I pulled his AR-15 out of the rack and popped a round into the chamber.
“I didn’t shoot your dog. I didn’t threaten you. I swear to god,” he said and wiped his lip with the back of his hand.
“.308?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he said. His muscles tensed, ready to jump if I leveled the rifle at him.
“Why the suppressor?” I asked. I knew what it was for. I wanted to hear Danny justify using one on the ranch.
“The noise doesn’t scare the game as much. I can shoot two or three hogs out of a herd before they run. Helps with the recoil, too. It’s easier to keep it steady on the second shot.”
I stepped out of the vehicle and brought the weapon to my shoulder. I searched the brush through the scope. The view was amazing. The Marauder scope was better than what I’d used in the Marines Corps. There were no hogs in the area. I swept the scope over the side of the cliff to the west. Found a mesquite tree about four inches in diameter clinging to a rock. The range finder in the scope read one hundred and seventy-five yards.
I handed the rifle to Danny. He stepped out of the ATV and pointed at the dark cliff. “Hit that mesquite tree halfway up at a hundred and seventy-five yards.”
He swept the cliffside with a smooth, practiced motion. “I see it,” he said. He pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. The sound was quiet, but not the soft compressed air sound I’d heard on the street. The empty brass flipped in an arc and landed in the dirt. This wasn’t the rifle that had shot at me. If it was, he had done something else to modify the sound. I picked up the brass. Still warm. Danny watched me tuck them into my jeans pocket. He held the rifle pointed in my direction. I knew what he was thinking. One shot would end this conversation. I wondered if he had the guts to do it. I didn’t give him a chance to decide.
“Look at me,” I said. When his eyes shifted to my face, I grabbed the rifle and put the scope on the tree. There were three neat holes in the center of the trunk less than a half inch apart. I pulled the magazine, ejected the live round, and tossed them on the floorboard.
“If you didn’t kill her, who did? Who threatened me? Who’s shooting at me?”
Danny shuffled his boots in the dirt. His face twisted as if he expected me to smash it in.
“Who are you protecting?” I asked him. “Did your Grandpa find out about the baby and have Marissa killed?” I was losing patience. If he wasn’t the one who killed Sosa and shot at me, he knew who did. He cleared his throat. Miles away from Patrick and Marcus, I hoped he was finally ready to come clean.
Suddenly, the small clearing lit up like a sports arena. A dozen spotlights converged on the cab of the ATV.
“Drop the weapon!” a voice shouted from behind the wall of lights. I heard metallic clicks and recognized the sound of weapons being prepared to fire.
“Better do what he says,” Danny said.
I put my pistol on the ATV seat and raised my hands. Four bodies appeared in silhouette. The closest one held a Glock pointed at my head. The three others held AR-15s aimed at my waist.
“Step forward,” Glock said.
I couldn’t see their faces because of the glare from the bright lights.
“It’s okay, Ricky,” Danny said. Ricky was holding the Glock. “It was just target practice.” Danny’s voice was high and thin. He was scared. Whatever was happening, I got the feeling Danny wasn’t in charge.
One of the guards grabbed my rifle and .45 from the ATV. Ricky frisked me. He didn’t find the .38 in my ankle holster. Not that it mattered. He took my pickup keys and put them in his pocket. I was outnumbered and outgunned. I wasn’t going to try to shoot it out with a five-shot revolver.
“Change of plan,” Ricky said. “We’ll take him from here.”
“Why?” Danny said.
“Orders,” Ricky said.
Two of the men grabbed my arms. My eyes adjusted, and I could see Ricky and his team all wore the same black uniform. Heights Security Company. I did a quick scan of the perimeter. I counted eight men altogether. They had walked up on us in the dark while I argued with Danny. I should have guessed they would have followed.
We walked fifty yards back down the trail to where four ATVs and a pickup were waiting.
“Put him in the truck,” Ricky ordered. He holstered his Glock. He didn’t think I was a threat any longer. We were on an isolated ranch. I didn’t like my odds. My mind was racing for a plan. Anything. If I disappeared out here, no one would ever find me.
