Side by Side (22 page)

54

The pursuing Tahoe came to a stop, and the driver got out to look at the wreck. He spoke into his cell phone. “Massey’s done. Truck’s finished. We’ll just make sure and we’re out of here. Yeah, I know how dangerous he
was.
You get Blocker out of the street, we can handle this. Meet you back at the place in an hour.”

The passenger climbed out of the Tahoe and walked in front of the headlights, carrying an MP5-SD. The driver came slowly around the SUV holding a tactical shotgun with a high-intensity flashlight mounted under the barrel.

After the killers crossed the ditch and were advancing toward the overturned truck, Winter sat up behind them. He had been lying on his back since jumping out into the mud as the truck left the ground. Silently, he put a pair of .40-caliber rounds into the back of the SUV passenger’s head. As the driver pivoted at the sound of his shots, Winter put one into his right ear and a second into his neck below his jaw. He knew neither man was Randall or Sarnov because he’d seen them in the headlights.

Winter sprinted to the running Tahoe, turned it around, and drove away. He needed to catch Max Randall before he picked up the run-over corpse and left. When Winter got there, Randall was gone. Only a dark circular oil-slick-looking stain showed where the dead man had been. Winter itched to chase Randall down and kill him, but he had more important things to do. He had to find a pay phone.

55

Lucy Dockery went directly from locking the dogs’ door to the gasoline drums lined up against the warehouse wall. She took the pee bucket off her arm and set it down. Taking the nozzle in one hand, she moved the lever up and down to pump gasoline into the bucket. Luckily, the pump mechanism was well greased, so the only sound was the jets of gas shooting into the container. After filling the bucket, she also filled a large-mouth gallon jar almost to the rim with gas. She carried the containers over and set them down beside the porch, where she could get to them after coming out the door with Eli.

A pickax and a pair of shovels leaning against the little porch hadn’t been there earlier or she was sure she would have seen them. Her heart fell when she realized that the twins had probably brought them inside after digging the graves they intended for her and Eli. The pickax sparked an idea that added an additional facet to her plan—one that brought a painful smile to her split lips.
This could actually work.

Lucy propped an old wooden ladder against the back wall of the trailer so she could get back into her room through the window. She took off the coat and laid it on the bottom of the window over the track edges of the aluminum frame.

All she had to do was to sneak out of the room and into the kitchen, get one of the cast-iron skillets without Dixie hearing her, then get back in her room and call out so Dixie would come stomping back there to shut her up. When she came in, Lucy would hit her in the head and knock her out cold.

Then she would get some of the matches she’d seen stuffed in a shot glass on the counter near the stove, grab her son, and go out the front door and pour the gasoline all around the outside of the trailer in the dirt and light it to draw the other Smoots from outside the building to fight the fire. When they came into the warehouse, she’d have Eli in the corner, which would be behind the door when it was open, effectively hiding them from view of the in-rushers. She’d take Eli out, close the door, and lock all the kidnappers in. She’d push a matchstick into the lock and break it off to jam it. Maybe Dixie would have a concussion, or maybe she would even die from the blow. That wasn’t Lucy’s concern. All she had to do to escape was to do everything . . . perfectly.

Then she felt the floor vibrate and heard the sound of Dixie’s footsteps coming into the kitchen.

Lucy froze.

56

Sergeant Hank Trammel strode down a desolate stretch of south Texas highway with his olive-drab canvas duffel over his shoulder. He wore a dress uniform. His shoes were polished to a mirror finish, which allowed him to see the green beret perched on his head, the brown mustache and aviator sunglasses.

The cloudless white sky allowed the midday sun to beat down on him mercilessly and he wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. He was going to get to the ranch before Millie put little Tommy to sleep.

Since there was no traffic, he had walked the five miles from the bus stop outside the tiny community of Los Terras, Texas, to the Flying T Ranch. Millie didn’t know he was coming in for another week because he wanted to surprise her.

His mind was filled with the idea that little Tommy and Millie would be waiting for him, and how excited his wife would be when she saw him approaching the farmhouse. It wouldn’t be a complete surprise, though: He couldn’t get to the house without his hounds setting up a ruckus.

When the house was no more than a hundred yards away, he realized that the dogs weren’t announcing his approach.

The house looked the same, but it looked different than he remembered it. He could see that the white paint was weathered off, and as he reached the porch he noticed that some of the windows were broken, and that the front door was standing open.

Hank dropped his bag in the dirt and took the steps two at a time. Slowly he entered the foyer, and although nothing had changed about the house’s furnishings, he was struck by how much dust there was covering everything. And not just the dust, but spiderwebs too.

He climbed the stairs, waving the webs aside. As he approached the bedroom he heard a phone ringing, and he opened the door to see a pedestal with a shiny black telephone perched atop it.

Hank opened his eyes and the dream evaporated, leaving him momentarily confused as to where his wife and son were.

He heard Faith Ann pick up the receiver in the kitchen and say, “Hello.”

He remembered that his dear Millie was dead.

His son, Tommy, a child when he went, had been dead over thirty years.

So much pain in his heart.

So fresh were the wounds.

He heard his niece coming and he reached for his glasses on the bedside table before she tapped.

“Uncle Hank, you awake?” she asked softly.

“Of course I am,” he snorted. “How can a man sleep with the phone ringing off the wall?”

The door opened and Faith Ann stuck her head in. “It’s Mr. Massey. I think it’s real important. He sounds sort of winded.”

Hank reached for the telephone and sat up, causing a bolt of pain to shoot from his ankle to the base of his spine. He took a deep breath, then said, “Hi there, Win. What’s the deal?”

He listened to the request, and the brief explanation his dear friend offered.

“You called the right guy,” Hank said. “Consider it done.”

