by Kat Martin
Bran rose to greet him. “Hey, buddy, long time no see.” They leaned in and gripped each other’s shoulders.
“Been a while for sure.” Colt sat down across from him. The waitress appeared, and they both ordered coffee and a piece of apple pie.
While they waited for their order, they caught up on each other’s lives, both of them still single, neither seriously attached.
Bran didn’t mention Jessie though he wasn’t sure why. Just that he wasn’t interested in sharing, and he didn’t want a guy like Wheeler sniffing around his woman.
His woman? He wasn’t sure where that had come from, but still...
The waitress returned. The coffee was hot and strong and the apple pie tasted homemade. Bran explained why he was in Denver and the strategy he hoped would net him the information they needed from the big fish in ADMAX, a guy known simply as Weaver.
“ADMAX. The worst of the worst. You really think you can flip this guy, Tank, to get to Weaver?”
“If I can nail him for murder, I’d say there’s a solid chance.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Colt took a drink of coffee.
“Not sure yet. I need to find him, get a handle on the situation. I’ll have to figure it out as I go.”
Colt leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Sounds interesting. Count me in. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
* * *
It was after 9:00 p.m. when Bran walked back into Mack’s Roadhouse. He figured Tank’s weekly pool game would either be in progress or just getting started—if the guy showed up to play.
Wearing a dark green down vest in concession to the weather, he sat on a stool at the bar, same as before, and ordered the same drink, a Lonestar and a shot of Jack. He tossed the whiskey back and set the glass down on the bar. The clatter of pool balls on a table in the rear caught his attention. Bran picked up his beer and wandered in that direction.
A group of men stood around the table, one with greasy hair to his shoulders, another in a frayed denim vest and camo pants. A guy in black leather chaps turned around, and Bran caught the symbol of a 666 inside a shamrock on the back of his leather jacket. The letters A-BOYZ were printed in an arch above.
One man stood out from the rest, tall and thick-chested with a head the size of a cannonball covered by a shaggy mane of thick blond hair. Biceps the size of tree trunks stretched the sleeves of his long-sleeved black T-shirt. From the way the hard-looking women in the bar were watching him, he didn’t lack for female companionship. The men deferred to him, marking him as the alpha dog. Bran had a bad feeling the big guy was Tank.
Pool balls clacked against each other and rolled across the green felt table. The four, six, and ten all went into side pockets.
“Hey, Tank, you think you still got a chance?” The guy with the greasy hair grinned at the shot he’d just made.
“You better hope you run the table, Rider, or your ass is mine.”
Yup, the guy with the cannonball head. With a name like Tank, Bran wasn’t surprised. He was big and rough, and like every guy around the table, he was carrying. Small arms in jeans pockets, a gun holstered inside a jacket. When Tank bent over to take his shot, Bran glimpsed a semiauto holstered at the small of his back.
Not good news, but again, not really unexpected. He ran through his options, chose plan B but didn’t completely toss A and C in case he had to improvise. Whichever worked, he needed to get the guy out of there. Bran was damned glad Colt Wheeler waited in his shiny black Mustang out in the parking lot.
Carrying his beer back to the bar, Bran sat down and sent a text, told Colt that Tank was there and it looked like taking him out through the back door was their best option.
Will text when he goes to the john, he added.
Tank must have had a bladder as big as his head because he didn’t leave the table for nearly two hours. When he did, Bran tossed money on the bar to pay for his drinks, texted Colt to come in through the back door, which he unlocked, then headed for the men’s room.
Tank was zipping up his fly when Bran walked in behind him. Surprise being his only advantage, he moved fast. A kidney jab doubled Tank over with a grunt. Bran slammed an elbow under his chin, knocking him backward into the wall, grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his head down into the knee Bran shot into his face.
He jerked the gun out of Tank’s belt as he staggered away, mumbling unintelligible words, rummy but not unconscious. Which was good since 280 pounds of deadweight was bad news. Bran tucked the gun into his waistband as Colt pushed through the bathroom door, and the two of them managed to half drag, half carry Tank out into the hall, which fortunately was empty.
The cold outside air revived the guy a little but Colt’s quick jab, knocking his head back, had his chin drooping back down on his chest.
Bran slapped a piece of duct tape over Tank’s mouth while Colt used zip ties to bind the guy’s wrists and ankles. Loading him into the back of the Expedition on his belly, Bran bent his legs up behind him and zip-tied his ankles to his wrists. Colt tossed a blanket over his massive body as Bran slid in behind the wheel.
“I’ll be right behind you.” Colt strode off toward his Mustang.
They were out of the lot and hauling ass down the highway when Tank began to wake up. He was shouting muffled curses behind the duct tape, death threats, Bran was sure, and thrashing around in the back, but the way he was tied, there wasn’t much he could do.
Bran turned off the main road onto a farm road, then made a couple more evasive turns before pulling onto a road parallel to the highway heading south. He took out his cell and hit the contact number he’d entered for sheriff’s detective Mace Galen, put it on speaker, and set it on the console next to the driver’s seat.
A groggy Galen picked up on the third ring. “Whoever the hell this is, it better be important.”
