Far Gone (31 page)

She looked at Gavin in her passenger seat. She couldn’t bring herself to answer him, so she shoved the keys into the ignition. “Where to?” She shot backward out of the space. Where to, indeed? She had no idea.

She glanced at Gavin. He didn’t seem to know, either.

She took a deep breath and steered out of the parking lot. “Well?” She looked at him.

“I don’t know.”

Of course he didn’t. Andrea watched the Pecos County Sheriff’s Office recede in her rearview mirror. If only people could recede like that. And stupid mistakes.

She thought of the expression on Jon’s face, and the anger welled up again. How had she allowed this to happen? She’d awakened this morning trusting him, their intimacy wrapped around her like a blanket.

Don’t think about it.

She took a deep breath and tried to focus on logistics.

“I can’t drive you all the way to Lubbock today,” she said. “I can take you to the bus station. Or I can take you to the airport, but you’ll have to buy your own ticket.” As of yesterday, she was officially unemployed.

Just the thought made her go cold, and she gripped the wheel, thinking of her new reality. Every landmark in her life seemed to have crumbled. She felt completely adrift.

“Well?” She looked at Gavin as he wiped his sleeve over his face. Holy hell, was he crying? “Gavin?”

He turned away.

“What is it?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

A shaky exhale. “She’s gone.”

It took her a second to get it. “You mean Vicky?”

“She went to her parents’ place in Midland.” He swiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Said she needs to ‘figure out her life,’ whatever that means.”

“Gavin . . .” Good Lord, she didn’t need this right now. She tried to scrounge up some sympathy for him, but she had none. Zilch. She looked at him. “What did you expect?”

He looked offended. “I thought we’d be together. I thought she’d leave him as soon as she got the chance.”

“Gavin, her life is a mess right now. I mean, come on. She’s in an abusive marriage, she’s being investigated by the FBI. She probably
does
need some time to figure things out, and anyway, you’ve got your own problems to worry about.”

He turned away. “You don’t understand.”

She clutched the wheel, struggling for patience. She understood completely. Her brother was in lust with this woman, and now he was entertaining the absurd idea that they had a future together. How could he be so naive?

The irony smacked into her right away. Who was worse, her or her brother? At least Gavin had the excuse of being young. For all she knew, this was his first rodeo.

Andrea trained her gaze on the road, trying—and failing—to avoid thoughts of Jon. But it was impossible. The memories were too fresh. She thought of his hands on her body, his mouth sliding over her breast. She remembered the heat of his gaze, his touch.

She remembered the icy shock of standing in his bedroom, alone, and realizing what he’d done.

Don’t think about it. Don’t, don’t, don’t.

She slid a glance at Gavin again, and suddenly, she
did
feel for him.

“I can’t go to Lubbock,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Why not?”

“I got evicted.” He sighed. “That’s what the money was for—that I wanted to borrow. I lost my job at the restaurant and got behind on my rent.”

Andrea wasn’t sure she believed him, but she didn’t want to fight about it. “Where’s your stuff?”

He looked at her, and his cheeks were splotched from crying. Finches were not pretty criers.

“Your clothes? Your things?” she prompted.

“I don’t have much. My clothes are at the ranch, but I can’t go back there. I don’t want to anyway, now that Vicky’s gone.”

“You could stay with me for a few days.” The words seemed to come out on their own. “While you figure out your next step. You can sleep on my couch.”

He sighed and slumped against the door.

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks.” He looked at her. “I mean it. And for picking me up, too.”

“It’s fine.”

It really wasn’t, but what else could she say? For better or for worse, he was family.

He leaned his head against the window and stared out at the dry, empty scrubland.

What was going through his mind right now? She wondered if he had any clue about the scope of Hardin’s cruelty. The FBI had had Gavin in custody for five long hours, and she desperately hoped he’d managed to help them and provide something useful. He claimed he’d been cooperative, but she didn’t know if she believed a word he said anymore. They’d released him without charges, at least, which she took as a good sign.