Hank hung up, turned on the lamp, and called out, “Faith Ann!”

She came back to the door.

“I have to go out for a while to help a friend,” he said. “You lock the door and if you need anything, call Sean.”

Despite the urgency of his mission, it took Hank ten minutes to dress, and the pain had him sweating profusely. He slipped on a pair of muck shoes, knowing he couldn’t take the time to pull on his boots.

It had been over a year since he had truly felt needed by anyone for anything important. He knew he was hardly more than a ward of Winter and Sean’s. Officially he was Faith Ann’s guardian, but the truth be told, his niece was more his caregiver than he was hers.

He reached for his crutches and, with tears in his eyes, headed for the door.

Faith Ann met him in the kitchen, arms crossed. She had put on a raincoat and her jeans bloused where they were tucked into the tops of her cowboy boots.

“You cold?” he asked her.

“Not yet. But it’s chilly and wet out there.”

“You’re staying here,” he said.

Her concerned frown told him that she didn’t think he could go anywhere on his own, but he knew better. Winter needed him. Just like the old days.

“I mean it, Faith Ann. You lock up and if you need anything, call Sean.”

“Where are you going?”

“On a mission.”

“Important?”

“Life and death.”

Hank leaned over and kissed the girl’s cheek and she returned it.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Go get it done.”

Hank took the keys to his Jeep and went out the door. He was almost at the driver’s door when his leg went numb and he pitched into the side of the vehicle and tumbled into the ditch, striking his head. As he lay there on his back, cold rain filled his eyes.

It was immediately obvious to him that he wasn’t going to be getting up without help. He heard the back door fly open and Faith Ann’s feet on the gravel as she came at a run.

“Oh, Uncle Hank!” She knelt beside him, a look of horror in her eyes.

“I’m okay, Faith Ann. My stupid leg just went stiff on me. I’ll be able to get up in a minute.”

“I’ll help you.” She grabbed his wrist and began tugging at it. He couldn’t do more than sit up. He wondered if he might have broken his hip.

“Go get Sean,” he told the girl.

Faith Ann wriggled out of her raincoat and put it over Hank’s head to protect him from the rain. Then she turned and ran off toward the big house.

Hank was thankful she hadn’t hung around to see him crying.

57

Sean Massey answered the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Sean, it’s Alexa Keen. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Hello, Alexa. Anything wrong?”

“No, everything’s fine,” Alexa assured her. “I was just wondering if you’d heard from Winter this evening.”

“He called earlier when I was putting Olivia down. Maybe two hours ago. Why?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. What exactly did he say to you?”

“He told me he loved me and asked about Rush, Olivia, and Faith Ann. Said you guys had split up. Said it wasn’t dangerous, which I naturally assumed was a lie designed to make me feel better. That’s about it. Tell me why you’re asking. I can handle anything but not knowing.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. He called me earlier to say he was going to make a couple of stops, then come back here to the Westin. It’s been over an hour, and I can’t get him on the cell phone I gave him. He has extra charged batteries, but the one in it may have run down and he might not know it’s time to replace it. I know he has a second cell phone, his own. I don’t have the number.”

“He forgets things,” Sean said. She gave Alexa Winter’s cell number. “Alexa, tell him to call me as soon as you talk to him?”

“Sean, don’t worry. Winter can take care of himself.”

“I know,” Sean said. “I’ve seen that firsthand.” She said good-bye, hung up, and looked across the room where Hank Trammel sat in an armchair, frowning. A wool blanket was over his shoulders.

“I haven’t seen that sour-ass Trammel look since the day I met you,” she told him. “God, you can be a scary fellow until a body gets to know what a pussycat you are.”

“Polecat, you mean.” Hank smiled. “I remember when I had you handcuffed. You looked like something out of
Oliver Twist.
Hell, I didn’t know whether to turn you loose or shoot you. What did Miss Alexa Keen say?”

“Alexa says he didn’t show on schedule.”

Hank said, “I have a feeling she’ll see him soon enough. He has a way of turning up when you least expect him to. Reckon I’d best get moving.” He tried to stand.

“Hank,” Sean said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to stay here.”

“Bull,” he said. “Help me make it up. I’ll be fine once I get moving.”

“Let’s cut the crap,” she told him. “I’ll go see Judge Fondren.”

“No way. Winter would have my ass. He entrusted me with this errand.”

“Is it dangerous, knocking on a front door in Myers Park?”

“No, I don’t expect it is.”

“I walk up, ring the bell, deliver the message. Then I’ll get in my car and come back home.”

“I feel so dad-burned worthless.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I can’t call Judge Fondren,” he said. “Winter said the wrong people are tapping phones. He said he couldn’t call anybody who could help because the bad guys could be monitoring anybody he might turn to. I’m the only person he was sure they wouldn’t think he’d turn to.” Saying that hurt.

“No, Hank. The only thing to do is what Winter said to do.”

“It’s not a good idea,” Hank insisted. “He didn’t call you for a reason. Winter’ll freak out if you go into a dangerous situation. I’ll go. I know Fondren.”

“Come on, Hank. We’ve discussed this. You know I can take care of myself.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Faith Ann knows where Olivia’s bottles are. If the baby wakes and won’t go back to sleep, sing to her. She likes ‘Do you believe in life after love,’ that Cher tune.”

“She’ll have to settle for ‘Desperados Waiting for a Train.’ You be real careful. If you see anybody watching the judge’s house, keep going. Call me from a pay phone and I’ll call Shapiro. Agreed?”

Sean stood, slipped on a coat and a baseball cap, then kissed Hank. She knew Shapiro, the director of the U.S. Marshals, and he would do anything to help Hank or Winter.

“You be careful,” Hank called after her. “I’m about as experienced taking care of infants as I intend to be.”