by Nicole Snow
He squeezes the side with his other hand. “Not what I'm worried about. Found out it opens.”
The back had popped off. There's something small, black, and metallic inside.
“Is that an SD card?” I ask.
“Sure looks like it. Must have been an extra for one of his cameras. He had dozens.”
He goes to close the lid and I stop him. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as scenarios play out in my mind. “Wait. What if Davey was telling you the truth? That his involvement wasn’t about money. Wasn’t what it seems?”
“What are you talking about?”
I pick up the SD card. It’s only a hunch, but I feel it clear to my bones. “What if Davey wasn’t working with the Pearls, but against them? Hoping to bring them down and make a name for himself that way? What if he had proof? Pictures?”
Brent glances at the keychain. “This was in his pocket when he died. No camera in his car. Which was odd because he never went anywhere without one.”
“We have to see what’s on this,” I say. “Is there a camera here? Something we can put this in?”
“In the trunk. Bedroom.” Brent grabs my hand. “It’s full of Davey’s stuff. I never felt like going through it.”
My heart races. Makes my chest burn by the time we open the lid of the old metal trunk. I tell myself not to jump to any conclusions, but I can’t help it.
It’s only nine o’clock. With solid proof we can go to the authorities before the battle ever begins.
There are half a dozen cameras in the trunk, but not a single one has batteries. Lovely.
“You don’t have any double A's in the entire house?” I ask for a second time. There must be batteries somewhere.
“No. Don’t need them for anything.”
“Well, keep digging,” I say, pulling out a stack of newspapers and magazines. “Maybe there’s some in here, or a charger.”
He keeps digging. A birthday card slips out of one of the magazines and hits the floor. I can’t stop myself from opening it, or reading what’s written inside.
“Holy shit...” I whisper it to myself, barely out of his earshot.
I can't believe my eyes.
I know I’m the last person you want a card from, but we'll be a family soon. Are already.
And I’m sorry. I’ve said it before, and I'm saying it again.
We both know the baby is Brent’s.
What happened between us shouldn’t have happened at all. I was lonely. Missing him. So were you.
I’m sorry about saying you don’t want his leftovers. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. You're a good man. A kind man. You'll make the world a better place one day.
Happy Birthday, Davey.
Love, Cindy
“What's that?” he asks, standing behind me.
I close the card and consider tucking it back inside the magazine, pretending I never saw anything, but it's too late. Brent’s already reaching for it.
I hand it over and reach back inside the trunk, not wanting to see his reaction to the card.
Still, I can’t help myself.
He reads it, more than once by the way he’s studying it. My stomach gurgles, not knowing what to say. Cowardly, I pull out another stack of newspapers. This time, it’s the headline that catches my eye.
Hard Evidence Proves the Cameras Are Working.
I skim the article about the Border Enforcement Task Force installing Buckeye cameras along the border. It talks about how the motion activated sensors send pictures straight to the sheriff’s office, then onto Homeland Security and the DEA.
The article goes on, showing how the task force can respond to the pictures within minutes. Within the first few months of operation, thousands of pounds of drugs were seized, dozens of smugglers arrested, and several human trafficking operations busted.
Last, it mentions how the local sheriff’s department declined commenting on the issue. I glanced at the pictures then, of the task force and of Captain Dawson refusing to talk to a reporter.
The photos were taken by Dave Eden.
I hand the newspaper to Brent. “We have to see what’s on that SD card. Now.” An epiphany hits. “Hold up. I think...we can put it in my cellphone.”
“Phones don’t use SD cards anymore,” he says, scanning the newspaper.
“Your brand doesn’t. Mine still does. Jesus, I'd forgotten that little slot...” I’ve already pulled my phone out of my pocket and pry off the back.
I collect the card from where I’d set it on the window sill, and carefully slide it in. I pop the back on again and power up the phone.
Brent’s putting everything back in the trunk. I try not to notice he’s still holding the birthday card.
