Dushane leaned across to Wolf, her voice pitched low. “Did you see it?”
“What?”
“Buckthorn’s sister.”
“What about her?”
“The hair. The eyes.”
“What are you talking about…” he stopped. “Ah,” he said.
“You saw it too, right?”
“Now I do.”
Loretta Starnes had the same color hair and wide dark eyes as the girl in the photograph—not close enough to be even a family resemblance, but definitely the same physical type.
“Still think it’s a bad idea to bring him?” Wolf asked.
“Even worse now.” But as she thought about Buckthorn, relaxed and chatting with his nephews, she found herself beginning to warm to the idea of having him along. This was a different man than the tense, stiff, worried deputy she’d seen so far. She realized with a start that Wolf was still talking.
“You think you could manage to avoid pissing our pilot off at least until we get there?” he said. “And if you say ‘yes, boss’, I’m putting you in for a transfer to Anchorage.”
“What better place for someone who can’t sleep?” Dushane said.
“I’m serious, L.D.,” Wolf said.
“Okay. But if he makes a move on me, I’m shutting his ass down. With extreme prejudice.”
“Come on now,” Wolf said. “Our host and pilot is a happily married man.” Dushane didn’t answer, just looked at Wolf levelly. Finally, he sighed. “Okay. You’re right. You need me to back you up?”
“Thanks, boss,” she said. “I can handle him.”
“Okay. And Buckthorn?”
“What about him?”
“You think you can handle him?”
“What are you saying, boss?”
“Nothing,” Wolf said. “Forget I ever said anything.”
“I’ll try,” Dushane said, her voice frosty.
The engines coughed, then roared to life, the heavy drone putting an end to anything but half-shouted conversation. Dushane was a little disturbed by how relieved she felt about that.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They’d begun work again at first light, Lofton using the backhoe to attack the mound of debris that used to be his home. He worked without finesse or skill, clawing away, moving the rubble to one place, then realizing it would be in the way and having to move it again. Donovan sat in the truck, smoking cigarettes and fuming. This was taking forever. He considered just shooting Lofton and taking over the operation himself, but something in him rebelled. When it came to the heavy work, he was already beginning to see himself as the one who told others what to do. Plus, for all his clumsiness, Lofton was farther along in learning how to run the machine that he was. So he sat and smoked and thought of Patience.
As he’d risen through the ranks of Lamp Monroe’s organization, he’d had the opportunity to sample more than the usual man’s share of female flesh. He’d certainly had women who were prettier, many who were younger. None of them had gotten under his skin the way Patience had. None had had the capacity to make him wake up, hot and sweaty, in the middle of the night, aching for her when she wasn’t there. He’d started working for Monroe to advance his own ambition, but now he’d met someone whose ambitions were equal to, if not greater than, his own, and he was surprised to find that irresistible. The realization had been coming came upon him slowly, then it burst all at once, like a storm you didn’t see coming until the sudden blast of cool wind and the first roar of thunder split the sky: he was meant to be king, and Patience was meant to be his queen. And nothing…nothing…was going to stand in the way of that. Least of all Lampton’s dumb-ass grandson.
Donovan stubbed out the cigarette in the already brimming ashtray. He picked the Glock up off the seat beside him and opened the truck door. He stuck the pistol in his waistband as he walked to where Lofton was wrestling with the backhoe.
__________
They rose up out of the emerald-green fields, into a landscape of puffy white and bright blue, the mounded clouds scattered here and there along and adjacent to their path. Buckthorn looked down and to his left, where the town where he’d spent most of his life lay below him. He saw the glittering jewel of the lake that gave the town its name, the early morning sunlight reflecting off the water. Not far away, so close as to make the distance seem negligible, the town itself stood in its neat, tree-lined rows. From the air, it looked like a town from a train set, a place where nothing bad could ever happen. Buckthorn knew better. Evil had come there, and been defeated, and it wasn’t coming back. Not if he had anything to say about it.