The two guards tightened their grip on my arms and shoved me toward a four-door Toyota pickup.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled. “Danny, tell these goons you’re coming with me.”
Ricky had his Glock out and aimed at my head again. There was silence. A coyote yipped, followed by another, and another. They were starting their night hunt.
Finally, Danny said: “Sorry, Nick.”
“Sorry, Nick?” I didn’t like the sound of that. “What does that mean?” I jerked my arms free of the guards and took a step toward Danny. “Do you run this place, or do they?”
The guard on my left grabbed my arm again. I slipped his grip and kicked his knee. His partner swung the butt of his rifle at my head. I ducked under the rifle and shot a flat hand to his throat. He dropped to the ground. I grabbed his rifle and leveled off on Ricky.
“Back off!” I shouted.
Something hard hit the back of my head. My knees buckled.
Everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-Two
When my head cleared, I was in the back seat of the Toyota pickup between two black uniforms, my hands zip-tied behind my back, and my head and wounded arm throbbing. The dome light showed their faces. They were the same two I’d seen in the garage when I arrived. They both held their AR-15s muzzle-down. They weren’t worried about me grabbing their rifles because the guy in the front passenger seat had me covered. He sat with his back against the dashboard and his AR pointed at my chest. Ricky drove the pickup. I’d been in worse situations, but it had been a while.
“Everybody knows where I am, Ricky. My answering service, my employees, even my girlfriend. If I don’t show up by midnight, they’ll sound the alarm,” I lied. No one was coming to my rescue.
Ricky chuckled under his breath but didn’t say anything. His three companions played dumb. The guard pointing the rifle didn’t smile, but he was clearly enjoying himself. I didn’t have any doubt that if I made a move to escape, he would enjoy shooting me.
“Where’s big Patrick, Ricky?” I asked. “Is he on the ranch? Let’s go talk to him.”
“You know Mr. Allison?” Ricky said.
“Hell yes. We’re old pals. Our families go way back. Before the Civil War.”
Ricky didn’t respond. He drove with the dome light on, so it was difficult to see where we were until the road began to descend into the family compound. He stopped beside my pickup.
“We’ll escort you back to the main gate,” Ricky said. The two men in the back waited until the front seat rifleman was standing outside. He opened the passenger door of my pickup and pointed his AR at my waist. I got behind the wheel, and the rifleman climbed in beside me, his AR still pointed at my midsection.
Ricky handed back my keys. “Follow me,” he said.
I started my pickup and backed up slowly. When I pulled in behind Ricky, the two ATVs with the spotlights followed me. I glanced at my companion and his AR.
“How long have you worked here?” I said casually, as if I’d just picked up a hitchhiker.
He didn’t speak. I gathered the Heights Security Company trained them not to talk or hired them because they couldn’t. It was a good policy. I liked the fact that they did have some training. I hated to think some gun-happy cowboy traded his spurs for tactical boots and took the night shift. I goosed the engine just a tiny bit to see what he’d do. My pickup jumped forward quickly, closing the distance between my bumper and Ricky�
��s Toyota. The rifleman jerked his head forward. I let off the gas and fell back ten yards.
“Sorry,” I said. “My foot slipped.”
The rifleman did what most people would do. He looked forward to see what we were going to hit. What he should have done was kept his eyes on his prisoner. Maybe he hadn’t gotten that far in his training. It was information I would use if they planned on leading me out into the brush somewhere and leaving my dead body in my pickup.
When I could see the lights from the main gate, I began to relax. They weren’t taking me into the brush. Ricky stayed on the paved road. He turned away at the last moment, and I stopped in front of the gate. Burt hustled over to the keypad. Ricky walked up to my open window.
“Thank you for visiting the Allison ranch,” he said, almost sounding sincere. “I hope you had a good hunt.” The smoke from the engine exhaust created a white cloud under the gate lights.