“Brandon Garrett. I’ve got a little present for you, Detective. Made a citizen’s arrest on a guy named Wayne Conrad Coffman. Calls himself Tank. He’s the man who murdered Janos Petrov. Where would you like me to drop him off?”
Galen cursed foully. “You realize you’re interfering in a sheriff’s investigation, right?”
“He was carrying a SIG P220 .45 cal. When you run ballistics, I’m pretty sure you’ll find it matches the bullet that killed Petrov. Worst case, you’ll have him for carrying an illegal firearm. That’ll give you some time to check things out.”
Galen swore again.
“I’m heading south out of Aurora. Tank’s only a little banged up. I’d really like to get him off my hands before his friends show up to rescue him.” He checked the rearview mirror, saw Colt’s headlights, but so far no one else. It wouldn’t be long before his buddies realized their friend wasn’t in one of the bathroom stalls getting a blow job from one of the busty blondes who’d been giving him the eye all evening.
“Get him to the county line,” Galen said. “Closest is probably Highway 83 at Palmer Divide. I’ll have deputies waiting to pick him up. What are you driving?”
“Dark gray Ford Expedition.” Bran punched the destination into the GPS. “Unless I run into trouble, I’m forty-five minutes away.” Give or take, depending on how many evasive turns he needed to make or if Tank’s crew showed up.
Bran ended the call and hit the gas. He punched Cole’s contact number and hit the speaker button. “We’re heading south to the county line at Highway 83 and Palmer Divide. Sheriff’s deputies will take it from there.”
“Damn. Just when things were getting interesting.”
Bran chuckled. “They still may, if those bastards figure out what happened to their buddy.”
“I’ve still got your back.”
“I know. Thanks. Listen, when we get close, I want you to pull over. I need you to take my gear bag. Lot of toys in there the cops won’t appreciate. It’s legal—mostl
y—but I don’t need the hassle. I’ll pick it up when I get back.”
“Copy that.”
“Once you’ve got my gear, I want you to head back to Denver. No need for you to get balled up with the sheriff.”
“You sure?”
“Affirmative.”
The Expedition rolled down the road at a speed hovering around the limit. Under the circumstances, getting pulled over would not be a good idea.
He gazed through the windshield into the darkness illuminated by the headlights. Minimal traffic, the terrain open and hilly, covered with grass and scattered pines. Tank continued to swear muffled curses but finally, thankfully, fell silent.
The GPS showed the county line a few miles ahead. Bran pulled over and stopped, and Colt took his canvas gear bag. The Mustang’s headlights flashed a couple of times, then turned and disappeared down a side road into the darkness.
A few miles farther down the highway, Bran spotted a row of sheriff’s SUVs lined up like piano keys along both sides of the road.
He set Tank’s .45 in the passenger seat, unloaded his Glock and set it next to Tank’s weapon. The instant he pulled over and stopped, half a dozen cop cars swarmed around him. As he turned off the engine, he thought the dozen deputies pouring out of their cars, guns drawn, was a bit of an overkill.
“Raise your hands and get out of the vehicle!”
He cracked the door and raised his hands. “I’m licensed to carry.” Working everywhere from Texas to California, he had permits for a number of states. “My weapon is unloaded on the seat. There’s a loaded .45 on the seat beside it that belongs to my cargo.”
“I said get out! Get down on your knees and wrap your hands around the back of your neck!” Deputies rushed forward as he complied. Two officers held him at gunpoint while another did a weapons search and another collected the pistols, bagging them both as evidence.
“No other weapons?” a stony-faced deputy asked.
“No.”
“Keep your hands where they are.”
“You know I’m the good guy here,” he said as one of the officers gripped his arms, twisted them down, and locked a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. “The bad guy is in the back of the car.”
Deputies opened the cargo door and hauled Tank out of the Expedition. He started swearing at Bran as they ripped off the duct tape and cut the tie binding his wrists to his ankles. It took five deputies to get him into the back of a sheriff’s SUV.
Detective Mace Galen walked up to him. “For your sake, Garrett, I hope you’re right about this guy.”
Behind them, Bran watched the sheriff’s car pull out onto the road and drive away, Tank’s big head filling half the rear window. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Galen turned to a pair of deputies. “Take him away. Call for a tow truck to impound his vehicle. We’re going to need it for evidence.”
Bran grunted. “Real f-ing nice. I do your job for you and this is how you repay me?”
“Nobody asked for your help.”
Bran had hoped Galen might give him a pass, but he wasn’t really surprised. The detective had rules to follow. That was the way it worked. It was the reason he worked for himself.
The detective turned back to his men. “Let’s get this done. Maybe I can still get a couple hours of sleep.”
Bran thought of his nice warm bed at Ty’s house. Good chance Jessie would be waiting up for him, same as last night. If she asked him to sleep with her, he wouldn’t have the willpower to resist. At least now he wouldn’t have to feel guilty.
TWENTY-THREE
Jessie lay awake staring at the ceiling, her ears cocked for the sound of Bran’s footfalls coming down the hall. Instead, her cell phone started ringing. She sat up in bed and grabbed it off the nightstand, didn’t recognize the number, and fear shot through her.