He’d left the place as a young man, never intending to return. But circumstance had drawn him back. Circumstance and the need to protect what he loved. And he’d never left, because he’d never lost that need. It had just expanded to encompass the whole town, the whole county he knew would always be home. Leaving now had felt strange, unnatural. But there was someone else who needed protecting. Her eyes called to him, pulling him on. I’ll be back, he promised as the town fell away behind him.
“Beechcraft eight, Charlie, papa,” Buckthorn heard Brubaker’s confident voice over the headset he’d put on. Buckthorn had put on a similar rig at Bru’s suggestion. “Request VFR flight following to Chatanooga.” In a moment, the reply came back. “Beechcraft eight Charlie Papa, roger, squawk one, two, zero, zero.”
“Roger,” Bru said, and reached down to arrange a set of dials on the complicated dashboard of the small plane. That task done, he relaxed back into his seat, but keeping his hands on the wheel.
“So, Tim,” he said easily, his voice coming through the headset, “you seem pretty tight with the FBI.”
He looked back at where Wolf and Dushane were sitting. “Don’t worry,” Bru said, “they can’t hear a thing over the engines. Not without these on.”
Buckthorn turned back and faced the front. “Okay.”
“Mind telling me what’s going on?”
Buckthorn hesitated. “There’s been a kidnapping,” he said finally. “Some evidence turned up in Pine Lake. We’re following that.”
“Huh. You’re hittin’ the big time.”
“I guess.”
“So,” Bru said after a pause, “you thought any more about what we talked about?”
Buckthorn knew it was coming, and his answer hadn’t changed. “I’m not a politician, Bru.”
“Hell, Tim, you don’t think I know that?” Bru said. “It’s why the voting public in Gibson County will just fall all over themselves for you. You’re a real honest to God lawman, not that damn empty suit sittin’ on his fat ass in the Sheriff’s office. Hell, after that whole biker thing, you’re a damn hero.”
Buckthorn’s mind sheered away from thinking about that day. “Why do I feel like it’s not law enforcement that’s really on your mind, Bru?” he said. He saw his brother-in-law stiffen with anger, then get control of himself.
“Fine,” Bru said. “You want me to say it? I will. Yeah, I think it’d be good for business to have a relative of mine as Sheriff. Even one who doesn’t like me very much, God knows why.”
“I like you fine, Bru…”
Bru went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Not because I think you’ll let me get away with anything, because I know damn well how much of a tight-ass you are. But I’m not worried about anything I’ve done, Tim. I got nothin’ to be ashamed of.”
”That’s good.”
“I just think it’d open doors. You wouldn’t even have to ask for them to be open. People will just naturally want to be nice to the brother-in-law of the Sheriff. The fact that you’d be good at the job is just icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned.”
Buckthorn looked out the window and didn’t answer.
“Hell, Tim, don’t I at least get points for honesty?”
That brought a slight smile to Buckthorn’s face. He turned back and looked at Bru. “Yeah,” he said, “But I never did think it was altruism on your part.”
“I don’t believe in altruism, Tim,” Bru said. “I believe in what you’d call enlightened self-interest. What’s good for Gibson County is good for me and my family. And vice versa. I do what I do because I want my family to be safe. I think you’d keep the county safe as Sheriff, Tim. And I can put you there.”
He’d always heard that the Devil tempted you by offering you the thing you wanted most. Not that he thought Bru was the Devil. He just bargained like one. And with every bargain you made with the Devil, there was always a catch, a hidden hook. The fact that Bru had dangled one hook in the open meant there was probably another. Still, he knew Sheriff Stark was considering retirement. If he was going to make the move, now would be the time. Stark left him pretty much alone to carry out the law enforcement in Gibson County the way he thought it ought to be done. Someone else might not be as hands-off.
He turned to Bru. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk more when we get back.”
