If I show you the file on Merle’s death, will that get you to leave?”

“Why does everybody want me gone?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Show me the file, and I’ll consider it.”

He leaned forward. “If you see it, I’m driving you to the county line myself.”

“Okay.”

Burleson stared at her, then went to a wooden file cabinet in the corner. He rummaged around for a moment and pulled out a manila folder. When he returned to his desk, he glanced at the contents before pushing it across the desk to her.

“I personally oversaw the investigation into Merle’s death. It was cut and dry. Suicide. Nothing to question.”

She locked eyes with him for a second, then grabbed the file and opened it. It contained several pages, starting with a neatly typed report. There was a description of the area where Merle had been found, to the west of the timber site, not near the shack. Merle hadn’t shown up for work on a Tuesday, but no one had given that a lot of thought. Later, some men from the site had walked a new area that was about to be cleared, and they came across the body. The area had been searched extensively, and nothing unusual had been found anywhere around it. Merle was found lying on his side, and the body position was described in detail as well. A .357 Magnum was by his side, one spent cartridge nearby. The only fingerprints on the gun were his own.

She glanced at Carl. He stared right back.

The autopsy report was next. It was straightforward, noting the position of the body and that gunshot residue was present on his right hand. Stippling was found on the right side of his forehead, indicating the shot had come from close range. It all made sense. It all pointed to suicide.

But Keyshawn was sure Merle’s body had been found near the shack. Why the discrepancy with the report?

She started at the beginning and went over the entire report again. Carl waited patiently, using a small pocketknife on his fingernails as she perused the paperwork. He had been thorough, taking copious notes. He’d interviewed people who knew Merle, but there was very little on his conversation with Shirley. When Jo finished, she closed the folder, set it on the desk, and looked up at Carl.

“Well?” he said. He put the pocketknife in his pocket.

She stated the obvious. “You concluded it was a suicide.”

“Yes. Nothing more to say.” He tapped his fingertips together. “I know Shirley doesn’t believe that, but it’s true.”

“You talked to Merle’s friends, and his coworkers.”

“That’s right.”

“Did anyone know why he killed himself?”

The tapping stopped, and he rested his hands on the desk. “A few people said he was bummed out, but they didn’t know why. I can’t say what made him make that decision, but with the evidence I had, I concluded suicide. That’s all there is to it.”

“Nothing to indicate anything different? Maybe something you didn’t put in the report.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, nothing. You saw the coroner’s report. It’s all there, right down to the gunshot residue on his hand.”

“John O’Connell’s the coroner?” She referenced a name she’d seen on the report.

“Dr. O’Connell. He’s local. It’s a small town, and he has an autopsy room in his office. I can assure you, he knows what he’s doing.”

“I’m sure he does,” she murmured.

Burleson pulled the file toward him and tapped it once. “Okay, I showed you this. Did I answer all your questions?”

He had been so accommodating. Too nice, and too willing to give her what she wanted.

Why?

Something wasn’t adding up. And he hadn’t answered all her questions, but she decided to play along.

“I think so.”

He stood up, grabbed his hat, and put it on.

“Let’s go.”

Jo followed him into the main room. Elaine raised her eyebrows.

“I’m going to take her down to Gallion,” said Burleson.

“Yes, Sheriff.” Elaine busied herself at the computer.

They walked outside to his squad car, and once Jo was in the back seat, he drove out of town.

“I hope there won’t be any more issues with you,” he said as he made his way down Highway Fourteen.

“I didn’t think I was causing any problems up to this point.”

That elicited a small smile. “More than you know.”

“Why is that?”

He ignored her. After a mile, she realized something was wrong.

“Isn’t Gallion south?”

He still said nothing. Jo was wary as they drove on. They passed the cemetery and then Dean Blackwood’s rented house. He was loading a box into the back of his truck and didn’t turn to see the squad car. The miles flew by as Burleson drove through Sawyerville and Wedgeworth. The terrain grew more remote, woods filling in on either side of the highway.

The sheriff finally slowed down and stopped near a bridge. He didn’t bother with his hat as he opened the back door for Jo.

“Come on.”

This was not at all the easy-going, seemingly friendly man she had talked to at the station. She got out cautiously. He slammed the door shut and gestured for her to move forward.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“This is the county line.” He rested a hand on the butt of his gun. “There’s no point in asking any more questions. You’re complicating my life, and I’m sick of dealing with you.”

Jo did what she did best. She started negotiating.

“Hey, I get the message. You want me gone, so I’ll keep going.”

He shook his head. “We’re beyond that.” He pointed toward the edge of the bridge, where a steep slope led to a fast-flowing river. “Down there. Start walking.”

She stepped into foliage on the side of the road. Tall trees provided some relief from the sun. Burleson followed her, but he kept his distance as he talked.

“They want you gone, so you’re going.”

She glanced over her shoulder. He was pulling out his gun.

“You’re going to take me into the trees and shoot me?” she asked.

Without missing a beat, he said, “Yes.”

His tone was determined, and she didn’t have any time to waste. As they walked forward, he drew his weapon. She took a few more steps, then pretended to stumble. He growled at her clumsiness, and when she hit the ground, she grabbed a handful of dirt.

“Get up,” he snapped.

She stood up, whirled around, and threw the dirt in his face. Caught by surprise, he put one hand to his face as he pulled the trigger. The shot went wild. Jo darted down the hillside. Behind her, the sheriff swore. She lost her footing and tumbled down the hillside, rolling to a stop when she collided with a fallen tree. She was dazed and out of breath. She didn’t move. Up the hillside, she heard Burleson swearing.

“Hey!” he called out. “Get up.”

Jo stayed still. Blood ran down her forehead and into one eye, but she remained motionless. She could hear bugs buzzing around her and the roar of the river.

More swearing from Burleson, then, “If you’re dead, that saves me a bullet.”

A branch cracked as he started after her. She still didn’t move. Then the sound of a car. The sheriff cursed.

“Hey, Sheriff,” a man’s voice called out. “What’re you doing out here?”

Relief flooded through Jo when she heard the other voice.

“Hello, Donnie. I was just heading back to town,” Burleson said, his irritation barely contained.

“Oh, if that’s the case, do you have a minute? I’d like to show you the damage to my trash cans and shed,” Donnie said. “Remember I was telling you last week how those kids are vandalizing my place? If you’re headed back, you’ll pass right by the house and I can show you.”

“I guess so,” Burleson said.

“Okay then. Why don’t you just follow me?”

Jo silently urged Burleson to listen to Donnie.

“Fine,” the sheriff replied at last.

Donnie didn’t seem to catch the disappointment in his tone, but Jo certainly did. Nothing happened for a moment.

“You gonna come?” Donnie asked.

“Sure,” he said.

A car door opened and closed, and another engine sounded. Jo still didn’t move. The engines faded as the cars drove down the highway. Jo raised her head and peeked up the hillside. No one was around.

She sat up and held back a groan. That was a hard fall—she was going to be sore. And she was already woozy. Jo took a few deep breaths, which seemed to help, then put a hand to her head, where a cut was bleeding. It stung, but she’d live. She held her hand to the cut until it stopped bleeding, then went to the river and washed up. The cold water on her face felt good. When she finished, she picked her way back to the road, the whole time marveling at her luck that Donnie had showed up when he did.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

G rady was driving down Main Street when his car radio cackled.

“Where are you at?” Carl asked.

“Near the gas station.”

He was immediately put off by the sheriff’s tone. There was an edge to it that made Grady nervous. “I still haven’t seen that woman, Jo—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Carl interrupted. “Meet me at the new construction site pronto. Behind the wood fence.”

There was something new in Burleson’s voice, a commanding presence that hadn’t been there before. That puzzled Grady.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

The deputy rarely called Carl “sir,” but he’d been taken aback by the sheriff’s tone.

He was so preoccupied he ignored a couple of kids who were waving at him. He sped off down Main Street, away from town. A few miles later, he turned down a dirt road and rounded a bend where construction was beginning on the new sawmill. It would be a big place, employing at least a hundred people when it was finished. On the one hand, that was good, but it would also draw more attention to the town, and to him. Grady wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He dismissed those thoughts as he drove past the building site and turned in behind a wood fence at the far end of the property. Carl’s squad car was parked near a grove of trees. Next to it was Rance Pollack’s black Ford F-150.

What is going on? Grady wondered. Rance usually contacted Grady before getting in touch with the sheriff. Both men were standing underneath a towering pine tree, one that would probably be gone once the sawmill was completed.

Grady drove carefully so he wouldn’t stir up too much dirt, then parked next to Rance’s truck. He cut the engine, slow to get out of the squad car, not eager for whatever awaited. In the distance, the sounds of machinery carried to them.

“What’s going on?” Grady asked as he approached the two men.

Rance turned around and contemplated him. His eyes were questioning and accusatory at the same time.

“What have you been doing all day?” the man asked.

Grady took off his hat and smoothed his hair. “I’ve been looking for that woman, Jo Gunning. I saw Hernandez, too.”

He was careful in his approach. He didn’t like Hernandez, and he didn’t like talking about him, either. But he didn’t want either man to know how much Hernandez got under his skin.

“What did he say?” Rance asked.

“I called you earlier—” Grady started.

“Tell me about Hernandez.”

“He found out Jo Gunning’s name, for one.”

Carl jumped in. “From who?”

“From Wayne, the motel manager.” Grady’s gaze flicked between the other two. “I think he might’ve threatened Wayne.”

Rance kicked a cloud of dirt. “That’s all we need—Hernandez running around town, scaring people.”

Carl held up a hand. “He’s smarter than that. I don’t think you have to worry about him.”

Grady wasn’t so sure what Hernandez would do. He wouldn’t put anything past that man.

Rance looked back at Grady. “What else?”

“He doesn’t trust that we have things ready. I told him everything would go smoothly, and he doesn’t have to worry about anything.” Grady fiddled with his hat. “I don’t think he believed me.”

Rance’s lips formed a thin line. “What has he found out about the other situation?”

“About Merle?” Grady shook his head. “I don’t think he knows anything.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t know?”

Grady cleared his throat. All the focus on him was making him anxious. “There’s no way he could find out what happened.”

“But he’s suspicious,” Rance said. “We don’t need that. Not now, not ever.”

“I understand, sir,” Grady replied. He glanced away, and Rance pointed at him, looking impatient.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Grady eyed Carl, then turned back to the other man.

“We may have another problem,” the deputy announced.

Rance drew in a breath, seemingly trying for patience. “What?”

“It appears that Jo Gunning was driving Shirley’s car around town last night,” Grady said. “Hernandez saw her at the Horse and Hound.”

“What was she doing there?” Rance asked.

“How the hell should I know?” Grady immediately regretted saying it. “I don’t know. I’m sure it was nothing, her just poking around town.”

“You don’t have to worry about her,” Carl said.

Both Rance and Grady looked at him in surprise. The sheriff narrowed his eyes.

“I found her this afternoon, and we had a chat. Then I drove her south, near Gallion, to the county line. She’s not going to give us any more problems.”

“No witnesses?” Pollack asked.

Carl shook his head. Rance nodded approval, but Grady stared at the sheriff. What had he done? Would he have actually killed Gunning? Before he could ponder that more, Rance turned back to him.

“What did Jo Gunning tell Shirley?”

Grady shrugged. “I don’t know. But if Jo had her car, she was probably up to no good. I’ll bet Shirley’s been talking to her about Merle.”

Rance looked at Burleson.

“This woman, Jo Gunning, won’t be a problem for us? You’re sure of this?”

Burleson nodded. “It’s taken care of.”

Rance glanced at Grady, his eyes hard, his expression disappointed. Grady knew he should have been the one to take care of Jo Gunning. He had let Rance down, and now he wondered what that meant.

“What else?” Rance asked.

Grady rubbed his chin, and the man snapped at him.

“Out with it. Come on.”

“I asked Shirley directly about Jo. She acted as if she didn’t know Jo and hadn’t talked to her. But I know Shirley was lying. And she told me straight up that she’s going to keep pushing this until she finds out what happened to Merle. I told her she needs to let it go, but she’s not going to. I was pretty forceful.”

Rance turned his back to them, hands pressed hard against his hips. Grady and Burleson waited. Then he whirled around, his face taut.

“Shirley has to go. She’s a liability we can’t afford anymore. Do you understand?”

Grady’s gaze strayed to Burleson. He was nodding.

“Whatever you need,” Burleson said.

Rance gave Grady an expectant look.

“Okay,” the deputy said. “She should be at the restaurant now.”

Burleson shook his head. “We can’t do anything with so many people around.”

Grady glared at him. He wasn’t suggesting that, but Burleson had made him look stupid.

“Handle it carefully,” said Rance. “It needs to look like an accident, and nobody can know what really happened. No mistakes.”

Grady and Carl both nodded their heads.

Rance spat. “None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for Merle.”

Grady wisely kept his mouth shut. Rance glanced around, then back at him.

“Things need to go smoothly tonight.”

The deputy nodded. “They will.”

Rance eyed Carl, then stomped to his truck, got in, and drove away. The sheriff squared his shoulders.

“I guess we need to get busy.”

“I’ll take care of Shirley,” Grady said.

“I’ll look out for her, too.”

He stared at Carl.

“What did you do to Gunning?”

“She paid for asking too many questions.” Carl started back toward his car. “You don’t have to worry about her anymore,” he called over his shoulder.

Grady waited until the sheriff drove away, then got in his own squad car and left.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

C arl stood on Rance Pollack’s front porch. He’d followed Pollack from the construction site because the man had asked him to speak to him there. He ought to be looking for Shirley Flynn, but when Pollack wanted something, you needed to be there.

It was shaping up to be a long night, but things happened. His wife was used to his schedule, the erratic hours, how things didn’t always go as planned. However, with his status in the town, or at least with Rance Pollack, that all might be changing. Especially since he’d taken care of that situation with Jo Gunning. He needed to go back there to get rid of the body, but Pollack had wanted to talk to him right away, and he couldn’t think of an excuse not to go. But when he finished with Pollack, he’d go back to the river.

Pollack put his hands on the porch railing and looked out to the yard. He stared for a long time, then turned and leaned on the railing, his arms crossed. He waved a bug away before he spoke.

“What do you think about Grady?”

Carl was caught off guard. Pollack rarely asked him his opinion, and certainly not about the deputy. In the past, Grady was obviously Pollack’s favorite, the one that he turned to. Carl fiddled with the brim of his hat to give himself time to think.

“Grady’s okay,” he said, a neutral answer.

“What’s he been doing lately, in his spare time?”

The sheriff couldn’t think of a way to dodge the question, so he was blunt. “He’s down in Mississippi quite a bit. I think he might’ve got sideways with the law down there, and that’s why he ended up with Darlene in Marion.”

That was more a guess on his part. He periodically talked to the sheriff in Mississippi, had heard some rumors, but nothing concrete. But Carl sensed Pollack was at the end of his rope with Grady, and what better time to bring up his behavior?

Pollack nodded. “Too much time with gambling and whores.”

Carl shrugged. He wasn’t going to argue; what Pollack said was true.

“I don’t mind a man having fun, doing what he wants,” Pollack went on, “but when it interferes with my business, I have to draw the line.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pollack stared down at the white porch boards. Then his head snapped up. His face twisted as if he’d just bitten into something sour.

“I don’t know that Grady is up to the task anymore,” Pollack said.

“Oh?” was all the sheriff managed.

He didn’t know what all Grady did for Pollack, never had. And he was sure Grady didn’t know what he did. Carl supposed it kept both men in line, and it kept them both quiet. That, and the money. But Pollack was done with Grady, that was certain. Still, Carl didn’t know what that meant, or what Pollack might want him to do.

“Do you have any plans tonight?” Pollack asked.

The sheriff shook his head. What would the request be?

“I want you to go to the drop tonight. Don’t let Grady know that you’re there, though.”

Pollack spent a few minutes telling him what to do, and Burleson listened carefully.

“Seth Peterson will be there, keeping an eye on Billy,” Pollack went on.

Carl hadn’t known that Seth was involved, but he was a good choice. The guy was tough, a man you’d want in a fight. Billy, on the other hand . . . he drank too much, but he’d do what he was told. Wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he didn’t make those decisions.

“Seth will report back to me,” Pollack concluded.

Carl nodded, and in the back of his mind, he was thinking that Pollack was finally trusting him. He’d done things for the man, cleaned up messes with his wife and daughters, had even helped with the situation with Merle Latham. Even after all that, he’d felt as if Pollack didn’t think he was reliable. What more did he want? Carl never said a word to anyone, and he hadn’t spent his money. But it looked like Pollack was changing his tune.

It was about time.

Pollack finished with, “Is everything clear?”

The sheriff nodded. “I can do that, no problem.”

Pollack stared past him. “Good. I’ll be here.”

The man is smart, Burleson thought. He stays at the house, probably with his wife or daughter around, and he has an alibi. Keeping hands clean.

Then Pollack narrowed his eyes. “And what about Shirley?”

“Don’t worry about her. I’ll handle that, too. You can count on me.”

“Grady’s looking for her as well.”

“Yes. She doesn’t stand a chance.”

The man rubbed his chin. “Tonight will be a test,” he mused. “For everybody. It has to go well.”

Carl squared his shoulders. “It will.”

Pollack tipped his head, a dismissive gesture, and Carl stepped off the porch.

“I’ll get going now.”

The man put his hands back on the porch railing and watched as Carl got in his squad car and drove away. When the sheriff looked in the rearview mirror, Pollack hadn’t moved.

He’s worried, too, Burleson thought. And he should be. Grady had been out of control for a while now, and it was about time that Pollack trusted him instead of the deputy.

Pollack had been clear. This was Carl’s test, too, and he would pass it. Grady was getting good money, and the sheriff wanted a taste of that action. He was more than just a front man, the one that kept the townspeople looking away from Pollack. People liked him, and that was worth a lot. He’d carried himself well, had lost his southern drawl in the army, but he still had a way with the townsfolk. Yes, that was worth a lot.

Carl gripped the wheel hard. He deserved more. Then his mind flashed to Jo Gunning again. He had to get back to Gallion and dispose of the body, make sure nothing came back to him.

He sped through town and headed west, and half an hour later, he was back at the bridge. The sheriff pulled to the side of the road. No one was around to see him. He cursed Donnie Granger for stopping by earlier, interrupting things with Jo. The old fool and his worrying about the kids vandalizing his house. Some trash cans had been dumped over, probably by raccoons, and there’d been no discernable damage to his shed. But try telling Donnie that. The man never listened.

Carl got out of the squad car, walked to the edge of the hillside, and shielded his eyes as he scanned the landscape. His heart stopped.

Jo Gunning was not down there.

He muttered obscenities as he started down the hillside. It was steep, and he had to be careful that he didn’t fall. He finally came to the spot where he thought Jo had lain, and he studied the ground. Something dark was on a rock, and he bent down.

Dried blood.

She had been hurt, but how badly? And where had she gone?

Straightening up, he looked around. Footsteps in the dirt led to the water, but then he lost them. He walked to the bridge and searched underneath it, then made his way along the water’s edge. Not once did a car drive by on the road. Finally, he returned to where he’d started and wiped his brow, thinking.

He’d told Elaine that he was taking Jo south, so no one would be looking out here. He’d threatened Gunning, too. With that, and her getting hurt, there was no way she would come back to town. Even if Shirley had hired her, the old woman couldn’t have enough money to make it worth sticking around.

And if Gunning was involved with a law enforcement agency, someone would’ve approached him by now. Carl convinced himself he was right. Even if Gunning reported the incident at the bridge, no one had seen what had happened. It was just her and him. No one would believe a stranger in town versus a sheriff who had an impeccable reputation. He was nice, and he was reasonable. That would go far.

He started back up the hillside. He’d watch for Gunning, just in case she was stubborn enough to return to town. If he saw her, he’d take care of her, once and for all. But he had another pressing matter now.

Shirley had to be taken care of.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

W hen Jo reached the highway, she brushed herself off and straightened her clothes. She was feeling a little better, but she had a pounding headache. She pulled out her phone, glad it hadn’t been damaged in her fall. But when she tried it, she had no signal. Too far away from a tower.

She looked around, thinking. There was no way she was going to be scared off, and now she was mad. She was going to find out what was going on in Greensville, or she would die trying.

The sun was high and hot as she walked east. A few cars passed, and she stuck out a thumb, but none stopped. She hadn’t expected them to. She walked into Wedgeworth, just a dot on the map, and she still wasn’t able to catch a ride. Jo remained watchful in case the sheriff returned, but she never saw his squad car.

When she reached Sawyerville, she stopped at the gas station, where several semis were fueling up. She didn’t see Burleson, so she walked into a restaurant connected to the gas station. In the bathroom, she checked herself in the mirror. The cut she’d sustained was at her hairline, not too noticeable now that it had stopped bleeding. She’d done a serviceable cleanup job at the river, but now she used soap and water to make herself fully presentable again. Then she got a table and ordered a hamburger and water.

While she waited, she called Shirley, but it went to voicemail. Jo left her a message, telling her what happened, and pleading with her to be careful and to go directly to Pearl’s when she left the restaurant.

She thought about calling the police in Tuscaloosa, but she wasn’t sure how far Rance Pollack’s reach was. Did he have connections there, some way to quash any report she’d make? That could mean bad news for her. After mulling over her options, she tried Dack, but he didn’t answer. She didn’t really want to involve him, and this was personal, but if something happened to her, she wanted someone to know. She texted him that she’d run into some trouble, and that if he didn’t hear from her the next day to call Shirley.

The waitress brought her hamburger, and Jo ate it quickly while she spent some time on the internet, educating herself about the county coroner. Dr. John O’Connell’s office was off County Road Twelve, on the west side of Greensville. It was almost four. If she could hitch a ride, she could get to his offices before they closed. She finished her meal, went outside, and struck up a friendly conversation with a trucker driving a semi full of head lettuce. She could be persuasive, and she talked him into giving her a ride.

The trucker was friendly, and he chatted up a storm as they drove east. The miles flew by, and her headache slowly subsided. When they neared Greensville, Jo had the trucker drop her off close to County Road Twelve. As the big truck thundered away, she stretched sore muscles, then walked down the road to a sprawling single-story building set far back from the road. A few cars sat in a parking lot as she walked up to the entrance and walked in.

The air-conditioning was glorious. Several chairs were positioned around a coffee table strewn with magazines. A woman waited with her small daughter, along with a man with his arm in a sling. The receptionist—a thin woman with long brown hair—sat behind a desk near the door.

“May I help you?” she asked.

Jo stepped up to the desk. “Would Dr. O’Connell be available today?”

The woman pursed her lips. “I’m so sorry, but he’s booked up for the rest of the day. I could make an appointment?”

Jo shook her head. “I’m an old acquaintance, and I wanted to say hello, but I’ll see if I can catch him in the next few days.”

“Stop by around noon tomorrow, before he goes to lunch.”

“That would be great.” Jo said. “Is there a restroom I could use?”

The receptionist smiled and pointed down a hallway. “First door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

Jo walked down the hall and into the bathroom.

“The doctor will be with you shortly,” she heard a female voice call out as she washed her hands.

Jo dried her hands and listened. No more voices, so she opened the door and peeked out. The hallway was empty. Instead of going back to the reception area, she tiptoed the other way.

