No Pressure

by Elle Keaton

  “This idea stinks,” Buck complained. And yet he was going along with it anyway. Go figure. The biggest issue for Buck was this: he had never snuck around in his life. He was six foot four, two hundred and twenty pounds of big person. Once he’d reached his full height, sneaking had become kind of pointless; he was an elephant trying to hide behind a lamppost. Before that he’d had nowhere to sneak to. He had few friends, so why would he sneak anywhere? Joey, on the other hand, was a master. Buck definitely fell more toward the muscle/enforcer side of things.

  “Don’t turn on the engine. Let’s see if we can coast down the driveway.” The driveway from the county road to Brandon and Stephanie’s property was a slight incline, so with a big push from Buck and Joey behind the wheel, they bumped down the gravel-and-dirt drive to the main road. Once they reached the end of the drive Buck made Joey change places with him.

  “Move over; I’m driving.”

  “Oh, now you’re driving.” Joey wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “How…how can you even say stuff like that right now?”

  “Like what? Imply that I think you’re sexy? I thought we were past all that?” Joey grinned at Buck’s semi-horrified look.

  “Oh, man,” Buck muttered and put the car in gear.

  The engine rumbled solidly when he tapped the gas. He wasn’t much of a control freak, but he hated being a passenger, especially in his own car. The car smelled faintly of dog from the blankets left in it overnight. Mist coated the windshield, so Buck flipped on the wipers. He was so looking forward to spring; he hated these short days. When the clouds came in like this it seemed like the sun never came up, and then when the sun did come up he could never find his sunglasses. True Pacific Northwest problems.

  After about a quarter mile, Buck pulled off onto the shoulder again. He didn’t want to get into town only to drive aimlessly around; if anyone was looking for them it would only draw attention.

  “So, where are we headed first?” Buck kept the engine going so they could stay warm, and it rumbled soothingly. There was almost nothing Buck loved more than the sound of a powerful, thudding, well-maintained engine. Almost.

  “Let’s start big. The Dutch Reformed on Glass Street where the other megachurch is. The one with that super-conservative councilor, or whatever it is he calls himself. Then…” Joey trailed off, deep in thought.

  “You mean that Bakker guy? I think he calls himself ‘Master.’ Okay, but what are we even going to ask them? I hope you’re not planning on waltzing in there and asking something crazy.” Buck couldn’t imagine which was worse, Joey asking outright or making up a ridiculous cover story.

  “Just leave it to me.”

  Jeez, somebody needed to save Joey from himself. Buck nominated himself.

  They hadn’t bothered to grab coats in their haste to depart the farm. They were going to freeze their butts off when they got out of the car. The drizzle was starting to look suspiciously like snow.

  “We’re going to need coats.” Buck watched Joey out of the corner of his eye. “I wonder if it’s safe to stop at my house and grab a couple.”

  “Any coat of yours is going to make me look like I’m twelve,” Joey retorted.

  “Miguel is closer to your size, or we could stop at one of the outlets.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  The cell phone in Buck’s pocket started vibrating. It stopped before he could pull it out. When he finally had it in his hand, the screen display flashed “unknown number,” then started vibrating again. This time the screen displayed a number he recognized. Adam Klay. Dammit. Buck considered not answering, and then he thought about whether he’d rather get reamed now or later. On the phone or in person. Joey stared at him from the passenger seat; just as he opened his mouth, Buck swiped the screen to take the call.

  “Out of curiosity,” Adam didn’t bother with a hello, “how long did you think it would take for the kid, the dog, and three agents to figure out you guys were gone?”

  Silence. Buck could hear Adam breathing deeply, most likely trying to get himself under control.

  “Are you planning on taking this ‘wingman’ career of yours to the next level? I thought—apparently, I thought wrong—that you learned your lesson after Micah conned you into taking him up to Mt. Baker and you guys ended up in a high-speed chase, being shot at, run off the road, with one of the people in the car still in the hospital.”

  Buck had forgotten about that. Not the event so much as the details. And here he was, about to do it again. Wow, maybe he was dumb as a stump.

