Junebug swung the hammer twice more onto the nail head. The last board snugged into place, firmly anchored to the cross piece. "Be quick. I got more chores to do."
Graeme filled him in on recent events, starting with the crash and ending with the listening devices discovered at both places. "I need to ask you about Pete Talmadge and Jorge Mendoza."
"Why, what do they have to do with anything?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
Junebug handed Graeme two hammers and a pry bar then grabbed his tool tray and walked to a work bench where he put the tools away. Turning, he faced Graeme and Gabe, scratched a whiskered jaw and asked, "You think these boys are involved?"
"Maybe, they sure seem to have been in a lot of places lately." Leaning against a tractor fender, he continued the interrogation. "How long have they worked here?"
"Oh, I hired 'em 'bout a year ago. Right about the time we lost Wyatt and Mr. Benning had his heart attack."
"Did they come with references, do you know anything about either of them?"
"Not too much. Mr. Riordon vouched for 'em." Junebug sat on a work stool and sighed. "Sorry, my old back dictates to me more each day."
"It's okay," Graeme said. "What else can you tell us?"
"They're good steady workers. Not too knowledgeable 'bout some things, but willin' to learn." He shifted gingerly on the stool. "Twice, now, at different times, they've asked for some personal time. After, though, they've come back ready to work."
"Do you know where either of them went?"
"No, I didn't figure 'twas any of my business."
"Where are they now?"
"Out runnin' the northeast line. We've lost a few head of cattle lately and I want to be sure it's not because of a downed fence."
Graeme glanced over at Gabe, wondering if he'd seen the men at the airline office earlier. Gabe raised an eyebrow and nodded his understanding at the unspoken thought.
Sharp as a brand new drill bit, Junebug made the connection Graeme had wanted to avoid. "As soon as they get back, I'll ask 'em what they've been up to."
"No—"
"Better yet, I'll cut 'em loose."
"What I want you to do is keep your usual routine." Graeme stood to reinforce his meaning. "I think it's better if they don't suspect anything." When Junebug started to protest, Graeme added, "For now."
"You just tell me when, boy." The ranch foreman slowly edged off the stool straightening to his full height. "I'll take care of business."
"Thanks." Graeme shook Junebug's hand. "You'll be hearing from me."
By the time they left the barn for the main house, the sun was at its hottest. Graeme wondered about a swim, but when he saw Maggie and the other women sitting in the family room, he had an idea. He parted ways with Gabe at the bottom of the stairs, then grabbed a few folders from the locked file cabinet and fixed a cooler with beers and Dr Peppers.
Half-way into the room where the women were gathered, Bridey came to greet him. "This is going to be the best barbeque ever. Donations are already coming in and I think we'll surpass any previous year's total."
"That's great news for your charities."
She looked up at him and smiled mischievously, like she'd read his mind. "Maggie, we're finished for today except for the few changes I have for Jenel and Dinah concerning the menu. Why don't you go with Graeme? I'm sure you two can think of something to do."
"Are you sure? I hate to leave if I can be of help."
"Go." Bridey made signs with her hands as if to shoo them out of the room.
Back out by the barn, he bungeed the small ice chest to the back of a golf cart, sat on the folders, and drove to the tank where they'd spent those lazy summers of their youth. Parking under the big oak tree, he helped her out, grabbed the drinks and folders, and walked with her to the old dock.
"I haven't been here in years." She took off her sandals to dangle her feet in the shallow water. Her toes barely grazed the surface. "It's a shame there hasn't been any rain this summer. I remember when you and Wyatt used to dive off the end and race to the other side."
"Those were some good times." Opening the lid, he found not only the drinks, but a couple of sandwiches Vidalia must've packed for them while he gathered Maggie. Tilting the box toward her, she chose a beer and one of the zip-closured bags.
"Yes they were." She twisted off the cap and drank. "Do you ever miss them?"
"More recently for some reason." He mulled over how to best say what needed telling, why he'd brought her out here. She interrupted his thoughts.