There were two doors nearby, labeled Exam Room One and Exam Room Two. Both were closed, and she heard a muffled male voice in Exam Room One, then a woman’s voice. Past those was a closed storage room. She hurried farther down the hall and spied O’Connell’s open office door. Peeking in, she found a desk with a computer, chairs, a file cabinet, and a credenza against a wall. She glanced back. There was no way she could search the office without being noticed quickly, and she was certain his computer would be password-protected.

Then she saw an exit at the end of the hall, and another closed door that wasn’t labeled. She heard the nurse’s voice again, coming from the reception area. Jo quickly made a decision and opened the door to the unmarked room, stepped inside, and shut it behind her.

The room was shadowy, the only light coming in from a single window. She peered out into the trees. In the center of the room, a metal table sat under a huge overhead light that was turned off. Next to the table stood a metal cart on wheels.

An autopsy room.

No one seemed to be coming, so Jo tried some metal cabinets near the door. Locked, of course. She moved around the autopsy table, her eyes roving over the tools of the trade. On the other side of the room, she saw a small metal bench with drawers underneath. She tiptoed over, then paused when she heard a voice in the hall. Sneaking back to the door, she listened.

“. . . in room one, when you’re ready.” The nurse’s voice was cheery.

“I’ll be in my office for just a moment,” a man said.

The doctor.

Footsteps in the hall, closer to Jo’s door. She barely breathed. The seconds passed, then footsteps again, the sound of a door opening, and Dr. O’Connell’s voice.

“How are you doing today, Mrs.—”

The rest was swallowed up when the door closed.

When it had remained quiet for a minute, Jo stole past the autopsy table. She rooted around on the desk but didn’t see anything noteworthy, so she tried the drawers. The first one held office supplies, the second some file folders. She rifled through them, but Merle Latham’s name didn’t show up anywhere. Then, underneath, she found a small recorder with an earpiece hooked to it.

She put the earpiece in and pressed play. Static, so she began backing it up. Playing again, she heard O’Connell’s voice, deep and resonant.

“. . . no signs of foul play. Water in the lungs so . . .”

Was he talking about Addison Pollack, the teenager Shirley had mentioned, the girl who had drowned? She had died the day after Merle.

Jo hit the back button again and heard O’Connell’s voice, this time talking about a male. She kept backing up the recording until she heard the doctor mention Merle by name. She glanced at the door. Still quiet in the hallway, so she listened to the recording.

“Merle Latham, a thirty-year-old male, weight 160 pounds, who may have died of suicide.” He droned on about details of his preliminary examination, then began discussing the gunshot wound.

“A .38-caliber bullet entered the right temple, exited on the left side, behind the ear. No gunshot residue stippling on the skin around the entry wound. On examination, no gunshot residue on either hand. Examining the rest of the body …”

Jo thought about that. If the barrel of the gun had been placed against his skull, there should’ve been a stippling pattern. Gunshot residue on the hands would indicate a person had held the gun when the trigger was pulled. As she listened to the rest of O’Connell’s autopsy notes, her mind was racing. When the doctor was finished, she backed up the recording and listened to the gunshot part again. She had heard correctly. Merle hadn’t pulled the trigger. He hadn’t killed himself. O’Connell had dictated the opposite of what he’d written in the report she’d read at Sheriff Burleson’s office.

Jo sat back. It appeared that the doctor had lied about the autopsy results. But why? If the doctor had been covering up a murder, who was he protecting, and was Sheriff Burleson in on the lie, too?

The hallway remained quiet. Out of curiosity, Jo listened to Addison Pollack’s autopsy as well.

“Addison Pollack. Female, seventeen years old.”

The autopsy was the most recent recording. It made sense. A small town, hardly any unusual deaths or murders. Just hers and Merle’s, back to back.

O’Connell’s voice was dry and methodical as he performed the autopsy. Addison had drowned, and a preliminary toxicology report showed alcohol and Valium in her system. Then he said something that startled Jo.

“An HCG blood test shows elevated levels—”

A voice in the hall startled Jo, and she yanked the earpiece out. She listened, but no one came into the room. Still, the longer she stayed, the more likely she’d be discovered. She had what she wanted.

Jo put the recorder back where she found it and crept to the door. Putting her ear to the jamb and hearing nothing, she cracked the door open. The hallway was empty, so she dashed outside the exit. Her mind raced as she hurried away from the building. Shirley appeared to be right. Her nephew hadn’t committed suicide, he’d been murdered.

So who had killed him?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I t was now five o’clock, and Jo figured Keyshawn Washington would be home from work. The problem was how to get there without being seen.

Jo crossed the parking lot, held back as a car passed on the highway, then ran across the road into a grove of trees on the other side. She looked back at O’Connell’s office. Nobody had come out the side door. Hopefully the receptionist had forgotten that Jo had used the bathroom, and no one would know that she’d looked around. The seconds ticked by, but no squad car showed up.

Good.

Jo hid behind a tree and called Shirley. Still no answer. She texted her to call, then shook her head, concerned. Next, she looked up Keyshawn’s address. He lived on Peach Street, past Shirley’s Restaurant.

Pocketing her phone, Jo walked closer to the outskirts of town. She took side streets to the restaurant, wary of seeing the sheriff or Grady. She walked behind the building and stopped at an open screen door. Pots and pans clinked, and the sounds of something frying was noisy. She knocked, and a moment later a skinny man with dark hair covered in a hairnet poked his head out.

“Yeah?” Then he nodded once in recognition. “You’re that woman Shirley talked to. She told me if you need anything, I should help.” Right to the point.

Jo glanced past him. “Is she around?”

He shook his head. “She was supposed to go to Marion earlier today, but it was busier, so she finally managed to break away a while ago. Probably on her way home now.”

“Is everything okay?”

He held the door open. “As far as I know.”

“Were Grady Townsend or the sheriff here?”

“Grady came in for a cup of coffee earlier, and he talked to Shirley for a minute. He didn’t look happy, but you know Shirley—she can ruffle people’s feathers.” He laughed.

“Dennis, I need that order,” Vicki called out.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, hold on.” Turning back to Jo, he added, “Grady popped back in a bit ago, but he didn’t stay.”

So the deputy was looking for Shirley. Hopefully she would watch out for him. She was a stubborn woman, and stubbornness could get you into trouble.

Dennis started to shut the screen door. “If I see Shirley, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

“Please do. I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer.”

“When she gets caught up in something, she gets focused on that. I’m sure everything’s okay.”

“Dennis!” Vicki called again.

He nodded. “I gotta go.”

Jo thanked him, but he was already back in the kitchen.

She glanced toward Main Street and saw a squad car passing by. She ducked behind a dumpster, but she couldn’t see who was behind the wheel, Grady or Burleson. The car disappeared, and she ran around the back of the building, then hurried to Shirley’s house. Her car wasn’t there, so Jo made her way to Peach Street. No squad car at either place.

Keyshawn and his mom, Beverly, lived in an older single-story house with a small, covered front porch. The siding was a bright yellow that looked like it had been recently painted, and a large front yard had a few rose beds. Jo approached carefully. The street was quiet as she knocked on the screen door.

A frail Black woman came to the door. She was barely five feet tall, with short gray hair, and she peered through thick glasses at Jo.

“Mrs. Washington?” Jo said.

She stared at Jo. “Who wants to know?”

“Jo Gunning.”

“Oh.” A smile spread across her wan face. “Shirley told me about you, and so did Keyshawn. You were both in the Army, right?” She opened the screen door. “Are you here to see him?”

Jo nodded.

“Come in.”

She stepped into a tiny living room that was neat and tidy, with an old couch under a window, a rocker, and a wall of framed photos of Keyshawn and another man at varying ages. The biggest was of Keyshawn in his army uniform. She saw Jo looking at them.

“I’m proud of my boys.”

Jo smiled. “I can see that.”

Beverly waved at the couch. “Please, have a seat. May I get you anything? Sweet tea?”

“I would love some water.”

“My pleasure.”

The woman went around the corner and hummed as she got a glass of water with ice. A soothing, flowery smell lingered in the air. When she returned, Jo gratefully took the glass from her and drank half of it. Beverly sank into the rocker and took a glass of tea from a tiny table next to it.

Jo took a moment to study her. Bony arms protruded from a flowered shirt, and her blue capris hung from her frame. Shirley had mentioned that Beverly had been sick, and it showed.

The woman sipped tea and began rocking. “Keyshawn came home, but I sent him to the grocery store. He should be back in a little bit.”

She, in turn, studied Jo, and her brow furrowed. “You look like you were in a barroom brawl. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Beverly put her glass aside and leaned forward. “That cut on your forehead doesn’t look good. Hold on.” She pushed herself out of the rocker.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to bother.”

“It’s no bother.”

Beverly bustled down a short hall and returned a moment later with peroxide and cotton balls.

“This might sting a bit,” she said as she dabbed the liquid on Jo’s forehead.

It stung more than Jo thought it would, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Then Beverly blew on the cut, and Jo flashed back to childhood, the many times her mom had patched her up after she’d been playing and had gotten hurt. A common occurrence for Jo, a tomboy who always preferred being outside running around, playing with the boys. For a brief second, her heart stung as much as the cut on her forehead. She missed her mom and wished that she could pick up the phone and talk to her, tell her about what she was doing. Tell her she was sorry.

But she’d missed the chance then, and now it was gone.

Beverly stepped back and surveyed the cut. Jo blinked hard and looked away.

“Are you okay?” she asked again.

Jo nodded. She switched gears, tamping down her emotions. “Have you heard from Shirley today?”

Beverly put the peroxide and cotton ball on a small coffee table. “I went for coffee this morning at the restaurant. It was busy, so Shirley and I didn’t talk much. She did tell me you might want to talk to Keyshawn.”

“Yes.”

“Is there a problem with him?” She went back to the rocker and sat down. “He’s not in trouble, is he?”

Jo held up a hand. “Not at all. I just wanted to ask him a few questions.”

Beverly stared at her. “About Merle?”

She nodded. “Did Shirley say something to you?”

The woman shook her head. “Shirley was worried. She didn’t say anything outright, but I can tell.”

“What did you hear about Merle’s death?”

That made her pause to think. “The sheriff said it was a suicide, but I don’t know. When I saw Merle, he seemed okay. Not like my other boy, Darnell. You could tell he was doing drugs, that he was down.” Her brow creased, and she shook her head again, as if avoiding the thought of him. “Now with Merle . . . I do think he was doing some bad things, and Shirley didn’t know it. Or she didn’t want to believe it. You know how it goes—you don’t think your loved ones can do anything wrong.”

“Yes,” Jo agreed.

“Something’s been wrong in this town, ever since Merle’s death.” She tutted. “I can’t say exactly what, it just seems like Grady Townsend’s been on edge, and even the sheriff. And it wasn’t just Merle’s death, but Addison Pollack, too. You heard about her?”

Jo nodded. “The Pollacks’ older daughter.”

“Yes. With two deaths so close to each other, we had law enforcement coming into town from Tuscaloosa, helping with the investigations. It put everybody on edge. And then with this new sawmill being built, there’s lots of commotion.”

“That’ll create a lot of jobs, won’t it?”

“Sure it will. It’s created some already, although a lot of the work is being given to some companies out of Tuscaloosa.” Beverly sniffed. “You’d think that Rance Pollack would want to make sure the locals got the work, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Makes you wonder what he’s got going on with folks up there. And when the sawmill’s completed, he’ll have plenty of money coming in, but the rest of the town won’t see it.”

Jo suppressed a smile. “You’re not a fan of Pollack, are you?”

The woman scoffed. “That family thinks they’re better than everybody else, especially Leah. It’s not enough that they own practically everything in town, and a bunch of the land around town. It’s gone to Leah’s head. She holds herself up above everybody else. And then that sawmill. The Pollacks make good money with rent and whatnot, but enough to finance a big project like that? I don’t know where they get that kind of money. I guess they invest better than me.” She frowned. “It’d be nice if they would share some of that knowledge, but no.” She wagged a finger around. “Look at this place. It’s freshly painted. Rance could’ve paid Keyshawn to do it, maybe given us a cut on the rent. Keyshawn even offered, but Rance went with an out-of-town outfit, and he didn’t pay them much more than he would’ve had to pay Keyshawn. I know because I asked the guys who did the work. But Rance told me he paid more, way too much, and that didn’t make sense, either.”

Jo nodded but didn’t say anything, just let Beverly talk.

“The sawmill will mean new jobs. Keyshawn was trying to get on over there, but they didn’t hire him.”

“You sound like you’re okay with that.”

She rocked and looked at Jo. “You’re pretty perceptive.” A soft laugh escaped her. “I guess you’re right. It would be a good job for Keyshawn, and he’d make good money, but I’d like to see him get out of this town. I don’t want him clashing with Pollack or Grady.” Her brow crinkled, and sadness swept over her face. “Keyshawn could’ve made a career in the Army, could’ve gotten out of this place, but then I got sick. I told him he didn’t need to come back to take care of me, but he wanted to.” She sighed. “And to be honest, I was glad. I know that Shirley and some of the others would have helped me, but it’s better having your own flesh and blood be there for you.”

The comment smarted, but Jo didn’t let it show. The conversation kept bringing up thoughts of her mother. Jo’s sister had looked after their mother when she got sick. Avery said she never regretted doing it, but Jo regretted not being there.

“I’m better now, in remission, but Keyshawn’s staying here anyway,” Beverly went on. “I told him he ought to move away but he doesn’t seem ready to do that.”

The sound of an engine floated in through the open window, and Jo glanced out. A squad car drove by, Grady at the wheel. Jo quickly turned away.

Beverly stared at her. “They’re looking for you?”

She dodged that. “I haven’t broken any laws.”

Beverly glanced out the window as she rocked, and Jo enjoyed the rest. She knew it wouldn’t last. Then the woman broke the silence.

“You want better for your kids. It’s not that I’ve done poorly. I worked at the grocery store in Marion for years. It was a good job, paid the bills. But there was never much left over. I always hoped to buy a little place, but I can’t afford it around here.” She shrugged. “I just never moved on, but I hope Keyshawn does.”

A car drove up, and Jo glanced out the window. Keyshawn was getting out of an older-model Ford truck.

Beverly pushed herself out of the rocker. “That’ll be my boy with the groceries. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I’d love to, but I don’t have the time.”

She nodded. “I can fix something quick.”

Jo smiled. “That would be great, thank you.”

Beverly went to the door and held it open. Keyshawn came into the room.

“I’ve got everything that you needed, Mama, except for those pickles that you like. They didn’t have them, but—”

Then he saw Jo, and his jaw dropped.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

G rady drove back to the restaurant, but he didn’t see Shirley’s car there. He went inside anyway, and she wasn’t around. As he headed to her house, he thought about the conversation with Rance Pollack and the sheriff.

Carl had always been quiet, never said how much he knew or was involved in. And Grady had never asked. Now he wondered what he’d missed. Clearly Rance trusted Carl now, and if he was giving the sheriff more responsibility, what did that mean for Grady?

He had been surprised that Carl had taken care of Jo Gunning. Didn’t think Carl had it in him. The sheriff was the type to reason with people, and had seemed to want to do that with Jo. Grady wondered what he’d actually done to her, and what he might do to Shirley. For the first time, he’d sensed a danger in Carl that he’d not seen before.

Grady bit his lip. He had to find Shirley before Carl did.

The deputy turned on Wray Street and slowed as he drove by Shirley’s house, but her car wasn’t in the carport. Then he wondered if Gunning had taken her car, and he chided himself for not thinking of that before.

“How stupid can you be,” he muttered to himself as he parked and got out of the squad car.

Shirley’s neighbor, Pearl Susman, was watering a flower bed, a floppy hat pulled low to shield her face from the sun. Grady pulled to the edge of the street and rolled down his window.

“Hey, Pearl, how’re you doing today?”

She eyed him. “Just fine, Grady. How about you?”

He smiled. “Can’t complain.” He gestured toward Shirley’s house. “Have you seen her around?”

Pearl shook her head. “She’s probably at the restaurant.”

“I went there, but she’s gone for the day.”

She kept watering, but she gave him a cold stare. “I don’t know where she is.”

The chill of her tone didn’t escape him. “I was just asking.”

“When I see her, you want me to mention you’re looking for her?”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary.” Hopefully she didn’t catch how he’d rushed his reply. No need to get the old lady worked up.

Pearl turned back to her watering without another word.

Grady drove slowly to the end of the block, his anger building. Pearl’s disrespect grated on him. It was subtle, but tangible. He went around the corner, flipped a U-turn, and parked. He watched Shirley’s house until Pearl went back inside, and then he left. He was heading toward the northwest side of town when he saw the nondescript sedan behind him.

Hernandez.

Grady was tempted to speed up to try to lose him, but wisely thought better of that. He pulled to the curb, and the sedan stopped beside him. The passenger window rolled down like a curtain falling on Grady’s bad day.

“Yeah?” the deputy asked.

“What do you know about Jo Gunning?”

Grady gulped. “Uh, she’s ex-military.”

Hernandez nodded very slowly. “Yes. I researched her. She poses a problem. a big one.”

“You don’t need to worry about her.”

“Why?”

“She’s been taken care of.”

“Taken care of,” Hernandez repeated.

Grady glared at him. “She won’t be around anymore.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” he said with more conviction than he felt.

“Where did this happen?”

“Outside Gallion. Near the county line.”

“And the old woman?”

“Don’t worry about her,” Grady snapped.

Hernandez stared at him. Then the window rolled up, and the man drove away.

Grady let out a long breath full of ire. That man gave him the chills. The deputy shook his head and hit the gas. A headache was forming behind his eyes, pounding and pulsing. He wanted a drink, but he knew he couldn’t stop for one.

With Hernandez gone, he searched the town methodically, starting at the northwest end and making his way to the southeast end, street by street. He never saw Shirley’s Nissan, not at Beverly’s, not at the restaurant, not at any of her other friends’ houses. He also never crossed paths with Carl.

He stopped back at the station. Dorothy was on shift, and she barely gave him a nod.

“Has Carl been around?” he asked.

“He stopped in a while ago and said that he was going home for the evening.” She eyed a clock on the wall. “Isn’t it about time for you to head home?”

“I will soon,” he said.

He left and drove east on Highway 14, out where Carl lived. His sprawling property was down a dirt road, and Grady approached carefully. When he neared the Burleson driveway, he stopped. The sheriff’s white pickup was sitting in the carport, but his squad car was gone.

Grady grimaced. Carl had lied about his whereabouts. He was probably searching for Shirley.

The deputy drove around town again. After stopping to talk to some kids playing football, he decided to drop by Beverly’s house. Maybe she knew where Shirley was. The two women were close, and if anyone would know where Shirley was, it would be Beverly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

K eyshawn glanced at Jo, then his mother.

“What’s she doing here?” he asked.

“She needs to talk to you,” Beverly said. She gave him a stern, motherly look. “Don’t you argue. You know more about Merle than you’re saying, and she’s here to help.”

Keyshawn moved past Jo into the kitchen without a word. Beverly followed, chiding him the whole way. Jo stayed back, not at all sure Keyshawn would help. As he unloaded groceries, he studied her.

“Are you an undercover cop or something? DEA?”

Jo shook her head. “I’m trying to help Shirley.” She let out a loud, long breath. “And Grady pissed me off.” She pictured Darlene, like a lost kitten, never getting the right kind of attention.

Keyshawn laughed at that. He got a beer from the refrigerator and offered her one. She shook her head. He tossed the cap in the trash can and waved for her to follow him out the back door. They sat on old chairs in a screen-enclosed back porch that looked on a large lawn that could’ve used some moisture. Jo peered to the house across the way. It had a large yard as well, and she could see past it to the street. Some kids were playing football, the ball periodically flying through the air, their hollering drifting to the porch. Keyshawn took a sip of his beer and rested it on the armrest.

“You weren’t just looking for a job the other day, you were looking for information,” he began.

“That’s right.”

He stared at her. “Was the part about the Army real?”

“Yes. I was also in Civil Affairs. Plenty of stuff you don’t want to know about.”

“Plenty you don’t want to know about.”

Her smile held no humor. “That’s right.”

He twisted the bottle on the armrest but didn’t drink it. Inside, Beverly had turned on the TV to give them more privacy.

“The other day, you started to tell me about Merle,” Jo said.

He gathered his thoughts. “I had to be careful. I wasn’t sure about you, but I thought if you were the DEA or someone like that, I’d at least tell you about the shack.” He frowned. “I wasn’t going to tell you more, though. Too risky with everyone around.”

“I get that.”

“What’ve you been doing since Monday?” he asked.

“Trying to figure out what’s going on around this town. And this afternoon I was running for my life.”

She told him about Sheriff Burleson taking her to the county line and trying to kill her. She showed him the cut. “He almost succeeded.”

“You kidding me?”

“I wish I was.”

“You have to watch out for him.” More twisting the beer bottle. “Everybody thinks he’s a good guy, but he can be meaner than a cornered cat. He went after me one time when I was at the Horse and Hound. I wasn’t even doing much, just had a little too much to drink, and he slapped me around when no one was looking, told me I wasn’t amounting to anything. Like he was trying to be a father figure, but it didn’t work. I don’t trust him at all.”

“Something’s fishy,” she said. “Things don’t add up with Merle’s death.”

Before she said more, something caught her eye. A squad car stopped on the next street, and Grady rolled down his window and started talking to the kids who were playing football. Keyshawn followed her gaze.

“They’re still after you?”

She nodded. “It’s a race to figure out what’s going on before they catch me. And if they do . . .”

The deputy continued to talk to the kids, then waved and drove on. She turned to Keyshawn.

“If you know what Merle was up to, I need to know. I won’t tell anybody.”

His lips pinched, and he glanced back through the door. The TV was still on, some game show. He looked at Jo.

“I don’t know exactly what Merle was doing, but it had to be illegal. I probably wouldn’t have found out, but he slipped one night and asked me if I knew of anybody who could move some product.”

“Drugs?”

“Yeah. Dope. He was helping distribute it to other dealers, and then he said something about skimming a little on the side that he was selling to the kids around here, and in the neighboring towns. Probably Tuscaloosa as well. He said it was good stuff, too. He wasn’t cutting it with anything. I told him he shouldn’t be stealing their product, that they’d find out you don’t mess with those kinds of people, He told me not to worry.” He sighed. “I don’t think he even would’ve told me what he was doing, but he was using again.”

He bit his lip, then continued, “I tried to talk him out of it, told him he needed to clean up his act. Shirley wouldn’t want him doing any of that. I heard Mama and Shirley talking a lot, and Shirley was worried about Merle. She knew he’d been in trouble before, and she was desperate to believe he wasn’t in trouble now. I told him how much he would disappoint her, and that made him real sad, but he didn’t stop. He said the money was too good, that he was stashing it away, and when he got enough, he’d leave town. But he just blew what he was making. Him and Grady, they like to gamble, and they like women. Only Merle wasn’t stupid enough to beat up women, like Grady does.”

She couldn’t argue with his assessment of Grady, but that didn’t mean he was less dangerous.

“And someone delivered the drugs to that shack near the timber site.”

Keyshawn nodded. “I went looking once, and I saw a truck go up there. Merle said something about a place to prep the stuff for distribution, but that’s it. Another time, I saw the same type of truck going up there. Both times it was a white delivery truck, no labels of anything. It looked normal, so you wouldn’t think there was anything illegal going on.”

