Dane came to in a room he didn’t recognize. There was a lot of red—the walls, the plush chair in the corner, the shag rug, all red. His head was killing him and he didn’t need to touch it to know there was a goose egg on the back of his skull rising like a biscuit in the oven. He tried to touch it anyway. He couldn’t. His hands were bound. He tried wriggling free, but his hands were zip-tied behind his back and he’d been sitting on them long enough in an awkward position that they’d both fallen asleep. It was starting to come back to him. He got hit—hard—who—“Rose?”
“I’m sorry about clocking you like that, Kirby, but I didn’t think you’d have given him up on your own.”
“Given who up, Roselita? What’s going on? What are you doing?” The blur at the edges of Dane’s vision began to clear and he could make out more details of the room he was in. It was a nice room. He was on a sofa—real leather. Long red curtains ran all the way from ornate brass rods to the floor, filling the room with filtered sunlight—explaining all the red. A large antique china cabinet took up almost a full wall filled with old metallic-rimmed dishes. He’d been in here before, but it had been a long time ago. He knew for sure when he saw the oval-shaped window cut out of the center of the front door. He could make out the huge letter H etched in the glass, but from the inside this time. He was in Eddie Rockdale’s house. “Roselita, why are we here? Why the hell did you hit me? Where’s the boy?”
“I’m just doing what I’m told, Kirby. You should’ve just left it alone back at the motel like you wanted to. Now look how fucked-up it’s gotten. I didn’t have a choice.”
“A choice about what? Where the hell is William and why are we here?” Dane pulled at the zip ties. His head hurt like a son of a bitch.
“She’s here because I asked her to meet me here. She’s my guest.” Eddie turned the corner and entered the living room from the kitchen. He was holding two glasses of whiskey—no ice. He handed one to Roselita. “Damn, Kirby, you got some shitty luck. First that shit with your family, ouch, killing your own wife and daughter? That shit right there would make a lesser man eat a bullet, but not you. You stuck it out and was working on a new life but now look at you, all tied up in my living room involved in something else that is gonna leave a bullet in you. It’s sad, really. I mean, I was just going to take you out back and shoot you before you woke up, let Tater toss you in the incinerator, but your girl Roselita here asked me not to. Not that it matters. There isn’t a way this goes down that lets you live, and she knows that. I don’t know what she’s waiting for.” Eddie took a seat on the leather sofa and slapped a gold ring–covered hand down on Dane’s knee. He licked his teeth. “Maybe Mamacita is sweet on you, Kirby.”
“Killing him isn’t your decision to make, Rockdale.”
“Whatever you say, Velasquez, but you know your boy is going to kill him no matter how sweet on him you are. He has to.” Eddie stood up and tossed back the whiskey, but Roselita set her glass on the table. “He’s not my boy. He’s my partner. And this is only business, so why don’t you shut the fuck up until he gets here.” Roselita was holding her gun. The same gun she’d hit Dane with at the zoo. Eddie licked his teeth again. It was strange to see him keep his temper under control. No one spoke to him like that if they knew him, much less a woman or a stranger.
Unless they aren’t strangers.
Dane’s head was swimming. “What’s with the gun, Roselita? What’s he talking about? Did you two already know each other before last night? Was all this one big act? And where the hell is William Blackwell?”
Roselita nodded to a closed set of French doors leading to another part of the house. “He’s fine, Dane. He’s in there. And no, I didn’t know this gold-mouthed asshole before yesterday, but apparently plans changed. I didn’t want anything to do with this, but it is what it is.”
“Why don’t you tell him everything, Velasquez? He’s going to find out soon enough anyway.” Eddie crouched down in front of Dane again. He was still groggy and the sound of Eddie sucking his teeth made his stomach roll.
“Listen, Rose, whatever is going on here, I know you’re not okay with it. I know you’re not one of these—these—”
“These what?” Eddie asked and stared directly into Dane’s eyes.
“These killers.”
Eddie looked offended. “I ain’t killed nobody, Kirby. Not yet, anyway.” He stood up to refill his glass and Dane could feel the warped piece of metal in his pocket—the high-caliber slug that had been with him every day for the past twelve years. It pressed against his leg, and the feel of it made him struggle even harder against his restraints. He stopped when Lydia came into the room through the French doors. She held an empty plastic cup and walked into the kitchen as if there wasn’t another woman in the room with her husband holding a gun and a man she knew tied and bound on her sofa. She turned a corner where Dane couldn’t see her, but he could hear her open the fridge and refill the tumbler. When she came back into the room the cup was full. She stayed quiet and returned to the other room. Dane caught a glimpse of William sitting on a loveseat when she opened the door. She tried not to look, but Dane caught her eyes before she closed the door. Her face was pink, and her eyes were red. She’d been crying. She mouthed the words “I’m sorry,” and then she was gone.
“So what now, Eddie? You plan on doing what Arnie did? You gonna use the boy to get yourself killed next?”
“I’m gonna use that boy to get myself rich, Kirby. You and I both know I’ve got a little more up here than his idiot brother.” Eddie tapped at the side of his head. “As soon as Uncle Casper gets back here with the money, he belongs to me—lock, stock, and barrel.” He picked up a bottle of bourbon and poured it in his glass.
Dane squirmed. “C’mon, Roselita. You don’t really think these guys are going to pay you for something they already have, do you? You can still turn this around.”
“Just stop talking, Kirby.”