"Graeme, what's in the folder?"
"A few things you should see." Setting his longneck on the dock beside him, he handed her the files and waited. She seemed to read each page thoroughly, then swiped at a tear and he knew she'd reached Wyatt's letter. He wondered how she'd feel about him after she found out the truth about her husband's secrets. He knew he was being selfish, but he couldn't stop himself.
Maggie allowed herself to cry out her frustrations. Finally, she blew her nose on the paper towel that'd wrapped her sandwich, dried her eyes and smiled at Graeme. She knew he waited with much apprehension to hear what she had to say.
"Wow, that's a lot to comprehend."
"Yes, it is."
"Why did he think he had to do the investigating himself? I know you'd have helped him if he'd asked."
"That's just it." He cleared his throat and looked out across the water to the other bank. "He called me."
Her sandwich and beer fought for space and she thought for a minute her stomach might reject them. "What? I don't understand. Why wouldn't you help him?" Knowing Graeme as she did, there had to be a reasonable answer, but she lashed out anyway.
"I didn't know he'd called until the day before I came to the ranch." He placed his empty bottle back into the cooler. "I was on assignment the day he left the message and he died the next. I flew in for the funeral then left immediately after.
"Within days, I was injured in the roadside bombing and spent awhile recuperating. As soon as I could, I rejoined my team still in Afghanistan. When I got home . . ." His voice trailed off.
"Oh, my God," she agonized, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling fingers covered her mouth. "First I accuse him of having an affair with Harley and consult a divorce attorney. He can't reach you and doesn't know who else to trust. He must've felt so alone." Guilt overwhelmed her and tears streamed down her cheeks. Her heart ached for all of them.
Scooting closer, she wrapped her arms around Graeme wanting to comfort and be comforted. He held her tightly, his broad shoulders shaking as he broke down. "It's okay," she crooned softly, rocking him slightly as she would Andy. "I don't know why things happened the way they did, but I know you would've been there for Wyatt if the circumstances had been different.
"You were both raised with the same values, even though you weren't bound by blood, you were brothers in the truest sense of the word. You loved each other."
"Yes, we did."
He pushed away from her, searched her face for something, maybe truth, she wasn't sure. But suddenly, she knew without a doubt, that she loved him, for real and for certain. She wanted to tell him, needed him to know how she felt. Just as she was about to speak, his damned phone rang.
"Yeah, Joe?"
Maggie tried not to eavesdrop on his conversation, but, with nowhere to go, she gave up the effort. He disconnected and she waited for him to comment, but he didn't. "You know I'd like to throw that stupid phone into the tank, right?" When he stood and held out his hand to help her up, she asked, "What's going on?"
"Looks like things may start to pop sooner than we thought. Joe said to stay close."
"I want to go on record saying I don't like you going undercover. What happens if you're discovered?"
"That isn't going to happen, babe, you have to trust me."
Maggie rolled her eyes when Graeme winked at her. This could be very dangerous for him and he acted like the situation was a lark. He
was probably doing this for her benefit, so as not to worry her. Well, she'd have to do his worrying for him and that was that.
Chapter 19
Graeme met Gabe downstairs in the kitchen at five the next morning. A few others were beginning to stir, but most were still sleeping. He poured two cups of steaming coffee, handing one to Gabe as he came into the room and grabbed a seat at the center island.
"Looks like we're going to hit the ground running."
"Evidently so."
Webster entered along with Elliott. They each took coffee with Webster speaking to Graeme, "Tell me about Riordon's phone call this morning."
"Widmore and Southern Star's newest client, a charter company based in El Paso, sealed the deal after we left yesterday afternoon. The maiden route is this morning."
Joe gulped the hot liquid without so much as a grimace. "And the name of the company?"
"Nothing real creative, Southern Excursions."
Elliott pulled out his cell phone and slid his finger across the bottom to gain access. "I'll get Gene on it and see what he can turn up."
"Good." Joe drained his cup of its contents. "What else can you give me to go on?"
"Nothing yet."