“I overheard Grady talking about a shipment,” she said.

“He’s involved in . . .” He waved a hand around. “Whatever this is.”

“Yep. But who’s delivering the drugs?”

Keyshawn scratched his ear, thinking, and she pushed him.

“What do you think?”

“My guess is Rance Pollack. He’s behind everything that goes on in this town.”

“Do you have proof of that?”

“I wish. If that were the case, I’d call the DEA myself. I can’t stand Pollack. Somehow, I got on his bad side, probably because I was friends with Merle. I think that’s why I couldn’t get a job at the sawmill construction site, either.” He glanced into the living room again. “But as my mama says, maybe that’s the best thing. I don’t need to be involved in anything that family is running.”

The TV volume dropped, and they both stopped talking. Then Beverly spoke.

“Well, hello, Grady,” she said.

Jo and Keyshawn froze.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

H ernandez was sitting in his nondescript car, drinking a crappy cup of coffee that he’d bought at the gas station. No one was paying attention to the worn-down sedan. He contemplated his cup. How much more of the local cuisine could he take? Even calling it that was an insult. His time here should wrap up soon, and hopefully he’d be able to go home.

In the meantime, he had an update. He had contacted an associate in the DEA about Jo Gunning. What he learned was surprising, and disturbing. He took another sip of coffee, not relishing having to deliver the news, because he knew what it likely meant for him. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

“What’s the latest?” the boss said.

“Jo Gunning used to be in the Army, and she was also in Civil Affairs. She was with several operations around the world.” Hernandez told the man what he had learned, and that there was classified information that couldn’t be accessed. When he finished, the silence on the other end was acute.

“Sir?” Hernandez said.

“And who is she with now?”

“It doesn’t appear she’s affiliated with any law enforcement.”

“She’s undercover?”

“Possibly.”

“Have you seen her?”

“She was supposed to have been eliminated earlier today.”

“Has that been verified?”

“No.” Hernandez gazed out the windshield. “I drove to that area and searched around, but I don’t have an exact location.”

“And?”

“I’m not sure I believe them.”

Another long silence. Hernandez knew not to interrupt. He was used to waiting.

The man spoke again. “Here’s what I want you to do.”

He continued for a long time, his instructions precise, his expectations clear. “If anything goes wrong, get the shipment and leave town. Then contact me.”

“Yes, sir,” Hernandez said.

The man ended the call, and Hernandez pocketed his phone. He drank some of the swill in the cup, then spit it out the window. Dumping the rest, he threw the cup onto the asphalt, then started the car and drove away from the gas station.

He had his orders, and a lot to do before tonight. These next steps seemed risky, but if this was what the boss wanted, Hernandez needed to do it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

“W hat are you doing here?” Beverly asked Grady. “Shouldn’t you be having dinner somewhere?”

“It’s a busy night, Mrs. Washington.” Grady seemed to be trying for pleasant, but Jo detected impatience in his voice. “Have you seen Shirley today? Maybe she came over here after work?”

“She’s not here. I saw her this morning when I had coffee at the restaurant, but I haven’t seen her since. I thought she was heading to Tuscaloosa to run some errands.”

Jo nodded appreciatively, looking Keyshawn in the eyes. He looked terrified, but at least Beverly was pointing Grady in a different direction.

“She must have needed a lot of supplies for the restaurant,” he suggested.

“I would imagine so,” Beverly agreed.

“What about a woman name Jo Gunning?” He gave a fairly accurate description. “Seen her around?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Beverly said.

“Is Keyshawn here?”

He had to have known that, because Keyshawn’s truck was in the drive. Beverly was trapped.

“He just got back from the grocery store. He’s around back. Want me to get him?”

“That’s okay, ma’am, I’ll find him.”

Keyshawn leaped up and opened the door, and Jo ducked into the kitchen. He whirled around and shut it just as Grady appeared at the side of the house. Jo peeked through the kitchen window as the deputy peered through the screen at Keyshawn.

“How’re you doing?” Grady asked.

“Just getting a beer,” Keyshawn said. He held up the bottle. “You want one?” He’d slipped into a deeper Southern accent, going casual with Grady.

Jo silently swore. What was Keyshawn thinking?

“I don’t have time right now.” Grady narrowed his eyes. “Have you seen Shirley around, maybe when you were driving home from the grocery store?”

“No, I didn’t.” Keyshawn moved to a chair and sat down.

Grady contemplated him. Far away, the kids yelled.

“What about that woman, Jo Gunning? I know you were talking to her up at the timber site.”

“I haven’t seen her.”

Grady didn’t let him off the hook. “Y’all seemed kind of chummy.”

“Just trying to be friendly,” Keyshawn said. “I heard Fred let her go.”

“She wasn’t up to the task.”

Keyshawn rested the bottle on the armrest. “Looked like she could handle herself to me.”

“It wasn’t your decision,” Grady snapped. Then he backed off. “I need to talk to her, so if you see her, let me know.”

Keyshawn nodded. “Happy to.”

Grady stood for a moment, then adjusted his hat. “Have a good night.”

“You do the same.”

Keyshawn watched until Grady disappeared around the corner. Then he got up and came into the house. He held up a hand, tiptoed to the front room, and peeked out. A moment later, he looked back at Jo.

“He’s gone.” He beamed at Beverly. “Good job, Mama.”

She adjusted her glasses. “That man isn’t as smart as he thinks he is.”

Keyshawn laughed as he walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. Beverly turned the volume up on the TV, and Jo sat down across from him.

“I thought you’d sunk me, offering Grady a beer,” she said.

He gave her a wicked grin. “I knew he wouldn’t accept. He thinks he’s better than everybody else, and he wasn’t going to waste time with me. But it made me look friendly, and that made me more believable.”

She nodded, impressed. “Good thinking. I don’t like how he’s asking about Shirley, though.” Jo pulled out her phone and tried her again. “Still no answer.” She frowned. “Where could she be?”

“I could drive you to her house.”

“I’ll take you up on that if she doesn’t call me back soon.” She went back to what they’d been discussing before Grady had shown up. “You never told Merle what you’d seen?”

His grin vanished. “I liked Merle. We were friends. But I wasn’t going to get involved in anything.” He glanced into the living room. “The Army put me on the straight and narrow, and I didn’t want to mess that up.” His voice lowered. “I’d never do that to my mama.”

“Smart man.”

He studied her. “You know more than you’re saying.”

She knew she could trust him, so she said, “I think Merle was murdered.” She told him about the autopsy report and Dr. O’Connell’s dictated notes. “The bit about the gunshot residue doesn’t add up. Someone’s lying.”

Keyshawn gritted his teeth, his eyes hard. “I told Merle things were going to end bad for him, but he wouldn’t believe me. And I guess it did.”

“Did Grady murder him?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t put it past him. He does some shady things, but he never gets in trouble because he wears a badge.”

Her mind raced over their conversation. So many pieces to put together.

“Merle talked to Seth Peterson a lot,” Keyshawn went on. “You need to watch out for him.”

“I saw Seth at the shack.”

Jo realized she hadn’t told him about that, so she did now. He was nodding when she finished.

“But you didn’t see Pollack?”

She shook her head. “Later on, at the reservoir.”

“This whole town’s a mess,” he said once she was finished filling him in. “And people have been saying the Pollacks have been acting weird since Addison died. That’s got to be hard on them.”

“One more thing,” she said. “I saw Seth and his brother, Billy, at the Horse and Hound last night, and I overheard them making some plans for tonight. And I talked to Billy.”

“Billy couldn’t have told you anything. He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut.”

She smirked. “He was drunker than a skunk, and flapping his jaw. He didn’t say a whole lot, but he did mention something about the rails.”

“He means down County Road Fifteen.”

“A new drop site?”

Keyshawn thought about that. “That’s west of town. Complete opposite of where they were operating before. It’s woods out there, and there’s an old railroad building that belongs to the Pollacks. People don’t go out there because it’s the Pollack property. Just like the shack, they run off anyone they see.”

“That’s a good place then,” she said. “It’s ingrained in everyone—you don’t go there or else.” After thinking through it for a second, she asked, “How far out is it? Could I walk there?”

He appraised her. “It’d be a good trek, but you seem used to that. It’ll still take you a few hours, and you might miss whoever’s there.”

She stood up. “That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

He pushed his almost full bottle away. “I’ll go with you.”

“I can’t ask that.”

“You’re not asking.” He grimaced. “I don’t like what they did to my friend, and it’s time for things to stop. Besides, if you’re going up against Seth and his brother, and possibly Grady, you’re going to need help.” Keyshawn held up a hand. “Hold on a minute.”

He went into the other room, and Jo moved into the doorway. Beverly was engrossed in the game show, trying to solve the puzzle before the contestants did. Keyshawn returned a moment later with a small duffel bag.

“Mama, I’m going out with Jo,” he said. “If Grady or the sheriff drop by, tell them I went to meet friends in Marion.”

She glanced at Jo, then nodded. “What’re you two doing?”

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, and patted him on the cheek.

Jo liked how Beverly didn’t ask questions. She had to know they were planning something, but she trusted her son.

Keyshawn came back into the kitchen and put the duffel bag on the table. He opened it, and she glanced inside. Lightweight Riton binoculars—military-grade, compact, and waterproof. And two Glock 19 9mm pistols. They were small and comfortable to use; no wonder they were the most popular handguns in the United States.

He pointed at the guns. “It’s all I got.”

She nodded. “Better than the knife I have.”

“What’s the plan?”

She narrowed her eyes. “We get to the railroad building before everyone else, and we see what happens. We’ll figure the rest out on the drive there.”

“I can work with that.” He stepped to the back door. “We’ll go out this way, and I’ll watch for Grady.”

She agreed and followed him out the door.

CHAPTER FORTY

W hen Grady left Beverly’s house, he couldn’t shake an eerie feeling. He was sure Keyshawn had known more than he was saying, but he couldn’t push him with his mother in the house. He drove down the street and watched their house for a minute, then felt like he was wasting his time, so he drove back to Shirley’s place.

Her Nissan was in the carport.

Grady walked up the drive to the front door, which was closed. He rang the bell and waited, then knocked. The curtains were closed and he couldn’t see through, so he walked to the carport and knocked on the side door. Still no answer. Glancing at Pearl’s quiet house, he was about to leave when he saw a can of green beans at the far end of the carport. It lay on its side, as if it had rolled there.

Grady glanced around with a bad feeling. Turning back to the door, he tried the knob.

Unlocked.

He pushed open the door and called out, “Shirley?”

On the other side of the table, a chair was turned on its side. He pushed the door wide and stepped inside. A bag of groceries stood on the table, another bag spilled on the floor.

“Shirley?” he said again.

Grady drew his gun and quickly walked through the house. It was empty. He ended up back in the kitchen. He surveyed the spilled groceries, then bolted out the door and ran across the yard to Pearl’s house. When she answered, he was out of breath.

“Did you see Shirley?”

She squinted at him. “I told you I didn’t.”

He pointed to Shirley’s house. “I think she came home, but she’s gone again.” He didn’t want to say too much. “Did you see her or anybody else?”

“I’ve been fixing dinner, so I haven’t been paying attention. Not that I spy on my neighbors.” She cocked her head. “What’s going on with you? You need to leave Shirley alone. She’s had enough going on with Merle, and she doesn’t need you making things worse.”

He waved a dismissive hand at her, stepped off the porch, and ran back to Shirley’s house, where he checked around the kitchen to see if he’d missed something. Besides the obvious signs of a struggle, he didn’t see anything that would tell him if Shirley was alive or dead.

He cursed and dashed to his car. Dark thoughts formed as he drove away. Carl had gotten to Shirley before him. He shuddered to think what might’ve happened to her. Where would Carl kill her, and what would he do to make it look like an accident?

He was also sure Rance didn’t trust him anymore, and Carl finding Shirley instead of him would only make things worse. Grady had to make sure that everything went well tonight, and he would have to watch his back. He didn’t trust Rance, and he didn’t trust the sheriff, either.

Things were turning against him, and he was going to have to make some decisions that would change the course of his life.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

R ance pulled out his phone and dialed Seth Peterson. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Seth said. “People know to stay away from the railroad site, so we shouldn’t have any problems. The building is set up, and we’re ready for more product.”

“Once the delivery’s made, bring the money to me.”

“Yes, you told me that.”

“One more thing. Send your cousins up here.”

“You think something’s going to happen?”

“I don’t trust Hernandez.”

Seth’s laugh was as dry as a parched throat. “I never did trust him.”

“Still, you watch your back. I don’t know where he’ll be.”

“Don’t worry.”

“We have a lot more at stake now, not just the usual shipment.”

Rance grimaced. It wasn’t just Hernandez. Even though Burleson had said he’d eliminated Jo Gunning, at this point, Rance didn’t trust anything. For all he knew, that woman could’ve involved other people. He couldn’t risk any mistakes, but he also couldn’t call off a shipment that was almost there.

“Anything else?” Seth asked.

“We can trust Billy?”

“You absolutely can, and I’m not saying that just because he’s my little brother.” Seth was easygoing, always relaxed. “Billy will do what we tell him, and he won’t ask any questions. And I’ll have my eye on him, too. You don’t have to worry about him one bit.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Everything will be fine,” Seth said.

“Yes.”

Rance thought about Seth as he put his phone back in his pocket. He was a good man, strong—not just physically, but mentally tough, too. Nothing seemed to rattle him. And he was loyal, if not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. He didn’t ask a lot of questions, just did what he was told. Sometimes that was the best kind of person. And he didn’t get into trouble, like Grady did.

Rance rested his hands on the rail. It was too bad Grady couldn’t keep himself in line. But actions had consequences, which the deputy would soon find out.

That thought made him frown. There was a lot more at stake now, and it was risky, having Seth come up to the house. Rance didn’t like to be directly involved in the operation. But after everything with Merle, he couldn’t have any kind of screw-ups from anyone. Once he’d regained the trust of Hernandez’s boss, it would be better. But until then, he had to keep a close eye on everything.

Rance should have had his eye on Merle, should’ve known what he’d been doing. He shook his head. Getting Merle involved had been a mistake in the first place, but he’d needed a replacement for the man before him.

Arthur had been good at first, kept his mouth shut. But then he’d started selling product to Scarlett and Addison. After all this time, Rance still fumed about it. No one touched his family. That was absolutely forbidden, but Arthur thought he was too smart to get caught. He was wrong.

Rance’s grip on the handrail grew tighter. No one messed with his daughters.

Once Arthur was gone, Rance had seen Merle around town. He’d heard he was Shirley’s nephew, and that he was looking to straighten himself out. If he’d done illegal things before, that made him vulnerable, willing to cross the line again, so Rance approached him. And as he’d expected, Merle said yes. He’d liked the money, and it had been working out fine, but then he’d screwed up, too.

Rance sighed. It had been another situation to deal with, like so many in his life. But Merle had been taken care of. Not in the way he’d expected, but still. Another sigh. Then his thoughts went to the new sawmill. He had things to smooth out there, too. One more thing.

The sawmill wasn’t all bad. He hadn’t been looking for that opportunity, but when it presented itself, he couldn’t pass it up. It complicated his life, but the money would be great. was all coming together. Rance turned around and started when he saw Scarlett standing in the doorway.

“How long have you been there?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Scarlett,” he said firmly.

She huffed at him. “Not long. Where’s Mama?”

“Shopping. She should be home soon.”

“I want to go out tonight.”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. For one thing, you’re grounded, and for another, I don’t want you out tonight.”

“Why not?” Her eyes blazed.

His voice changed a bit. He always switched to a Southern accent when he wanted to placate her. “Don’t worry about that, but I need you home.”

The girl stared at him, and something seemed to make her realize not to argue. She muttered foully at him under her breath, then whirled around and was gone.

Rance stared at the door. What had she heard? Hopefully nothing that would make any sense to her. If she’d heard him mention Billy or Hernandez, she wouldn’t know who they were.

He glanced at the drive. Where was Leah? She ought to be home soon.

When she’d offered to help, he’d been pleased, even though there was no way he’d let her do anything. She’d caused problems once, and there was no way he’d let her do that again. The offer of help seemed an apology, as if she knew what she’d done. That was a step in the right direction, but still, he needed to assure her that everything would be okay. He didn’t want to see her going in the wrong direction. She was fragile right now. It would be horrible for her to lose herself again.

Maybe after tonight, he’d take her someplace nice for a few days, get her to relax. She hadn’t since Addison’s death, and the time away would be good for her.

Rance sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his nerves. He wasn’t normally like this, but he had so much riding on tonight.

Just a few more hours to endure.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

J o made sure no one was on the street before she exited the Washington house and darted into Keyshawn’s truck.

“Let’s drive by Shirley’s place first,” she said as he backed out of the driveway. “I want to see if she’s there and just not answering.”

He drove back streets, and they didn’t see Grady or Sheriff Burleson. As they wheeled down Shirley’s street, they saw her Nissan parked in the carport. Jo pulled out her phone and called the woman again.

“Voicemail,” she said.

“I’ll park in the driveway and knock on the door, see if she’s there,” he suggested.

She shook her head as she scanned the empty street. “It could be dangerous.”

“I was in Afghanistan, remember? I know what to do. If Grady’s behind this, he’s not going to gun me down in the driveway.”

“Don’t be so sure.” She hunched down in the seat. “If you run into anything, signal.”

“You got it.”

He parked behind the Nissan, pulled one of the Glocks from the duffel bag, and got out, tucking the gun in his waistband and covering it with his shirt.

“Shirley?” he called out.

Keyshawn walked to the side door and tried the knob. Then he removed the Glock and disappeared inside. He returned a moment later, his jaw set, and waved at Jo.

She glanced around, made sure nobody was outside to see her, then dashed into the house. When she saw an overturned kitchen chair and groceries strewn on the floor, she stopped short.

“Somebody got her.”

“She’s not here. I searched the house,” Keyshawn said.

“Let’s check out back.”

They ran out the door. A shed at the back corner of the yard held gardening tools and a lawnmower, but no Shirley. They ran along the creek, calling out her name, but got no answer. Their search fruitless, they returned to the kitchen.

“If Grady hurt her, I’ll kill him myself,” Keyshawn said.

“Where would they have taken her?” Jo mused. “Maybe up to the shack near the timber site? It’d be a good place to hide her.”

“Could be anywhere.”

“If Grady snatched Shirley, he’d have to be careful to make sure no one saw him do anything to her.” She left off any mention of murder. “Do you know someone who could drive up there and check?”

“I’ll call my friend, Travis. We can trust him.”

“Tell him the fence is electrified, but I separated the barbed wire with some logs. He could get through there, as long as no one discovered it. Tell him to be careful.”

“He knows what he’s doing.” He stared at her. “You think Grady would’ve just arrested Shirley?”

“I doubt it. He’d have to explain why, and there’d be witnesses.”

“I know Dorothy,” he said. “I’ll call and see if she knows what Grady’s been doing this afternoon.”

“And the sheriff.”

“Right.”

Jo searched again while Keyshawn made the phone calls. Other than the toppled kitchen chair and groceries strewn on the floor, the house was just as Shirley had left it that morning. When Jo returned to the kitchen, he was finishing up.

“Travis is already on his way,” he said. “He’ll let me know what he finds. Don’t worry about him. He’s good. Grady’s not at the station, and Dorothy hasn’t seen Shirley, either. She said he stopped in a while ago, asked about the sheriff, and then he left. She thought he was acting strange. Something’s up.”

She nodded. “We need to get to the railroad building before everyone else.”

“No time to waste.”

Jo forced thoughts of Shirley from her mind. They peeked out the door, assured themselves that they were alone, and dashed back to his truck. Keyshawn was careful as he drove out of the neighborhood, and he stayed off Main Street until they reached the edge of town.

“That railroad building is a few miles off the highway,” he said.

“Is there only the one road leading up to it?”

He nodded. “Last I knew there was a gate, too. But we could approach from another direction, if we hike through the woods.” He glanced at her. “Are you up for that?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

“There’s a dirt road on the opposite side of the highway. People sometimes fish on a creek near there, so I’ll park there. If anyone sees my truck, they’ll think I’m somewhere along the creek. We can sneak across the highway and into the trees.”

She hunkered down as Keyshawn cruised west on Highway Fourteen, careful of his speed. They passed the cemetery and the house where Dean Blackwood lived. The house seemed forlorn, and for a second she missed him. He’d been kind, and had helped her out. But she quickly refocused. They saw only a few cars, but not Grady’s or Burleson’s trucks. After a few more miles, Keyshawn slowed down and pointed.

“Up there another mile the road curves to the north. Another mile and you turn down County Road Fifteen, and you’ll approach the railroad building from the west. We’ll come at it from the east side, up behind the building.”

She appreciated his succinct explanation. Another twenty yards, and he turned left onto a dirt road. He drove for another minute, then pulled off and parked.

“This’ll do,” he said.

They got out, and she took the other Glock from the duffel bag and tucked it against the small of her back. Keyshawn left the truck unlocked.

“People would be more surprised if it was all locked up tight,” he explained.

As they both put their phones on silent, he looked at her.

“Do you have Bluetooth earbuds?”

She shook her head. “Too bad. We could communicate easier.”

He shrugged. They veered away from the dirt road and hurried back to the highway. Once a car had passed, they ran across the road and into the trees on the other side. They moved at a fast clip, not quite jogging, but then had to slow as the uneven ground impeded them, their progress slower than it should have been. The woods grew thicker, the air heavy and dense. There was no path to follow, and they zigzagged between trees. The sun was making its descent, closing on a long day, and they used it for navigation.

After a while, Keyshawn stopped and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Travis texted. No one’s at the shack,” he said as he stared at the screen.

Jo breathed a sigh of relief, but they still had to find Shirley.

“Would someone take Shirley to the railroad building?” Keyshawn asked.

She shook her head. “Too risky. If she’s alive, she could make noise, or escape. If she’s dead, the wrong person might see her body.”

He grumbled softly and started walking. The woods grew thicker, and long shadows spread around them. Twenty minutes later, Keyshawn turned westward. The ground was soft, and they made little noise. Jo wiped sweat off her brow, but the muggy heat didn’t seem to bother Keyshawn. They walked another mile or so, quiet, both keen for any movement around them. Then they came to a barbwire fence.

“Let’s check to see if it’s electrified,” Jo said.

She used a blade of grass, like she’d done at the shack, to test the fence. It didn’t pulse this time.

“That’s a neat trick,” Keyshawn said.

“It comes in handy.”

She held the wire up, and he ducked under it, then did the same for her. They moved on, and after a few minutes, he stopped.

“The old railroad ran through here a long time ago,” he said in a low voice as he motioned with his hand ahead of them. “Not much of it’s left, but there’s a road up to the old building. There are woods all around.”

“Let’s slow down and approach carefully,” she said. “We don’t know who else might be there.”

He nodded and led her forward. Another twenty minutes, and they came upon a small rise. When they reached the top, he crouched down and pointed again. She knelt next to him and looked.

The abandoned railroad building sat in a clearing about fifty yards away. It had to be at least a hundred years old, single-story, with long, plain pale siding desperately in need of repair, and two boarded-up windows. The silver truck with the mudflaps was parked in front.

“That’s Seth Peterson’s truck,” Jo murmured.