  “Gotcha, didn’t I? Hand the phone over to James, and while I am talking to him, turn the goddamn car around and get your asses back to the fucking farm.”

  Buck handed his phone to Joey. “Sorry.”

  Joey stared at him with a tragic look of betrayal. “Fine.” He snatched the phone and put it to his ear. “What?”

  Revving Sheila’s engine a bit, Buck popped her into gear. Just as he was pulling off the shoulder, a black SUV drove by in the other direction, back toward the Bianchi farm. Buck didn’t recognize the driver, but Joey grabbed his arm and said, “That guy was with Sacha. Sacha, the one who grabbed me yesterday.”

  So yes, apparently he was going to make a career as a wingman. Joey clicked off the call with Adam mid-squawk. Sheila responded like the warrior she was under Buck’s practiced hands. A quick U-turn and they were following the SUV along the county road. The driver, Joey said his name was Andre, didn’t appear to be aware of them. Buck was trying to stay far enough back to not be obvious. The SUV was about a quarter-mile ahead of them; Buck was barely keeping its brake lights in sight as they sped north along the two-lane road.

  Buck wondered where the guy was headed. They’d already sped past the entrance to Brandon’s place, both of them heaving sighs of relief. Obviously, the thought had crossed Joey’s mind, too, that somehow this maniac had discovered where the kids had been moved.

  Midmorning at the beginning of a new year meant there was not a lot of traffic on the roads, and Buck was starting to get concerned that the driver would notice them behind him. If he hadn’t already. Joey was uncharacteristically quiet. No chatter, no nothing. Buck risked a glance at his passenger and saw he was intent on the car in front of them as if he could will it to reveal its secrets.

  They stayed on the flats for several miles, farm after farm flashing by. Beautiful barns and silos Buck took for granted because there were so many in the region. The road headed north and then curved eastward, looping around the north end of Skagit before turning westward into the county toward Bow and the Canadian border. Crap, he hoped the guy wasn’t headed to the border.

  “I think I know where he’s going.” Joey spoke for the first time in a few minutes. “Pull over.” Buck pulled off into the parking area for a small fruit stand that was closed for the season, or maybe forever. Hand-painted signs exclaimed Fresh Berries and U-Pick, and a tattered hand-sewn flag with fruit emblazoned on it flapped in the ever-present wind.

  “Let’s wait a few minutes,” Joey said.

  “Where is he going?”

  “An abandoned house near the old Hansen place. I’m sure of it.”

  The Hansen place had been owned by a Danish family for generations. Recent offspring had mostly abandoned it, leaving the land and buildings on it to deteriorate. Rumor had it there was a fight over inheritance, and the will left behind by old Mrs. Hansen had been tied up in probate for decades with her children fighting over how the property should be divided amongst them.

  The farmhouse and barns had been incredible at one time. Instead of the more traditional red barn color, the Hansen house and outbuildings had always been a crisp white. The largest barn was a hexagon and had to be fifty feet high. In the 1970s the Hansen’s had hosted an incredible fall festival that had been the talk of the county.

  Later there had been an artists’ commune on the land. Mrs. Hansen, alone by the late 1970s, needed help maintaining her property, so she had allowe
d young artists to live on her land near the river in exchange for working the land and maintaining the buildings. Some of these folks had gone on to become well-known and respected in the art community in this part of the Pacific Northwest. All that had come to an end when she died and her children evicted the artists, clear-cut the forested land all the way to the river, and let the rest go to ruin. She had been dead almost twenty years now.

  “Why do you think that?” Buck asked.

  “There’s a lot I have to tell you, but there’s no time right now. Just believe me, he can’t know we are close by.”

  “We have no coats; you don’t even have boots on. What do you think he’s going to be doing?” Buck was flabbergasted. “Shouldn’t we call Adam and let him know?”

  “Let him know what? We don’t know anything yet.” Joey went to open the door. “But whatever he’s doing—well, let me just say that the last time I had the pleasure of his company, he made me and Sacha bury a body.”

  “A body,” Buck repeated.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Are you kidding me?” His voice rose embarrassingly; Buck knew from the little Adam had shared with him that these guys were mixed up with the people who had tried to have Adam killed. Dammit all to hell.