“Yeah. Easy, Kirby, I ain’t the bad guy here. Your people came to me. They set all this up. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Too bad I can’t say the same thing about you. You see, this was all supposed to go down real easy. My boy Bobby, my main man who is always bringing me the kush—well, he was supposed to bring me the boy once that dipshit Arnold was airborne. See, Bobby hated that guy, used to bang his girl or some shit back in the day, so he made a deal with me way before the Slasher even went down—but dumbass Bobby got a little money-drunk and went home first instead to do a little partying. That little decision got hisself and all his buddies killed. Damn shame, too. He had the best weed in the motherfucking state. And since dead men tell no tales and shit, nobody knew where the kid was—until you, Kirby. I gotta say, you one hella detective. Almost makes me sad to see you go, you know? All that wasted potential and whatnot.” Eddies mouth gleamed with spit-slickened gold.
Roselita stuck her gun into the holster on her hip. “Where’s the money, Rockdale? Your man’s been gone a long time. If you’re thinking of fucking us over, you’re going to end up worse than your good pal Bobby Turo.”
Eddie picked up a walkie-talkie from the table and mashed the button. “Tater, pick up. Where the hell is Casper? He should’ve been back already.” He waited but didn’t get a reply. “Tater, pick up.”
Still nothing.
He set the radio back down and pulled a rifle off a rack on the wall. He chambered a round and downed the fresh shot of whiskey in his glass. “I’m going out to the barn. You watch this one and remember your place in all this, girlie. Remember what you’ve got to lose if you do anything to jeopardize this deal.”
“I got this. Just find out what the hell is taking so long.”
Eddie left through the back door and Roselita took a seat at the table. She stared at the untouched glass of whiskey. “I’m sorry, Kirby.”
“I don’t even know what’s happening here, Rose, so maybe you should start filling me in so I can help you unfuck whatever this is.”
Roselita kept looking at the glass.
“C’mon, Rose, why are you doing this?”
“The money,” she said, and it exhausted her as if the word itself weighed fifty pounds. “The money we were trying to retrieve from Arnie Blackwell, before August shut us down and brought you in. We knew who he was ten minutes after we found his body. We knew there was over a million at play, and that whoever had killed him hadn’t gotten their hands on it yet. At least not all of it.” Roselita walked over and squatted down to face Dane. “I found the joint on the floor, Dane, long before you got there. It was in my damn pocket the whole time you were giving me my big break in the case. We already had a good idea who and where his partner was and hopefully his half of the winnings from the Slasher. We’d put everything together and were about to move on Turo—and then, well, then there was you—and everything went up in smoke. Those flip fuckers got to the money first while we were catching you up and acting like we didn’t already know. It could’ve been over in hours, but you came along and fucked everything up. We lost every dime to those evil bastards, so our only option was to try and find the kid and sell him off to somebody who would be willing to pay for him as a reimbursement.”
“Reimbursement,” Dane repeated. “For a bag of money that wasn’t yours to begin with?”
Roselita looked as if she would be sick. “It was the only option.”
“That’s not your only option now, Rose. You can cut me loose and we can get the hell out of here. We can get William somewhere safe. This can’t be about money anymore. That’s not who you are.”
“You have no idea who I am, Kirby.”
“I know you’re not someone who would sell a child to these assholes. For a payday? You’ve got a kid of your own on the way. Is this the way you want to start off being a mother?”
Roselita stood up. Dane expected the punch she was going to throw at him to hurt, but Roselita just looked more sickened than anything else. “Props for finding him, Kirby, and ending all this shit. Truthfully, I hoped you’d figure it all out before we did. I hoped you’d feel in your gut that you were being played. Then you would’ve stayed away from me—from all this. You wouldn’t have called me to go walk into the lion’s den with you. I mean, you handed the kid right over to us. I told you. I had no choice.”
“Yes, you did, and I didn’t get played, Rose. I trusted you. Big difference.”
Roselita walked back over to the table and finally drank the bourbon. She picked up the radio, set it back down, and stared into the empty glass.
“Roselita, listen to me, you’re not a murderer. And you’re not someone who would do this to a child.”
“I told you, you don’t know shit about me, Kirby. I am a murderer. I killed a pregnant woman. We killed her.” Roselita picked up the glass and threw it. It shattered on the far wall, glass raining down all over the hardwood flooring. Dane flinched but felt more confused than frightened.
“You were with me when the Sellers woman was killed. How can you say we killed—” Dane stopped. He understood. “You’re not talking about you and me. You keep saying we—you’re talking about you and Dahmer, aren’t you?”
Roselita didn’t answer.
“That’s why you were so tore up when you found out the Sellers woman was pregnant—because your partner is the one that killed her? And you’re blaming yourself?”
“Shut up, Kirby.”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it? Did she survive the attack from the Filipinos? Did Dahmer go finish the job? I saw your face when you found out. Why didn’t you tell me? What does he have on you? I know this isn’t who you are.”
“He doesn’t have anything on me. He’s my partner. He’s saved my life too many times to count.”
“And he’s a killer, Rose—a cold-blooded murderer. Cut me loose and let me help you out of this. We can put a stop to all of it—together.”
“There’s no stopping it, Kirby.” Roselita sat back down at the table and sank her head into her hands. “When Gold Mouth’s uncle gets back with the cash, they are taking the kid and I’m going to have to live with what I did. I’m sorry it played out like this.”
“Tell me then, why haven’t you killed me already?”
“Shut up, Kirby.”
“Because you can’t, Rose. Because you’re not Dahmer. You’re waiting on him to get here so he can do it, aren’t you?”
“I said, shut up, Kirby.”
“You can still stop this, Rose.”
Roselita jumped out of her seat and pulled her gun from her hip. She pressed it into Dane’s forehead. “Stop calling me Rose.”
“Stop letting a man who would kill a woman with a baby in her belly and sell another child like property make your decisions for you.”