No one milled about. Keyshawn took out the binoculars and scanned the area, then handed them to her. She saw no one, either between their position and the building, or anywhere else. Jo lowered the binoculars, and they watched for a minute. Still not a soul in sight. She glanced at Keyshawn.

“Let’s circle to the north,” she said. “I want to see the front of the building.”

“You can, but it’s just a little porch and a door.”

He didn’t argue as she moved slowly through the woods. They were much more careful now, guns drawn as they walked in a wide arc until they could see the other the side of the building. As Keyshawn had said, the only thing there was a small, empty front porch and a white door.

“What do we do now?” Keyshawn whispered.

“Billy meets the truck at eight,” she said.

He pulled out his phone. “Forty minutes.”

She stared at the building. There were likely going to be several people out there. Billy, Seth, and anybody he might’ve brought with him. Possibly Grady. Would Sheriff Burleson be around as well?

“If Grady’s out there, watching, where would he be?” she asked.

Keyshawn glanced around. “We didn’t see him, or his vehicle, so he could be on the west side of the building, waiting in the woods over there.” He pointed.

She nodded in agreement. “What’s inside the building?”

He shrugged. “As far as I know, nothing. It’s been a long time since I’ve been up here, but when I went inside, it was just a big empty room.”

“Grady talked about a shipment, and Billy’s meeting a truck, and then he’s supposed to take what he’s given and meet someone else.” She gestured toward the railroad building. “We’re assuming that’s here.” She frowned.

“What?”

“We’re either entirely correct, or entirely wrong. And if we’re wrong, we’ll miss everything.”

His lips formed a thin line. “What do we do now?” he whispered.

She stared at the building. “We see if we’re right.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

L eah’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel.

She needed to get back to the house. Rance and Scarlett would wonder where she’d been all afternoon. She smiled. She’d been solving problems, but she couldn’t tell them that. They wouldn’t understand.

And Rance wouldn’t be happy with her, if he knew what she’d been doing. He’d think it was more interfering. She wasn’t trying to make things worse, but sometimes more had to be done. Sometimes he was too reserved, too diplomatic.

She saw that in his behavior with their daughters. He’d sweet-talk them, and that worked at times. But other times, they defied him anyway. Sometimes you had to put your foot down. Leah’d had to do that with Addison and Scarlett.

And doing something now was helping Leah too, making her feel better. She’d been devastated since Addison had died. How everything had turned out . . . it made her feel horrible. Addison was supposed to go to college at Alabama, meet a fine Southern gentleman and settle down. She wasn’t supposed to be dead barely after graduation.

Leah sighed. That girl was a fool at times, but still . . .

Rance had taken her death hard, of course.

And he hasn’t been happy with me, Leah thought.

But he could bury himself in his work, busy himself making money. That was how he got through things. She could only sit by for so long before it all got to her. She had to do something, had to help.

And she did this afternoon.

Leah frowned. Shirley had been adamant that she was going to keep asking about Merle, and Leah had put her foot down. She’d had a good conversation with her. It was about time the old woman let things go, that she didn’t worry about what happened to Merle. She was sure that Shirley had gotten the message now.

Staring out the windshield, Leah knitted her brow in satisfaction as she turned off the highway. She pulled the visor down against the sun and drove a few miles down the dirt road, then made a left onto their long drive.

Rance’s truck sat in the front of the house, but no one was outside. She passed it and pulled the white SUV up to the garage barn. She hit the garage-door opener, and the huge door slid back. She pulled the SUV inside, thinking about what she had to do next, then got out and went to the big garage door. She was about to close it when a voice startled her.

“Where were you?”

Scarlett stood at the corner of the garage.

“I had errands in town,” Leah said.

The girl pointed to the house. “Daddy’s home, and he wanted to know what you were doing.”

“I told you, errands.”

Just then, Rance emerged from the house and called to them.

“Are you coming inside?”

Scarlett stared at her. “Do you have anything for me to carry into the house?”

Leah glanced back at the SUV. “No.”

“Daddy thought you might’ve been shopping.”

She hesitated. “No.”

Her daughter looked at her expectantly. Leah glanced at the SUV again, then punched the code into the keypad at the side of the garage. The big door slid closed.

She followed Scarlett back to the house.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

T he minutes ticked by as Jo and Keyshawn watched the railroad building. They took turns scanning the terrain, but no one came out of the shack. The evening light was soft. Then a loud engine interrupted the silence.

Jo glanced at Keyshawn. His jaw locked tight.

The sound grew louder, and a beat-up blue truck appeared.

“That’s Billy,” Jo said.

Keyshawn had the binoculars. “He’s by himself.”

He handed her the binoculars. She peered through them as Billy got out of the truck.

The man reached into the bed and picked up a huge bag. He hefted it over the side, and it was obvious from his exertion that the bag was heavy. Then he got another smaller bag. Billy turned as Seth Peterson came around the side of the railroad building. Seth said something as he walked to the truck and grabbed one of the bags. Billy took the other, and they vanished from view. Seconds later, he returned for one more smaller bag in the truck bed. He didn’t look around as he walked back into the building.

Jo lowered the binoculars. “We need proof they have drugs. And I want to know if they know where Shirley is.”

Keyshawn pointed to the building. “I’ll bet if we get closer, we could hear them talking. I’m sure they’re armed, but if we surprise them, we could get their weapons and then talk to them.”

“Are you up for it?”

He nodded. “This is the most excitement I’ve had in a long time.”

That concerned her. “These guys aren’t playing games,” she warned him.

“I know. It’s time they got what’s coming to them.”

“Let’s see if anybody else shows up.”

Keyshawn nodded, and Jo took the binoculars and again scanned the terrain. She could see partway down the road, but there were no signs of anyone else approaching.

“Where are Grady and the sheriff?” she muttered.

Keyshawn didn’t reply.

Jo looked back at the building. The outside remained still. She checked between there and her position, but she still didn’t see anyone. She scanned the north, then methodically checked the other hillside.

And then she saw it.

A shadow, quick movement between the trees. She kept the binoculars trained there, and soon saw it again.

“Someone’s out there,” she murmured.

“An animal?”

Jo shook her head. “I see pants and boots.”

“Grady?”

She didn’t say anything, just kept looking at that area.

“I’ve lost it,” she finally said. “I’m sure I saw someone.”

“If that’s Grady, he’s better than I thought.”

“But not that good. I spotted him.” She lowered the binoculars. “Is he coming after Seth and Billy, or is he just watching?”

“Hard to say.”

“I want to know who that is. You stay here, and I’ll go check it out.”

Keyshawn stared down the hillside. “I can go through the trees and get closer. If I hear anything, I can text you.”

“You need to make sure you’re not spotted.”

“Don’t worry about me. I knew what I was doing in the army, and it’s the same now.”

“Be careful,” Jo said.

She got into a crouch and snuck away. The dreaded heat felt like a glove around her, but the ground was soft, and she made good time. She had been well-trained, and she was still in great shape. Her gaze swiveled in all directions, and she was alert for any threat.

Jo covered a quarter-mile arc as she rounded the north side of the building, which was now to her left. She stopped and used the binoculars to scan behind the building. Even with the binoculars, she couldn’t see Keyshawn.

He was as good as he’d said.

She crept forward, wary of activity around the railroad building, but nothing happened. Then she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. She quickly checked. Dack. She’d have to contact him later. She walked another fifty yards, then stopped and studied the terrain again. West of the building, she spotted movement once more. Big, and bulky. Definitely not an animal. But she couldn’t see who it was.

She pinpointed the location, then edged forward in the soft dirt, and like Keyshawn, she was good, not making a sound. She kept the spot in front of her and quickly closed the distance. After a minute, a man came into view, his back to her. He was crouched down, his entire focus in front of him. In the military, a sharpshooter would’ve had a spotter, someone to see what was happening behind him. But this was the Alabama sticks, so he probably figured he didn’t need anyone to watch his back.

Big mistake.

She stuffed the binoculars in her pocket, raised the Glock, and inched forward.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

C arl left his truck in a grove of trees to the west of the railroad building. Then he grabbed an M4 rifle and started through the trees.

He was in street clothes, driving his personal vehicle, in case anyone saw him. That was one thing Pollack had told him: Don’t let anyone see the sheriff doing what he was going to do. This was not part of his official duties.

The sheriff wiped sweat off his brow as he made his way forward. His mind raced. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but then again, it was about time Pollack trusted him.

That afternoon, the man had told him about the drop tonight, and how he had told Grady to be out there as well. Pollack said he normally let Seth Peterson handle everything, but tonight was different. There were more than the usual drugs coming in, and Pollack was worried about Jo Gunning. If she had been around the last few days, could there be others? It was too late to call off the operation, so he was prepared for all possible scenarios.

And he also wanted Grady Townsend dealt with, once and for all.

Carl walked quickly, and he was soon out of breath. He chided himself for getting so out of shape, but it was easy to do. The perks of a cushy small-town job, no need to push himself physically. He never had to chase criminals around; he never faced any real danger. He’d been in the Navy a long time ago, and he remembered some of his training. But he wasn’t as good as he used to be, and he definitely wasn’t as stealthy as he needed to be. Then again, Grady had lost a step as well, had gotten careless, so Carl wasn’t worried. And he had the M4 that Pollack had given him. It was a sweet weapon, with a suppressor. Better than anything Carl owned. And Pollack assured him the gun was untraceable, so the investigation into Grady’s death wouldn’t lead back to him.

The sheriff smiled as he hurried on, a gloominess all around him. Pollack had more going on than he’d even realized, and there was a big piece of the pie to take. He fist-pumped. He’d made good money, but this would set him up in style. He and his wife could retire in a few years, maybe go down to the coast, get a big boat. Wouldn’t that be nice?

When he’d gone about a mile, he turned south, where Pollack had said Grady would be positioned. Carl slowed down and moved more carefully. He sucked wind in loud gasps, so he stopped to catch his breath. He glanced at the rifle, the reality of what he was about to do setting in. He was a decent shot, or at least he had been at one time. Lately, he’d hardly had to discharge his gun. It had been weeks since he’d even gone to the practice range. But Grady would be focused elsewhere, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

Once his breathing evened, Carl struck out again, this time at a slower, more cautious pace. After another half mile, he lay down, peered through the rifle scope, and scanned the terrain. Down the hillside was the railroad building. It looked empty, nobody around. He went over the trees at the south of the building, slowly, foot by foot. Then he spotted Grady.

The deputy was crouched down behind a tree, watching the building. He wore jeans and a dark T-shirt, a gun holstered on his hip. He was focused ahead, not paying any attention to his other surroundings.

Perfect, Carl thought.

The sheriff waited a minute to make sure Grady was alone. Then he wiped his hands on his pants and started to creep forward.

He stopped when he heard a murmur of noise behind him.

As he turned around, his jaw dropped.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

J o aimed the Glock right at Carl Burleson’s chest.

“Don’t move,” she said.

She didn’t have to worry. He was frozen in place, clearly stunned to see her.

“Lower the rifle now or I’ll shoot you in the chest,” she warned him.

He still didn’t move, and she tipped her head at him. She didn’t want to fire, to make noise and draw attention to herself, but he wasn’t calling her bluff. He was genuinely scared. Then he found his faculties, and he laid the rifle on the ground.

“Take a few steps back and get down on your knees,” Jo said.

He did as instructed, his hands away from his sides. He was breathing fast.

“Where’s Shirley Flynn?” Jo asked.

His eyebrows shot up. “I thought Grady got her.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s easy to blame the other guy. Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he said, more urgency in his voice.

Jo studied him. His eyes were big, imploring her to believe him. She kept her voice low. “They’re dealing drugs at the railroad building?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. I never asked.”

“You just do what you’re told?”

The sheriff glared at her. “I know what I’m doing.”

“What else are they doing in the building? They had a big bag that would hold a lot.” She thought about the Pollacks owning so much real estate, and their financial interest in the new sawmill. “Are they laundering money, too?”

He glanced away. “I don’t know.”

She raised the Glock a little higher. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The man snorted. “I just got where he’s trusting me, I’m not going to blow it now.”

“Who? Rance Pollack?”

He stared at her but didn’t say anything. The light was dim, the air thick around them.

“Where’s Grady?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” His eyes flickered.

Jo looked past him. “What’re you doing here?”

Still no reply.

“Where’d you walk in from?”

That question, he didn’t seem to mind answering. “My truck’s about a mile or so southwest of here.”

“Where’s Shirley?” she asked again.

“I should have shot you down by the river,” was all he said.

His voice was loud and harsh, carrying a vileness that she’d not heard from him before. His eyes pinched with hatred.

“You should have,” she said.

“A fall like that, it could have killed you.”

“But it didn’t.”

“What did you do in the Army? Nobody’s that good.”

“Keep your voice down,” she snapped. His jaw locked. “I’ve dealt with better than the likes of you.” Jo glanced around, then looked back at him. “Merle was murdered, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” she said. “The file you let me read was manipulated. The autopsy notes didn’t match what the coroner put in his report.”

He stared at her. “How do you know what O’Connell said?”

Her turn to ignore his question. “There was no gunshot residue on Merle’s hands, and there wasn’t any stippling at the entry wound. Merle didn’t put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“You thought you’d play nice, show me the file, and get me off your case. You were too nice.”

“I might’ve overplayed my hand,” he admitted.

“You were paid to cover up his death?”

He didn’t say anything, and she knew she was right. She went on.

“What about the medical examiner? O’Connell. He got paid off, too?”

“I was just doing what I was told,” he muttered. “You can ask all the questions you want. You’re still going to get what’s coming to you, no matter what.”

“Was Merle working for Pollack, and things went bad, so Pollack got rid of him?”

“You think you have it all figured out,” he said, his voice even louder.

She heard a noise, and she looked past him. Grady was walking through the trees, but he didn’t see her. She kept the Glock trained on Burleson as she squatted down behind a tree. Grady took a few more steps. She couldn’t tell if he had a weapon. As he approached, he saw the sheriff and swore.

“Did Rance send you out here?” Grady snarled. He threw up a hand, not questioning why the sheriff was on his knees. “I knew he was setting me up. All I ever do is make sure Seth knows when to expect a shipment. Rance never had me come out to the drop site and get so close to the operation. I wondered why he wanted me to now.”

Burleson glanced Jo’s way and said, “Grady, shut up right now.”

“You got a lot of nerve . . .” Grady started to say.

Jo stepped out from behind the tree. “Grady, stay right where you are.”

The deputy’s eyes widened when he saw her. “You’re not dead.”

“You’ve lost a step,” Carl sneered at him. “You didn’t have any idea I was here, or that she was, either.” He jerked his head toward Jo.

“Shut up,” Grady said to him. “She wouldn’t be here, if you’d killed her like you said you did.”

“Where’s your weapon?” Jo asked, the Glock raised.

Grady held up his hands. “Easy now. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Where’s Shirley?” Jo asked him.

He stared at her, then pointed at the sheriff.

“He took her,” Grady said. “I went to Shirley’s house after he’d been there. It’s ransacked.” He looked at Burleson. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Grady, keep your hands where I can see them,” Jo said a little louder.

Instead, Grady tried to kick the sheriff. He fell back and grabbed for the rifle, swinging it toward Grady and pulling the trigger. Grady dodged to his right and put a hand behind his back, retrieving a handgun. In a smooth motion, he fired at Burleson. The shot cracked loudly in the evening gloom. At the same time, Jo hollered at Grady, then shot him. Grady’s shot hit the sheriff square in the chest. Burleson pulled the trigger again and a round hit a tree with a thunk. Grady jerked, the bullet from Jo’s Glock catching him in the shoulder. He went down with a thud, his gun dropping at his side. She raced forward and kicked the gun out of the way, then aimed the Glock at him.

“What the hell did you do that for?” she hissed.

Grady gritted his teeth, one hand covering the wound, blood seeping between his fingers.

“You shot me,” he said dully.

Jo looked down at the sheriff. His dead eyes stared into the sky.

Grady followed her gaze. “It was him or me.

The Glock stayed on him. “Where’s Shirley?”

“Don’t shoot me,” he pleaded as he held up a bloody hand. “Please, I don’t want to die. I’m telling the truth. I don’t know what happened to Shirley.” He grimaced in pain. “I thought Carl had gotten to her. I was trying to save her. Rance wants everything his way, and he’ll take out anybody who threatens his business. But when he wanted to go after Shirley, that’s where I drew the line. I even told her to stop asking about Merle. I figured if she would just let it go, I could tell Rance that she wasn’t a threat. But she wouldn’t listen.” He cursed the man. “Her wanting to know about Merle shouldn’t mean she needs to die.”

“Pollack wants her dead?” Jo asked.

He nodded. “And you. He doesn’t want anybody asking about Merle.”

She eyed Carl’s body. “If neither of you took Shirley, would Pollack have gone after her himself?”

Grady looked embarrassed. “If he thought we couldn’t handle the job.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. She was about to push him more, but then she thought she heard voices. The railroad building was out of sight. Bending down, she began taking the laces off the sheriff’s boots. She looked at Grady.

“Who else is in the railroad building?”

“Seth’s been there for a while, and Billy showed up. I don’t know who else.”

She got the shoelaces and stepped toward him. The deputy raised his good arm, cowering.

“I don’t know if anyone else is there,” he whimpered.

“Turn over and put your hands behind your back,” she ordered him.

He rolled onto his stomach, wincing and groaning as she tied his hands and feet. Then she searched him and took a 9mm handgun.

“If I find out you hurt Shirley, I’ll kill you myself,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything to her, I swear.”

She pulled off one of his shoes, then the sock, and rolled him back over. He moaned again.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, his voice a whimper.

“I’ll deal with you later,” she said.

Grady protested as she stuffed his sock in his mouth. He was obviously in a fair amount of pain, and she wasn’t too worried about him trying to escape. All the fight had gone out of him. Still, just to be safe, she socked him with the Glock. His head lolled to the side, and his eyes fluttered shut.

He’d been carrying a Smith & Wesson. She unloaded the gun, then moved into the trees and tossed it away. She stuffed the Glock in the small of her back, retrieved Carl’s M4, and crept through the trees toward the railroad house.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

J o tracked carefully through the forest. She didn’t know how soundproof the railroad building was, but her guess was not very.

Would the shots bring someone running?

She continued through the trees, then saw movement ahead. Dropping to the ground, she waited, motionless.

Movement again.

Two men were walking through the trees. She recognized the one with the blond hair and beard.

Seth Peterson.

The other had dark hair, and a band-aid taped across his nose. She recognized him as one of the men at the shack, the one she’d elbowed in the face. He wore dark clothes and a baseball cap. They spread out, left and right. Now she’d have to deal with them one at a time. She lost Seth in the trees, but the other man was creeping forward to her right. Jo stayed where she was, letting him make his way toward her. A moving target would attract attention. She glanced left but didn’t see Seth.

The man to her right disappeared, and then she picked up movement in the trees, closer to her, a silhouette in the shadows. She took in two deep, calming breaths as she aimed the M4 and fired. A flash from the muzzle. The silhouette disappeared.

Even with the suppressor, the shot was loud. She’d given away her position, so she dove to her left and held her breath. Hearing something behind her, she glanced over her shoulder. Jo couldn’t see anything in the trees, and the noise soon stopped.

An eerie silence settled around her.

She peered ahead, where she’d fired a round.

Nothing.

Moving her left hand slowly, she grabbed a rock and threw it toward the man. It clunked off a tree trunk and hit the ground with a thud. Then she heard it. A low wheeze and a phlegmy cough. Then more wheezing. She’d heard that sound before, long ago, when her unit had been under fire. A soldier had been hit, the bullet ripping through his core, collapsing a lung. He’d gasped for breath as they’d helped get him to safety.

This man wasn’t so lucky. He moaned and gurgled as blood filled his lungs, and then the sounds stopped.

One man down.

Jo turned and crept the other direction, where Seth had gone. Daylight was slipping away, and gray shadows spread all around her. A sharp pop sounded to her left, a stick breaking. She squinted through the trees.

Seth was out there. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear him.

The sounds of movement grew louder. Seth was trying to flank her. But he was an amateur, not careful at all. She followed, stealthy. He was clumsy, and his own footsteps would mask any sounds she made.

Then his movement stopped.

Jo dropped to a knee. She focused left, then right. A familiar whoosh zipped past her, then a pop. A round almost struck her. But it also gave her a mark. She dove right, aimed, and fired. She wasn’t sure if she’d hit Seth, so she crept farther to her right.

Then she heard a groan, but no more shots.

Jo crawled forward. Another groan split the air. A few more feet, and she came across Seth. He was ten feet ahead, on his back, a Remington 700 rifle lying across his stomach. His right elbow was shattered, blood soaking his shirtsleeve. There was no way he could use the rifle with his right hand. He was looking the other way when she stepped around a tree. His eyes widened when he saw her, and his left hand moved across his stomach.

“Don’t try it,” she said as she aimed the M4 at him.

His left hand stopped. He was breathing in short gasps, his mouth pulled back in pain. He stared up at her.

“You do exist.” The words came in a short, staccato pattern.

She nodded. “How many more are there?”

He glanced past her into the gloom. No help came, and a tiny sliver of hope in his eyes faded.

“You got JD?” he asked.

“The man in the dark clothes? Yeah, he’s dead.”

He snarled and scooted on the ground, away from her. His left hand inched toward the gun. Then he growled in pain.

“Stay still,” she snapped.

He stared at her, and his left hand stopped.

“Who else is with you?” she asked.

Seth continued to stare.

“What happened to Merle Latham?”

No answer.

“Where’s Shirley?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t tell you anything. My life won’t be worth a dead pig if I do.”

She knew what was going to happen. He wasn’t going to be taken alive. His left hand jerked for the rifle, but he had a bad angle, and he was in tremendous pain. His fingers barely grazed the rifle before she put a bullet in his head.

She’d had no time to think about her decision. Tossing his rifle away, she whirled around and listened. Nothing from JD’s direction. No one to the rescue.

She thought she heard a voice, and she started back toward the railroad building. She had to assume there were more people. That was why Seth hadn’t told her anything. Jo walked quicky and crested a rise, then looked down toward the building.

A man with dark hair was carrying the heavy bag that Billy had taken into the building. He held a semi-automatic rifle in his right hand. He turned, saw her, and pulled open the silver truck door. He threw the bag into the cab, took a hasty shot at her, then got in and drove off.

She fired back at him without much hope of hitting, then ran in the gloom toward Billy’s beat-up truck.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

H ernandez was south of the railroad building when he heard gunfire in the trees to the south. He frowned and looked to the west. Up to this point, the evening had gone according to plan. And that was what the boss had wanted him to ensure, that there was no DEA, no interference at all.

Hernandez wasn’t familiar with the area, so he’d parked down the highway and hiked in, parallel to the dirt road. He’d left himself plenty of time. When he was in position, he hunkered down. He’d seen a silver truck drive up, and three men get out and go into the railroad building. Later, he’d seen a beat-up blue pickup truck arrive. A younger man with blond hair was joined by the man who’d driven the silver truck, and they’d taken three bags into the railroad building. All was going according to plan.

But what was the shooting?

He looked back to the building as the man who’d driven the silver truck emerged, accompanied by another guy dressed in black. They both held guns as they ran into the trees to the west. Then a Black man emerged from the trees behind the building.

Hernandez swore. Who was this?