I can’t imagine what he must be thinking. Or if he already knew Davey and Cindy had what I’m assuming was an affair while he was in the army.
When the screen appears on my phone, I tap the photo icon. “Look, it says SD card.”
Brent finally tosses the birthday card back inside and shuts the trunk lid. We both sit on it as I click on the icon again.
The first few pictures make my heart sink. Nothing but black.
The next few have some odd shapes and shades of gray, but nothing I can make out. I keep scrolling.
There's a truck and a building of sorts, but the colors are off.
“He must have been using a thermal imaging camera. Maybe a setting for that,” Brent says, his eyebrows inching up.
I scroll some more. Brent grabs the phone from my hand. “Fuck. I know that place. It’s one of the first cleanup jobs I did for the sheriff’s department. That house had been used for human trafficking. Those poor girls had a bad end.”
That tells me I don’t want to see the pictures. “Was Davey still alive then?”
“No, I didn’t start doing cleanup jobs for them until after his death.” He’s scrolling faster. “It’s him, Blue.” He turns the phone towards me. “That’s Dawson.”
“You can’t see his face,” I say.
“That’s him. His size and shape.”
He keeps scrolling. Faster than I can focus in on anything. Until one picture stands out.
“Stop. Go back one.”
When he does, I point towards the close-up picture of a hand. “Jesus. I’ve seen that ring before. Zoom in if you can.” My heart skips several sorely needed beats as he zooms in on the ring. “That’s Mother-Of-Pearl behind the turquoise.”
“Seen it? Where?”
I swallow hard before saying, “On Dawson’s finger. I'm sure of it. When I was filling out the OFP.”
He swipes to the next picture and I have to look away. The hand with the ring is holding a knife to someone’s throat. Brent curses beneath his breath as he swipes through several other pictures. “I’ve seen enough,” he says, clicking out of the photos.
I take the phone. “Davey took those pictures, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. Had to. Fuck, he must have had enough time to stash the card in his key chain before they took his camera. Before they killed him.” He puts his elbows on his knees and rubs his head with both hands. “You were right. Davey must've tried to prove Dawson was in on the trafficking. That house was hell on Earth. Awful, Blue.” He huffs out a long breath. “Must have had my crew out there roughly six months after Davey died.” He shakes his head.
A wild flicker enters his deep green eyes. “Dawson was testing me. Trying to see if I knew anything.”
I’m rubbing his back with one hand, but can’t think of anything to say when he jumps to his feet.
“Someone’s here.”
“Your motorcycle friends?”
“No. Too early.” He spins around. “Stay here.”
I don’t have time to utter a response before he’s across the room, clicking off the light, shutting the door behind him.
Crossing the room, I tuck the phone in my back pocket, but then pull it out again.
Not sure what to do with it, I tuck it under the mattress,
and then walk to the door. Carefully, I turn the knob and open the door, just enough to hear –
Nothing. Dead silence. Or was that a car door?
“What are you doing here?” Brent asks, an edge in his voice.
There’s a faint sound of laughter. Repulsive laughter.
I sneak out the door and down the hallway, my heart drumming in my ears so loud I can barely hear. I can’t make out the words, but know the voice.
Asshole Dawson.
I peek around the living room doorway. Brent’s outside, standing on the front steps.
“Disappointed,” I hear Dawson say. Then something about “my boys” and “out here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brent says.
“Let me explain, numbnuts.” Dawson must have walked closer, because I hear him clearer. “Your little meeting tonight with the Pearls and the Grizzlies won’t be happening. Not the way you planned, anyway. After we're done here, we're blowing those bears to shit. Good news is, there will be a meeting. You. Me. That little girlfriend you have inside, and my other guests.”
Brent’s mumbled curse is only part of what I hear.
“Let go of her, you heathen!” My mother’s voice.
I race across the room and push open the door.
“I told you to stay inside,” Brent snarls, whirling around.
“I’m sorry,” is all I can think to say. “So sorry.”