Roselita closed her eyes tight and stood quietly before lowering her gun and looking at her watch.
“We’re running out of time, Roselita. And just so you know, that piece of shit out there in the barn right now has no intention of paying you anything. He’s waiting for your partner to get here so he can take us all out at once. Believe that.”
“That guy out there may be stupid, Kirby, but he’s not stupid enough to kill federal agents. Not if he wants to continue to live his life above ground. Nobody is that stupid.”
Dane actually laughed at that. “You still don’t have any idea where you are. Do you, Rose? The only reason he hasn’t put a bullet in both of us already is because he needs to make sure Dahmer eats one, too. Loose ends matter up here, Rose, not federal agents. Jesus, wake up.”
Roselita shook her head frantically, but it looked to Dane like she was listening. She took a breath and settled herself. She spoke smoothly and calmly. “I’m not going to tell you again to shut up, Kirby. This is happening, and there’s nothing you or I can do about it. It’s done.”
Dane stopped squirming. He sat up as straight as he could, ignoring the pain in his neck and skull. “There is no honor in that man out there, Rose. Trust me on that. I know.”
Roselita stayed quiet. She just wanted all of this to go away.
Dane’s voice took on a more conversational tone, as if he wasn’t being held against his will. “Rooster was there when my wife and daughter died.”
Roselita snapped back to the moment. The words wife and daughter punched her in the chest and her shoulders sagged back. Her voice had lost all its bravado as well. “Sorry, Dane. After I talked to your friend Keith, I did my research on you. What happened to your wife and daughter was an accident. I read the report.”
Dane spoke from a faraway place, as if he could feel himself out in those woods again. “If you read the report, then you know I hit a deer, right? That’s what caused the truck to flip.”
“Yeah, and what does that have to do with Eddie Rockdale?”
“He shot that deer. He was hunting land that wasn’t his. He was hunting out of season. Maybe if that bastard hadn’t shot that deer, it wouldn’t have taken to the road. Or maybe not. Maybe it all would have played out the same. But one thing I know for a fact, Rose, is that man let me lay there on the side of the road holding my wife’s hand as it turned cold for almost an hour.” Dane’s voice seized in the middle and he choked on the story. “He just watched, Rose. Or he ran away. Either way. He did nothing.” Dane’s eyes went distant. “He let my baby girl hang in a tree for a hour—before someone eventually came along and found us.”
Roselita was nearly in tears listening to this man who’d lost everything and still tried to believe there was good in the world. He stared directly into her dark brown eyes. “That’s how I know he’s not just going to give you what you want. Hell, Rose, it sounds to me like you don’t even want it, but I can guarantee you he’s not going to own up to his end of this deal he’s made. I promise you, they are planning how to kill us all in that barn right now, and if what you said about your partner is true, Dahmer isn’t going to care who dies because of Rockdale’s decision to cut him out. That means Lydia, William, anyone.”
Roselita stood up and walked over to the sofa. “How do you know any of that really happened when you wrecked the truck? How do you know he was there?”
“I heard a shot right before I lost control. Right before that deer ran out in front of me.”
“It could’ve been anything—anyone.”
“It was a .30-30. The same caliber that Rooster pulled out of the gun cabinet just now.”
“A .30-30 is common. It could’ve belonged to anyone.”
Dane shifted on the sofa. “My left pocket.” He shoved his hip into position for Roselita to reach in. She did. Roselita pulled out the warped slug. “What is this?”
“Ned Lemon pulled that out of the animal remains after the accident. He knew Eddie hunted that land. He knew Eddie was out that day. Ned took his time, but eventually matched the ballistics on that bullet to one of Eddie’s rifles. Most likely the one in his hands right now.”
“How the hell could Lemon have access to ballistic records?”
“Remember Sheriff Burroughs? There was no love lost between him and Rockdale, so he helped Ned on the down-low. They gave me that information and that bullet to do with as I pleased. I’ve been carrying both around with me ever since. So I know Eddie was there when my family died—and did nothing. Just like I know he’s going to kill all of us as soon as your partner walks through that door.”
Roselita squeezed her eyes shut again, opened them, and stuck the slug back in Dane’s pocket. “Why didn’t you ever do anything about it?”
“Because I couldn’t bring myself to cross a line that there is no coming back from. Just like I’m trying to stop you from doing right now.”
The whole house stayed quiet for almost a full minute before they heard the gunfire from the barn.
Fenn set the rifle down on the plywood table. “I’ll never understand you Americans and your love for guns. They are loud and cumbersome and, most importantly, ineffective in close quarters.” Tater sat against the wall of the barn, his head tilted forward on his chest, both hands holding his guts in. He might still have been breathing, but death had breached the room. The tips of Tater’s boots twitched in the dirt, but by the time Fenn had finished disassembling the long gun, Tater was gone. His hands dropped and blood pooled out underneath him like the shadow of an inflating black balloon. Fenn turned and wiped the sharp end of his baston on the shoulder of Tater’s shirt. It was a much better weapon—a cleaner weapon—more of a natural extension of the man holding it than any machined piece of metal with too many moving parts that increased the odds of failure. Fenn admired his weapon and his handiwork. He was pleased that he’d been able to dispense with the lackey without allowing him to get any shots off. Fenn wasn’t ready to alert anyone in the main house. Especially the black one. He seemed to be in charge and could prove to be formidable, but size alone did not bring skill. The black man, the one called Rockdale, relied too heavily on guns as well, and that would be his downfall. Fenn came very close to going inside and killing them all at his leisure. He had thought about spending time with the cinnamon woman, too, but he was glad he’d waited through the night. The female FBI agent had brought the boy right to him. She’d also brought the other policeman, the one with the baseball hat, but it seemed they were no longer on the same side. Americans didn’t believe in loyalty, either. This would also be their downfall. Regardless, the money was in the car, and the boy was within his grasp. Fenn’s mission in the US was almost at completion. He would soon be home. He would be celebrated. He felt good despite his throbbing shoulder. He turned toward the house. His intention was to wait in the shadows behind the barn door by the blackout boxes. He would wait until the men inside turned on each other. When the time was right, he would kill the last one standing and take the boy—maybe the cinnamon woman, too. He turned from the dead man and was surprised to see Eddie Rockdale standing in the wide-open doorway of the barn sighting a rifle right at Fenn’s head. He thought about the dead lackey’s radio. Maybe it had been a mistake to turn it off. So be it. It was what it was.