"This will either go at light speed or crawl at a snail's pace, so stay in touch." Joe shook his head. "I hate running an operation by the seat of our pants."
Gabe spoke up, "Hell, it's not the first time. Better here than in some backward, war-torn country."
"Granted," Webster conceded. "Okay, you better get moving."
Graeme saluted with two fingers at his brow. "We're ready."
Walking out behind, Gabe, Graeme tossed his duffel behind the seat of the four door cab of the F-250 pickup. Gabe's landed beside it with a dull thump. Before climbing behind the wheel, Graeme headed around the tailgate toward the barn. "I'll be right back."
"What's up?"
"It's too quiet out here. I want to check on Junebug before we leave." The barn proved to be empty except for the high school kid Junebug had hired for the summer. "Hey, kid, I'm looking for Junebug. Have you seen him?"
"Mr. White went out before breakfast this morning to check on the northeast fence line."
"Did he go alone?"
"No, sir, a man was with him. Said he wouldn't be long. He just wanted to have a look see for himself."
Graeme noticed Junebug's saddle was missing which meant he'd ridden out on horseback. He checked the time. The stubborn foreman had been gone nearly an hour so he should be on his way back. His conscience wouldn't let him leave until he made sure Junebug was back at the barn. After only a few minutes, though, his gut churned. Something was off. Junebug had always been a stickler for following the rules unless . . . you were out of options.
He rushed to the truck, unzipped his bag, removed his Sig, and shoved it into the space at his back waistband. Pulling his tee shirt bottom over the gun, he settled in behind the wheel.
Gabe, reached behind the seat and grabbed his own gun. "Where're we going?"
"Thought we'd do a little off-roading before we head to the airport."
"I wouldn't mind seeing the rest of the place, but why now?"
"I think the old man may be in trouble." He dropped the gearshift in drive and pushed the accelerator. "Buckle up."
The truck bucked and bounced over the rough terrain as he took off across the pasture. Halfway to the northeast quadrant, they came up on Junebug's horse grazing on the dried, brown remnants of a former alfalfa field. Graeme didn't stop to check the animal, but kept driving.
As they approached the property boundary line, there was enough predawn light to recognize Junebug draped backward across the fence. Graeme slammed on the brakes, shoved the gearshift into park and ran with Gabe to pull the injured man off the barbed wire, laying him carefully on the ground. Someone had beaten him severely and upon closer scrutiny, Graeme found a bullet hole in his chest. Graeme jerked his shirt over his head and pressed the wadded material against the wound to staunch the blood flow.
Junebug groaned and grasped Graeme's hand. His raspy voice barely above a whisper, he said, "I tried to help you, boy."
"And I told you to leave it alone, old man." Graeme tried to sound mad, but his voice cracked, betraying him.
"Watch yourself, boy, that one's pure evil."
"Who?"
Junebug drew a shallow breath, then choked and coughed. Blood gurgled from his mouth. Graeme and Gabe lifted his shoulders to a better angle to aid his breathing. Their efforts, however, were to no avail. His head lolled backwards and he was gone.
A myriad of emotions coursed through Graeme, the most immediate and greatest being loss. Anger quickly took its place, though, and he knew he had to see this to the end. He wouldn't let Junius Tiberon White die in vain.
* * *
Graeme parked beside the private hangar for Southern Star Airlines at DFW International Airport. After driving Junebug's body back to the house, changing their clothes and giving their statements to Ben and Joe, he and Gabe had arrived on time.
Riordon jogged out to meet them. "You're prompt. Make it a habit and we'll keep the backers of this partnership satisfied."
"I honor my commitments."
"What about you?" Riordon glanced suspiciously at Hardison.
Gabe returned the glare. "We're golden until I get screwed."
Graeme stepped between the two, effectively shutting down their standoff. "So, what's the schedule? I'm going to need to see the manifest."