  “Would you just listen to me?” Joey pleaded. “I know I’m right about this; I know I am.”

  “If you are so certain, why can’t we call Adam?” Instead of waiting Joey opened the door jumping out of the car and closing the door before Buck could strengthen his argument. Although what argument was stronger than ‘let’s call a federal agent we know’ Buck wasn’t certain.

  Buck sighed before opening the door to follow Joey. He truly was earning a reputation as a pushover. He justified his actions by knowing that if he refused, Joey would find his own way back to this property, and then he would be in danger and alone. Buck couldn’t let that happen. He just wished he didn’t have the Deliverance theme running through his head. He parked Sheila behind the little fruit stand, hiding her from the road as much as possible.

  Joey huffed impatiently, hands in his pockets, while Buck got out of the car, shutting the door quietly so the sound wouldn’t echo across the fields. Faint noises carried across the distance from the direction Joey had pointed. Buck wasn’t sure what was happening until a series of sharp pops reverberated in the quiet winter day. It could have been hunters; he could also have been mistaken about the sounds. He didn’t think so, and neither did Joey, who took off toward the noise.

  Buck followed.

  Thirty-One

  The cold air burned his lungs. Joey pushed himself harder. Those had been gunshots. He’d grown up in the city, but he had enough friends from the county to have been around guns plenty of times. Enough to recognize the sound. The heavy snap of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun was one no one could mistake. He ran faster, struggling not to slip and fall in the mud and bracken along the split-rail fencing dividing the old Hansen place from the road.

  When he had driven away the other day after the whole clean-and-bury-the-body incident, Joey had realized that the overgrown house was an older part of the Hansen property. Maybe it was the original house; he didn’t know. He did know that, by parking at the fruit stand and approaching from an angle, he and Buck would find themselves at the back of the overgrown house. Close to the newer growth of evergreens and birch trees they had dragged the body through.

  As quietly as possible, the two of them moved through the trees toward the perimeter of the yard, trying to see what was happening. Shadows were moving, the sun making a valiant effort against the clouds. They reached a spot where they could remain hidden but see the yard and porch. Buck was right up against Joey’s back, hands grasping Joey’s hips. Buck’s strong chest rising and falling with exertion after their run from the fruit stand was comforting.

  The SUV was parked haphazardly next to Sacha’s gray sedan, as if the driver had come to an abrupt stop and abandoned the vehicle. Andre exited the house, shoving a pistol into the back of his jeans on his way to the car. The hatch popped open. Joey couldn’t see what was inside due to the angle. He tried to shuffle closer, but Buck grabbed him tighter, keeping him from stepping further out of the shadows.

  Andre leaned into the back of the SUV, and when he stood Joey had a hard time not gasping out loud. Lifting a tiny figure, Andre slung the body easily over his shoulder and stalked back into the house. The woman’s body bounced like a rag doll against his broad back.

  “Jesus, that’s the woman from the hospital,” Joey breathed.

  “That’s the woman from the car ride. The one I was telling you about, Perla,” Buck whispered into the shell of Joey’s ear.

  “We have to get closer.”

  A faint rustle came from behind them. Whipping around, Joey saw Sacha coming slowly toward them using the narrow birch trunks to hold himself up and propel himself forward. He listed sideways and was gripping his left side with one hand. His hand was covered with blood; his face was pale with pain and probably shock.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he ground out in a hushed tone. “Please tell me someone knows where you are?”

  “Uh.”

  “Why is your mechanic here? How did you manage to talk him into this? You two sounded like a herd of wild elephants crashing through here.” His focus turned to Buck. “Tell me you have more sense than Boy Wonder and that—” Sacha lost his grip on the birch trunk, sinking to his knees in the mud and icy weeds. Joey snapped to his senses; Jesus, the guy had been shot and Joey was standing there like an idiot.

  Together, he and Buck tried to move Sacha to higher, less muddy, ground, but gave up when it became clear they were hurting him more.

  “Here.” Buck handed Joey the long-sleeved shirt he had been wearing. Joey snatched it up, pulling aside Sacha’s ruined clothing to press the shirt against the seeping wound.