No words in the universe can do justice to the nightmare in front of me.
Mother stands next to a car, her arms wrapped around Natalie. There's a burly man behind them, a smug demon look on his face.
Dawson, who's just a few feet in front of us, laughs again. “Don’t be thinking about pulling one of those guns out, Eden.” He waves a hand in the air. Two men step out of the driver’s doors of the two cars parked behind the first. “I have backup. Plenty of it. You can’t outsmart me, Brent. I’ll always be one step ahead of you. Got the best of both worlds. My badge and my Pearls.”
“Cut the shit, Dawson. What do you want?”
Brent sounds unaffected. Furious, really. But I can hear his breathing. It’s quick and shallow. His eyes never leave Nat.
“Regret how it's come to this. Truly, I do. I’ve given you plenty of lovely opportunities for you to fess up what you know about your brother,” Dawson says. “You’ve ignored them.”
“I don’t know anything. Never have.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Dawson takes a step closer. “I know he took pictures that night. They weren't in his camera. Where are they?”
“Pictures of what?” Brent shakes his head, a cool deception in his eyes.
Dawson’s eyes nearly glow red as he glares at Brent, then me.
Eventually he turns his neck, glancing around. He lets out a laugh and rubs his chin. His ring shines as it catches the moonlight.
“You know, fuck it. This might be better than my other plan.” He waves a hand. “They’ll find Graves' body over there in the barn, where you killed him in a jealous rage. Then you went on a rampage, killing the girlfriend, your very own daughter, and of course, the future mother-in-law.”
I don’t know how I’m still standing. My stomach churns, way past ready to be violently, violently sick. I’m shaking so hard there's no feeling left in my legs.
He laughs again. “The staging will be easy. Your guns are already loaded. Plenty of prints. Ballistics will prove it all.”
“You win, Dawson,” Brent says. “I’ll give you what I have. Just let us go.”
No! I scream it in my head, but my lips won’t work. Neither does my throat.
I grab Brent’s arm. He can’t give them the SD card.
His body feels stiff. Hard as stone while he shakes his head.
I want to say Dawson will still kill us. Kill us all. But he already knows that.
“They’re not here,” Brent says.
“Really?” Dawson says. “I don’t believe that shit for a second. You're a bad fucking liar.”
“They’re on the other side of the property. There’s a shack. Anything Davey ever had is tucked away there. Hidden.”
Dawson casts a doubtful gaze at Brent before he turns slightly, the wheels turning in his evil head. “Natalie, you got a shack on this property?”
Don’t answer, Nat. Please don’t answer. Please, please, please, I say over and over in my head.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
Fuck!
“Do you know how to get there?” Dawson asks.
I find my voice. “What?”
I find my feet, too, and leap forward. Brent grabs my arm, but I continue to speak. “You’re dragging a child into your selfish, miserable life? Can’t you find anyone bigger to pick on, Captain Dawson? You're officially the most useless, twisted, choked up shit-worm I've ever laid eyes on.”
“Blue, stop it!” Brent says.
“No, Eden, let her go on,” Dawson steps closer. “Would you prefer I pick on you, Ms. Derby? Seems you're asking for it.” He lifts his brow. “Better yet, would you like to be the one who goes on a rampage? Killing Graves, then Eden, then his kid and your mom before doing yourself in? That'd make a fuck of a story! Blue the Cold Blooded Killer. They'll love it!”
Brent holds me back from stepping closer, but I let Dawson know what I think. “Fuck you.”
He lifts a brow.
I glare. “How do you even know if Preston's dead?”
“Oh, he’s dead all right. Just on ice till I decide where I want him found.” Dawson’s beady eyes scan me from head to toe. “Graves found out exactly how I take to other people trespassing on my territory. That fucker's family tried to strong-arm a few choice real estate deals way too close to my liking. Then I found out he was tangled up with you, with Eden. Can we say 'match made in Heaven?'”