“Wow,” Eddie said. “You are one big ugly son of a bitch.”
Fenn said nothing. He slowed his breathing and gripped the length of bamboo with both hands.
“Is my boy Tater dead?”
Fenn still said nothing. Eddie inched forward and moved Fenn slowly backward into the barn. Eddie saw the remains of Tater in his peripheral vision but never took his eye off of the big intruder. “You know I’ve known that fella my whole life? He was my friend. You kill him with that stick? You must’ve snuck up on him.” Eddie nodded at his own summation and licked his teeth. “Yeah, you must’ve snuck up on him ’cause you can’t expect me to think you got a shot in hell against a man holding one of these—unless you got the drop on ’em.” Eddie kept the rifle on the big man in his barn and smiled. “See, ’cause that ain’t possible. Watch.” His teeth gleamed in the sun as he fired.
“Get up,” Roselita said after the shot rang out, and nudged Dane with the barrel of her Glock.
“Just cut me loose, and we—”
“Just get up, damnit.” She yanked on Dane’s arm with enough force to pull him to his feet and used her gun to nudge him toward the double doors. Dane bumped them open with his shoulder. William still sat on the loveseat holding the plastic cup Lydia had filled up earlier. It was empty again. William didn’t look frightened or bewildered. He didn’t look anything the way an eleven-year-old boy should look in a situation like the one he was in. He looked dismal and sad. He didn’t even flinch when Roselita used her gun again to push Dane farther into the room. “Are you okay, William?” Dane asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Roselita moved deeper into the room and peeked through the heavy drapes out toward the back of the house. “Wait,” she said, and spun around to scan the room. There was a bathroom, but its door was wide-open, so it was easy to see it was empty. The doors they had come through were the only ones leading in or out. “Where’s the woman?” Roselita said. “Where’s Lydia?”
William pointed to the window on the other side of the fireplace. It was open and the screen had been pushed out. Roselita pushed the curtains out of the way with the pistol and cussed under her breath. She swung the gun around. “Where did she go?”
“Take it easy, Roselita. Don’t hurt him.”
“I’m not going to hurt him, Dane. Find something for me to use to cut you free.” She looked at William and tried to sound calm. “Where did she go, William? She may be the only one who can get us out of here safe.”
William didn’t look frightened. He didn’t look anything. He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “She said she’d be back. She told me to come with her but I didn’t want to.”
“You didn’t—” That confused Roselita and Dane both. The kid had had a chance to escape but didn’t? “Why?” Dane asked.
“Because you’re the good guys. That’s what you said.”
Roselita laughed, but it was dry and humorless. She motioned for William. “Let’s go. C’mon. Get up.” The boy was compliant. He stood and walked to the door. Roselita followed Dane back through the main living room, past the massive china cabinet, and out the front door. She grabbed William by his sleeve and guided him out onto the porch as well. “Where the hell is she?”
“I’m right here, bitch.” Ned brought the hardwood grip of Dane’s Redhawk .44 down on Roselita’s neck like a sledgehammer. She dropped her own gun and collapsed as it spun off the porch into the azaleas. Again, William didn’t move or act surprised.
“She probably wasn’t talking about me, was she?” Ned flipped open a pocket knife and cut the zip tie off Dane’s wrists.
“Jesus Christ.” Dane looked down at Roselita out cold on the porch. “Where have you been, Ned?”
“I’m sorry, Dane. I freaked. I should never have called you. All this shit is my fault. I never—”
“Not the time to talk about it.” Dane narrowed his eyes at the gun Ned was holding. “Is that mine?”
Ned looked down at the Redhawk. “Yeah, I took it out of your glove box. That okay?”
Dane swiveled around and saw his truck parked out past the clearing. “Well, fuck me. Are the keys in it?”
“No.”
“Shit.”
“They’re right here.” He reached into his pocket and handed Dane the keys. “They were gonna dump it in the quarry. I’m glad you had a piece in there, or I would’ve showed up empty-handed.”
Dane squeezed the keys and almost laughed. “C’mon.” He grabbed William’s arm and headed toward the steps.
“Go, I got this piece of shit.” Ned pointed the Redhawk down at Roselita’s head and held his other hand in front of his face to block the spatter of blood.
“No,” Dane yelled and snatched the gun. “Leave her be.”
“Are you kidding? This bitch sold you out, Dane. She was going to kill you.”
“But she didn’t. Leave her for now and let’s get William somewhere safe. I’ll come back for her.”
Ned looked confused. “Back for her? What?”
“No time to explain. Come on.” By the time Dane got to the driver’s door he was seeing white bursts in his vision. He had a concussion, maybe. His head hurt like hell. He swung the door open and motioned for William to get in. The boy began to crawl in when Ned called out for Lydia.
“Where is she?”
“I left her here in the truck,” Ned said, and yelled her name again. He was frantic. He screamed her name a third time.
