THIRTY-FOUR

“Don’t scream. It’s me, Mitch.”

Janie wiggled from his grasp. “I thought you were in there.” She motioned with her head toward the shack.

“And I thought you’d be playing Bunco. Why did you follow me?”

She hung her head and dug her toe into the dirt. “Curiosity, I guess.”

He exhaled a long sigh and led her around the side of the dilapidated building. He pushed her shoulder blades against the wall and shoved his forefinger to her nose. “Look. Get back in your car and drive away. Now.”

She pressed her hands to her hips. “What’s going on, Mitch?”

He ran his hand through his scalp. “Not everything the Alamoville police do is your concern, Janie.” He gave her a slight shove and hissed through his teeth. “Now get out of here.”

She lost her balance, grabbed for him and toppled them both onto the ground. Their fall knocked a stack of wood. Several logs cascaded off.

“What was that?” A voice boomed from inside the house.

Janie winched in pain. Sharp, icy stabs jutted up her ankle, the one she’d injured several weeks earlier when she tripped over Mrs. Fluffy. Hornsby scrambled to his feet. He yanked her to him and yelled. “Run.”

“I can’t.” She clutched her sore foot. “I’ve re-injured my ankle. Last time I was off my feet for at least a week.”

“Super.” He threw her arm over his shoulder and wrapped his around her waist. They limped, stumbled, and hopped toward her car.

A shot rang out and echoed over the hills.

Hornsby’s weight left her. He crumbled to the dirt. Janie wobbled on her healthy foot like a drunk stork. “Mitch!”

The two men from the shack ran toward her, one becoming more and more familiar.

“Janie? What on earth?”

She gasped. “Jonathan. Fancy meeting you here.”

The other man grabbed her and pulled her to him, pinning her hands behind her back. “Come on, you nosey ol’ biddy.”

“Stop. I’m hurt.”

“Awww. Are you, now?” He laughed and dragged her toward the wedge of light streaming from the front door. She twisted to Jonathan, begging for help with her eyes. Instead of rushing to her aid, a vicious scowl slithered across his mouth.

And Hornsby lay face down in the road, still as the hot Texas night.

~*~

Blake nearly dropped his salad fork. His cell phone hummed inside his pants pocket. He leaned and retrieved it, ignoring Melody’s cocked eyebrow. Noticing Hemphill’s identification on the screen he furrowed his brow.

“Hemphill. What’s up. I’m still on vacation, so...” He shrugged to Melody who wiped her mouth with a dinner napkin. Ellie let out a huge teenage sigh. Jamie rolled his eyes and slid down into his chair.

“I know. I wouldn’t bother to call if it as anyone else, but...”

“Let me guess.” He rubbed his temple. “Janie.”

Melody sat up straight. “Mom?”

He raised a finger, signaling her to wait.

“Yeah. Here’s the thing. She never showed up at Bunco tonight.”

“Really? It’s not like her.”

Melody raised her hand to her mouth. The two teens edged up in their seats.

Hemphill sighed. “Exactly. Ethel says she called Hornsby and he didn’t answer. So, she called Chief Gates. Ditto.”

“You’re thinking she’s knee-deep in something again?”

Melody let off a small whimper.

Blake glared at her and mouthed the word “wait.”

“Look, she’s been circling the case trying to make a connection between the man she and her friends witnessed leaving Annie Schmidt’s house and the one found face down in the San Gabriel. Their descriptions do match. And Blake?”

“Yeah?”

“So does the cop the Austin police found in a gully in a burned-up car. Joe something.”

Blake leaned forward. “Who?”

Several people in the restaurant turned in his direction. Both of his kids frowned. Ellie whined. “Keep it down, Dad. It’s embarrassing enough going to dinner with our parents without everyone glaring at us.”

He cupped his hand over the phone. “Your grandmother is missing in action. It’s the action part that’s worrying me.”

She pressed her lips together.

Melody groaned.

Jamie grabbed his mom’s hand.

Hemphill’s voice came through the receiver. “Some cop from Houston on an undercover assignment.” Paper rustled. He must be flipping through his trusted notepad. “Ah, here it is. Joe Balantini.”

Blake’s skin crawled. “Balantini? He, Mitch, and another guy, Arnold something, were thick as thieves in the academy. Mitch used to entertain me on stakeouts with stories of their antics. Some were boarding on illegal. He was amazed they actually got through unscathed and graduated.”

“Really. Interesting.”

“The three ended up together on the same squad in Houston. They were in precinct six so their peers dubbed them the three sixes. You know, like the devil. 6-6-6. Guess because they were always tempting fate.”

Hemphill fell silent.

So did Blake. He swallowed. “You say Mitch isn’t answering either?”

“Yeah.”

“Hang on.” Blake rose from the table, squeezed his wife’s shoulder, and walked away. He exited the restaurant and stood on the curb. “Connor, it just occurred to me. The house numbers in the burglaries...”

Hemphill interrupted. “All had threes and sixes in them. And one of the perps was Les Holden.”

“Who shot Mitch and got off on a technicality during that robbery gone bad. I recall. I worried about him taking over, but Gates insisted. Said the shrink-wrap thought it might be therapeutic.”

“Right.”

“Look, you were smart to call. Place a tracer on the GPS in Janie’s cell phone.”

“I need Gate’s permission to get into APD’s system to do that, and he’s not picking up.”

“No, you don’t, Connor. I’ll text you my passcode. I’ll take the heat if this pans out to be nothing.”

“Roger. I’ll keep you posted.”

Blake turned to glance in the window. Melody and the kids sat at the table, their gazes glued to him. He waved at them as he spoke. “Yeah, you better. None of the Johnsons will sleep tonight if you don’t.”