“I’d like to come back. I didn’t get the trophy I was after,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” Ricky said. Any pretense of sincerity was gone. “You wore out your welcome.”
“Where’s my pistol and my AR?” I asked. “I want my weapons back.”
“We’ll arrange to have you reimbursed.”
“Who do you work for? Allison or Marcus Lopez?”
“Have a nice night,” Ricky said.
“Fuck you very much,” I said, feeling a knot forming on the back of my head.
Ricky smiled and walked back to his pickup. The rifleman got out and slammed the door. In my rearview mirror, I watched the four guards from the ATVs form a semicircle around the rear of my pickup.
I drove through the gate, and Burt shut and locked it behind me. I had a two-hour drive back to San Antonio. I had enough adrenaline pumping through my veins to keep me awake for an hour, if not for most of the night. As I drove back toward civilization, I thought about the strange encounter. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to be falling together. The picture of Marissa’s murderer was looking more like Patrick Allison than Danny. He didn’t want the family name tarnished or the bloodline diluted, so he staged the murder to look like an accident.
As soon as I had cell phone service, I called Skeeter and briefed him on my visit to the outback. I told him what Danny had said about being home by one and asked him to check with his contact at the Dominion. I knew it was a waste of time to question his family and the staff. They would do and say whatever Patrick wanted them to. It would be much harder to fake the security video.
He filled me in on his surveillance. He had followed Sylvia to the grocery store and to the gym after work. She had gone home after that. He was watching her condo from the street. He set up intruder cameras on her front and back doors. If anyone tried to get in, an alarm would go off on his laptop. He was fifty feet away. I was satisfied she was safe, for now.
I knew one thing from my meeting with Danny—he knew what happened to Marissa that night. If I hadn’t been thrown off the property, I had the feeling he would have finally told the truth. There was only one play left, one that would take all my powers of persuasion and a lot of luck.
I parked on the street a few houses down from my fixer-upper. I thought of spending the night in a motel, but I had left Sam on the kitchen floor and the lock was broken. I spent five minutes watching my house for signs of movement. I checked the other cars on the block. I could see Rose Gustafson watching television in her front room, her favorite white cat perched on her shoulder. I was glad to see she had made it home safely.
I jumped when my phone rang. It was Skeeter. He had called his contact at the Dominion security gate. They had Danny on video checking in at 12:57 a.m. on July fifth. That part of Danny’s story checked out.
When I went inside, the mess was cleaned up, and Sam was out of sight. Skeeter had come over and taken care of everything. I was grateful for that. He put Sam in the freezer to keep him from decomposing in the heat and to give me a chance to decide what to do with him. I didn’t have time for a pet funeral. It was a strange thing to keep in the freezer, but it would have to do until I could take Patrick Allison down.
I had gotten very little sleep in forty-eight hours. I wanted a shower and a nap. My limbs felt heavy on the staircase. My wounded arm was throbbing, and the knot on my head was tender. I’d lost round one to Allison’s thugs.
I stripped out of my musty clothes and spent fifteen minutes in a hot shower. I opened the window and let the steam billow out. In the military, anything over five minutes we called a “Hollywood shower.” I was pampering myself after a hard day. I stumbled into the bedroom and called Sylvia.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
I felt guilty for not calling sooner. “On a safari.” I tried to sound upbeat.
“Don’t you dare make a joke,” she insisted.
“I’ve got everything under control.” I tried to sound convincing, but I didn’t believe it myself. I didn’t want to give her any more details, and I didn’t want her advice.
“I know that voice, Nick. You’re holding out. Tell me what’s going on,” she insisted. “Marcus told me you went to his house. What were you trying to do?”
I let the uncomfortable silence stretch while I stood and paced my small bedroom. “What did you tell Marcus?”
“I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know from you.”
“Did you tell him about my investigation before?”
This time she went silent. I waited for her to speak, listening to her shallow breathing. I saw my own reflection in the bedroom window. I suddenly got the feeling that she had told Marcus everything. That my investigation had been the topic of lunchtime conversation or maybe he had called her into his office and asked her questions. I hated to think she shared our conversations willingly.