“She’s right here, Mr. Lemon. Now all of you slowly back away from the truck.” Dahmer stood at the tree line, holding Lydia by her neck. He used her body to block his and held a pistol to her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She tried to say something else, but Dahmer squeezed the words from her throat.
“Come on out, you big ugly motherfucker,” Eddie said, and racked another cartridge into the rifle and walked slowly through the barn. He’d shot the big man full on, center mass. The bastard should be lying on the ground with a hole in him, but he wasn’t. The back end of the barn, where all the fighting pens were, was blacked out and there were a thousand places for him to hide, but no one knew the barn better than the man who built it, so Eddie carefully cased each pen. He kicked open each cedar door one by one and swung the rifle in. Each time he came up empty. The third door he kicked open allowed him to see his uncle. Casper had left earlier—to gather a few more men from up the mountain. They were supposed to wait until the other Fed showed up and then swarm the house and take them all out, but he never even made it off the property. Casper lay in the dirt in an unnatural position. His arms broken, his throat carved open. His glass eye missing, leaving a black hole in the left side of his face. Flies had already begun to gather and buzzed around the body like it was three-day-old roadkill. His blood had already dried into the dirt and congealed into pools of strawberry jelly. Eddie’s stomach roiled before the anger took over. “I’m going to kill you slow, you gook motherfucker.” He turned and felt the baston as Fenn shoved it through his abdomen.
“You will do nothing,” Fenn said. He pulled Eddie close to him and twisted the length of bamboo in a way that made him slide slowly to his knees. Fenn pulled the baston out and Eddie dropped backward, next to his uncle. Fenn crouched down and looked in his eyes. It hurt him to move. It was the second time the vest had saved his life, but it still hurt like hell. Watching the light fading from Eddie’s eyes eased the big man’s pain. “At least you die with your family. You have that to take with you.” He waited a minute longer as Eddie began to spew up large bursts of blood. “I’m gonna—kill—you—” he managed to say between coughs.
“In another life, my friend.” Fenn stood. He wiped the baston off on Eddie’s jeans, and then walked out of the barn toward the house.
“Let her go,” Ned yelled as Dahmer stepped cautiously out of the woods. Dahmer was careful to keep Lydia positioned between him and Dane, the only one carrying a gun—the only threat he needed to worry about.
“Give me the boy and I will let her go. A simple exchange. There’s no reason for anyone else to die. This wasn’t supposed to happen, Kirby.” Lydia struggled against him, but Dahmer only tightened his grip. He was so tall, so thin, that he practically had to hold her on the tips of her toes to shield him.
“You have my word, Kirby. The woman for the boy.”
Dane had already dropped to his knees behind the fender well. He hoisted the Redhawk over the hood. “Go fuck yourself, Dahmer. You don’t have a play here. You hurt her and you die next. So the only real trade is you let her go and I don’t blow your head off.”
Dahmer took another carefully placed step. “That’s one possible outcome. Another one is I kill her and then I kill him.” He nodded at Ned, who stood with his hands in the air in front of the truck. “You’ll lose two people you care about to protect someone you just met. It’s been a while since you’ve had to fire that cannon. Are you sure you want to take that chance?”
“Just let her go, Dahmer.”
Dahmer sighed. “I want you to remember that this is on you, Kirby. I gave you a choice.”
He pushed the barrel of the gun into Lydia’s temple. She tried to scream but no sound came out. Ned’s scream was loud enough for them both. The shot echoed over the clearing and Dane could hear himself screaming, too, but it wasn’t just him and Ned. Lydia had found her voice and she screamed as she ran toward Ned, who grabbed her and sank to the ground. He ran his hands over the sides of her head and felt no wound. She was whole. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her whole face. When he looked up, Dahmer had taken to the woods holding his shoulder. Ned was crying and confused. He looked at Dane, who was sitting on the ground behind the truck staring past him back at the house. Ned turned to see Roselita Velasquez lying in front of the porch on her stomach. Her face was scratched up by the azalea bushes she’d had to fish her pistol out of. She dropped the gun she’d just shot Dahmer with in front of her and laid her face in the cool grass. She had no cover. She was best off hugging the ground. Ned pushed Lydia behind the truck and covered her the best he could. Another shot came from the woods and then another one pinged off the truck’s hood. Everyone was on the ground now, no one knowing who or where the shots were coming from.
“Dahmer’s still out there. Get in the truck. Now. Go.” Dane sheltered Lydia as he helped her into the truck. She joined William on the floorboards. Dane’s arms were made out of taffy and the pain in his head nearly caused him to black out. More shots hit the ground behind them and on the hood of the truck. Dane crouched down behind the driver’s-side door and pushed Ned down closer to the ground. Lydia covered William with her body, and her face with her hands. Dane fired two quick shots from the Redhawk over the hood of the truck. He didn’t even know which direction to fire in.
“Give me the boy, and you can go home, Agent Kirby.”
Dane tried to gauge where Dahmer’s voice was coming from and fired another two rounds in that direction. “I said go fuck yourself, Dahmer.”
Dahmer fired on the truck, busting out most of the glass. The shots were explosive, but they were coming from the wrong direction. He knew Dahmer was in the woods, but they were being fired on from the house. He couldn’t see a damn thing. William eased his way into the floorboards on the driver’s side. He reached out and tugged on Dane’s shirt. “Not now, William. Don’t worry. I’m not going to leave you.” Dane fired blind into the woods again. William pulled at Dane’s shirt again as Dahmer returned fire. The shots hit the dirt by Dane’s leg and kicked up pea gravel all over him. “Jesus Christ, Dane,” Ned yelled and covered his face. “Just shoot him already.”
Dane glared at Ned. “I’m trying, asshole.”
