the road near Dennison’s field only a mile or so from the turnoff for his farm. Let the goddamn guy pass already.
He waited, but the car pulled over and killed its lights. What the hell?
Chris tried to focus, but couldn’t see much in the thick darkness of 2 a.m. Instinct made him rummage the empty seat for a gun though he was well aware that there wasn’t one. He never left them in the truck or the house. He’d heard the stories, seen the pictures, of too many kids stumbling over their dad’s shotgun and finding out all too quickly that it wasn’t a toy. He kept his Remington rifle and his Glock that had been leftover from his other life securely in a safe in the barn.
Though he was sober, his reaction time was a bit off. Anita maybe? She was the most likely candidate, but she’d still been at Flaherty’s when he’d left.
Hell with it. Whatever this idiot was selling, Chris didn’t want to buy.
He signaled and pulled onto the road, watching the rear the entire time. Damn. The car slid back into the lane right behind him without turning on their lights. Chris sped up; the car did too. What the fuck was going on?
A light flashed a few feet away. High beams on, off and then on again. Chris swerved, but found a long limousine spread across the road. There was no way around it. He hit the brakes and came to a screeching stop no more than ten feet from the car.
Chris slammed into park and yanked the truck door open. He hopped out only to see a shadow emerge from the car. He squinted, considering, then stopped considering all together when an iron fist, bat or cannonball maybe, smashed into his gut.
C hapter 8
Beth heard the incessant ringing of the phone and pulled a fluffy pillow over her head. Still it echoed.
She uncovered, reached to peek at the clock and then her cell. She’d turned it off before she’d crawled into bed so she was all but certain that it wasn’t hers, but the caller was merciless.
Finally it stopped and she shifted to find comfort. It was only 6-- she still had a good hour before the kids were up and needing her. A knock sounded at her door.
She hoisted to her elbows. This couldn’t be good. “Yes?”
“Elizabeth.” Her father’s voice sounded thick with sleep or concern or maybe both.
“Yes, Daddy. Come in.”
He pushed the door and pulled tight the sash of his robe. “There’s a call for you. I picked it up in my room.”
Beth snatched her robe and threw it on. “Who would be calling me at this hour?”
Her father’s face looked ashen. She touched his arm on the way by and then quickly spun back. “The children are both all right?”
Her father nodded and reached into his pocket for his pipe. “They’re fine. I just checked them.”
Beth exhaled and moved her palm from her chest to the phone in the hallway.
“Yes?” she said into the receiver.
“Bethie?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Deej.”
Cosmo DeJohn, the five foot four, two hundred and fifty pound Bureau chief who had hired her. Despite his size, he’d once been the best of the best and was one of the few people who Chris truly respected. A character in every possible way, Deej had remained a faithful friend to them both, but she hadn’t spoken to him since she and Chris had attended his wedding to his long suffering fiancée last year.
“Deej! Hello.”
“Hi, sweetie. I’m sorry to call you like this . I t took a while to track you down.”
“How did you?” she asked with what she knew was a curious question in her voice.
“Well, that’s part of why I’m calling. First off, Bethie, I’m sorry about you and Chris. I feel so bad.”
“Thank you, but I have to admit I’m a little nervous here, Deej. What’s going on?”
He sighed and she could just see him in a shirt that was undoubtedly too tight with a mochaccino in his hand. “It’s Chris, Bethie. His truck was found not
He waited, but the car pulled over and killed its lights. What the hell?
Chris tried to focus, but couldn’t see much in the thick darkness of 2 a.m. Instinct made him rummage the empty seat for a gun though he was well aware that there wasn’t one. He never left them in the truck or the house. He’d heard the stories, seen the pictures, of too many kids stumbling over their dad’s shotgun and finding out all too quickly that it wasn’t a toy. He kept his Remington rifle and his Glock that had been leftover from his other life securely in a safe in the barn.
Though he was sober, his reaction time was a bit off. Anita maybe? She was the most likely candidate, but she’d still been at Flaherty’s when he’d left.
Hell with it. Whatever this idiot was selling, Chris didn’t want to buy.
He signaled and pulled onto the road, watching the rear the entire time. Damn. The car slid back into the lane right behind him without turning on their lights. Chris sped up; the car did too. What the fuck was going on?
A light flashed a few feet away. High beams on, off and then on again. Chris swerved, but found a long limousine spread across the road. There was no way around it. He hit the brakes and came to a screeching stop no more than ten feet from the car.
Chris slammed into park and yanked the truck door open. He hopped out only to see a shadow emerge from the car. He squinted, considering, then stopped considering all together when an iron fist, bat or cannonball maybe, smashed into his gut.
C hapter 8
Beth heard the incessant ringing of the phone and pulled a fluffy pillow over her head. Still it echoed.
She uncovered, reached to peek at the clock and then her cell. She’d turned it off before she’d crawled into bed so she was all but certain that it wasn’t hers, but the caller was merciless.
Finally it stopped and she shifted to find comfort. It was only 6-- she still had a good hour before the kids were up and needing her. A knock sounded at her door.
She hoisted to her elbows. This couldn’t be good. “Yes?”
“Elizabeth.” Her father’s voice sounded thick with sleep or concern or maybe both.
“Yes, Daddy. Come in.”
He pushed the door and pulled tight the sash of his robe. “There’s a call for you. I picked it up in my room.”
Beth snatched her robe and threw it on. “Who would be calling me at this hour?”
Her father’s face looked ashen. She touched his arm on the way by and then quickly spun back. “The children are both all right?”
Her father nodded and reached into his pocket for his pipe. “They’re fine. I just checked them.”
Beth exhaled and moved her palm from her chest to the phone in the hallway.
“Yes?” she said into the receiver.
“Bethie?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Deej.”
Cosmo DeJohn, the five foot four, two hundred and fifty pound Bureau chief who had hired her. Despite his size, he’d once been the best of the best and was one of the few people who Chris truly respected. A character in every possible way, Deej had remained a faithful friend to them both, but she hadn’t spoken to him since she and Chris had attended his wedding to his long suffering fiancée last year.
“Deej! Hello.”
“Hi, sweetie. I’m sorry to call you like this . I t took a while to track you down.”
“How did you?” she asked with what she knew was a curious question in her voice.
“Well, that’s part of why I’m calling. First off, Bethie, I’m sorry about you and Chris. I feel so bad.”
“Thank you, but I have to admit I’m a little nervous here, Deej. What’s going on?”
He sighed and she could just see him in a shirt that was undoubtedly too tight with a mochaccino in his hand. “It’s Chris, Bethie. His truck was found not
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