Andrea’s head throbbed, and she focused on the road. She’d memorized this drive now, and it didn’t get better with practice. Flat, flat, and more flat. Rest stops and highway signs. She had five monotonous hours ahead, and she was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Her muscles ached. Her eyes burned like acid. Her feet were still blistered from yesterday, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a meal that didn’t come with ketchup and a toy.

She sighed and rolled her shoulders, trying to perk herself up. At least this time, she had someone to keep her company and share the driving. She glanced over at Gavin.

He was fast asleep.

♦

By the time the judge signed off on the paperwork, it was nine
P.M.
In what Maxwell called another “lucky break,” Shay Hardin and Ross Leeland were pulling into the Broken Spoke when the warrants came through. The SAC liked this development, because now the takedown could occur away from the ranch, where the situation was less likely to result in a heavily armed confrontation.

Jon liked the part about arresting Hardin away from his arsenal, but he didn’t like the “luck” part. Two lucky events in one day was too many. Something was going to go wrong tonight—he could practically feel it as he strapped on his flak jacket.

The plan was twofold. Part one involved taking advantage of Hardin’s and Leeland’s absence to execute the search warrant at the ranch. An FBI tactical unit out of El Paso, including two explosives experts, had shown up to assist. While Jon and the others had been busy moving into the staging area and gearing up, the demo guys had slipped through the fence and swept the ranch’s perimeter for land mines.

They’d found nothing, but it was a good precaution. No one knew yet what sort of measures Hardin had in place to protect his homestead.

As for Hardin himself, he and Leeland would be picked up after they left the bar—most likely, in the parking lot. Maxwell had assigned himself to do the honors, along with Santucci and Whitfield, with a second, smaller SWAT team on hand in case things got dicey.

Jon and Torres were assigned to the ranch because they knew the place better than anyone else. They had Theilman in tow, though, which was putting a damper on their normally stealthy approach as they neared the west fence.

Jon stopped and lifted his binoculars. He scanned the area, looking for any surprises, especially cars that didn’t belong. But he saw only the Driscolls’ red pickup parked beside the fire pit near the house.

“Confirming a red Dodge truck,” Jon said into his radio. “No other vehicles.”

“Copy that, Bravo,” the SWAT lieutenant’s voice said.

The other teams chimed in to confirm. The Driscolls were home. No one could see past the window coverings, but odds were they were either in the living room or in the bedroom. According to the detailed layout of the home provided by Gavin Finch, the couple’s bedroom was at the far back of the house.

Jon surveyed the area and spotted the low oak tree that he and Torres had decided would make a good entry point. He made a beeline for it, and the others fell in behind him.

Theilman halted suddenly. “What’s that?”

“Where?” Jon looked over his shoulder.

“Over there. Under that tree.”

Jon squinted at the shape. “It’s a cow.”

“It’s huge.” He gripped his rifle. “Think he’ll charge us?”

Jon looked at Torres.

“If he does, aim for his balls.” Torres dropped into a crouch and pulled out wire cutters, and Jon held his weapon for him as he went to work on the game fence. He removed a square of mesh and slipped through. Jon followed. Theilman crawled through last and snagged his flak jacket.

“Shit!”

Torres took the agent’s rifle off his hands while Jon yanked the jacket free.

Theilman rubbed the back of his neck as he stood up.

“You okay?” Jon asked.

“Fine.”

Torres darted Jon a look as he returned the gun, and Jon knew what he was thinking. This guy was loud and nervous, and his pasty skin practically glowed in the dark. Not someone you wanted covering your ass.

A last radio check-in before the final approach. Then Jon led the way, crouching low and using the scrub brush for cover as they crossed the field between the ranch’s western boundary and the barn. They neared the dilapidated structure, and Jon surveyed the ground, looking for trip wires or pressure plates.

Despite five windows, the west-facing side of the house was completely dark. All the shades were drawn, as usual, and not so much as a glimmer of light seeped through. According to Andrea’s brother, Hardin insisted on keeping the windows covered—even the kitchen ones—at all times to protect his privacy.

“What are these guys, vampires?” Theilman was looking at the windows. They were within fifty feet of the house now, but he obviously didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.

