The Warrior. Dinah McCall

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СКАЧАТЬ said. “You’d better finish what I sent you to do or don’t bother coming back, because if you come back without my daughter, I’ll kill you myself.”

      Dieter picked up his step, telling himself it was just a figure of speech, that Ponte didn’t really mean it. Then Ponte’s voice got even quieter.

      “Do we understand each other?” Richard asked.

      Dieter changed his mind. Ponte’s threat was more than serious.

      “Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll call you as soon as I have her located again.”

      “Make it quick.”

      “Yes, sir,” Dieter said, praying for the disconnect. When it clicked in his ear, he breathed a sigh of relief, dropped his phone in his pocket and lengthened his stride.

      A short while later he had his car out of impound, heartily thankful that, if this had to happen, it had occurred in such a backwater place as Justice. He’d checked the trunk of his car to find everything he’d had with him was still in place. The black duffel bag was still lying at the back of the trunk, behind a spare tire and tools. He pulled it out, grunting with satisfaction as he checked through the contents, making sure everything was still there.

      Two handguns with a fairly large supply of ammunition. A nice set of lockpicks, along with a couple of small hand drills—tools any burglar would want. A first-aid kit with two different vials of drugs meant to render someone unconscious, along with the necessary supply of syringes. Any cop worth his salt would have searched and confiscated all this. He thought of the skinny, smart-ass jailer who’d smirked at him, and snorted. The laugh was on them, and they didn’t even know it.

      Satisfied that all was in place once again, he zipped up the bag, shoved it back behind the spare tire and slammed the trunk lid shut. As he got back in the car, he already knew his next destination would be the last place he’d seen Alicia Ponte. At a place called Marv’s Gas and Guzzle.

      

      Daisy Broyles had come to work for Marv Spaulding on her sixteenth birthday and had been here ever since. Job security had been assured after she’d turned nineteen and married Marv. Now they lived in the little brick house behind the store, which suited Daisy just fine. She liked small-town living, and Justice, Georgia, was small-town personified.

      This morning was passing much like every morning did. Herbert and Hubert Cooper, two old bachelors who happened to be identical twins, had come in around seven o’clock, downed their usual three cups of coffee and two of Daisy’s fresh-baked cinnamon rolls apiece and then left with a wave and a promise to be back tomorrow.

      Marshall Walters’ daughter, Sue, had stopped by for gas to mow their lawn.

      Three little boys came in with a dollar apiece and spent fifteen minutes arguing between themselves before settling on pop and candy. And the morning went on, with a steady flow of locals stopping by.

      The morning scent of cinnamon rolls was slowly being replaced by the food Daisy was preparing for the lunch rush. She already had a dozen burritos fried up, a pan of crusty chicken strips, a big bowl of potato salad and a bowl of slaw. She was wrapping her chocolate-chip cookies in clear plastic for individual sale when she saw a car pull off the highway and park near the door.

      She frowned, recognizing the car. No one had ever pulled a stunt like that here. Passing out drunk at one of her gas pumps was ridiculous. He could have killed someone driving drunk. Yesterday, it was all anybody had wanted to talk about when they’d come in. She was tired of the subject, and tired of the jackass who’d done it. Marv had reminded her last night that they’d been lucky the sorry sucker had stopped before he’d passed out. Like Marv told her, if the drunk had still been driving when he’d conked out, they might have had a mess on their hands. What if he’d hit the pumps? What if he’d run into another customer? Finally Daisy had relented, admitting Marv had a point.

      But seeing the man walking toward the door didn’t mean she was ready to sell him some more booze so he could get behind the wheel and drive again. With that thought in mind, she braced herself against the counter, crossed her arms over her ample bosom and set her jaw. Southern women had their ways. If he argued with her, she would show him what a real steel magnolia was all about.

      Dieter didn’t know he’d already been made, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Finding Alicia’s car parked right beside his in the impound yard hadn’t made him feel any better about the situation. It was his own fault for giving away the GPS business. He’d just assumed she would have known. Now she was running again, but in what—and with whom? He needed to find out who that big Indian was she’d been with yesterday. He was the only lead he had.

      The bell over the door jingled, then played a short burst of “Dixie” as the door swung shut. Surprised by the unexpected tune, he was actually grinning as he spied the clerk. But from the way she was glaring, she didn’t look happy to see him.

      He shifted his attitude to all-business as he moved toward the counter.

      “Uh…ma’am…I was wondering if you were working here yesterday?”

      Daisy glared. “I work here every day. You buying gas?”

      Dieter stuttered. “Uh…no, I was wondering if—”

      “Cokes are on sale. Ninety-nine cents for a 16 ounce.”

      “No thanks, I was just—”

      “Goes good with the cinnamon rolls. Dollar apiece, but they’re homemade and worth every penny.”

      Dieter was slow, but he finally caught on. Nothing came free, not even information. He grabbed a Coke and pointed toward the bakery case. “I’ll take two,” he said as he dug in his pocket for money to pay.

      Daisy sacked up two cinnamon rolls, added a napkin and took his money. Only after she’d realized he wasn’t in the market for booze and had done some fair trading—money for goods received—was she ready to listen.

      Dieter stood, waiting for her to nail him again while the condensation on his cold pop ran between his fingers and dripped on the floor. The smell of cinnamon was enticing. He wished he smelled as good, and thought about taking time to find a motel for a shower and shave. But dealing with body odor was going to have to come second to the task at hand.

      “Uh…”

      Daisy frowned. “Speak your piece, mister. I ain’t got all day.”

      Dieter nodded. “Yesterday, I, uh…”

      “Oh, I know all about yesterday. You passed out drunk in your car right out there at my pumps. I don’t take kindly to drunk drivers.”

      Dieter didn’t intend to go into details. He just needed answers, and the way he figured it, an apology would get him further than an explanation.

      “I’m real sorry about all that,” he said. “I hope you weren’t put out in any way.”

      Daisy sniffed. “I might have missed a customer or two, seeing as how you were blocking one side of the pumps.”

      Dieter nodded. “Yes, well…like I said. I’m sorry.”

      Daisy frowned. “So what’s your problem today?”

      “Yesterday, СКАЧАТЬ