“Well,” Bru said with evident satisfaction, “that’s progress.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Donovan had almost reached the rubble pile where Lofton was working. The roar and scrape of the big backhoe had covered the sound of his approach, and Lofton was so intent on his unaccustomed task, he wouldn’t have noticed a company of soldiers approaching. His face was screwed up tight in concentration, his tongue protruding absurdly from one corner of his mouth like the tongue of a kid lining up a difficult marble shot. He’ll never know what hit him, Donovan was thinking. He was reaching for the gun when he felt the vibration of the phone in the pocket of his suit jacket. He considered ignoring it, but habit made him pull it out and look at the screen. He swore under his breath when he recognized the number. He pushed the button and put it to his ear. “Yeah?”
He heard the grating wheeze of Lamp Monroe’s voice on the other end, but the noise of the big machine was making comprehension impossible. “Hang on,” he said. He backed away from the rubble pile, back towards the truck, keeping Lofton in his sight. When he reached the truck, he opened the door and slid inside. The big, sturdy doors cut the noise to a low growl.
“Sorry,” he said. “Noisy as fuck out here. Say again?”
“I said we got a change in plans. Preston got hisself picked up by the cops.”
“What? How?”
“Dumb sumbitch tried to rob a bank for the money. Went about as well as you’d expect.”
“No shit.” Donovan was impressed in spite of himself. “From what Lofton says, I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“Don’t look like he did,” Monroe said. “But he’s got what you might call an incentive to give someone up to save his own ass. We need to give him an incentive not to.”
“What do you mean?” But Lofton knew what it was as soon as he said it.
“The fuck you think I mean? We need the girl alive. And we need to let him know she stays that way as long as he keeps his mouth shut an’ takes his medicine like a good boy.”
God damn it. Donovan mouthed the words silently. Then he spoke. “I don’t know if she’s still alive. And the way your grandson’s shoveling shit around, the odds aren’t good for her even if she is.”
“Then get over there and dig her out yourself, damn it!” Monroe’s voice trailed off to a ghastly choking sound. Jesus, Donovan thought, here he goes. But after a few more hacks and gurgles, Monroe’s voice came back stronger. “She dies, he’s got no reason not to let the cops know about him and Lofton. And Lofton leads him to me. And you.”
“How do you know he’s not talking already?”
“We got somebody sittin’ on him. One of our lawyers.”
“How long you think that’ll last?”
“Till he gets to a lockup where we can work a more permanent solution.”
The old bastard’s got tentacles everywhere, Donovan thought. “I like it,” he said.
“Imagine how good that makes me feel,” Monroe said. “Now go do your damn job.” He killed the line.
Donovan stared at the phone for a moment in impotent fury before struggling to get himself under control. He had never looked forward more to the day when he could see Lampton Monroe dead and rotting in the ground instead of slowly rotting above it. But it wasn’t the time yet. Patience, he thought. He smiled, well aware of the double meaning. She’d make it all worth the wait.
He looked over to where Lofton was still bumbling around with the loader on the rubble pile and frowned. Damn fool would probably cut the girl in half with the loader blade if he kept that shit up. He opened the door and leaped out of the truck, breaking into a run as he approached the loader. “Hey!” he yelled. “HEY!”
Lofton finally noticed him and stopped what he was doing. He dropped the blade to the ground and looked at Donovan quizzically. Donovan made a slashing motion across his throat. Cut it off. Lofton looked annoyed, but reached down and turned the key. The motor died, leaving a huge and echoing silence behind it.
“What the fuck?” Lofton said.
“We got new orders,” Donovan said. “We need the bitch alive.”
Lofton glanced towards the rubble pile. “I think that horse has done left the barn, cuz,” he said.
“You better hope not. The cops have Preston. We need his daughter for leverage.”
Lofton slammed his hand against the loader’s dash in in frustration. “FUCK!” he screamed.
“We don’t have time to cry about our troubles,” Donovan said. “How close are you to the last place you had the girl?”
Lofton looked over his shoulder at the rubble pile. “I was right over it, I think. I was getting ready to start digging down.”