William pulled at Dane’s shirt again. Dane turned to face the boy, finally. “Look, we’re in trouble here, but I will not leave you, okay? I will not let this man take you from me. So just let me do this, okay?”
“Okay,” William said. “But that’s not what I wanted to say.”
“Well, what then?”
“I can see him. There in the mirror.”
Dane looked into the side mirror mounted on the door. He couldn’t see anything but blue sky. “Well, I can’t, and if I lift my head to look I’ll get it shot off.”
“He’s standing between the trees in the middle of the moon.”
“What?” Another shot took out the grille of the truck. Ned yelled again and Lydia screamed.
“I said he’s standing in the moon. Can you see it?”
“Kirby, I don’t want to kill you or your people but I’m starting to get pissed off. I just want the boy. We can work together on how to spin it. If I shoot Rose right now, then she can be our patsy.”
Dane rolled over and looked under the truck toward the woods. There was a crescent shape of sky between a cluster of sweet gums and a big yellow pine. He thought he could see the shadow of another tree between them, but the tree was moving.
Son of a bitch. The kid is right. He’s the man in the moon. Please keep talking, asshole. Please.
Dane got his wish.
“We can figure something out, Kirby, but you know as well as I do that doing it this way is going to kill everyone in that truck. You don’t want to be responsible for the death of another family, do you?”
The moon and the stars. Thank you, Gwen.
Dane rolled over on his belly and aimed the Redhawk at the shadow between the trees.
“This is the only feasible option, Kirby, and my last attempt to reason with you.”
Dane narrowed his eyes, let out a slow breath, and squeezed the trigger. He knew he’d hit his target even before he heard Dahmer yell out. Dane watched the shadow in the moon sway, become half as tall, and then finally fall. “How’s that, buddy? Is that feasible?” He waited for the lump of shadow to answer or to get up or move. It didn’t. Dane felt the urge to sit up, and he almost did, but another blast came from the other direction—from the house—and blew out the passenger-side window. Rough beads of broken glass showered the front seat, pelting Lydia as she tried to keep William covered.
“Goddamnit, Eddie. Stop,” Dane shouted. “It’s over. Velasquez’s partner is down and I’m calling it in. This place is going to be covered in cops any minute now.” Another shot ricocheted off the hood. “Jesus Christ, Eddie. Give it up before you shoot your own wife.” Dane thought that did it. He was listening. The farm went quiet. For a moment the whole world went quiet. No gunfire. No breaking glass. No shredding metal. No birds or leaves rustling in the breeze. Just the sweet silence of time frozen to a stop. Ned lifted himself out of the dirt and gravel and slid closer to the wheel well. He reached in through the bottom of the open door and grabbed blindly for Lydia. When he found her hand, he squeezed it tight three times. I-love-you. She did the same and added an extra one. I-love-you-too. They’d been doing that since high school. It kept them from having to say it out loud. Afterward, he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.
“I think he’s giving it up, man.”
“Eddie doesn’t give anything up, Dane.” Ned held tight to Lydia’s hand. “He’ll die first. You know that. He’s probably just reloading.”
“Then we need to get out of here before he does. Climb over me and get in the truck.” Ned started to move although his arm was bent awkwardly under the door. Lydia wasn’t letting go.
“The black man you call Eddie is dead,” a strange, high-pitched voice said.
Ned stopped moving. “Who the hell is that, now?”
“I don’t know,” Dane said. The strange new voice just added another layer of confusion to the chaos. The man spoke again. “All of his people are dead, too—the one-eyed man—the one they called Potato. They are all dead.”
Dane’s brain raced as he tried to understand what was happening—who was talking—who would kill Eddie if not Dahmer. He struggled to recognize the voice. It sounded foreign.
“I have need of the young one. The Blackwell boy.”
“Goddamnit,” Dane said as it clicked in his head. He slid up against the rim of the front tire.
“I must kill you, too,” Fenn said. “But know that I will take no pleasure in it. I will not enjoy killing the woman, either, but you have my word it will be swift and painless.”
“Who the fuck is that?” Ned said.
“My best guess is that’s the same psycho that killed William’s big brother, Arnold.” Dane wiggled his way across the quarter panel to see if he could get a look at the new problem. He did, and it didn’t inspire hope. When Fenn stepped out into the sunlight from the side of the main house, Dane knew he’d used the right word to describe him back at the motel. He was a monster. Even from that distance, Dane could tell that Fenn was the biggest human being he’d ever seen. The man was a beast. His shirt was white and dirty, ripped at the shoulder and the sternum, and Dane could tell he was wearing Kevlar underneath. He was also covered in blood, but Dane assumed most of it belonged to other people. He moved stiffly and slowly, as though he’d been hurt but not enough to retreat, and he still felt confident enough to stand out in the open. He tossed Eddie’s rifle into the grass. Dane banged his head back on the tire, lifted himself to his knees, and fired at the house. Fenn didn’t even bother to duck or take cover. He’d been watching. He knew Dane’s Redhawk wasn’t a threat. Firing on him with a handgun of that size from that distance would be pissing in the wind.
“Did you hit him?” Ned asked.
“I can’t. He’s wearing a vest so I need a head shot and that’s a hundred to one shot. I can’t do it, not from here and not with this, and he knows it.”
“That’s because you’re shooting wrong,” William said.
Dane stared at the boy for a second. The freckles on William’s face were lit up in the sunlight, and the bits of glass from the broken windows reflected light all over the inside of the truck like stars. If they weren’t all about to die, Dane would’ve thought it was beautiful. “Listen, William. I know you’re smart, but I know the limitations of my own skill and my own gun, and I know that right now it’s about as useless as tits on a boar. So hush and let me figure this out. Okay?”