As the Black man snuck around the south side of the building and carefully approached the front corner of the building, the young man with the blond hair peeked out the door, then stole across the clearing. He went into the trees, and the stranger followed.

Hernandez thought about his instructions. If anything went wrong, he was supposed to get the most important part of the shipment and take out Rance Pollack. As the head of the Alabama operation, he would have to be eliminated. If he was gone, even if someone talked, nothing could be traced back to their operation.

Hernandez stole through trees toward the railroad building, thinking about the boss. He’d worked for the man for almost ten years, had been loyal to him the whole time. And he knew the boss trusted him. He also knew that if he failed, the boss would take him out, too. No questions, no hesitation. No one was friends with the man.

Hernandez made it to the edge of the clearing and nothing happened.

Then another popping sound.

Another shot.

He stared into the trees where the sound had come from, but he didn’t see anyone. Hernandez knew he couldn’t wait for long, though. He had a Bushmaster rifle, purchased on the black market once he’d come across the border. It was good, and it had a suppressor. No noise. He raised it as he slipped by the trucks and up to the building door. He saw and heard nothing around him, so he stepped through the open door.

A few battery-powered lanterns sat on a table in the middle of the room. Nearby were two bags with multicolored pills. Four chairs surrounded the table. Next to the door was another big duffel bag. Hernandez unzipped it. Yes, this was what he’d come for. He was about to pick it up when he heard a muffled gasp. He turned to see a young man with curly hair crouched in the corner, his hands up.

“Please, Mister, I don’t know anything,” the kid said. “I won’t tell anybody nothin’.”

Hernandez swung the rifle around and shot him in the forehead. Blood and brain matter hit the back wall as the kid slumped to the floor. Hernandez barely gave him a thought. He didn’t have time for beggars.

He peeked out the door, then grabbed the bag of money and darted back outside. As he started toward the trucks, something caught his eye, and he turned to look.

A woman with shoulder-length blondish-brown hair emerged from the trees, a rifle raised. It was the first time Hernandez had seen her, but he knew who she was.

Jo Gunning.

Hernandez swore as he yanked open the silver truck door. The keys were still in the ignition. He tossed the duffel bag into the truck bed, took a quick shot at Jo, then slid behind the wheel. As he started the truck, he looked up. The woman had raised her rifle.

He jammed the truck in gear and hit the gas. As he turned the vehicle around, a bullet hit the windshield. He ducked and swore again. He careened down the road, glancing in the rearview mirror.

The woman had raced across and was getting into the beat-up truck. Within seconds, she was following him.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

S carlett stood at the top of the stairs and listened. Her parents were in the kitchen, arguing. They must’ve thought she couldn’t hear them. That happened a lot.

“What was I supposed to do?” Leah asked. “You would just let the situation run its course, but we don’t have time for that, do we?”

Her daddy’s voice was low, a harsh tone that Scarlett rarely heard. “What were you thinking? I have so much going on tonight that I have to focus on.”

“This is one less thing.”

“You think?” His voice dripped with derision.

He grew quieter, and Scarlett couldn’t hear what he said next. An inaudible reply from her mama, and then he spoke again.

“. . . go out and check.”

She heard chairs scraping on the floor, then their footsteps. Scarlett ran to her bedroom and peeked out the window.

Daddy and Mama were walking toward the barn garage. He punched in the code, and they disappeared inside. The door closed again.

What were they up to?

She rested her hands on the windowsill. Things hadn’t been the same since Addison had died. Her mama had always been edgy, always struggled with depression, but this had been worse. There was something more to her mood now, a fear had been touched on.

Scarlett knew some of it, how everything they did would reflect on the family name. The precious name that was so important to her mama, that drove everything she did. Shaking her head in disgust, Scarlett continued to watch the garage.

A minute later, the door opened again and they emerged. Rance looked furious, and Leah sad. Scarlett cracked the window open and listened as they walked toward the house.

“. . . blame me for being in town while you were home the night Addison drowned,” he was saying.

Scarlett sucked in a breath.

Mama said something she couldn’t understand, and then he spoke again.

“And you shouldn’t have gone into town today.”

“It’ll be all right,” Leah replied. “I’ll watch Scarlett tonight, and everything will be fine.”

Rance whirled on her. “See that you do.”

He walked ahead of her to the house. Scarlett heard stomping footsteps on the back porch, and then the door opened. She raced into the hallway and stood at the top of the stairs. Crystal clinked, her daddy fixing a drink. Then Mama came in, and Scarlett heard footsteps in the hallway. She was coming upstairs.

Scarlett ran back to her bedroom and closed the door. She held her breath as Leah came up the stairs, her footsteps loud. She was worried she would come to her door, but the footsteps went on down the hall, and soon the master bedroom door slammed closed.

Good.

Scarlett didn’t want to talk to her now. She was angry herself, but she wasn’t sure what to do. And what was happening tonight that was so important that she had to stay home? She couldn’t answer that, but she had figured out one thing.

And it shocked her.

CHAPTER FIFTY

A s was common in a small town, Billy Peterson had left the truck keys in the ignition. Jo leaped into the cab, started it, and flipped a U-turn. She flicked on the headlights as she pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The old vehicle thundered after the silver truck.

The man had a substantial lead, but the old pickup was holding its own. Jo rocked and swayed on the uneven road, and she gripped the wheel tightly. Up ahead, the silver truck’s headlights bobbed around. It rounded a bend and plowed through a gate. With a horrible crash, the metal sections of the gate flew to either side. The truck skidded on the dirt road, nearly ending up in a ditch. Brake lights shone brightly as the driver slowed and righted the truck.

Jo hurtled through the gate and gained ground. She’d gotten a glimpse of the driver, but she didn’t know who he was. The stranger that Shirley and Keyshawn had mentioned? If so, why was he up here? She didn’t like the answer that flashed through her mind. He was part of whatever group had sent the drugs, most likely a cartel out of Mexico or Central America. And he’d taken the larger duffel bag with him. She thought she knew why.

Up ahead, the silver truck cut to the right, then to the left. The taillights flashed again, and the truck skidded on the dirt road as it slowed. Jo yanked the wheel to the right and narrowly missed hitting the truck. The other vehicle swerved and slammed the front end of hers. Then the silver truck shot forward.

Jo hit the brakes. Her truck swayed, then slewed toward the soft shoulder. The right-side tires spun in soft grass. She tried to correct the slide, and the truck fishtailed and jerked as it careened off the road. As she continued to press the brakes, the truck slowed, hit an uneven patch of ground, and jolted to a stop. Jo rammed forward, into the steering wheel. She winced as she slammed the vehicle into reverse, hit the gas, and yanked the steering wheel left. The rear wheels grasped for purchase, and then the truck lunged backward onto the road.

The silver truck was up ahead still, a cloud of dust billowing behind it.

She cruised onward but soon lost view of the taillights. Her speedometer had just hit sixty when she realized the highway was up ahead. She slammed on the brakes but saw no headlights on the road, so she took the turn going thirty. The tires went from dirt to asphalt with a loud screech of rubber, blue smoke billowing behind her. Jo had never considered herself a great driver, and she did well to keep the truck on the road. But there was nothing up ahead. She hit sixty miles an hour again, but all she saw was the occasional light from houses on either side of the highway.

The man had vanished.

His destination was still a mystery, but she couldn’t leave Keyshawn back at the railroad building. She had no idea what had happened with Billy, and she needed to deal with Grady. Her curses filled the truck cab as she slowed and turned around, then headed back down the highway.

As she neared the railroad building, she cut the headlights and slowed down. She approached carefully, but there were no other vehicles on the road, no one outside. Pulling up next to the building, she killed the engine and pocketed the keys. Jo grabbed the Glock, made sure she still had Grady’s gun, and eased out of the cab.

She used the door as a shield and looked around.

The clearing was bathed in silver moonlight, completely still and peaceful. She dashed to the building and stopped by the door. When she heard nothing, she poked her head inside. Lanterns shone yellow around two bags of pills on a table, with four chairs surrounding it. Jo turned and saw a young man with curly hair slumped in the corner, a bullet hole in his forehead. With a frown, she stepped back outside. As she started across the clearing, Billy emerged from the trees to the north. Keyshawn followed behind him, his Glock trained on Billy’s back, pushing the man forward.

“Okay, I’m going,” he protested. “You can stop pushing me.”

“Shut up,” Keyshawn said in a low voice.

Jo trained the M4 on him as they approached. Billy saw the semi-automatic, and his eyes widened. He held his hands up higher.

“Don’t shoot,” he pleaded. “I’m not doing nothin’.” Then his jaw dropped. “You’re the lady who got into my truck. Aw, man. I didn’t think I told you anything.”

Ignoring that, though she almost wanted to laugh at his idiocy, she glanced at Keyshawn. “Anybody else around?”

He shook his head. “Just this scumbag.”

Jo looked at Billy. “Who else was here besides Seth, JD, and the kid in the building?”

“That’s it,” he said sullenly.

“Are you sure?” She described the Black man she’d seen her first night at the restaurant, the same one she’d seen at the shack.

“That’s Ed. He ain’t a part of this,” Billy said.

She wasn’t sure she believed him.

“Did you search him for weapons?” she asked Keyshawn.

He shook his head. “I thought he might try something. I did have him empty his pockets, and I took a pistol.”

Jo saw the Colt .45 stuffed in his waistband. While she held her gun on Billy, Keyshawn roughly ran his hands under the man’s arms and up and down his legs. Keyshawn pulled a large hunting knife from an ankle scabbard.

“This could do some damage.”

“Hey, that cost me a lot of money,” Billy grumbled.

Keyshawn stepped back. “He took a couple shots at me, but he’s a lousy aim.”

“Where’s my brother?” Billy asked.

“Seth?” Jo said. “He’s back there in the trees. He’s dead, and so is JD.”

Billy’s shoulders sagged, and his arms fell at his side, but it seemed like he’d expected the news. He glared at Jo.

“I oughta kill you.”

She lowered the rifle. “You want to try, go ahead.”

The man licked his lips but stayed where he was.

“You’re tough when you’ve got your brother covering for you,” she said.

He stayed silent. Keyshawn held back, his Glock still on Billy, and let Jo do the talking.

“Who’s the kid in the building?” she asked.

“Ray. Is he dead, too?”

She nodded. “Someone shot him.”

Billy’s mouth worked into an angry sneer.

“Who was it?” she asked. “The man with the dark hair?”

“I dunno. It was just Seth, JD, Ray, and me.”

“Do you know where Shirley Flynn is?”

Billy shook his head. “Seth didn’t say nothin’ about her.”

“What happened to Merle Latham?”

That earned her a squint. “I don’t know, but he screwed up, got himself killed. Seth said I better not mess up, or the same thing would happen to me.”

“Did Seth kill Merle?”

“No way. He would’ve told me if he did.”

Billy started to shove his hands in his pockets, and Jo shot forward.

“Hands!”

He stopped, hands frozen away from his sides. “I don’t have nothin’. He already searched me.”

She stared at Billy for a second. Around them, bugs buzzed in the darkness. They were too far away from the highway to hear cars.

“What were you going to do with drugs?” she asked.

“We were repackaging it, and then we have people distributing it in the neighboring towns, and up in Tuscaloosa.” A fly buzzed in his face, and he twisted up his nose but wisely didn’t swat at it. He could tell Jo had an itchy trigger finger.

“Who all is distributing it?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Billy said. “This was my first time helping. Seth was directing things.”

“What was in the big duffel bag?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but it was heavy. Seth said to leave it alone.”

“Where was he going after he finished up here?”

“Up to Mister Pollack’s house.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who else is at the Pollack house?”

His gaze darted away. “I don’t know.”

Without warning, she slapped him on the side of the head. His hand covered his ear, and he yelped.

“Ow! Why’d you do that?”

Behind him, Keyshawn snickered but stayed quiet.

“What’s going on at Pollack’s house?” Jo snapped.

“Seth was supposed to go up there after we finished here, and he called my cousins earlier. They’re going up there, too.”

Jo kept the questions coming fast, not giving him time to think about his answers.

“How many cousins?”

“Two.”

“What are their names?”

“Buddy and Richie.”

“What do they look like?”

He stared at her, pausing for a moment.

“What color hair?” she pressed. “Big, little?”

It dawned on him what she was asking.

“They got blond hair, like me. Buddy’s tall and thin, but Richie’s fat, and he smokes a lot, so he wheezes.”

“Weapons?”

He shrugged again. “They probably got rifles and pistols, I guess.”

“What kind of vehicles do they have?”

“They’ll probably go in Buddy’s Denali.”

“Where will they be?”

“I dunno.”

“Why does Pollack want them at his house?”

“I dunno. But Seth said Mr. Pollack is concerned.”

“Anyone else I should know about?”

He started to shake his head, and she raised her hand again, threatening.

“Maybe Ed’ll be there,” he whined. “That’s all I know. You gotta believe me. All I was doing was what Seth told me.”

Jo jerked her head. “Come on.”

Billy started forward. “What about my brother?”

“You shouldn’t worry about him. You have bigger problems with Pollack.”

She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped. She pushed him forward, and they hurried to the clearing. When they neared the railroad building, she gave Billy a hard stare.

“Do yourself a favor.”

“What?” His voice shook.

They stopped, and she nodded her head down the road. “Go to the highway, and go far away from Greensville.”

“You’re letting me go?” He was surprised.

“It’s your lucky day. You have a chance to get away from this mess, to do the right thing. Don’t be stupid. Take that opportunity. If I see you in town, I’ll kill you.”

“Me, too,” Keyshawn said.

“How am I going anywhere?” Billy whined.

“Walk. Hitch a ride,” she said. “I don’t care, just get the hell out of here.”

Billy stared at them for so long, she had to push him.

“Go!” she said.

He bolted forward and down the road. He glanced over his shoulder just once, then kept running. When he disappeared into the darkness, Jo turned to Keyshawn.

“Was it really wise to let him go?” he asked. “He’s bad news.”

She shook her head. “Without his brother around him, he’s nothing. And I believe in second chances.”

“That’s probably true.” He grinned. “You scared him good. I don’t think he’ll be coming back.” Keyshawn looked around. “Now what?”

She pointed into the trees again.

“There’s another little surprise waiting for us.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

K eyshawn didn’t ask questions, just followed Jo into the trees. It was dark now, but the moon was bright, casting shadows everywhere.

As they walked, she evaluated him. He carried himself well, silent and stealthy as they picked their way through the trees. They hadn’t seen Ed up to this point, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t around, but they remained careful anyway. She stopped once to orient herself, then found her way to Grady. He was awake, and he’d hardly moved. He stared up at her with narrow eyes, then made a muffled sound around the sock in his mouth.

“What do we got here?” Keyshawn said, humor in his tone.

Jo bent down and pulled Grady’s sock from his mouth. He spat and worked his jaw around.

“Did you have to do that?” he growled.

“I couldn’t take a chance on you warning anybody,” Jo said.

His expletives filled the air. “I wouldn’t have done that.”

She shook her head slowly. “If you think I trust you, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not hiding anything from you,” he said. Then he moaned and tried to look at his shoulder. “Man, I gotta get to a hospital.”

“That ain’t much of a wound,” Keyshawn observed. “Not bleeding bad now.”

“It hurts like hell,” Grady said.

Jo aimed the Glock at his head. “Where’s Shirley?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” he said, anger filling his voice. “You going to keep asking me that?”

She shifted aim slightly and pulled the trigger. A bullet hit the ground a foot from Grady’s face, and dirt and rock spattered up around him. He jerked away.

“What the hell?” he snarled, blinking dirt out of his eyes. “Are you crazy?”

“Shirley,” she said.

“I don’t know where she is. I thought Carl had taken her, and if he didn’t, it has to be Rance.”

His demeanor had changed. He wasn’t the cocksure guy she’d seen before, and she heard something in his voice. Actual concern for Shirley. She believed him. She nodded in the direction of the railroad building.

“I chased a man with dark hair. Who is he?”

He grimaced. “Hernandez.”

“He works for a cartel?”

Grady nodded. “They don’t usually send anyone in person, but this time was different.”

“He took a heavy bag with him. What was in it?”

“I don’t know.”

Jo kicked him again.

“Ow.” Grady sneered at her. “I don’t know!”

“Where would he go now?”

“Beats me. Out of the country, if he’s smart.”

Some of his bluster was gone, as if he’d given up the fight. It made him seem more believable, and it seemed like he really didn’t know. “What else do you know about this operation?”

Grady shook his head and winced. “You knocked me out, too.”

“Talk,” Jo said.

“All right!” He scowled. “Seth handles most things, and he got Billy to help, once Merle was out of the way.”

“Why would Pollack have people come out to his house tonight?”

Grady’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Seth and Billy’s cousins.”

“Buddy and Richie.” She nodded, and he eyed her ruefully. “They’re meaner than raccoons.”

He may have lost his fight, but Jo still had to find Shirley. She kicked his leg. “Answer the question. Why are they up at Pollack’s house?”

He winced again. “I don’t know.”

She studied him in the moonlight. He was in pain, not willing to resist.

“Tell me the layout of the Pollack property.”

Grady gnawed his lip. “It’s east of town, down a dirt road.” He nodded at Keyshawn. “He knows where it is.”

“Yeah, I do,” Keyshawn said. “But I’ve never been up there. Pollack isn’t the nicest guy.”

Jo looked Grady in the eye. “How can I get to the house unseen?”

The deputy thought for a moment. “The road to their place is about three miles. The house sits in a clearing on several acres of wooded land. There’s a wide driveway in front, and a big barn garage around the side of the house.”

She tried to picture the layout. “Where would Seth’s cousins be?”

He spat more dirt. “Hell, they could be anywhere. The house has a veranda, and a second-story balcony. Someone could be positioned either place. They’d probably put a guy in the woods as well. Rance’s kids didn’t know what he was doing, so I don’t know if he’s going to try to hide things from them. But you better be careful.” He glanced away. “I can help you.”

“How?”

“I could talk to him.”

She shook her head. “He wanted to kill you.”

“I know,” he said derisively.

Jo studied him more. The deputy was smart, and it appeared he’d thought things through. He seemed to be holding back, though.

“Where else could Seth’s cousins be?” she asked, her patience waning.

“I don’t think they’d get too far away from the house. They’d be no good to Rance then. If it were me, I’d place a man down by the garage, and someone on the other side of the house. There’s a hill on that side, and you’d be able to look down on to the house.”

“There are two Peterson cousins,” she said. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“What about Ed?”

Grady shrugged. “He might be there.”

She nodded, then moved forward.

“I told you everything,” he said, worried, trying to back away. “Rance wouldn’t have anyone else helping him.”

While Keyshawn covered her, she untied his feet and yanked him up. He groaned and stumbled.

“Man, my shoulder.”

“Come on,” she said as she helped him right himself.

“Where are y’all taking me?” Grady asked.

Jo glanced at Keyshawn, who stayed to the side as she held Grady by an elbow. They marched through the trees back to the clearing.

“Where’s your car?” she asked.

Grady jerked his head to the west. “I hid it off the highway.”

They went to Billy’s truck, and she made Grady slide into the middle before getting behind the wheel. The deputy slumped forward in pain as Keyshawn got in next to him, the Glock pressed into his side.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he grumbled.

Jo started the truck and circled around, and soon they were bouncing down the road. She got to the highway, turned right, and Grady gave them directions.

“Has Pollack paid any other police departments to look the other way?” she asked as they drove.

Grady shrugged. “He might’ve bribed the sheriff in Marion.”

“Did you cover up Merle’s death?”

He bit his lip, then nodded. She grimaced, thinking it over. The miles flew by, and he soon told her to slow down, pointing with his head.

“There.”

He guided them to his truck, which was tucked into a grove of trees, barely visible from the highway. She parked behind it, got out, and pulled him from the seat.

“Take it easy,” he snarled. “My shoulder’s killing me.”

“You’ll live,” she said.

Keyshawn walked around the truck and opened Grady’s truck door, and Jo shoved him in.

“Y’all gonna leave me here?” he asked.

“Roll down the windows,” she told Keyshawn.

While he got the keys from Grady, she looked up the number to a police department in Tuscaloosa. When the desk sergeant answered, Jo told her about the situation. The woman started asking questions, but Jo interrupted her.

“Get someone out here now. You’ll find a deputy sheriff named Grady Townsend in a truck on Highway 14. He was shot in the shoulder, and he’ll need medical attention.” She gave the mile marker and the truck’s license plate number. “You better get somebody out to Rance Pollack’s house as well. There’s going to be trouble out there.”

Jo ended the call while the desk sergeant was still protesting. Shoving the phone in her pocket, she turned to Keyshawn. The windows were part-way down, and he had Grady lying in the cab, as comfortably as possible. The deputy craned his head to look at Jo.

“You can’t leave me out here.”

“Somebody’ll be coming from Tuscaloosa. You’ll get medical attention then, and I suggest you tell them everything. Maybe you can cut a deal, save yourself some prison time.”

“And you?”

She looked down at him. “Consider yourself lucky I’m not doing anything more to you. And Shirley better be alive, or you and a lot of other people will pay.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to her,” he said. “Find her, okay?”

“We will,” she promised.

Jo shut the door. Grady didn’t make a sound as she and Keyshawn went back to Billy’s truck.

“Let’s get your truck, in case we need it. Then you follow me out to the Pollacks’,” she said. “We’ll hide the trucks and sneak in.”

He gave her an enthusiastic nod. “All right.”

“You sure you want to continue?”

“Hell, yes. Let’s finish this.”

She started the pickup and headed down the highway.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

R ance stood in his quiet study, glancing between the partially open blinds. Then he looked down at his phone.

He should’ve heard from Seth by now, or the man should have shown up. It had been long enough. Rance had tried his phone a couple of times, but no answer. He could understand if Seth was momentarily busy, but he would’ve called back. Seth was reliable, and he knew who was in charge. He knew what would happen if he screwed up.

Seth would never intentionally let that happen.

Rance glanced at the phone again. Burleson should’ve been in touch as well. He’d left him strict instructions to take care of Grady, once and for all. The deputy had become a detriment that Rance couldn’t afford anymore.

He’d thought he could trust Burleson. The man had wanted more to do, was eager to help. Rance glanced out the window, toward the big garage, thinking maybe he’d been wrong about the sheriff. Had he taken care of Grady, or had something gone wrong? That brought up a new worry. What if Burleson hadn’t taken out Jo Gunning, and she was still alive? Rance ran a hand through his hair, then dialed another number.

“Yeah?” Richie answered in a low voice.

“There may have been trouble at the drop site,” Rance said. “Have you heard from Seth?”

“No, sir. It’s been quiet out here.” Richie spoke in a rasp. He was a big man, and he smoked too much. But he was a born leader, and he could keep his brother under control.

“The woman, Jo Gunning, may be coming. Make sure Buddy and Ed are ready.”

“They are.” Richie swore. “If anybody did anything to Seth and Billy, they’ll pay.”

“I have no doubt.”

Rance ended the call, certain that Richie would keep his word. The Peterson family was loyal to a fault. You slighted one of them, you slighted them all.

He glanced at the credenza and the crystal decanter of whisky and the glasses. A drink sounded perfect right now, but he needed to stay sharp. He glanced out to the big garage again, thinking. Shirley and this other woman had caused so much damage. A bitter laugh escaped him, and then a noise came from behind. Rance whirled around as Leah stepped into the room.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.

