The arson plan worked off the premise that though Gage-Trent might be annoyed by the fires, the destruction of the buildings would ultimately serve the company’s purpose, whereas Hayden Valley would be disturbed enough by the fires to pull out of the area.
The idea would have worked, if not for my phone call to Isaac Davis yesterday. What I learned from him was that Hayden was close to agreeing to sales terms with Huston’s company. A few points still needed to be ironed out, but Davis had been confident a deal would be worked out. The reason Huston felt the need to accelerate things was that Hayden Valley had received inquiries about the properties from another company.
Davis told me the other company wasn’t anywhere close to making an offer, but it hadn’t kept him from dangling in front of Huston’s representatives the fact that someone else was showing interest. Since Huston didn’t know how legitimate the other potential suitor was, he decided to ramp up the fires to put on the pressure, focusing the latest acts of arson on Hayden properties.
Until I talked to Davis, Hayden Valley had no idea Huston was behind the offer. The company was well aware of his ties to Gage-Trent, and would have never considered selling to him if it had been aware of his involvement.
Davis was pissed.
I performed some fancy footwork to get him to promise to not do anything for a few days. I went as far as telling him I would consult with Ag Department investigators and other appropriate federal agencies to see how they want to handle it.
One thing we were never able to pin down was the identity of the mysterious Cheryl, the woman who’d outed Chuckie as a fraud to Hayden Valley. We do know the disconnected number belonged to a pay-as-you-go phone, purchased at a mini-market in Mercy, but that was as far as we got. I have a feeling the caller was Kate. Either she didn’t want him to get a job that would keep him away from home for long stretches, or—and I’d rather believe this—she just wanted to screw his opportunity for no other reason than spite.
Who knows? Maybe the police will figure that one out.
News of Chuckie’s arrest leads the special edition of Friday’s Mercy Sentinel. Our old friend Curtis Mygatt has written the story himself, which, in essence, is a rough outline of the information from Jar’s and my email. There’s even a picture of Chuckie in a hospital bed, his unburned hand cuffed to a rail.
It makes me smile. I think I might keep this copy. Perhaps I should even frame it.
The attention has done exactly what we wanted it to: keep Chuckie’s friend—and Mercy chief of police—Richard Hughes from sweeping everything under the rug. Furthermore, I get the strong impression from statements made by the governor’s office—also printed in the Sentinel—that the state will soon take over the investigation. The tidbit we included in our packet about Chuckie and Richard being buddies might’ve influenced this. But I’m not one to brag.
We stay until Monday to make sure nothing goes sideways. If anything, interest in the case has only increased over the weekend. A few news vans from TV stations in Denver and another from Prime Cable News are camped out downtown.
This story is not going away.
Before we leave town, I load my motorcycle into the back of the pickup and drive to Mercy Cares. When I tell the director I’m donating the truck to her organization, she’s surprised but doesn’t say no. It feels a bit like righting a karmic wrong done to the charity by Chuckie’s and Bergen’s use of its donation cards. Sure, the charity doesn’t know anything about that, but I do.
When I return to the duplex to pick up Jar, I find Evan walking up to our front door.
He stops and watches me get off the bike and says, “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” I reply. “You know you probably shouldn’t be here.”
The front door opens and Jar comes out, carrying our backpacks and the duffel bag of the stuff we haven’t already returned to the Travato. “Hello, Evan,” she says.
“Hi. Are you guys leaving?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Seems like a good day to hit the road again.”
“I see.” He looks down, trying to hide what appears to be disappointment.
“How’s everything at home?” I ask.
“It’s…weird, but I think we’re all happy my dad’s not around.”
“Sawyer?”
“He’s great. A lot less tense. He hasn’t gotten upset about anything since we stayed with you. I can’t remember the last time he’s been calm that long.”
“And your mother?”
He shrugs. “She’s not saying too much, but I’m sure she’s relieved, too. That video of me and my dad you sent out helped, I think. Though she did make me go to the doctor on Friday.”
Jar had chosen to include the clip from when Evan called out to his dad through the window, up until just after the point Chuckie knocked him into the shelves. If she’d asked me first, I’m not sure I would have wanted it sent. But I’m glad to hear Evan’s not mad about it.
“Someone put it on the internet and it’s got like two hundred thousand views already,” he says.
“You’re a star.”
He laughs. “I guess. Between that and the nine-one-one call, at least the police know I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You didn’t tell them anything about us, right?”
“Not a word. I just said I got knocked out and when I woke up, I was outside.”