William shrugged. “Okay.”
Dane dropped the Redhawk into his lap and clicked open the cylinder, but William had already taken count. “You have two bullets left.”
“Yeah, thanks for that.” He locked the cylinder back in place.
“I am going to hurt this woman now,” Fenn said, and held up the blood-covered baston. He had one huge boot buried in Roselita’s back, pressing her into the grass. “She will suffer. She will scream. But you can make it stop by releasing the boy to me.” Fenn pressed his foot down harder, leaned over, and shoved the razor-sharp bamboo straight through Roselita’s shoulder. She did scream, too, just like Fenn said she would. Fenn twisted the baston and Roselita shrieked.
“Jesus Christ,” Dane said, and crushed his eyes shut. He needed to do something. He pushed the door open. “Listen, kid, I’m going to try and get behind the wheel and crank this truck. If we get lucky, the engine is still intact and we can run this bastard over. I want you and Lydia to crawl over the floorboard and—”
“No,” William said, and shook his head. He beat his hands at his ears as if he were shooing off a swarm of bees.
“Okay, okay. Stop it. Tell me what to do. What do I do?”
“I already told you. You’re shooting wrong.”
“That woman out there on the ground doesn’t have the time for me to take a lesson in firearm technique from an eleven-year-old, okay? Just get out of the way and let me try to crank the truck.”
“No,” William shouted, and hung himself out of the door. He pointed. “Just look.”
Dane inched over to look through the door hinges at what William already knew was there. He dropped his head to his chest. “Son of a bitch.” Dane looked again. “Wait—no—I can’t do that. It will kill Rose, too.”
“I don’t think it will.”
“I can’t take that chance.”
“Mr. Kirby.” William held his face inches from Dane’s, and he looked in his eyes for the very first time. It was unsettling. Dane knew William’s eyes were brown from the file he had on him, but it must’ve been wrong. Looking at them up close like that, he could see they were more of a deep blue with green and specks of gold in them. Dane knew immediately why it bothered him. The boy had eyes like Joy. Dane couldn’t speak.
“It won’t kill your friend if she stays low,” William said. “Just shoot.”
Dane hung his head. He couldn’t take the boy’s stare a second longer. Roselita screamed again. Dane wiped at his face and then made William and Lydia crawl onto the floorborads of the truck’s cab. He let Ned climb inside before falling flat on the ground under the front bumper.
“Hey, asshole. Okay, I’m ready to play ball. Stop doing that and tell me what you want me to do.”
Fenn answered, but Dane didn’t give a shit what he said. He just wanted Roselita to stop screaming while he took aim at the LPG tank less than twenty feet away from where Fenn was standing. “Rose, hug the dirt. Hard! Now!”
Roselita pressed herself down into the grass with every muscle in her body and Dane fired.
The explosion rocked the truck from across the yard. Dane felt enough heat on his face to think he was on fire. He was afraid to open his eyes. He yelled out above him to make sure William and Lydia were okay. They all sounded off, one by one. Dane rolled onto his back in the dirt and then forced himself up to survey the damage. The LPG tank had gone from a smooth oblong cylinder to a warped and jagged tower of blackened scrap metal. Pieces of it covered the yard and the clearing. The grass had burned out in an almost perfect circle surrounding the tank, and spot fires were everywhere. A cloud of black smoke mushroomed out and spread across the property. Dane’s ears were ringing, but he could see Fenn. He was down and he wasn’t moving. Dane stood up completely and spotted Roselita lying on her side in a U shape with the lower half of Fenn’s broken baston still sticking out of her shoulder. She wasn’t moving, either.
“Ned,” he yelled. “Ned—” He felt a hand on his shoulder. Ned was already out of the truck and standing behind him, but Dane couldn’t hear him. “Take this.” He handed the Redhawk to Ned. “There are more shells in the toolbox, make sure that big bastard is dead—the one in the woods, too.”
“He’s dead, Dane. Goddamn, you blew him half to hell.”
“Just do it.” Dane yelled to hear his own voice.
Some of Roselita’s hair had been burned off above her left ear and her eyebrows were singed. The first and possibly second layers of skin on the tops of her arms and back of her neck had been burned away and were peeling, but the heat seemed to have cauterized the wound around the broken piece of bamboo sticking out of her shoulder. She was in bad shape, but she was breathing. Dane motioned for Ned. “Try to get her inside,” he yelled. His ears were still ringing.
“Why?” Ned yelled back. “Let’s just go.”
“Goddamnit, Ned. Just do it.”
The yard was smoking with several grass fires as Dane reached the barn. The smoke hadn’t entered the building, but it was dark in there, so he moved in slowly. He walked past a disemboweled Tater, slowly, holding his nose, zigzagging from pen to pen until he found what he was looking for. The smell of blood and other bodily fluids was ripe in the third set of pens. Dane looked down at the two bodies. Casper had been dead for a while, but Eddie’s body still hadn’t gone cold yet. Dane entered the pen and held his fingers to Eddie Rockdale’s neck. He could see the fatal wound to his belly. He was gone. Dane straightened out and stared down at Eddie’s body.
“You were there, weren’t you, you son of a bitch. Did you watch? Did you watch me pull my wife out of the woods? Did you watch them use a ladder truck to get my daughter’s body out of the tree?” Dane spit in the dirt by Eddie’s still head. “She loved the stars, my wife. Did you know that? She talked about them every day. And you know what else? I can’t see them anymore. I can’t look up anymore. I can’t look at a night sky without seeing her—all broken—and cold. Like you are now.” Dane laughed and kicked the corpse at his feet. “I just wanted you to know. One dead man to another.” Dane stopped talking, as if he had suddenly understood that Eddie couldn’t hear him. He backed away from the body, reached into his pocket, and took out the .30-30 slug. He tossed it into the dirt where he’d spit. He didn’t need it anymore.