Torres checked his watch and held up two fingers. Two minutes.

Jon took a deep breath. He relaxed his shoulders. He adjusted the MP5 in his hands and focused his gaze on the back door. He’d been involved in dozens of raids, but this one was different. His heart thudded against his sternum. This was it. Months and months of work, all leading up to this moment.

Jon stared into the darkness, and his thoughts went to Andrea. He pictured her on the steps of that sheriff’s office, and his chest tightened. He’d made so many sacrifices for his job that it had become second nature. But today was the first time he’d done something he wasn’t proud of. He’d done something cold and calculating, and now he felt a surge of panic because he didn’t know how he was going to make it right with her. Or if he’d ever get the chance.

Ninety seconds.

Jon forced himself to get his head in the game. He trained his gaze on the house as black shadows shifted and the assault team stacked at the back door.

His pulse pounded. Wind rustled through the trees behind him.

Thirty seconds.

A slight movement near the door. Jon held his breath.

“Bang and clear,” came the command.

Boom.

The door buster echoed over the prairie, quickly followed by the loud concussion of a flash-bang.

Black-clad agents poured in. Shouting came over the radio.

“Bedroom one clear!”

“Bedroom two clear!”

Jon kept his gaze fixed on the back door. More shouting over the radio.

“You got ’em?”

“Bathroom one clear! Where are they?”

“What the hell?” Torres muttered beside him.

A blur of white darted from the house. Olivia Driscoll’s blond hair streamed behind her as she raced for the barn. Jon was after her in a heartbeat. Torres made the tackle, and Jon covered them with his gun as he wrestled her arms behind her and zip-tied her wrists.

“Where is your husband?” Jon demanded.

Two SWAT guys rushed over. Olivia cursed and kicked as Torres rolled her onto her side.

“Where is he?” Torres repeated.

Her chest heaved as she stared up at them, wide-eyed. “They’re not here! No one’s here!”

Jon crouched beside her and got right in her face. Leaves clung to her hair, and she looked shocked and terrified.

“Where is your husband, ma’am? You need to tell us where he is.”

“I don’t know! He went with Shay and Ross!”

“Whose vehicle?”

She glanced at the house.

“Whose vehicle?”

“Shay’s! They’re in the truck. I’m the only one here!” She looked at the house again and burst into tears. “What is this? What’s going on?”

Jon looked at Torres. She could easily be lying.

He glanced at the house and heard cabinets banging open as agents moved room to room, searching. The pickup’s doors stood open now. Agents were in the barn, rooting through equipment.

“We got her covered,” Torres said.

Jon jogged to the back door, where he found the SWAT lieutenant looking unhappy as his men turned the house inside out searching for a potentially armed man.

“That’s Olivia Driscoll?”

Jon gave a crisp nod. “She says her husband’s with Hardin.”

“I thought it was just two of them.”

“So did I.” Jon pulled out his phone and called Whitfield. Torres walked over. Meanwhile, the search continued as men streamed through the structure like army ants.

Whitfield answered right away.

“Driscoll’s missing,” Jon told him. “His wife says he’s with Hardin.”

Silence.

“Hardin’s still inside the bar,” Whitfield reported.

“She says he was with Hardin and Leeland when they left the house, all in one vehicle.”

Curses on the other end. “Lemme call Santucci. See if he’ll go in there and get eyes on them.”

“He’s not already in?”

“He wanted to stay in his vehicle, stake out the parking lot. I didn’t go in because I’m in ICE gear, didn’t want to make everyone jumpy.”

Jon gritted his teeth.

“I’ll send him in, call you back.”

Jon hung up and looked at Torres. “Unbelievable. They don’t have eyes inside the bar. I thought Santucci was the smart one.”

“Is he with them or not?” the lieutenant wanted to know.

A commotion in the shadows as Olivia Driscoll was brought over, hands behind her back, a commando on each elbow.

“This is bullcrap!” The tears were gone now, but her cheeks and nose were splotchy as she sank onto the porch steps. “I’ll sue you!” she snapped at Jon. “I’ll sue all of you! You can’t just bust in here!”