  “Such a gentleman,” Sacha sneered. “Now what are you going to do? Rescue the princess? Ah, fuck!” he gasped.

  Joey wondered if the guy practiced being an asshole in the mirror every morning. It had to be hard work being this much of a jerk.

  “Buck, we need to get Sacha to the hospital. This is really a lot of blood.”

  Guttural sounds streamed from the house. Andre was screaming in his native language. A quieter, feminine voice replied. The sharp sound of skin on skin echoed through a window, followed by screams.

  Thirty-Two

  Buck only knew basic first aid; he was not equipped to take care of a butthead with a gunshot wound. The woman in the house was in extreme danger. Andre had to be more than three times her weight. While Joey was distracted trying to stop Sacha’s bleeding and simultaneously argue with the man, Buck snuck closer to the house.

  Being quiet didn’t matter; the two people in the house were arguing so loudly a slew of cars could have raced into the yard and neither would have noticed. Regardless, he was as quiet as possible. The front steps creaked when he stepped up them, so he took them two at a time. The porch itself was halfway falling off the front of the house; there was a large gap between the front door and the last porch board. Buck stepped over it and into the house.

  The man Joey called Andre had his back to the front door, which was standing wide open. He was continuing to scream, spittle flying, at the petite Asian woman, whose straight black hair was flying as he shook her savagely by the shoulders. Tears were running down her face. Her dark eyes flickered when Buck stepped into the room, but she did not give his presence away. Instead, she said something in the same language as Andre that only infuriated the man further.

  Buck wasn’t a fighter, although he had faced bullies before. He was, however, a mechanic who spent his days using his body for hard work. Fury he didn’t know he had stored inside him rose, engulfing him. All the times as a child when his own father loomed over him, demanding that he hit back, that Buck “prove himself,” “be a man.” Buck had cowered in front of his father, much like Perla was, shaking his head a
nd repeating “no, no, no,” begging him to stop. Buck had been a small kid. A small, chubby kid. A disappointment. The kind of kid who gets picked on, has few friends. How many times had his father threatened him like Andre was threatening the woman?

  Wrath shoved aside his secret shame. Buck stepped closer and tapped the guy on the shoulder. When he turned, Buck clenched his fist and unloaded a jackhammer punch to his jaw, putting his entire shoulder into the blow. The huge man was caught off guard and stumbled backward, colliding with the back of a moldy couch. Barely catching himself from falling to the floor, he launched himself at Buck with a scream of rage.

  Jesus Christ, the asshole had fifty pounds on him. Buck was at a disadvantage both in weight and height. Andre’s arms were longer, and his fists were the size of hams. However, he must have been used to being a bully because he only used his weight advantage, pressing against Buck and trying to force him to admit defeat. Buck rolled out from under him, kneeing the guy in the balls as hard as he could on the way, resulting in a shriek of pain before Buck was hammered in the side of his face by a huge fist. Stunned for a moment, Buck staggered backward, luring Andre close again. Buck twisted around, kicking at the back of his knees, barely avoiding the long arms trying to reach out and crush him. Fuck. He frantically tried to swipe the sweat out of his eyes; it was freezing inside the house but both men were sweating profusely.

  Buck was fueled by rage and anger. The massive amount of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream kept him on his feet. Still, he needed to figure out how to pacify this guy before he was hammered into the ground. Buck would not win a long-drawn-out fight with him. He was not strong enough, so he needed be smart. It didn’t matter how he did it, he reminded himself; it mattered that he got it done.

  Once again Andre was up and charging toward him, his face crazed. Buck feinted to the left. Andre fell for it, giving Buck an opening to again kick the guy’s knees out from under him. He thought about the kids sold by their families into slavery and shipped to the United States where they were held in inhuman conditions, about Perla, about the girls and kids who had disappeared over the years, and his rage grew exponentially. Andre tried to get up on his hands and knees. Buck kicked him viciously before reaching down with both hands and forcing him onto his back. Before the giant could protect himself, Buck was on him, straddling his thighs, hammering and punching his hideous face. Anger coursed hot and dangerous through his veins.