“Did he threaten you?”
“What’re you talking about? Allison is his client. Of course he’d wanna know.”
“Did it ever occur to you that he might be involved?”
“In what? In murder? You’re talking nonsense. Marcus would never do anything like that.”
“I’ve gotta go,” I said. Her response left a bad taste in my mouth.
“What’re you going to do?”
“Take what I have to Detective Peterson and ask him to reopen the investigation.”
“You know he won’t. What happens when he says no?” she asked.
“I’ll keep going,” I said. I didn’t have any intention of contacting Tomahawk again, but apparently Sylvia played fast and loose with the details I shared with her. I wasn’t going to tell her my real plan. For all I knew, Marcus was sitting beside her on the bed.
“Because your gut tells you he’s guilty? What about logic? Keep going and get killed?” There was an edge to her voice she hadn’t used before.
“How’s that logical?” I asked. “What about keep going and get the truth?”
“Danny has an alibi. The police said it was an accident. You haven’t got anything beyond a reasonable doubt. What are you trying to prove, that Danny Allison is a spoiled rich kid and his grandfather is a powerful man? Everybody already knows that, Nick. Drop it. Drop the case.”
“You know I can’t do that,” I said.
More silence on the line. She disconnected.
I checked the front door and noticed Skeeter had fixed the latch and added a new deadbolt. He also set up additional security cameras by the doors and in the hallway. Cameras gave me the feeling that I was on a reality TV show. I was pretty sure Skeeter was watching me on his laptop, wandering around the house in my birthday suit. I waved to one of the cameras just to amuse him. I dug out my spare pistol—a Springfield XD .45—loaded it and put it on the nightstand. I wasn’t as comfortable with it as the Para-Ordnance, but it had a thirteen-round magazine and would get the job done. The worst thing about the night’s activities, other than being betrayed by my girlfriend, was that Allison’s peckerwood guard had taken my favorite
pistol.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Itossed and turned for a few hours. This time, fractured pieces of my final deployment mixed with my dad’s murder, Sam’s bloody corpse in the freezer, Sylvia in bed with Marcus Lopez, and Grandpa sending smoke signals from his hayfield. I woke drenched in sweat and needing another Hollywood shower. My subconscious was dumping every unpleasant thought into a horror movie marathon.
I called Skeeter to check on his surveillance. He answered on the second ring. No one had gone in or out of Sylvia’s apartment, and he was hungry. I told him to follow Sylvia to her office and wait for me. I called Grandpa next and listened to his phone ring. I tried the petting zoo number and got the answering machine again. I left another message.
My next call was to Detective Ochoa. Meeting with Peterson was a waste of time. Ochoa seemed more reasonable. She said Peterson had taken the day off and agreed to give me some time if I could get to the station before eight o’clock.
I put Sam’s food dish on the back porch and started the coffeepot. Then I realized Sam was in the freezer. Life without him was going to take some getting used to. I got dressed and took the .308 casing from my dirty jeans pocket, put it in a proper evidence bag, and dropped it into an accordion folder. I gathered my notes, the bracelet, and the surveillance tapes, and dumped them in with the casing.
I made copies of the DNA analysis Kelly had given me, added the warning note the shooter had left beside Sam’s body, and I wrote Marissa Luna on the side of the folder with a black marker to make it look official. Nothing got a lawyer or detective’s attention like a folder with a label. I put the file in the leather briefcase Grandpa had given me for Christmas while I was still in law school. I rarely used it anymore, but I was making every effort to look professional for Detective Ochoa’s sake. My sheriff department Kevlar vest filled out my list of morning accessories. When I quit the department to go to law school, the county was in the process of upgrading their equipment using a federal grant. I got to keep the used but still serviceable bulletproof vest as a separation gift. I wasn’t looking forward to spending a hot September day with another layer of clothing, but it gave me an extra layer of security.
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