“What about Gina?”
“She’ll stay quiet. She’s really good at that.”
While we were talking, Jar pulled out a piece of paper and has been writing on it. She now hands it to Evan.
“That’s your house,” she says.
She holds it out so both he and I can see it. On the paper are rough outlines of each floor.
She points at one of the xs that are all over the place. “Wherever you see one of these, you will find a bug.”
He blinks in surprise.
“I thought you might want to take them down,” she says.
“Do they still work?”
“They do, but you would need the proper software and access code to use them.”
“Oh, then what should I do with them?”
“Just throw them away.” I say.
“Or I could send him the app and he could play with them,” Jar suggests.
His eyes light up.
“Uh, no,” I say. “That’s not going to happen. And you know what? If you do somehow get them to work without the app, I’d better not find out you’ve been using them for anything illegal or just plain wrong. Understand?”
“I would never do anything like that. I promise.”
“Yeah? Well, you promised me you wouldn’t follow your father.”
“I’ll do better this time.”
“I’m counting on it.” When he doesn’t say anything else, I say, “We really should get going.”
“Right. Sure. I understand.”
Jar and I pull on our backpacks and don our helmets. After I get on the motorcycle, she hops on behind me and puts the duffel bag between us. It’s a little awkward, but we have only a few miles to go to reach the Travato.
“Hey,” Evan says. “I just, um, wanted to thank you. I know this was just a job you were doing, but…thanks.”
“I’m happy we were able to help you.” I start the bike.
“Keep helping your brother,” Jar says, “and he will do fine.”
“I will.”
“See you down the road,” I tell him, and pull out of the driveway.
Neither Jar nor I say anything all the way back to the Travato.
After we load the Yamaha onto the trailer, I make calls to our landlords and tell them an unexpected opportunity has come up that requires us to leave town. When I also inform them we understand we’ll be sacrificing our deposits, the financial fight they were probably preparing to have with me vanishes.
Jar and I stand outside, near the entrance of the RV.
“I think I’ve seen enough farms for a while,” I say.
/> “They are not so bad. The rows of crops are very soothing.”
“Fair enough. I could call Mrs. Turner back and see if we could stay out here a little longer.”
Now I’m the one getting the evil side-eye. “That will not be necessary.”
I chuckle. “How about we hit something else on your list? Where do you want to go next?”
She leans against me and puts her hand on the small of my back. This is not something she does often. “I don’t care,” she says. “Let’s just go and see where we end up.”
That’s also not very Jar-esque, but it sounds perfect.
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About the Author
Brett Battles is a USA Today and Amazon bestselling and Barry Award-winning author of forty novels, including those in the Jonathan Quinn series, the Night Man Chronicles, the Excoms series, the Project Eden thrillers, and the time-hopping Rewinder series. He’s also the coauthor, with Robert Gregory Browne, of the Alexandra Poe series.
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Also by Brett Battles
THE JONATHAN QUINN THRILLERS
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BECOMING QUINN
THE CLEANER
THE DECEIVED
SHADOW OF BETRAYAL (U.S.)/THE UNWANTED (U.K.)
THE SILENCED
THE DESTROYED
THE COLLECTED
THE ENRAGED
THE DISCARDED
THE BURIED
THE UNLEASHED
THE AGGRIEVED
THE FRACTURED
THE DAMAGED
THE UNKNOWN
THE VANISHED
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NIGHT WORK
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“Just Another Job”—A Jonathan Quinn Story
“Off the Clock”—A Jonathan Quinn Story
“The Assignment”—An Orlando Story
“Lesson Plan”—A Jonathan Quinn Story
“Quick Study”—An Orlando Story
THE NIGHT MAN CHRONICLES
NIGHT MAN
INSIDIOUS
MERCY
THE EXCOMS THRILLERS
THE EXCOMS
TOWN AT THE EDGE OF DARKNESS
CITY OF NOPE
THE REWINDER THRILLERS
REWINDER
DESTROYER
SURVIVOR
THE LOGAN HARPER THRILLERS
LITTLE GIRL GONE
EVERY PRECIOUS THING
THE PROJECT EDEN THRILLERS
SICK
EXIT NINE
PALE HORSE
ASHES
EDEN RISING
DREAM SKY
DOWN
THE ALEXANDRA POE THRILLERS
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TAKEDOWN
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NO RETURN
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For Younger Readers
THE TROUBLE FAMILY CHRONICLES
HERE COMES MR. TROUBLE
Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) Page 34