He watched Riordon straighten the lapels of his sharkskin jacket and reel in his anger, while Gabe barely concealed his enjoyment. Graeme'd seen this tactic employed many times where Gabe toyed with his adversary until they weren't sure if they were coming or going. At times he admired the approach, but he'd never mastered it. He much preferred the short and to the point, knock-him-on-his-ass method.
Riordon acknowledged the request with a nod. "Of course, follow me. The office is this way."
A short time later, after Graeme had filed a flight plan and performed his pre-flight walk about the exterior of the aircraft, Gabe excused himself to use the restroom and to perform a cursory surveillance. Graeme boarded the plane, briefly touring the seven-thirty-seven before taking the pilot's seat. His perusal of the lavish interior, bedroom, full bath, galley and dining/living area, told him this was not intended for an ordinary charter.
Gabe rejoined him sitting in the first officer's seat. "Is it my suspicious nature or did ol' Trev seem a little out of sorts?"
"He always seems generally disagreeable to me." Graeme retrieved the equipment from his duffel to check for listening devices and stood to make the sweep.
"Well, he sure don't like you."
"I guarantee there's no love lost between us." He pulled two earwigs out of their case, placed one in his ear and handed one to Gabe. "Joe, we're here."
Webster answered, "You're on talk radio, gentlemen. Anything yet?"
"We're still on the ground. I filed a flight plan for El Paso and we're scheduled to take-off in thirty minutes." He handed Gabe the before take-off checklist. "What's going on there?"
"As a precaution, Sheriff Hammond's picking up Maggie and her friend and bringing them here. After this morning's discovery, I thought it best to have as many under one roof as possible."
"What about Maggie's son and her parents?"
"They just arrived."
"Good, let me know when Ben gets there, will you?"
"Will do."
They went through the checklist, reading items from it aloud. At Graeme's final response, Gabe said, "Checklist complete."
Riordon knocked on the door and opened it. "Everyone's on board."
"Thanks." Graeme flipped on the Fasten Seatbelts sign, put on his headset, and started the engines. "DFW tower, Southern Star, Five-Three-Nine is ready for takeoff."
The voice from the control tower answered, "Southern Star, Five-Three-Nine, you are cleared for takeoff on one-eight, winds 230 at 10 knots."
Within minutes, the Boeing Seven-Thirty-Seven lifted off the runway headed to El Paso and, Graeme hoped, answers for the crimes committed against his family.
* * *
Maggie heard the sound of a lawn mower in the distance. She'd heard it earlier and must've drifted back to sleep. Even now, her eyes refused to open. Her head pounded at the slightest movement, her tongue felt like an army had tromped over it barefoot, her shoulders ached and her arms were numb. Holy crap, I'm either dying or in the middle of one helluva hangover.
As she climbed out of the fog, a sense of motion came over her and that damnable mower seemed closer. Who's mowing my yard and why? Nothing's growing – we're in the middle of a drought for goodness sakes.
Finally, she forced her lead-weighted eyelids up and, through the blur, realized she wasn't in her own bed. As she gained consciousness, she also figured out she still wore her new silk nightgown, her wrists and ankles were tied and that she'd possibly been drugged. Probably why she had a tremendous thirst and her tongue kept sticking to the roof of her mouth.
Putting all the clues together, she deduced the mower sounds she'd heard were engines all right, but they were on an airplane. She forced herself to focus, to sift through the debris that was currently her brain, to try and figure out who'd brought her here and why. And where the hell were they taking her? She did her best to think beyond the restraints on her aching wrists and ankles, her heart thudded like she'd run for the win in the Triple Crown. Then, adding insult to injury, she realized she needed to pee.
Raising her head at the sound of voices outside the door, she squashed the urge to yell for help when one male said, "I did what I was told. I got her here, didn't I?"
"You did, but I question your methods."
Trevor? Maggie recognized his as the second voice and laid her head down on the mattress, deciding it best to let them think her still unconscious for now.
"Shit, man, you were supposed to give her enough juice to control her, to get her on the plane. The boss isn't going to be happy if you kill her like you did her husband." Trevor stood beside the bed and checked her carotid for her pulse.
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