When Dane turned to leave, he saw Ned standing in the doorway of the pen. Something cold passed between them.
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough.”
Dane walked through the gate. Ned took his arm and helped him. “What did you mean ‘one dead man to another’?”
“Now ain’t the time, Ned. I’m asking if you heard what Eddie said.”
Ned looked back and then at Dane. “Um, Eddie didn’t say shit. He’s dead.”
Dane spit in the dirt again. “No, no. He wasn’t when I first came out here so I was able to get his confession.”
Ned stopped walking. “His confession. Confession for what?”
Dane stopped walking, too, and motioned for Ned to come on. “For killing Tom Clifford. For setting you up. Because he knew you and Lydia were—you know.”
Ned didn’t say anything. He just stared at Dane with confusion and maybe the hint of a smile.
“C’mon,” Dane said. “Let’s go.”
As soon as the two men passed through the barn door, back into the smoky haze of the yard, it was Ned that took the brunt of the hit.
Fenn landed the punch right between his shoulder blades, sending Ned into Dane and both men sprawling down into the grass. Fenn had been burned so badly he barely looked human anymore. Ned turned onto his back and reached for Dane’s Redhawk. It wasn’t in his waistband anymore. He hadn’t checked Fenn’s body as Dane had asked him to, and now he’d lost his gun, too. The huge mass of pink and black curling skin reached down and grabbed Dane by his throat. Ned tried to stop him, but Fenn swung his fist and easily knocked Ned back to the ground. He got back up and grabbed at the creature, but his skin peeled right off in Ned’s hands. Ned pounded on his back as pieces of him fell away exposing raw pink flesh and muscle. “Jesus, how are you still alive?”
Dane struggled on the ground but had begun to turn blue in Fenn’s grip. Drool dripped onto his face in wet clumps from the big man’s ruined mouth. Dane closed his eyes. He was about to black out when he heard the shot. Fenn’s grip released and Dane opened his eyes. The blackened man was missing the right half of his face. Ned rushed him again and knocked him over before his huge body fell on Dane. Fenn collapsed again into the yard. Dane wiped at his face and looked around. The blood in his eyes made them sting like hell, but he could see. Lydia stood a few feet away from them, still in a practiced shooter’s stance and still pointing Dane’s Redhawk with both hands. Ned approached her carefully and took the gun. Dane sat in the grass and wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve. That’s when William came out of the house and crossed in front of Lydia and Ned and extended a hand to help Dane up. Dane took his hand, but before he got to his knees, Dane noticed William’s eyes again. They were brown. There wasn’t a hint of green in them at all.
Lydia held a wet rag against Roselita’s face. She’d lost a lot of blood and needed medical attention. The baston still stuck out of her shoulder because no one thought it was a good idea to remove it. Ned forced two tabs of oxy from the kitchen into Roselita’s mouth and held the glass of water to her lips. She drank and faded in and out of consciousness as Dane pulled a chair up close to the sofa. He took his time sitting down and balanced himself with both hands. “Roselita, are you with me?” He snapped his fingers in front of her face and Roselita did her best to focus. “I’m—sorry, Kirby. It was—never—”
“I need you to listen to me. I’m about to call for help. You’re going to be okay. Do you understand me?”
Roselita nodded.
“I need you to say it, Rose. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
Ned held the glass to Roselita’s lips and she drank more of the water. Lydia’s pacing back and forth behind Dane was making her dizzy, but Dane snapped his fingers again and brought her back to the moment. “I need you to tell me all of it. Everything.”
“I—don’t—”
“Start with Dahmer and tell me everything, Rose. I need you to tell me the truth, and I need you to trust me. You still with me?”
“Yes.”
“Good, and when you’re done, I’m going to call this in.” He looked around the room at everyone. “And then all of you need to do and say exactly what I tell you to.”
When the conversation was over, Dane got out of the chair and went out on the porch. Ned and Lydia followed him but took the steps into the yard.
“You sure about this, Dane?”
“Yeah, Ned. I’m sure.”
“Okay.” There was no need to discuss any further what had to be done. Dane had already taken his phone from the top drawer of the china cabinet. Roselita had told him where he could find it. He tapped in a number and held it to his ear.
“O’Barr.”
“August, it’s Dane.”
“Give me something good, Kirby. Tell me why the hell some hillbilly sheriff is blowing up my phone about a prisoner he hasn’t been able to locate and tell me why I’ve been dodging his damn calls because I haven’t been able to locate you.”
“August.”
“And before you start, just know that your answer better be worth hearing if you plan on remaining actively employed by the Bureau. I am not dicking around here, Dane.”
“I found the boy, August. I found William Blackwell.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. That’s a good start. Where are you? I’ll send people to help you bring him in.”
“August, there’s more.”
“Christ. What more?”
“It’s a warzone out here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Special Agent Geoff Dahmer and one big Filipino bastard with a bamboo stick just tried to kill me, Agent Velasquez, and several other people. There are multiple casualties, including those two assailants, and Velasquez is in bad shape.”
“Are you fucking with me right now?”
“No, August, I’m not. I’ll explain when you get here.”
“Is the boy all right?”
Dane reached over and ran his hand through William’s hair. “He’s a little shook up, but otherwise he’s fine.”
“Kirby, where are you? Tell me now.”
“Hard Cash Valley. Rockdale’s farm.”
“I’m on my way. We’ll figure all this out. Your priority right now is keeping the boy safe. Don’t you move.”
“Copy that.”