Demon laughter. Again.
My blood runs cold for real. “You're one sick puppy, aren’t you?”
“I’ll take you to the shack,” Brent says. “The women and Natalie stay here.”
“Have you forgotten, Eden, that you don’t have any bargaining chips?” Dawson steps forward and holds out his hand. “I’ll take those guns now.”
Brent pulls me backwards and steps in front of me. The glance he gives me over his shoulder tells me to stay put. I’m not that stupid.
Shame washes over me. Stupid is exactly what I was earlier.
It’s my fault mom and Natalie are here. If I’d just stayed home like he asked, they’d be safe.
And Brent would be alone. He wouldn’t know what Dawson was after, either.
At least I gave him that. Closure.
Small price for our lives.
But I can't get hung up on defeat. I have to keep thinking. Have to figure out what we can do next.
I close my eyes in order to swallow the lump in my throat, refusing to admit we’re cooked.
“Everyone won’t fit in my truck,” Brent says. “The trail's rough. Your cars won’t make it.”
“Don’t tell me what my cars can and can’t do, asshole,” Dawson says, sticking one of the guns Brent handed him in his waistband. The other one, he points at us, while talking to his men. “Phil, load those two back in the car. Kessler, you take Ms. Derby, and Albright, you ride with Eden.”
I can feel the fury radiating off Brent. It might just be the scariest thing here.
I lay a hand on his back and stretch up on my toes to whisper in his ear, “I love you.”
It’s all I can think to say. The truth.
The full no-holds-barred truth. I never imagined that love, when I found it, would take precedence over all else. But it does. It's stronger than life and death.
“Come on, girlie,” Dawson says.
Brent squeezes my wrist as I step up beside him. I nod, real subtle, silently telling him we're in this together and that I won’t let him down. Whatever happens.
Then, I step down off the stoop, wrenching my arm out of Dawson’s reach when he tries to grab i
t.
This psycho will pay. One way or another. If it's the last thing we do.
“Cuff her, Kessler,” he says.
“Dawson!” Brent growls.
“Get in your truck, Eden, and stop bitching,” Dawson orders. “And remember: one wrong move and somebody dies. That's an easy rule even a dumb shit like you can understand.”
The man called Kessler grabs my arm, spins me around, and slaps a zip-tie on my wrists. I wish I was a hundred pounds heavier, or a hundred times stronger. Either one would come in handy right about now.
A piece of my self-defense training pops into my head. “Are you a cop too?” I ask, trying to draw his attention off how I’m keeping my wrists crossed while he tightens the tie.
Rather than answering, he shoves me towards the car he’d stepped out of earlier.
I don’t know if others are in there or not. I'm mildly relieved the front and back seats are empty when he opens the passenger door. The man who’d driven the other car climbs in Brent’s truck and Dawson gets in the passenger seat of the car carrying mother and Nat.
Brent’s truck darts off through the field I’d watched him drive across while I’d driven up the driveway. The car with Dawson in it goes next and we follow.
I don’t know if I’m so scared I can no longer feel it, or what, but I’ve gone numb inside.
Completely numb.
I don’t have a fucking clue what to do next. Which thoroughly pisses me off.
Without even thinking about doing so, I kick the dash. The glovebox falls open and I kick it again, slamming it shut.
“Hey, knock that off!” the driver shouts.
“Fuck you!” I kick the dash again, keeping my foot against the box. I thought I glimpsed a gun in there, but I’m not sure.
I keep tapping it with my foot, rage taking over, trying to make the latch let loose again so I can get a better look.
“Stop, bitch. I won’t think twice about shooting you!”
“You don’t think twice,” I say. “That’s for sure. If you did, you wouldn’t be working with Dawson. But go ahead, shoot me. I’m sure he'll be impressed.”
The car bounces over ruts and he’s squeezing the steering wheel with both hands. He’s nervous. There’s sweat dripping down the side of his face. He doesn’t look that old, either.