He nodded. “You’re all right?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

He contemplated her. His wife, and her way of living, her values. The family name was everything to her. But there was more than just the family name; you didn’t cross Rance Pollack, period. He glanced to the desk, where a Smith & Wesson 9mm sat next to his laptop. If he had to, he’d take care of Jo Gunning and Shirley Flynn himself.

Her gaze followed his to the desk. “Rance?”

He looked at her. “Where’s Scarlett?”

Leah pointed behind her. “She’s upstairs.”

“Bring her in here. I need you both close.”

Her face fell. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” he muttered.

She gaped at him for so long that he snapped his fingers.

“Get her!”

Leah turned and left.

He raked a hand through his hair again. If Seth hadn’t gotten the money, then where was it? Rance sighed. He was going to have a lot to answer to, politicians who would want to know why he couldn’t finance the sawmill. Glancing out the window again, he tried to see through the darkness. The money was a far-off problem. If there was more attention drawn to him now, he didn’t know if he would live long enough to get to that point.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

J o drove through Greensville, her headlights cutting a wide path on Main Street. Keyshawn followed closely in his truck.

It was late for a small town, the moonlight hitting bare sidewalks, no one hanging out, not even kids looking for some fun. She drove by Cook Street and glanced to the Horse and Hound. Plenty of cars there at least, people oblivious to what had happened near the railroad building.

It didn’t take long to cross through town, and she continued east. Keyshawn had told her where to look for the dirt road to the Pollack property, but she still almost missed it. There was no sign, nothing to let you know someone lived out there. Probably the way the Pollacks wanted it.

She found another turnoff farther down the highway, slowed down, and parked. Keyshawn pulled in beside her. Jo shut off the headlights and let her eyes adjust to the darkness as she got out. Keyshawn joined her, his face drawn tight.

“Let’s go,” she said, wasting no time.

He nodded, and they ran back to the Pollacks’ road. For the first mile, they stuck to the edge, wanting to make fast progress. The stillness was almost deafening, and she wondered what was to come. A calm before all hell might break loose.

Keyshawn walked quietly next to her, anxiety emanating from him. She felt it as well. There was something about being out here, alone in the dark.

Vulnerable.

They walked on, now more cautiously, she with the M4 at the ready, the Glock in her waistband. Keyshawn raised his own Glock. The instinct to always be ready was with her, years of combat training kicking in. They moved into the trees without a sound and walked ahead. After a hundred more yards, the roof of a house came into view. She slowed hand moved forward in a crouch.

The Pollack house was as Grady had described, a big two-story silhouette in the middle of a clearing, a massive barn-like garage to the right. The light was on, illuminating a covered porch and a white front door. A couple of lights shone in the upstairs windows, and a fuzzy glow filled a window to the right of the door. A big Ford F-150 sat in the driveway in front of the house.

Jo and Keyshawn knelt down and peered all around. He waited while she assessed the house and grounds, thinking about what Grady had said.

“Someone to the left, someone to the right,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “A third person, maybe in the house. And possibly Hernandez.”

Keyshawn nodded.

“I’ll go left,” she said. “Can you handle the right? There’s probably somebody by the garage. If so, take them out, then cover the back of the house.”

“You got it.”

“I’ll clear the left side, then make my way to the front of the house and go in.”

“What if I don’t get anyone?” he whispered.

She shrugged. It was a chance they’d have to take. Keyshawn nodded at her and struck off through the trees. He was so quiet it was almost as if he wasn’t there. Jo hurried to the left, and had to risk crossing the road, but she reached the other side without incident. She crouched behind a tree and listened.

Grady had wondered about somebody being positioned on the hillside where they could look down on the house and road, so she crept straight west. The house loomed to her right, the garage quiet in the distance beyond it. Jo continued on, the land sloping. She trekked a hundred yards, then turned north and stole through the woods, camouflaged. The roof of the house was visible in the moonlight, and when she was parallel with it, she stopped. She couldn’t see the road; she was too far out. If someone was closer in, they’d be between her and the house. She covered ten yards, then crouched down, listened, and watched.

Hearing nothing, she crept forward. The night air was like a wet blanket around her, mosquitos buzzing. She got into a pattern. Move five yards, stop, listen. Move five yards, stop, listen.

The house drew closer, and then the road came into view. Jo stopped and stood absolutely still. The heat clawed at her, hot and uninviting.

Someone had to be around. What Grady had said made sense. But she didn’t see anyone. Then a popping sound pierced the silence, a small noise. To the untrained ear, it could’ve been anything. A car backfiring in the distance. A firecracker exploding. Except that none of that would be heard out here.

Hopefully Keyshawn wasn’t on the receiving end of that gunshot.

But at least the noise helped her. Up ahead and to her right, Jo saw the slightest movement. She trained her eye on that area. A moment later, it came again, and she saw the sole of a shoe or boot. Then she made out the shape of a man, legs attached to those shoes, and his backside. He was prone on the ground, resting on his elbows, holding a rifle.

The noise also forced Jo’s hand. Pollack, and whoever was protecting him, knew there was activity outside the house. With luck, Keyshawn had gotten one man, but that meant two more men could be out there. She had to act fast.

Jo stepped forward, and the man turned around, the rifle swinging her way.

“Drop it,” she whispered as she aimed the M4.

The man on the ground didn’t stop, raising the rifle as he let out a curse. Jo pulled the trigger. He jerked when the bullet hit, then lay still. Jo crept forward and rolled the body over. He was thin and blond. One of the Peterson cousins. Buddy. Lifeless eyes stared at her. He wouldn’t be a threat to anyone now.

She let her breathing even, then fixed her eyes on the house and inched forward, hiding in the trees.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

H ernandez was lying on the ground, just outside the clearing in front of the Pollack house. He had the Bushmaster rifle in front of him, and he squinted through a top-of-the-line thermal imaging scope at the window to the right of the front door. A light was on, the blinds closed. Bookshelves, a desk, and someone passing fleetingly by the window. But not where Hernandez could take a shot.

When he’d lost the woman chasing him, he’d raced to his rented sedan and ditched the truck. Then he’d driven east of town, where he left the sedan hidden on another dirt road. He’d hiked onto the Pollack property and found his position. Now, the house was forward and slightly to his left. It was silent, and he couldn’t tell who was inside or where they were. However, he’d already spotted one man at the edge of the garage. He appeared young, inexperienced. Moved too much, giving away his position. With the scope, he could make out part of the man’s body.

Hernandez thought about taking out the man, but he’d make noise in the process, if only momentarily. And if someone else was out there? He would be revealing his own position, potentially creating more problems for himself. Better to just eliminate Pollack when he could, then disappear.

Checking the window again, he saw no one. Best to wait. A long time ago, he’d been lost in the woods outside his town, all through the night. It’d been quiet and hot, like tonight. He’d been scared then, but he wasn’t now. Hernandez was used to the silence, so when a sliver of noise interrupted the stillness, he heard it. Movement behind him. He turned his head a few degrees at a time and saw it. A shadow stirring between the trees. He couldn’t tell if it was Jo Gunning or the man with her, the one he’d seen at the railroad house. Regardless, the person was quiet, barely making a sound.

Hernandez reached for the rifle, then paused. Would it be better to see how this played out? If it was Gunning, let her eliminate the man by the garage, and whoever else might be standing guard, thus removing any problems for him? And would any commotion bring Pollack into the open, an easy kill then? If so, Hernandez could disappear in the ensuing chaos. He decided to see what happened next.

As he looked through the scope again, the window was empty. A few minutes passed. Then he heard a single pop. He swung the scope and peered through it. At the corner of the garage, the man he’d seen was gone. Hernandez scanned with the scope, around the garage, then in the trees behind the buildings. Someone was down low, using them as cover.

He waited.

A moment later, another gunshot, to the left. He scanned with the scope and detected a figure with a slight build, but then it was gone. But two people were out there, he knew that now.

Another pop sounded, and a cry from behind the house. One like he’d heard before.

Somebody had been shot.

Who?

Looking back to the window, he cursed as he saw a large body, a man, move by the window and disappear. He’d lost his focus. Hernandez scowled as he watched for another chance.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

I t didn’t take Jo long to reach the edge of the clearing. She moved along the perimeter until she was directly across from the back side of the house. Then she stopped. She’d heard a cry and was worried. Had Keyshawn been hit? Regardless, the activity was at the back of the house, so she zigzagged across the yard to the corner. Pressing herself against the side of the house, she listened.

She thought she heard the rustle of clothes just inside the back door, but she couldn’t be sure. The porch was enclosed by a screen, so she couldn’t climb over the side. After a moment, she slithered along the side of the porch, the rifle raised. The night was eerily calm. As Jo moved along the porch, she heard two things.

One, Keyshawn in the yard. He was too much of a soldier to make much noise, but she heard a groan or two. He was in pain, but he was trying not to reveal his position, or hers.

Two, heavy breathing coming from just inside the screen door. The noise was a little raspy, like someone out of shape. Then she smelled cigarette smoke, faint at first, growing a little stronger as the man moved.

Richie.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t clandestine or particularly smart. Not trained in any way. He moved closer to the screen, trying for a better view. Jo held her breath. Richie pushed the screen door open, a rifle pointed in Keyshawn’s direction. She raised the M4.

“Drop the weapon,” she said in a hushed tone.

He startled, then jumped back into the house. She was on the move as he fired a shot where she’d just been. Jo pulled the trigger and put a bullet in Richie’s head. She had no choice. He never said a word, just jerked back and slumped to the floor right inside the door, the rifle at his side.

Jo crouched by the porch steps. No more shots came, and no one else appeared. No sign of Hernandez. Behind her, Keyshawn murmured.

“I got hit in the leg. It ain’t too bad. I made a tourniquet with my belt. I don’t think I can walk. I shot a Black guy by the garage.”

“Ed.” She looked around, then whispered, “I’m going in.”

“I’ll cover you.”

She wasn’t sure if others were around. Probably not. But Pollack was most likely in the house, and she was sure he’d be armed. And she didn’t know what he would do. Especially if he had Shirley in the house, Jo couldn’t wait.

With her rifle raised, she glanced back in the doorway. Quiet. She moved cautiously up the porch steps, then darted across the porch and pressed herself next to the door, where she could see Richie’s legs. Still no shots, so she peeked around the corner. The hallway was dark, with stairs to her left. The dead White man was propped against the door, blank eyes looking at the wall opposite. Keyshawn had crawled closer to the back porch steps, and he gave her a thumbs up. Jo edged into the hallway. Farther down, there was a long rectangular table against the wall. To the right, a doorway. Jo snuck over and peeked in.

An empty kitchen, and through there, another doorway to a dining room. Jo glanced down the front hall. To the left, a circular staircase, a large foyer with a chandelier, and the front door.

She moved through the kitchen toward the dining room entryway. A light glowed suddenly, illuminating a long table and six chairs. Jo hurried to the doorway and listened. A couple of footsteps sounded as she peeked around the corner. Light in the main hallway. Then a voice.

“Richie?” a man whispered. His voice held no trace of a Southern accent.

Rance Pollack.

“What’s going on?” Still whispering.

Steps eased down the hallway toward the back door. Jo crossed the dining room and paused just inside the doorway. Across the foyer was an open office door. She could see shelves with books. Sitting on a nearby couch was a petite woman with long brown hair and makeup, and a teenager with the same facial features and eyes. Scarlett. They both looked scared.

A single swear word echoed from the back of the house, and then footsteps rushed down the hall. As Pollack approached the office door, Jo saw a gun in his hand. She stepped out, her breathing fast and adrenaline high as she jammed the rifle into his back.

“Drop the gun.”

He didn’t waste words. His gun clattered to the floor, and she kicked it away.

“Don’t try anything or I’ll kill you,” she said.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

“R ance?” Leah called out, her voice shaking. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Jo pushed Pollack through the office door.

“Take it easy,” he said, his voice smooth and cultured, out of place in the situation.

When Leah saw him, then Jo, she leaped off the couch and ran to him. Scarlett let out a high-pitched scream. Jo scowled at the girl with hard eyes, and she clamped her mouth shut.

“Hands!” Jo yelled. “I need to see them!”

Scarlett’s hands shot up, and Leah raised hers as well. Her eyes burned with hatred as she stared back at Jo. Pollack turned slowly, inching his feet around, his palms facing her.

“Step away from her,” Jo ordered him.

He took a couple of steps forward, standing between her and Leah. Jo moved to the right of the door, where she quickly studied Pollack. He was a handsome man, with neatly trimmed dark hair, blue jeans, a button-down white shirt, and alligator-skin boots. Like Rhett Butler without the mustache. He stood near a large mahogany desk.

Jo swung the gun to Leah.

“Turn around.”

Leah stared at her.

“Now!” Jo snapped.

Leah did, and Jo saw a telltale bulge under her shirt. A handgun was tucked against the small of her back.

“Take the gun out and drop it slowly to the floor,” Jo said. “Be careful. I have an itchy trigger finger.”

Leah carefully pulled out the weapon, a .9 mm Carr—a good gun. Bending, she set it on the floor. In a flash, Jo stepped up and kicked it away. Then she moved back out of Leah’s range.

“Turn around, slowly put your hands in your pockets, and turn them inside out,” Jo said to her. “If you have a weapon, if you try anything at all, I’ll put a bullet in you.”

“No,” Scarlett gasped.

“I’m not armed,” Leah said.

Pollack’s face remained calm. “Do as she says, Darlin’,”

She carefully slid her hands into her pockets and turned them inside-out. Empty. Jo nodded at her again.

“Raise your pantlegs above the knees, slowly.”

Leah did so—no weapon in an ankle holster or anything tucked into her socks. Jo glanced at Scarlett.

“Now you.”

Scarlett looked shocked and appalled, but she stood up and did the same as Leah had. She had no weapons, either. Scarlett stood, shaking. Jo felt sorry for her, caught up in all of this. She turned back to Pollack.

“Who else is out there?”

“I’m assuming you ran into Buddy and Ed,” he said. “They’re dead?”

She nodded.

He frowned. “And I saw Richie in the doorway.” Still the smooth tone.

“I gave him a chance.”

“I have no more men out there,” he said.

Jo glanced to the window behind Leah. “What about Hernandez?”

Pollack cocked his head. “That man is another story. I don’t know what his instructions were.”

She held the rifle up. Her breathing had returned to normal, but she was ready for anything.

“Where’s Shirley Flynn?”

“I don’t know who you mean,” Pollack said.

“Daddy,” Scarlett started to say.

“Scarlett, stay out of this!” Leah’s nostrils flared.

Jo stared at Pollack. “What did you do to her? Is she alive?”

None of them said anything.

“I’ll find her.” Jo said, her voice strong. She gestured with the rifle at Pollack. “And if she’s dead, I’ll kill you.”

He kept his mouth shut. Jo listened, but heard nothing.

“Hernandez took a big bag with him,” she said. “Cartel money?”

The man didn’t reply, but his flickering eyes told her he was wondering how much she knew.

“I want some answers,” she said.

No response. He glanced at Leah, but she didn’t say anything, either. Scarlett remained quiet as well.

“You’re money-laundering, aren’t you?” Jo said.

Still nothing from Pollack. She went on.

“Everyone tells me you own most of this town. You control the real estate, you control the people. What do you do, jack up the rent on paper, then launder money that way?”

Pollack squinted at her, but his lips remained tight.

“And the new sawmill,” Jo said. “A project like that must cost millions of dollars. You do the same thing there, jack up the construction costs, and there you go. What other businesses do you own?”

His face was beginning to show rage, but Jo could tell he was worried, too.

“You think you have it all figured out,” he said, breaking the seal.

“Don’t tell her anything,” Leah cut in.

Jo kept putting pieces together.

“Merle didn’t commit suicide,” she said. “The coroner lied on the autopsy report. There was no gunshot residue on his hands, none on his temple. You covered it up. Did you pay the coroner, or did he owe you a favor?”

No answer.

“Why murder Merle? He screwed up, and you took him out?”

Pollack stared at her for the longest time, hatred like burning coals in his eyes. He glanced to his wife, and Jo saw something else there.

Pity.

Scarlett saw the look, and her mouth pinched in disgust as she stared at her mother. Something clicked for Jo. Scarlett talking at the reservoir, how her parents didn’t know everything and how Addison had gotten drugs. How her mother was so worried about the family reputation. And Addison’s autopsy.

“Daddy didn’t do it,” the girl whispered.

“Addison was pregnant,” Jo said. There it was. “The elevated HCG blood test. I saw it in the autopsy report. Merle was the father?”

“That’s not true.” Leah’s protest was feeble.

“She was dating him, and when she got pregnant, she wanted to marry him. But think what that would do to the family name.” Scarlett’s voice dripped with derision. “Merle was a poor kid, a criminal. There’s no way he could be welcomed into this family.”

Jo pointed at Leah. “You killed Merle.”

“How dare you say that,” Leah said.

“Who then?” Jo pressed.

“How could you?” Scarlett yelled at her mother.

“Addison should’ve never allowed herself to get pregnant by him,” the woman said, scorn spilling from her mouth. She put a hand to her lips when she realized what she’d said.

“What about Addison?” Jo asked. “She drowned the very next night.”

Scarlett glared at her mother with shock and fury. “Daddy went into town, and you found out Addison had gone to the reservoir, so you went after her.”

“I took care of the situation,” Leah said.

“What?” Pollack’s eyes widened. “You told me you were home that night.”

Leah’s face contorted. “It had to be done.”

His jaw dropped. “What do you mean?” He sounded furious—had he really had no idea? “Like you took care of the situation with Merle?”

“You killed Addison,” Scarlett said. “Oh my god, my own mother. Addison said you would never let them be together.”

Jo looked at Pollack. “It’s true?”

“I didn’t know about Addison,” he whispered. He looked at Leah. “If you would’ve just let me take care of things—”

“Merle would still be here,” she interrupted.

“Look what you caused,” he said. “The operation was exposed.”

“How did I know what Merle was doing up at the shack?” she said. “All I did was follow him. I didn’t know he would be up there.” She jabbed a finger at her husband. “And you said he shouldn’t have been there, that he was taking supply to sell it on the side.”

“You killed my sister,” Scarlett shrieked at her mother.

“No!” Leah’s voice choked. “You don’t understand. Addison was angry with me, and she drove out to the reservoir. She was drunk, and the coroner’s report said she was on drugs. They think she swam way out, and couldn’t get back.”

“Leah?” Pollack said. He shook his head at her, then moved toward his daughter.

Scarlett waved a hand at her mother. “Addison was too good a swimmer. Did you get her to take your Valium?”

Leah flew at her. “It’s not what you think.”

The sound came quick, a plunk through the window glass, and a gasp from Leah. She slumped forward and sank to the floor. A pool of blood formed on her back.

“No!” Pollack yelled.

He dropped to his knees. Scarlett screamed.

Jo’s instincts kicked in as fast as the bullet had come through the window. A sniper, outside. She yelled, “Down! Down! Down!” Her hand hit the switch by the door, killing the light. The room pitched into darkness, just thin spikes of moonlight seeping between cracks in the blinds. Pollack was on the floor, begging Leah to be okay. Scarlett was still screaming.

“Stop it!” Jo said. “Scarlett, get over by me. Stay down.”

The girl’s scream turned into a whimper, and she crawled over. Jo shielded her, then whispered to Pollack.

“Get over here.”

He was still by Leah, moaning. Jo reached out, grabbed his shirt, and yanked. He crawled over to her. She peeked out the door.

Quiet.

“Out the door,” she said in a low voice. “Stay down.”

Jo scrambled through the office door and into the hallway. She hit the switch and shut off the porch light, then squatted down. Pollack and Scarlett followed. Near the back door, she heard Keyshawn.

“I crawled in here,” he whispered. “The back of the house is clear.”

“Middle of the hall,” she said to Pollack and Scarlett. Keep it short, efficient.

They did as ordered, slinking to the center of the hall. Keyshawn made his way toward them. She looked in his face and could tell he was in pain, but he wasn’t giving up. He nodded at her.

“I’ve got these two.” He covered father and daughter with the Glock. “Get whoever it is.”

“It’s got to be Hernandez,” Pollack whispered. “The operation’s gone to hell. They’re not going to let me live.”

Jo stared at him. “If you want to stay alive, you do what Keyshawn says.”

Pollack nodded and put his arms around his daughter. Scarlett didn’t look scared—she looked too shocked for anything else to register on her face. She trembled, not making a sound.

“What’re you going to do?” Keyshawn whispered.

Jo glanced at the front door, then the back. She had a decision to make.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

H ernandez had been watching through the thermal imaging scope.

More people had come into Pollack’s office. Both were smaller in stature than the man, presumably his wife and daughter. But Hernandez hadn’t been able to take a clean shot. Then a lot of movement, and another person came in, presumably the woman, Jo Gunning. She was bigger than the wife and child, but not as big as Pollack. They were talking, maybe arguing. He didn’t care about her. He only needed to kill Pollack. But the wife stood between him and the window.

More talking. Then the daughter came into view. Hernandez watched, and finally Pollack moved a couple of feet away from his wife. Just enough.

Hernandez pulled the trigger.

Through the window, he saw the wife fall.

She’d moved so fast, stepped back in front of Pollack just as he’d taken his shot.

This was no good, no good at all. He had a job to do, and taking out Pollack’s wife was not it. The boss would not let this failure go unpunished. Hernandez had to get to Pollack to at least make some of it up.

Faint screams split the darkness, and then an eerie quiet settled over the property. The light in the window had gone out. Hernandez watched for movement, any sign that Jo or the man with her had moved to the front of the house.

Thinking about Jo Gunning, Hernandez shook his head. It had not been wise to let her go into the house. She was too good; he should have known that. But it was far past time to think about that now. He had to get rid of Pollack. And in the process, he would take care of Gunning, too.

When it had remained quiet for a minute, he crawled out of the trees and zigzagged to the corner of the house. The woman had entered through the back of the house, and she’d likely exit that same way.

He’d be waiting.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

J o stared at Richie’s body, propped against the wall near the back door. She had to go on the offensive, take out Hernandez, the final threat.

The man had been shooting from out front. The office window was on the north side of the house, and the way Leah had been hit indicated he’d fired from the northeast corner of the house. He likely knew that Leah had been hit, not Pollack, his target. But Pollack was out of sight, so Hernandez would have to find him, which meant his position would change. Where would he go?

She had to think like he would, but a step ahead. Her mind ran through scenarios in seconds.

Richie had been at the back of the house, and that was how Jo had entered. It would be logical for Hernandez to come through the back, but he might try to outthink her, conclude she’d go out the front now. But would he assume, as she would, that the front door was locked? That was why Richie had been positioned where he was, covering the back door. And Hernandez would choose that option.

He could try to fool Jo with his approach, run through the woods to the south side of the house, but he’d have to cross the drive, thus exposing his position. She didn’t think he’d risk that, and he had to be worried about the time it would take. He had to wonder if and when law enforcement would arrive. So he’d approach the quickest way, directly from his position on the northeast side of the house.

Jo nodded at Keyshawn, then bent low and hurried to the front door. She put her hand on the knob, hoping she’d made the correct assumptions. If not, she was dead. She quietly unlocked the door, turned the handle, and eased it open, peeking out.

It was quiet outside.