“Well, we can’t do that with the loader,” Donovan said. “We’ll need shovels.” He looked at the slowly climbing sun. “We need to go find a hardware store.”
“Fuck,” Lofton said, more softly. He looked at the rubble pile, at the space he’d cleared right above where he thought the girl might be. He climbed down from the loader and walked over to the cleared area.
“You down there, little girl?” he called out. “You down there?”
There was no answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Two agents met them on the tarmac at General Aviation, standing side by side next to a black Ford Taurus sedan. One was white, one African-American, but they were dressed in nearly identical dark suits and sunglasses, arms crossed in front of them as the small plane taxied toward them. Bru pulled the plane to a stop a short distance away and began shutting down the engines. They clambered out, stretching to relieve stiff muscles. The agents walked over, the black one in the lead. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his greying hair cut close to his scalp. His partner was tall as well, with an almost identical haircut, but he was a good bit younger.
“Agent Wolf?” the older agent said, holding out his hand. “Special Agent in Charge Alton Watson.” He turned slightly to indicate the other man. “Special Agent Braswell.”
“Thanks for meeting us,” Wolf said. “This is my partner, Special Agent Leila Dushane.”
“I know Agent Braswell,” Dushane said. “We were at the Academy together.” She nodded to him. “What’s up, Fireball?”
Braswell nodded stiffly. “I’m fine, Agent Dushane.”
She turned to Wolf. “You see where he got the nickname.”
“Not now, L.D.,” Wolf said.
Watson was looking at Buckthorn and Starnes, standing a few feet behind Wolf. “And who are these people?” His tone indicated he didn’t expect to be happy with the answer.
“Lieutenant Tim Buckthorn,” Wolf said. “Gibson County, North Carolina, Sheriff’s Department. He found the initial POL. He’s consulting with us on this.”
“Consulting,” Watson said, as if he’d never heard the word.
“Yeah,” Dushane said. “Consulting.”
Buckthorn looked at her in surprise. She looked back without expression.
“And this is…?” Watson was looking at Starnes, who took the opportunity to step fo
rward, hand outstretched, grinning broadly. “Brubaker Starnes,” he said. “I’m the one who flew these boys here. And the little lady, of course,” he said, smirking at Dushane. “Pleased to meet you fellows.”
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Starnes,” Watson said. “But I’m afraid this is as far as you go.”
The smile vanished. “Wait. What?”
“This is an official investigation,” Watson said. “No civilians. Sorry.”
Starnes turned to Buckthorn. “Tim,” he said.
“Sorry, Bru,” Buckthorn said. “I’m just a consultant myself.”
Wolf gestured to the small terminal at one edge of the field, where a sign advertised Hertz Car rentals. “Maybe you can rent a car,” he said. “Go into town.”
“Do some shopping,” Dushane offered.
“Shopping?!” Bru’s face was getting red. Buckthorn stole a look at Dushane. She looked back at him, still no expression on her face. Then, so fast he’d he almost missed it, she winked. She’s enjoying this, he thought.
“We need to get going,” Braswell said. “There’s been a development.” He and Watson were moving to the car, Wolf and Dushane following. Buckthorn looked at Starnes and spread his hands as if there was nothing he could do.
They climbed into the Taurus, Watson and Braswell taking the front, Wolf, Buckthorn and Dushane squeezing into the back with Dushane squashed in the middle. Despite the obviously uncomfortable position, she didn’t complain. Buckthorn was aware of the warm pressure of her thigh against his. He looked at her as if to apologize for the uninvited contact. She didn’t seem to notice.
“So…” Wolf began.
“What’s the news?” Dushane spoke over him. Wolf looked briefly annoyed.
“Local PD picked up a guy trying to rob a bank,” Braswell said. “This idiot was a candidate for one of those ‘World’s Dumbest Criminals’ shows. Tried to knock over the branch down the street from the police station. The place where the local cops deposit their paychecks.”
Tony Wolf/Tim Buckthorn - 02 - Broken Shield Page 8