It was 4:00 a.m. and no sign of Bran. She pressed the phone against her ear with a shaking hand. “Who’s calling?”
“Jessie, this is Chase Garrett.”
“Oh, God, what’s happened? Is Brandon...is he okay?”
“He’s all right. He’s in a holding cell at the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office. He only got one call so he used it to phone me. He knew you’d be worried. He gave me this number, asked me to call and tell you what’s going on.”
Her heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. “Why is he in jail? What happened?”
“He picked up Wayne Coffman and turned him over to the sheriff’s detective in charge, but the cops need proof Coffman murdered Petrov. Bran thinks the guy has used the murder weapon before. He thinks Tank’s arrogant enough not to toss his piece after a hit. If he’s right, he’ll probably be okay.”
“And if it isn’t the same gun?”
“Then we got a problem. So far no charges have been filed, but they can still hold him for forty-eight hours, and unless something turns up, it looks like that’s what they’ll do. I talked to Reese. He’s lining up an attorney, but we can’t get him bailed until they formally arrest him. Just stay where you are, and I’ll keep you up-to-date on what’s going on.”
“Thank you, Chase. I really appreciate the call.” The line went dead but Jessie was already out of bed and moving around the room, getting dressed and packing her things.
She needed to help Bran, and to do that, she had to get to Fort Carson. She hurried out of the room and down the hall into Brandon’s bedroom. His gear bag was gone, the room empty except for his shaving kit and his carry-on. She tossed the kit into his bag, zipped it up and towed it and her own bag down the hall. Then she went into the kitchen to call an Uber and leave a note for Ty.
He must have heard her moving around because he appeared in the doorway in a pair of sweatpants and a white cotton T-shirt. His hair was mussed, and he needed a shave.
“What’s going on?”
“Bran’s been arrested. I’ve got to get to Fort Carson. I know someone there who can help. My car is parked at the Denver Airport. It’s been there since I flew to Dallas. I’ve already called an Uber.” There was a chance her Honda Accord had been bugged along with her purse. But most of the time, the car was locked in the garage she rented under her building, so there was a chance it wasn’t. Either way, it was a risk she had to take.
Ty shook his head. “No way I’m letting you go by yourself.”
“Bran needs help. I don’t have any choice.” She reached over and touched his arm. “No one knows I’m in Denver and once I get to the base, I’ll be all right. You have two darling kids who need you. That’s what you have to think about.”
“I’ll drive you to the airport. My mother-in-law can watch the kids. I’ll tell Vera it’s an emergency. She thrives on excitement. She’ll be right over.”
Clearly, he wasn’t going to back down. She sighed. “All right, if you’re sure it’s okay.”
“Vera’s great. It’ll be fine.”
Thirty minutes later the kids had a sitter, and she and Ty were on their way to the long-term parking lot at the Denver Airport where her Honda Accord was parked.
“So...are you going to call Hallie?” she asked as Ty’s Subaru pulled into the lot.
He smiled. “She gave me her number, so yeah. I liked her. I’d really like to see her again.”
Jessie grinned. “That’s great.”
Her white car was covered with a fine layer of dust, dimpled by rain. Ty loaded the bags into the trunk and closed the lid.
“I need to look for a bug,” she said.
“Seriously?”
But she was already searching beneath the bumper and along the side of the car. Ty started checking the other side, feeling along underneath. “Didn’t find anything,” he said. “But they can be hard to locate.”
She felt a little better. “We did our best, now I have to go.”
“Fine, but there’s been a chang
e of plans.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m following you down. It’s only ninety minutes. I’ll be back before the kids leave for school. I’ll be armed, and if someone gives you trouble, I’ll be right behind you.”
She smiled broadly. “I’d be stupid to turn down an offer like that, and I’m not stupid. Tank’s connected to crucial information the army needs. With any luck, General Holloway will step in and get Bran released.”
With any luck, she silently repeated, praying she could convince him.
“All right, then we’d better get going,” Ty said.
She leaned up and kissed his unshaven cheek. “Thanks for this, Ty. Thanks for everything you’ve done.”
He just shrugged. “Didn’t really do much, and the kids enjoyed your visit.”
Her car started right up. She stopped at the kiosk near the gate to pay the exorbitant fee for parking for so many days. She didn’t like using her credit card for fear they might be able to track her, but she didn’t have that much cash. It was comforting to know Ty was right behind her.
Fort Carson was almost due south out of Denver down I-25. Without much traffic this early, they made good time. She waved goodbye out the window as she pulled up to the front gate of the army base.
While Ty turned around and headed back the way he’d come, the uniformed soldier in the security guardhouse phoned General Holloway’s office. As director of Chemical Materials Activity, Holloway was the man who most wanted the stolen weapons found. And he had the kind of authority it would take to arrange for Bran’s release.
“The office won’t be open yet,” the guard said, “but I can always reach someone if necessary.”
“I’d appreciate it.” She took a deep breath, praying the general was in Colorado and not Kentucky. If not, she’d find someone else. She wouldn’t give up till Bran was out of jail.