She crouched down, crossed the porch, and pushed open the screen door. Thankfully, the hinges didn’t squeak. Her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, and she heard only the occasional bug. Jo snuck her way to the corner of the house and scanned the back of the property. No movement.

But Hernandez was out there, and he had some kind of a rifle. Or an H & K sub-machine gun. Something good enough to have shot through the office window from a distance. She might not see him before a bullet arrived.

Jo clutched the M4 and tiptoed forward. She reached the back corner of the house, held her breath, and took a peek over the side of the porch. At first, nothing. Then a small sound on the steps.

His head appeared first, dark hair on the back of it. As Hernandez crawled up the steps, his shoulders came into view. A rifle was in his hands, aimed into the house.

She stood on tiptoe, not the best form. As she raised the M4, the stock off her shoulder, near her pectoral muscle, her index finger moved to the trigger. Jo held the handguard with her support hand, not too far out given how close she was to the porch wall. She closed her left eye and lined up both iron sights with her right.

Hernandez pushed himself up another inch, the rifle aimed.

She pressed the trigger with even, steady pressure.

The sound deafened her as Hernandez’s head exploded. His body went slack, his rifle useless.

The M4 ejected a spent shell casing as Jo swung around and checked her rear. No movement, no shots. She scrambled around the edge of the porch to the back steps. She nudged Hernandez just to be absolutely safe, but knew he was dead.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

J o snuck across the porch and pressed herself against the wall.

“Keyshawn?” she whispered.

“We’re safe,” he said, his voice calm. “You?”

“I’m okay.” She winced. “Hernandez is dead.”

Jo took a quick glimpse into the house. Keyshawn was leaning against the wall, his Glock trained on Pollack and Scarlett, who were crouched about five feet from him. Neither appeared to be a threat. Jo crouched low, stepped past Richie’s body, and moved into the hallway. She eyed Pollack.

“Shirley?”

Pollack stared at her, still defiant.

“Go ahead, shoot me,” he said. “I don’t care.”

She thought she might have to get forceful with him, but Scarlett gasped and lifted her chin.

“Mama was out in the garage earlier, and then Daddy went out with her,” she said.

Jo watched the man as his daughter talked. His eyes flickered.

“How do I get into the garage?” Jo asked.

Scarlett gave her a code. “That’ll open the big garage door,” she explained.

Her father’s glare wilted her. Jo aimed the M4 at Pollack’s head. Scarlett whimpered, and he didn’t seem swayed by the rifle. Jo narrowed her eyes.

“Anybody else in there?”

He shook his head, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. The clock in her head was ticking, but she didn’t know when help would arrive. She couldn’t wait. Keyshawn seemed to sense that.

“I’m okay here,” he said. “My leg’s not bleeding anymore. Find Shirley.” He stared at Pollack with something deeper, thicker than hatred. “She better be okay.”

Jo gave Keyshawn a curt nod, then backed to the door. She tiptoed off the porch, checked the side of the house, then stole across the clearing to the side of the garage.

A few feet from the corner, she saw another body. Ed, with a bullet in the back of his head. He would do her no harm now.

Jo stepped around the garage corner, up to the big door, and found the keypad. She punched in the numbers that Scarlett had given her, then stepped to the side as the door slid open. She held back and craned her ears to hear.

Silence.

Glancing inside, she saw that the garage was huge, with high rafters. She scanned above but didn’t see anybody waiting. Workbenches rested along two walls. Two ATVs and a couple of motorcycles sat nearest to her. Past them was a full-size white Chevy SUV. Jo squatted down and darted behind one of the motorcycles. She didn’t see anybody, so she moved around the ATVs and checked the back of the garage. She listened, then swooped around to the other side of the SUV.

The garage was empty, so she cautiously approached the vehicle and peeked in. The front was empty, but a prone body was sprawled across the back seat. Jo crouched near the door, then flicked the handle. The door swung open, and she aimed the rifle inside.

Shirley stared at her with frantic eyes. She twisted around, and then her eyes widened in recognition as she tried to speak through duct tape covering her mouth. Only a muffled sound came out. Her hands were secured behind her back with zip ties, and her feet were tied as well. She had a bruise under her left eye, but otherwise she looked okay.

“Anyone else around?” Jo whispered.

Shirley shook her head.

“Hang on.”

She used her knife and cut the zip ties from Shirley’s hands and feet. The woman sat up, and before Jo could do anything with the duct tape, she ripped it off her mouth in one quick motion.

“Ow!” she said, rubbing her face. “There wasn’t an easy way to do that, so might as well get it over with quick.”

Jo smiled. The woman still had her spunk. Jo put a gentle hand on her knee.

“Are you hurt?”

Shirley shook her head. “Sore, that’s all.”

“What happened?”

As Jo helped her out of the car, Shirley began to explain.

“I talked to Grady at the restaurant earlier today, and I told him I wasn’t going to give up. I thought he was the one behind all of this, and he wasn’t going to scare me off. He left, and he wasn’t happy. I went to Marion later on for supplies. Then I stopped back by the house, and I was taking some groceries inside when Leah showed up. She told me I needed to let things go, said how I was hurting her husband and family by asking questions about Merle.”

She rubbed her wrists and continued. “I told her no way in hell was I going to do that, and she went crazy. She was on me before I could do anything.” Shirley trembled at the memory. “She pulled out a gun, and of course I didn’t do anything. Then she hit me.” She put a hand to her cheek. “I stumbled, and she grabbed me and half dragged me out to her car.” Shaking her head, she gave Jo a rueful look. “This is one of those times where living in a small town didn’t help. No one saw us, I guess. She shoved me in the back seat and tied me up. Then she drove me out here.”

For the first time, her stoic demeanor vanished, and she choked up, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“I thought she was going to kill me. She was going on and on about how I didn’t understand things, that there was no way that Merle and Addison could be together. She got back here”—Shirley waved a hand around the garage—“and I thought she was going to shoot me, and then let Rance deal with me. But I heard her talking to Scarlett, and the next thing I knew, the garage door closed and I was all alone. I lay here for a while, and I tried to get the car door open, but I couldn’t. Eventually I ran out of energy.”

“It’s okay,” Jo said.

Again, she was struck by Shirley’s determination. Jo had often seen similar reactions in those facing danger. Sometimes something just kicked in, and people tapped into a reservoir of strength they didn’t know they possessed. She’d felt it herself on some operations—especially when Dack had been captured. She would’ve done anything to make sure he wasn’t killed.

Shirley nodded. “Rance came back with her a while later, and they were arguing. He told her they couldn’t do anything until the operation completed tonight, and when they knew that somebody named Hernandez had left town. Do you know who that is?”

“Yes,” Jo said. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

Shirley leaned against the side of the SUV and surveyed Jo, then gave her a slow nod of admiration.

“You took care of everything?” she asked.

“Keyshawn helped,” Jo said. She glanced over her shoulder. “And speaking of that, we need to get back to him.”

Shirley leaned against her, and together, they made their slow way to the back of the house.

“Should we call 911?” Shirley asked.

Jo shook her head. “Grady thought the sheriff from Marion might be involved in Pollack’s drug-dealing, so I called a department in Tuscaloosa. Hopefully they’ll be here soon.”

They went into the house, and Shirley quickly set aside her aches and pains to help with Keyshawn, while Jo guarded Pollack and his daughter. Minutes later, sirens sounded, and state patrol cars screeched to the front of the house. Jo met them outside.

It took time to clean up the situation. Scarlett was whisked away, Jo had no idea where to. A social worker would probably talk to her, as well as the police. Paramedics soon arrived and attended to Keyshawn, and he was put on a stretcher. Jo was answering questions on the front porch as he was rolled by, and he gave her a thumbs-up before being put into the ambulance. She smiled. Another team checked Shirley after he was driven away. She insisted she didn’t need to go to the hospital herself.

The questions continued. Jo didn’t want to get involved, but she couldn’t avoid it. She knew they’d check her record, knew if there was a trial she’d have to testify. They would determine her actions were warranted, she had little doubt of that. There were too many witnesses, too many people that would tell the story like it had happened. Rance Pollack would be in a lot of trouble. Jo wasn’t sure where the cops had taken him, and she didn’t care.

She told them what she’d found out about Merle Latham and Pollack, her actions since she’d come to town, and what little she knew about Hernandez. She wasn’t sure where he’d left the truck he’d stolen, or if he’d switched it with another vehicle, but she told the cops that he’d had a big bag of money with him. If they recovered it, that would put her in a good light.

Hours later, she sat on the front porch steps as the sun came up. The sky turned a hazy blue, with just a few thin lines of clouds etched low on the horizon. The heat intensified. She’d texted Dack that she was okay, and that she’d fill him in later. He must’ve been curious, but he’d known she was exhausted, so he told her to contact him when she was ready. Finally, Jo and Shirley were allowed to leave. A state trooper drove them to Shirley’s house, and then together they went on to Beverly’s.

The other woman was awake, working on her first cup of coffee. They told her what had happened, and worry about Keyshawn overrode her relief at seeing Shirley. Beverly followed them to the hospital in Marion, where her son had been patched up and was in recovery. She stayed at the hospital, and Shirley and Jo drove back to Greensville.

Wray Street felt unnaturally still as they parked in the carport. Shirley walked into the kitchen and immediately began picking up the spilled groceries. Jo started to help, but Shirley shooed her away.

“Clean yourself up and get some sleep.”

Jo studied her. “You need to sleep, too.”

“I will.” Shirley sighed. “I need a little time by myself.”

Jo nodded and left her alone. After taking a long shower, she went to the spare bedroom. She was tired and sore, but relieved. Sleep came quickly.

CHAPTER SIXTY

W hen Jo awoke, she knew she’d been asleep for hours. The air conditioner blew through the vent like a cool spring breeze, and voices drifted in from the other room. After tensing for a moment, she relaxed when she realized it was the television.

Dressing, she stepped out and into the living room. Shirley was sitting on the loveseat, staring at the TV, but Jo could tell she wasn’t really watching. The woman glanced up with a smile.

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

Jo took a seat beside her on the couch. “Really well. It’s a good thing I was safe. I don’t know if I would’ve realized if someone had come in.”

Shirley laughed. “I doubt that. You know what you’re doing.”

They sat for a minute, and the TV droned on. Jo glanced at the woman next to her.

“What about you? Are you all right?”

She nodded like a metronome, slowly, still seeming stunned by all the recent events. “I rested this morning, but I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been thinking about Merle all day. After all that happened, he’s still dead, but I know the truth. I wasn’t sure if that would make me feel better.”

Jo arched an eyebrow. “Does it?”

Shirley’s face softened, grew smoother almost. “Yes, it does. He wasn’t the kind of boy to kill himself. I knew that all along, and now I know the truth.” Without warning, she stood up. “Where are my manners? Would you like something to eat?”

“I would. But let me help you.”

That earned a smile from Shirley. “I’ll teach you some cooking skills.”

“Lead the way.”

Jo followed her into the kitchen, where she helped fix pork chops and gravy. As Shirley walked Jo through the steps, her phone rang twice.

“People have been calling all day,” she said. “Everybody wants to know what happened at the Pollack place.” She shrugged. “I haven’t been talking to anybody just yet, besides Pearl.”

“It’ll wait,” Jo said.

They sat down to eat, and when they finished, Shirley suggested they visit Keyshawn at the hospital. Jo agreed, and after cleaning up the dishes, they drove to Marion.

When they walked into the room, Keyshawn was propped up, his leg bandaged. Beverly was sitting on a chair beside the bed. Both smiled as the two women entered. The antiseptic smells hit Jo in the gut. She’d been in enough hospital rooms over the years, had seen too many soldiers hurt.

“How you doing?” Shirley asked.

“Just fine,” Beverly said. “They’ll keep Keyshawn overnight, but then he should be able to go home.”

“That’s great,” Jo said as she moved to the other side of the bed.

Beverly looked at her. “You doing okay?”

“Fine, thanks.”

It had been some time since someone had shown her much concern. Other than Dack. Jo wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

She let Shirley talk to Beverly and Keyshawn, and after a minute or so, she saw Shirley touch Beverly’s arm.

“Let’s give them a minute to talk.”

“Oh, right,” Beverly said.

She patted Keyshawn’s hand, then left the room with Shirley. Keyshawn surveyed Jo.

“You don’t look too bad.”

She nodded. “A little bruised, but I’ll survive. I’m glad you’re okay.”

And she would. She always did, somehow.

“Will you have to testify?”

Jo nodded. “I would imagine so. We’ll see what happens once Tuscaloosa finishes its investigation.” She glanced around. “Has someone interviewed you?”

“Yes,” he said. “I walked them through what I did, how we got to the Pollack house and assessed the risk. I had to go around the side of the garage, and I saw that guy, Ed. I told him not to move, but he didn’t listen. It was him or me.”

“I know.”

He was right. He didn’t have a choice, and neither had she. They’d done what they had to in order to stay alive, to help Shirley. That was enough.

He adjusted his leg. “I didn’t play the rest of it good, did I? Richie spotted me. It was a good shot.”

“Not that good, or you wouldn’t be here.”

He locked eyes with her. “Tell me your side of things.”

She did, keeping it succinct. When she finished, he was nodding slowly.

“I guess that’s it,” he said as Shirley and Beverly came back into the room.

They chatted for a few minutes longer before Jo and Shirley left. They rode in silence on the short drive back to the house, and when they stepped into the kitchen, Shirley pointed to the table.

“How about some ice cream? That always cheers me up.”

Jo nodded. “That sounds wonderful.”

The suggestion made her think of good memories with her mom and dad. Ice cream always seemed to make things better, a simple comfort.

They had a bowl of ice cream, and then they went to bed. Jo slept well again, and the next morning, Thursday, Shirley cooked breakfast before heading off to work at the restaurant. Jo had the house to herself, so she sat at the kitchen table and called Dack.

“How’re you doing?” he typed. As usual, she imagined his voice speaking to her. “I was glad to hear you’re okay.”

“It’s been a crazy couple of days.”

He studied her, as he typically did. Then he tipped his head.

“I may have to come back to Alabama for a trial,” she said.

“Oh?”

She told him everything, and he listened without interruption. When she finished, he gave her a look that contained no judgment, just assessing if she was okay.

“You discovered the truth about Shirley’s nephew. That’s a good thing.”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “You did what you had to do.”

“I suppose so.”

“They haven’t charged you with anything?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

He thought for a moment. “I doubt they will. You acted in self-defense, and your service record and accomplishments will be taken into account. And if need be, I can pull some strings.”

“Let’s see what happens.”

He rubbed his chin, then typed. “I wish you’d come work for me, in a legitimate capacity.”

“I’m trying to stay off the radar.” She gave him a rueful smile. “It just doesn’t seem to work out that way.”

He waited, not pushing anything. When she didn’t continue, he asked, “What’re you going to do now?”

“Go where no one knows me.”

“That sounds like a good plan, if you can keep it that way.”

She laughed at the jab, and they talked for a while longer, about everything and nothing. Jo ended the call, cheered up by the conversation, and went back into the bedroom. Shirley had left her some clothes that she’d bought in Marion. The woman was sweet—she must have remembered that Jo’s clothes were at the motel.

She changed into shorts and went for a jog, and when she returned, she spent the day reading a book that was lying on the coffee table, a thriller about the drug wars that she knew would fall flat against real-life experiences, or at least her recent ones. When Shirley returned from the restaurant, they had dinner, then went by the motel, where Jo squared up her bill and got her belongings from her room.

Jo stayed in Greensville a few more days, going in for more interviews with the Tuscaloosa state patrol and other investigators. She learned that Grady had been hospitalized, then sent to jail once he was in shape for it. Pollack had been arrested as well. His daughter, Scarlett, was staying with relatives.

It appeared that what Dack had said was true. Jo wasn’t being charged with anything, and her military experience and record spoke in her favor. A week later, when she was finally allowed to leave, Shirley drove her south to Fairhope, near Mobile, where Jo had a reservation at a small cottage on the beach.

On the way there, Shirley brought up something she’d said when they’d first talked.

“I promised to pay you if you found out what happened to Merle.”

Jo stared out the windshield and shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t owe me anything.”

She also knew Shirley needed to hang onto her money. Jo had savings, and she didn’t need to take anything. She’d been living frugally since she’d left Civil Affairs, and she wasn’t looking for much.

“I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life.”

Jo smiled. “That’s enough.”

They drove on, and when they arrived in Fairhope, Shirley parked in front of the cottage and looked at Jo.

“How long are you going to be here?”

Jo stared at the blue waters of Mobile Bay, the water ebbing gently, an abyss that didn’t ask questions or want anything. She rolled down the window and breathed in the salty, soothing air. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, other than rest.

“I’m not ready for a Colorado winter just yet. I’ll see what happens next.”

Shirley pursed her lips. “You’ve earned that.”

Jo turned to her. “What about you? What are you going to do?”

“I’ve been giving that thought. Now that Rance Pollack doesn’t control the town, I might stick around for a while.” She grinned. “I’m kind of like you—I’m not ready for those Montana winters just yet.”

Jo laughed. “Fair enough.” She got out of the car and thanked Shirley for letting her stay with her—for everything.

“Not at all,” Shirley said. “If you get lonely down here, give me a call.”

With a nod, Jo shut the door. She watched as the old Nissan drove away, and then she went into the cottage to check in.

She ended up staying in Fairhope for a month, even taking Shirley up on her offer and visiting a couple of times, but mostly Jo explored the area, spent time on the beach, spent time not thinking.

One morning, she was walking along the shore when her phone rang. Dack was calling.

“How’re you?” She caught herself almost talking in a Southern accent.

He didn’t smile, and his eyebrows were knitted tight.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Dack told her, then said, “I know I shouldn’t be asking, but I need your help.”

She sucked in a breath. He wouldn’t be asking unless it was something big, possibly dangerous. But he cared too much to pull her into something without asking first.

The look on his face was enough. She didn’t hesitate.

“Tell me what you need.”

Are you ready for a new Jo adventure?

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GUNNING FOR HIRE

CHAPTER ONE

Ellen Holmes stood near her bedroom window, staring into the darkness.

In the distance, she could see the lights of Hermosillo, Mexico, the capital of the northwestern state of Sonora. Ellen admitted to herself that the city lights were beautiful, but she wondered what darkness and despair they hid. Hermosillo was safer than a lot of other places in Mexico, but it had its fair share of problems.

She sipped some chamomile tea and sighed. This was not where she wanted to be, where she expected to be. She should’ve been on the estate, outside Nashville, Tennessee. It was spectacular there this time of year, the late September trees just about to turn, the air crisp and clean. Plenty of things to do, like the music festivals she was missing. Not like here. Sure, Hermosillo had its share of entertainment, the Assumption Cathedral and an art museum, a small mall. But once you’d visited those places, there wasn’t much else to do. They had sports teams, but not like the plethora of professional teams throughout the United States. And she didn’t like sports much anyway.

The lights twinkled in the distance as she ruminated. They’d had to come here, for Chandler’s new business. She understood it was important, but as she’d said to him time and time again, how much money did they really need? They had plenty. They lived well. But Chandler had wanted more. Always the next conquest, always the pursuit of power.

She’d argued against coming here, had told Chandler it would be better for her and the boys to stay in Tennessee. But he’d insisted they come, said that life would be too lonely without them, and that he couldn’t make regular trips back and forth. She frowned, knowing there was more behind his reasoning than just that.

He didn’t trust her.

She couldn’t blame him. He shouldn’t trust her, although not for the reasons he might think. She sipped more tea, the silent room almost deafening around her. She didn’t think he knew what she was doing. He’d be furious if he did. But she couldn’t stand on the side, couldn’t let things proceed.

They’d argued about the consequences of this new business venture, many times. Chandler insisted that everything would be okay, that the Mexican government wouldn’t let anything bad happen. She snorted at the thought. Like the Mexican government would really do anything; certainly not to the cartels. And she was sure the cartels were involved, in some way. They were known to be diversifying, getting into the iron ore trade, and mining. So it would be for this, too.

The lights glimmered, and so did her thoughts.

Wherever the cartels were, so was the danger. If they were involved in Chandler’s business, innocent people would get hurt, just like the residents of Allende, Coahuila, who were collateral damage of a DEA operation that went wrong. She shook her head. And so many dangers beyond the cartels. There could be not only property theft, but kidnappings and extortion. She shuddered at the thought of what could happen to their boys. And anything bad that might happen to them—just like in Allende—would get brushed under the carpet. No one would care. A dark thought hit her. Would Chandler care?

More brooding as she nursed the tea. He’d said everything would be okay, that they would be safe. But if that was the case, then why did he want them to spend so much time at the rented compound in Hermosillo, to not go out except under guarded supervision? It didn’t make sense, but she knew her arguing had been futile. And here she was, in this beautiful home on the outskirts of the city. She had several bedrooms and bathrooms at her disposal—not that they had visitors—a huge family room that looked onto a large back yard with a swimming pool and garden, and a game room for the boys. As in Tennessee, they had a cook and housekeeper, and a nanny here. She only had to snap her fingers to get anything she wanted. But she felt like a prisoner.

She tapped a finger on her mug. The supervision had made it hard to set up the meeting that she would go to tomorrow, but she’d managed to arrange it. She’d be driven to a doctor’s appointment, and a bodyguard would accompany her into the building, but the driver and bodyguard wouldn’t go inside the examination room. That would be embarrassing, not only for her, but for them, too. Some lines you didn’t cross. But that would give her an opportunity. That’s where she would meet her contact, where she would put the wheels of her plan in motion. It hadn’t cost that much to bribe the doctor, to buy his cooperation, and silence.

A small smile crept across her face. Chandler was too busy to pay much attention to a routine appointment. She was sure he didn’t know anything, and she would explain things to him when it became necessary. He would not be happy with her, but he would get over it. She could get him to understand. This wasn’t just for her, it was for their boys, for all the innocent people, caught up in something they never asked for, that they had no knowledge of.

She closed her eyes and tried to picture Tennessee. Better times. Then she finished the tea still looking in the distance. The house stayed quiet, the boys in bed. Chandler was out at a meeting. She didn’t know with who, but she knew what about. This business, that would bring them so much money, and a lot of problems, too. But not for much longer.

She lingered at the window, her tea almost gone. Then she felt something in her stomach, a tightening that was more than nerves. She set the cup on a small table and put a hand across her waist, willing a sudden pain to go away. A wave of nausea hit her, and she stumbled, almost knocking over the table. She ran into the bathroom, didn’t even get the light turned on. She threw up the tea and hovered over the toilet. Another spasm, and she retched again. Her body shook as she knelt. She drew in deep breaths, then finally staggered back into the bedroom. Dizziness washed over her, and she laid down on the bed. Another stabbing pain hit her, and she groaned.

What was happening?

She couldn’t be sick now, not with the meeting tomorrow. She closed her eyes and hoped again the pain would go away.

Please, not now.

CHAPTER TWO

When Jo Gunning walked into the Marriott Tucson Downtown, she didn’t pay attention to the unique artwork and sculptures around the lobby; instead, she noticed the people. Two women conversed at a couch near the door, and a lone man sipped a drink in a lounge area. None seemed to notice her. The front desk clerk, a woman with long black hair, was typing at a computer behind a counter. Jo crossed the lobby to a bank of elevators and pressed the Up button, keeping an eye on her surroundings. The women remained at the table, the man in the lounge.

