Hot on the Trail. Vicki Tharp

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СКАЧАТЬ breeze picked up, and a dust devil of dirt and hay swirled at the barn entrance, beating the side of the truck and choking the air with dust. With it, the temperature dropped by ten degrees.

      “Let’s go, or we’ll be delivering in the rain,” Quinn said.

      “Don’t expect to be paid.”

      “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

      Boomer settled in the driver’s seat, dumped his hat in the space between them, and started the engine.

      As they pulled out, Quinn said, “Seriously, what’s with the kid? No offense, but she looks nothing like you. Don’t tell me Sid convinced you that you were the father.”

      “We’re fostering her until the authorities can either find her parents or confirm that she no longer has them, or any other family members, who can take her in.”

      “How long have you had her?”

      “About four years now.”

      Quinn whistled, surprised at the length of time.

      “Remember when Angel and Sidney’s horse, Eli, were stolen a while back?”

      “Yeah, something about you and Sidney being caught naked—.”

      “We weren’t nak—”

      “In the stock pond, if I remember right. No clothes, no prosthetic, no weapon… Not sure I’ve ever seen Mac that pissed before.”

      Boomer tapped his thumb on the steering wheel, a dark, relentless beat. “Finished?”

      “Yeah, yeah.” Quinn waved a hand, telling him to continue, and swallowed the smile.

      They turned left onto the main road, behind the bright yellow school bus with Pepita onboard.

      “Turns out the bastards who took the horses were part of this drug cartel run by El Verdugo—”

      “No shit? The Hangman? I remember hearing something about that on the news. No idea it was you.”

      Boomer rubbed a finger under his jaw where his whiskers met his neck. “Got the noose scar to prove it. I figured Jenna would have told you.”

      “We haven’t been on speaking terms for a while now.”

      “That’s what happens when you royally screw something up.”

      Quinn cut him a scathing look.

      Boomer didn’t react. Quinn guessed that when dealing with a man who’d lost a leg in Iraq and had a noose around his neck, a harsh look hardly registered on his serious-shit meter.

      “Anyway,” Boomer said, “Pepita lived in the cartel’s camp. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t think we would have survived. She risked her life for us. No one at the camp claimed her, and Sidney put in an emergency petition to foster. We’ve been fighting for adoption ever since.”

      “She doesn’t know who her family is?”

      “She has no memory of a family. Only of the camps. Either she was sold to the cartel, or her parents were a part of it. Either way, the chances someone will come forward to claim her are remote.”

      The bus turned, and Boomer continued down the road, the black clouds marching across the valley floor, and thick sheets of opaque rain obscuring the mountains.

      “Did they ever convict him?”

      “Fucker got away.” Boomer gripped the wheel, as if he were squeeze, squeeze, squeezing the life out of the Hangman. “Some of his men were killed. Some deported. Some sent to jail on lesser charges. A couple are out. Every last one of them refused to roll over on their leader. They knew prison couldn’t keep them safe if they had.”

      “Jesus Christ. Sorry, dude. I didn’t know.”

      “It’s done. Nothing for you to be sorry for.” The color came back into Boomer’s hands as his fingers relaxed. “But wanting the 411 on Pepita is not why you agreed to deliver two hundred bales of hay with me. I’m guessing you want to know about Kurt.”

      A pain hit Quinn’s chest as if a corpsman was practicing suture techniques on his left ventricle. “I was Kurt’s best friend, and had no clue.”

      Boomer turned onto a narrow gravel road that curved over a grassy hill. Barbed-wire fencing lined either side of the road, white-faced cattle lying down before the storm hit as if the whole herd had been carpet-bombed.

      “I’m not sure anyone can see something like this coming. People have a way of hiding their thoughts, their troubles. But Kurt…”

      Boomer slowed and turned at the entrance to a ranch. The tires rumbled over the cattle guard, the truck’s suspension pitching and squeaking from the potholes. Quinn grabbed on to the hand rest along the window frame to keep from dislodging his spleen, and waited for Boomer to finish his sentence.

      At the wood pole barn, Boomer stopped and shifted into Park. “Kurt… I don’t know. I couldn’t read him. He did his work, mostly, but the longer he was here, the more he stayed away at night. Some of that was for AA or NA meetings for his alcohol and narcotics issues, but I always had a feeling there was something else going on. He was jumpy, a little paranoid. Any time I tried to talk to him, he pushed me away.”

      “You think he was using again.”

      “The negative drug tests are hard to contest, but as a recovering addict myself, all the signs were there. I should have seen them.”

      * * * *

      With the heel of his sock-covered foot, Quinn kicked the cabin door closed, stripping his wet clothes off as he padded across the wood plank floor, headed for his second shower of the day.

      He let the warm water sluice over his aching muscles and worked his wrist and fingers again to loosen the tendons and ligaments.

      When the hot water ran cold, Quinn climbed out of the shower and toweled off. At the knock on the door, he wrapped the towel around his waist. “Hang on.”

      He opened the door about a foot, resting one hand on the door frame, the other fisted on the towel at his waist.

      Jenna stood on his porch, a full plate and a glass of tea in her hands. Dink scooted between his legs and trotted in. She scanned Quinn’s face, his chest, his…towel. She might have smiled, but she ducked her head so he couldn’t be sure.

      “Uh… I didn’t know if Kurt had any food in the fridge, so I brought you some lunch.”

      Grilled cheese, chips, and a palm-sized vine of red grapes. He wasn’t in the mood for company, but his stomach bitched and complained until he stepped back and let her in.

      He retrieved a change of clothes from his rucksack and headed for the bathroom. “You can leave the food on the table. Then I’d appreciate it if you’d go.”

      He didn’t wait for a response. From the bathroom, he heard the clatter of the plate on the table. Then the glass СКАЧАТЬ