When the elevator doors opened, Jo pressed three, got off on the third floor, and walked down the hall to a stairwell. She opened the door and stood on the landing, and when no one followed her, she climbed to the seventh floor. She eased that door open and peeked out. The hallway was empty, so she stepped out and hurried past the elevators and around a corner, then knocked lightly on a door at the end of the hall. It opened a moment later to reveal a man with a tanned face and closely cropped brown hair. He didn’t say anything, just stepped back as she slipped inside. He scanned the hallway, then quickly shut and locked the door. He surveyed her, his blue eyes sparkling. He gave her a quick nod, then led her into the suite. Outside large windows, the Tucson sun was setting, orange against a stark blue sky. The room was still, no TV on, no music. He sat down at a couch and gestured for her to take a chair across from him. Then he picked up a laptop, rested it on his lap, and began to type. The text-to-voice software translated what he said.

“It’s good to see you, Jo. You look good.”

The electronic voice came through the laptop speaker, but Jo imagined hearing his tenor voice. She quickly forgot that he was typing and it seemed as if they were carrying on a normal conversation.

“So do you, Dack,” she said. “The private security business has treated you well.”

She’d known Dack Pendleton since their military days, when she’d been a team leader with Civil Affairs, and he’d been part of a secretive Special Operations Force. He was smarter than anybody she knew, and he could handle himself in any situation. At least until their last mission, where the intelligence she’d gathered had led to a failed operation. In the ensuing fighting, Dack had been captured and tortured. Before another team had rescued him, enemy insurgents had cut out his tongue. Jo always blamed herself for that incident, but Dack never did. They’d remained friends throughout his convalescence, and they remained friends after they’d both left the military.

“Any problems getting here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “The flight from Mobile was fine, and no one followed me.”

“Good. You want a drink?”

“No, thanks. Let’s get to it.”

He nodded appreciatively, then pointed at a tablet on the table between them. “I’ll go over why I want your help, and you can decide what you want to do.”

As Jo picked it the tablet, he began typing, and the electronic voiced filled the room.

“The man you see on your screen is Chandler Hewitt Holmes. He’s a multimillionaire, and he owns a 300-acre estate outside Nashville, Tennessee.”

Jo studied Holmes’s picture. He had wavy blond hair that fell around his ears, hazel eyes, a thin nose, and a square jaw. Underneath his picture was further description: his height six-foot-one, weight 180. He was forty-seven years old, born in California and raised in Texas. He was married, with two boys, who were ten and eight respectively, fifth and third grade.

“Chandler reached out to me a week ago to discuss my firm providing additional security for him and his two sons,” Dack said.

She arched an eyebrow. “That sounds standard for you, working with politicians and wealthy people in the private sector. And even a few Hollywood stars.”

He typed. “There’s something different about this situation. That’s why I called you.”

Two days before, Dack had called Jo while she was in Mobile, Alabama. After helping a woman in need in Greensville, a small town south of Tuscaloosa, Jo had spent a couple of months on the coast, wanting nothing more than peace and quiet. That ended when Dack contacted her. He stared at her for a moment, his fingers motionless on the keyboard.

“Why does Holmes need protection?” she asked.

Dack twisted his lips and then typed.

“Holmes is spearheading a new operation in Mexico; lithium mining. How much do you know about lithium?”

She shrugged. “We need lithium for a lot of things, don’t we? It’s essential for electric cars and batteries.”

Dack nodded. “And also for portable electronic devices; cell phones and computers. The demand for lithium is increasing at a rapid rate, so there are a lot of opportunities to make money. There are a little over a dozen places around the world where you can mine for lithium, and the Sonora region in Mexico has the ninth largest identified lithium resources in the world, and area almost one-and-a-half times the size of England. Holmes owns his own company, CHH, which is in partnership with a German company – Abbott Weltweit, or Abbott Global – to mine the lithium. However, there are growing concerns on what the future holds for their business because of the Mexican government has nationalized lithium mining, making it a public utility. The situation’s convoluted, and no one is sure exactly what will happen next. Will the private companies, including CHH, and others be allowed to move forward with exploration and mining? Will they be required to work with the Mexican government? On top of that, you have the cartels, who may see lithium mining as another revenue stream. There’s potentially billions to be made with lithium mining in Mexico, and a lot of avenues for corruption.” He glanced up to make sure Jo was following. “Holmes and his family have been in Hermosillo, a city of just under a million people. It’s in the heart of the Sonora state, in a region run by the Sinaloa cartel.”

“Why would you bring your wife and kids there?” Jo mused.

Dack shrugged. “Holmes said he couldn’t bear the thought of being without them for long periods of time. He’s rented a large compound with a mansion, and he had security there.”

Jo glanced at the tablet, then back at Dack. “Apparently not enough security, if he’s coming to you.”

“Right. I asked Holmes about that, and he said that as his business endeavors have gotten more complicated, he felt like it was getting more dangerous in Hermosillo. I asked why he came to me, and he said he’d heard about my agency through some of his connections with politicians in DC, and that he wanted someone he could trust.”

She studied him. “You don’t believe that?”

It took him a moment to reply. “It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

He tipped his head toward the tablet. “Read on.”

She swiped the screen to another page, which showed Ellen Holmes. She was forty years old, born in Dallas, graduated from the University of Texas. She had full lips, a delicate nose, high cheekbones, and soft blue eyes. Jo noticed another date on her file.

“Ellen passed away recently.”

Dack nodded. “Chandler didn’t say a lot about that.”

Jo stared at the screen. He was holding back, and that wasn’t like him. She set the tablet aside and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Talk to me.”

He frowned. “There’s something about him that I don’t trust, the way he carried himself and how he talked about his business dealings and his need for extra security, like he was shading the truth. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what, though.” He thought for a second. “On the surface, he could be getting more worried about living in Mexico. I did a thorough background check, and the although there’s no outright criminal activity, it would appear he’s had some questionable business dealings, with money passing to offshore companies.” He laughed wryly. “It’s not like I haven’t seen that in other clients …” He stopped typing.

“Why don’t you turn him down?”

Dack’s face darkened. “I wish it was as simple as that.”

She studied him, saw something in his eyes that she normally didn’t.

Worry.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

It took him another moment to respond. “Believe me, I did think about turning him down, but then I was approached by an agency on our side.” He stopped typing and waved a hand. “I won’t tell you which one. The less you know the better. But they knew about my conversations with Holmes, and they said it would be in my best interest to work with him.”

Jo swore softly. “And let me guess, if you don’t help, there’ll be consequences for you.”

He nodded. “I don’t think they’d come after me personally, but they’d certainly do damage to my business.”

“They’ll try to ruin you.”

“Yes.”

She ran a hand over her face. “They should just send their own people.”

He shook his head. “You know how it goes. They don’t want to get their hands dirty, or let Chandler know what they know.”

“Why not go yourself?”

“I have my business to run, and the agency wants me here.”

“So you send someone else down there, and you monitor the situation.”

“Yes.” His hands hovered over the keyboard. “Which brings me to you. I don’t know if anyone’s talked to any of my staff, if they could be compromised. As much as I’d like to think I can trust all my employees, you never know.” He looked up at her, his eyes tight. “I can trust you, Jo.”

“Of course you can.”

Her stomach muscles tensed as she met his gaze. She’d been without commitments since she’d left the military, and if she decided to help him, that would change in a second. However, it didn’t take her long to know what she would do.

“I’ll go.”

“I knew I could count on you.” She smiled, and he went on. “As you can imagine, there’s a lot of interest within our government about something as important as lithium mining, and some important players don’t trust CHH or Holmes. They have concerns about who he’s working with, including any potential cartel involvement. The agency wants to know what he’s up to, what deals he might be making, and if he’s covering up anything. You’re great at intelligence gathering, and I need all those skills now. We need to know if there’s anything suspicious with Holmes.”

She eyed him again. “And?”

“The agency isn’t sure what happened to Ellen. They suspect foul play.”

“And I’m supposed to verify that?”

“Yes.”

“What does Holmes think?”

Dack frowned as he typed. “He said the police investigated and said she had a heart attack, but I don’t know if he was telling me everything.”

She let out a breath slowly. “You’re really suspicious of him.”

“Yes.”

“Does Chandler have enemies?”

“He says he doesn’t, but given his business associates, who know?” He went on. “There’s always the possibility of extortion and kidnapping of those involved with the mining business. That includes Chandler and his two boys. But he doesn’t want a large security detail, just one person. I told him I’d send the best. You’ll stay at his compound in Hermosillo, and you’ll primarily be there to protect his two sons, Paul and Landon, when they leave the compound. My understanding is that’s not often.” He nodded at the laptop again. “Flip the page.”

Jo picked up the tablet again and studied the file on the two boys. Both had their father’s wavy blond hair, but both of their faces looked more like their mother.

“Cute kids,” she said.

“From what I understand, they’re smart, well-mannered. They have a nanny, Guadalupe Martinez, who worked for them in Tennessee, and she’s with the family in Hermosillo.”

“Who’s been providing their security up to this point?”

“Someone else on Holmes’s staff.”

Jo looked up from the tablet. “So, along with watching the kids, I’m to find out what else is going on with Holmes, and if Ellen was murdered. Anything else?”

“That’s it.”

“Will I have any backup?”

He frowned. “I have a few resources down there, but again, I’m not sure I trust them. Not only could the agency here be using them against me, but the Mexican government or a cartel could compromise them as well. At this point, I’m not sure, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“Understood. I can work on my own.”

She looked down at the tablet, at the two boys. She wondered what it was like for them, being away from Tennessee, and what they had known there. And then to lose their mother …

“I don’t know how long I’ll need you,” he said.

It was a not-so-subtle reference to Jo’s journey up to that point. She’d planned to head to Colorado. When she was still in the military, she’d purchased a small mountain cabin in Salida. She hadn’t been there in years, but had wanted a quiet place for retirement, where no one would know her or bother her. But her father and sister would be there, and she wasn’t ready to see them yet, to address the painful rift that stretched between them.

She looked up at Dack. “What else do I need to know?”

“Good.” He got down to business. “You have a room here at the hotel. Holmes will send a car for you in the morning, and you’ll fly with him to Hermosillo.”

He spent the next few hours prepping her for the job, and they used satellite imaging to scope out the Holmes compound. By the time they finished, Jo was as prepared as she could be.

Would it be enough?

When Jo Gunning walked into the Marriott Tucson Downtown, she didn’t pay attention to the unique artwork and sculptures around the lobby; instead, she noticed the people. Two women conversed at a couch near the door, and a lone man sipped a drink in a lounge area. None seemed to notice her. The front desk clerk, a woman with long black hair, was typing at a computer behind a counter. Jo crossed the lobby to a bank of elevators and pressed the Up button, keeping an eye on her surroundings. The women remained at the table, the man in the lounge.

When the elevator doors opened, Jo pressed three, got off on the third floor, and walked down the hall to a stairwell. She opened the door and stood on the landing, and when no one followed her, she climbed to the seventh floor. She eased that door open and peeked out. The hallway was empty, so she stepped out and hurried past the elevators and around a corner, then knocked lightly on a door at the end of the hall. It opened a moment later to reveal a man with a tanned face and closely cropped brown hair. He didn’t say anything, just stepped back as she slipped inside. He scanned the hallway, then quickly shut and locked the door. He surveyed her, his blue eyes sparkling. He gave her a quick nod, then led her into the suite. Outside large windows, the Tucson sun was setting, orange against a stark blue sky. The room was still, no TV on, no music. He sat down at a couch and gestured for her to take a chair across from him. Then he picked up a laptop, rested it on his lap, and began to type. The text-to-voice software translated what he said.

“It’s good to see you, Jo. You look good.”

The electronic voice came through the laptop speaker, but Jo imagined hearing his tenor voice. She quickly forgot that he was typing and it seemed as if they were carrying on a normal conversation.

“So do you, Dack,” she said. “The private security business has treated you well.”

She’d known Dack Pendleton since their military days, when she’d been a team leader with Civil Affairs, and he’d been part of a secretive Special Operations Force. He was smarter than anybody she knew, and he could handle himself in any situation. At least until their last mission, where the intelligence she’d gathered had led to a failed operation. In the ensuing fighting, Dack had been captured and tortured. Before another team had rescued him, enemy insurgents had cut out his tongue. Jo always blamed herself for that incident, but Dack never did. They’d remained friends throughout his convalescence, and they remained friends after they’d both left the military.

“Any problems getting here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “The flight from Mobile was fine, and no one followed me.”

“Good. You want a drink?”

“No, thanks. Let’s get to it.”

He nodded appreciatively, then pointed at a tablet on the table between them. “I’ll go over why I want your help, and you can decide what you want to do.”

As Jo picked it the tablet, he began typing, and the electronic voiced filled the room.

“The man you see on your screen is Chandler Hewitt Holmes. He’s a multimillionaire, and he owns a 300-acre estate outside Nashville, Tennessee.”

Jo studied Holmes’s picture. He had wavy blond hair that fell around his ears, hazel eyes, a thin nose, and a square jaw. Underneath his picture was further description: his height six-foot-one, weight 180. He was forty-seven years old, born in California and raised in Texas. He was married, with two boys, who were ten and eight respectively, fifth and third grade.

“Chandler reached out to me a week ago to discuss my firm providing additional security for him and his two sons,” Dack said.

She arched an eyebrow. “That sounds standard for you, working with politicians and wealthy people in the private sector. And even a few Hollywood stars.”

He typed. “There’s something different about this situation. That’s why I called you.”

Two days before, Dack had called Jo while she was in Mobile, Alabama. After helping a woman in need in Greensville, a small town south of Tuscaloosa, Jo had spent a couple of months on the coast, wanting nothing more than peace and quiet. That ended when Dack contacted her. He stared at her for a moment, his fingers motionless on the keyboard.

“Why does Holmes need protection?” she asked.

Dack twisted his lips and then typed.

“Holmes is spearheading a new operation in Mexico; lithium mining. How much do you know about lithium?”

She shrugged. “We need lithium for a lot of things, don’t we? It’s essential for electric cars and batteries.”

Dack nodded. “And also for portable electronic devices; cell phones and computers. The demand for lithium is increasing at a rapid rate, so there are a lot of opportunities to make money. There are a little over a dozen places around the world where you can mine for lithium, and the Sonora region in Mexico has the ninth largest identified lithium resources in the world, and area almost one-and-a-half times the size of England. Holmes owns his own company, CHH, which is in partnership with a German company – Abbott Weltweit, or Abbott Global – to mine the lithium. However, there are growing concerns on what the future holds for their business because of the Mexican government has nationalized lithium mining, making it a public utility. The situation’s convoluted, and no one is sure exactly what will happen next. Will the private companies, including CHH, and others be allowed to move forward with exploration and mining? Will they be required to work with the Mexican government? On top of that, you have the cartels, who may see lithium mining as another revenue stream. There’s potentially billions to be made with lithium mining in Mexico, and a lot of avenues for corruption.” He glanced up to make sure Jo was following. “Holmes and his family have been in Hermosillo, a city of just under a million people. It’s in the heart of the Sonora state, in a region run by the Sinaloa cartel.”

“Why would you bring your wife and kids there?” Jo mused.

Dack shrugged. “Holmes said he couldn’t bear the thought of being without them for long periods of time. He’s rented a large compound with a mansion, and he had security there.”

Jo glanced at the tablet, then back at Dack. “Apparently not enough security, if he’s coming to you.”

“Right. I asked Holmes about that, and he said that as his business endeavors have gotten more complicated, he felt like it was getting more dangerous in Hermosillo. I asked why he came to me, and he said he’d heard about my agency through some of his connections with politicians in DC, and that he wanted someone he could trust.”

She studied him. “You don’t believe that?”

It took him a moment to reply. “It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

He tipped his head toward the tablet. “Read on.”

She swiped the screen to another page, which showed Ellen Holmes. She was forty years old, born in Dallas, graduated from the University of Texas. She had full lips, a delicate nose, high cheekbones, and soft blue eyes. Jo noticed another date on her file.

“Ellen passed away recently.”

Dack nodded. “Chandler didn’t say a lot about that.”

Jo stared at the screen. He was holding back, and that wasn’t like him. She set the tablet aside and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Talk to me.”

He frowned. “There’s something about him that I don’t trust, the way he carried himself and how he talked about his business dealings and his need for extra security, like he was shading the truth. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what, though.” He thought for a second. “On the surface, he could be getting more worried about living in Mexico. I did a thorough background check, and the although there’s no outright criminal activity, it would appear he’s had some questionable business dealings, with money passing to offshore companies.” He laughed wryly. “It’s not like I haven’t seen that in other clients …” He stopped typing.

“Why don’t you turn him down?”

Dack’s face darkened. “I wish it was as simple as that.”

She studied him, saw something in his eyes that she normally didn’t.

Worry.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

It took him another moment to respond. “Believe me, I did think about turning him down, but then I was approached by an agency on our side.” He stopped typing and waved a hand. “I won’t tell you which one. The less you know the better. But they knew about my conversations with Holmes, and they said it would be in my best interest to work with him.”

Jo swore softly. “And let me guess, if you don’t help, there’ll be consequences for you.”

He nodded. “I don’t think they’d come after me personally, but they’d certainly do damage to my business.”

“They’ll try to ruin you.”

“Yes.”

She ran a hand over her face. “They should just send their own people.”

He shook his head. “You know how it goes. They don’t want to get their hands dirty, or let Chandler know what they know.”

“Why not go yourself?”

“I have my business to run, and the agency wants me here.”

“So you send someone else down there, and you monitor the situation.”

“Yes.” His hands hovered over the keyboard. “Which brings me to you. I don’t know if anyone’s talked to any of my staff, if they could be compromised. As much as I’d like to think I can trust all my employees, you never know.” He looked up at her, his eyes tight. “I can trust you, Jo.”

“Of course you can.”

Her stomach muscles tensed as she met his gaze. She’d been without commitments since she’d left the military, and if she decided to help him, that would change in a second. However, it didn’t take her long to know what she would do.

“I’ll go.”

“I knew I could count on you.” She smiled, and he went on. “As you can imagine, there’s a lot of interest within our government about something as important as lithium mining, and some important players don’t trust CHH or Holmes. They have concerns about who he’s working with, including any potential cartel involvement. The agency wants to know what he’s up to, what deals he might be making, and if he’s covering up anything. You’re great at intelligence gathering, and I need all those skills now. We need to know if there’s anything suspicious with Holmes.”

She eyed him again. “And?”

“The agency isn’t sure what happened to Ellen. They suspect foul play.”

“And I’m supposed to verify that?”

“Yes.”

“What does Holmes think?”

Dack frowned as he typed. “He said the police investigated and said she had a heart attack, but I don’t know if he was telling me everything.”

She let out a breath slowly. “You’re really suspicious of him.”

“Yes.”

“Does Chandler have enemies?”

“He says he doesn’t, but given his business associates, who know?” He went on. “There’s always the possibility of extortion and kidnapping of those involved with the mining business. That includes Chandler and his two boys. But he doesn’t want a large security detail, just one person. I told him I’d send the best. You’ll stay at his compound in Hermosillo, and you’ll primarily be there to protect his two sons, Paul and Landon, when they leave the compound. My understanding is that’s not often.” He nodded at the laptop again. “Flip the page.”

Jo picked up the tablet again and studied the file on the two boys. Both had their father’s wavy blond hair, but both of their faces looked more like their mother.

“Cute kids,” she said.

“From what I understand, they’re smart, well-mannered. They have a nanny, Guadalupe Martinez, who worked for them in Tennessee, and she’s with the family in Hermosillo.”

“Who’s been providing their security up to this point?”

“Someone else on Holmes’s staff.”

Jo looked up from the tablet. “So, along with watching the kids, I’m to find out what else is going on with Holmes, and if Ellen was murdered. Anything else?”

“That’s it.”

“Will I have any backup?”

He frowned. “I have a few resources down there, but again, I’m not sure I trust them. Not only could the agency here be using them against me, but the Mexican government or a cartel could compromise them as well. At this point, I’m not sure, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“Understood. I can work on my own.”

She looked down at the tablet, at the two boys. She wondered what it was like for them, being away from Tennessee, and what they had known there. And then to lose their mother …

“I don’t know how long I’ll need you,” he said.

It was a not-so-subtle reference to Jo’s journey up to that point. She’d planned to head to Colorado. When she was still in the military, she’d purchased a small mountain cabin in Salida. She hadn’t been there in years, but had wanted a quiet place for retirement, where no one would know her or bother her. But her father and sister would be there, and she wasn’t ready to see them yet, to address the painful rift that stretched between them.

She looked up at Dack. “What else do I need to know?”

“Good.” He got down to business. “You have a room here at the hotel. Holmes will send a car for you in the morning, and you’ll fly with him to Hermosillo.”

He spent the next few hours prepping her for the job, and they used satellite imaging to scope out the Holmes compound. By the time they finished, Jo was as prepared as she could be.

Would it be enough?

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FROM THE AUTHOR

Dear Reader,

If you enjoyed Gunning for Truth, would you please write an honest review?

You have no idea how much it warms my heart to get a new review.

And this isn't just for me. Think of all the people out there who need reviews to make decisions, and you would be helping them.

You are awesome for doing so, and I am grateful to you!

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Higgins and Colonel Randy Powers, retired, Chief Deputy.

Again, my thanks to Don Calvano, former U.S. Army Cav Scout/SWAT Operator/Detective. He has been very helpful, and any mistakes regarding the military and weapons are mine alone.

If I’ve forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.

To all my beta readers: I am in your debt!

Dianne Biscoe, Tracy Gestewitz, Sheree Ito, Becky Neilsen, Fritzi Redgrave, Peg Smith, Albert Stevens, Joyce Stumpff, Marlene Van Matre

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Renée's early career as a counselor gives her a unique ability to write characters with depth and personality, and she now works as a business analyst. She lives in the mountains west of Denver, Colorado and enjoys hiking, cycling, and reading when she's not busy writing her next novel.

Renée loves to travel and has visited numerous countries around the world. She has also spent many summer days at her parents' cabin in the hills outside of Boulder, Colorado, which was the inspiration for the setting of Taylor Crossing in her novel Nephilim.

She is the author of the Reed Ferguson mysteries, the Jo Gunning Thriller series, the Sarah Spillman police procedurals, and the Dewey Webb historical mysteries. She also wrote the standalone suspense novels The Girl in the Window and What's Yours is Mine, Nephilim: Genesis of Evil, a supernatural thriller, along with children's novels and other short stories.

Visit Renée at www.reneepawlish.com.

RENÉE’S BOOKSHELF

Jo Gunning Thrillers

The Sarah Spillman Mysteries

Reed Ferguson Mysteries Series

Reed Ferguson Boxsets

The Reed Ferguson Series Boxset Collection

Dewey Webb Historical Mystery Series

Dewey Webb Boxsets

The Girl in the Window

What’s Yours Is Mine

The Noah Winter Adventure

(A Young Adult Mystery Series)

Take Five Collection (Mystery Anthology)

Nephilim Genesis of Evil (Supernatural Mystery)

Codename Richard: A Ghost Story

The Taste of Blood: A Vampire Story

This War We’re In (Middle-grade Historical Fiction)

Nonfiction:

The Sallie House: Exposing the Beast Within