Deep Down Dead E-Book

Steph Broadribb

• Herausgeber: Orenda Books
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Serie: Lori Anderson
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 547

Beschreibung

Shortlisted for:**The Kathy Reichs Award for Fearless Female Character****The Cat Amongst the Pigeons Award for Most Exceptional Debut****FINALIST IN THE INTERNATIONAL THRILLER WRITERS AWARDS FOR BEST FIRST NOVEL**Part-time Florida bounty-hunter Lori Anderson isn't a superhero … she's a single mum with a lot on her plate. But when her family is threatened, she'll stop at nothing to seek justice, and keep them safe…'A real cracker' Mark Billingham'My kind of book' Lee Child'Like Midnight Run, but much darker … really, really good' Ian RankinSix states. Three days. One chance to save her child…Lori Anderson is as tough as they come, managing to keep her career as a fearless Florida bounty hunter separate from her role as single mother to nine-year-old Dakota, who suffers from leukaemia. But when the hospital bills start to rack up, she has no choice but to take her daughter along on a job that will make her a fast buck. And that's when things start to go wrong.The fugitive she's assigned to haul back to court is none other than JT, Lori's former mentor – the man who taught her everything she knows … the man who also knows the secrets of her murky past. Not only is JT fighting a child exploitation racket operating out of one of Florida's biggest amusement parks, Winter Wonderland, a place where 'bad things never happen', but he's also mixed up with the powerful Miami Mob. With two fearsome foes on their tails, just three days to get JT back to Florida, and her daughter to protect, Lori has her work cut out for her. When they're ambushed at a gas station, the stakes go from high to stratospheric, and things become personal.Breathtakingly fast-paced, both hard-boiled and heart-breaking, Deep Down Dead is a simply stunning debut from one of the most exciting new voices in crime fiction.Praise for the Lori Anderson Series'This is romping entertainment that moves faster than a bullet' Sunday Express'If you like your action to race away at full tilt, then this whirlwind of a thriller is a must' Sunday People'Lively' Sunday Times'An impressive thriller, the kind of book that comfortably sits alongside seasoned pros at the top of their game. Sultry and suspenseful, it marks a welcome first vow for an exceptional new voice' Good Reading Magazine'Suspense, action, romance, danger and a plot that will keep you reading into the wee small hours. I loved it' Lisa Gray, Daily Record'Fresh, fast and zinging with energy' Sunday Mirror'Readers will cheer her every step of the way' Publishers Weekly'Just a whole hell of a lot of fun' New Books Magazine'Fresh, compelling and beautifully written' S.J.I. Holliday'Fast-paced, engaging and hugely entertaining' Simon Toyne'Brilliant and pacey' Steve Cavanagh'A hell of a thriller' Mason Cross'A blistering debut' Neil Broadfoot'If you love romantic suspense, you'll love this ride' Alexandra Sokoloff'A stunning debut from a major new talent' Zoë Sharp'One of my favourite debut novels for a long, long time' Luca Veste'A gritty debut that will appeal to Sue Grafton fans' Caroline Green'Crazy good … full-tilt action and a brilliant cast of characters' Yrsa Sigurđardóttir'The pace moves at breakneck speed. The writing style is accomplished and real and this is quite simply one of the best debut novels I have ever read' Angela Marsons

Leseprobe

Praise for Deep Down Dead

‘This is a good one - fast, confident, and suspenseful. My kind of book’ Lee Child

‘With a Stephanie Plum-style protagonist in bounty hunter Lori, Deep Down Dead has a Midnight Run feel to it, but much darker. Really, really good’ Ian Rankin

‘Read some great debuts this year but Deep Down Dead is a real cracker. Steph Broadribb kicks ass, as does her ace protagonist Lori Anderson!’ Mark Billingham

‘Deep Down Dead is a blast of a book – fast-paced, engaging and hugely entertaining’ Simon Toyne, author of Solomon Creed

‘Steph Broadribb has written a brilliant, pacey, bounty-hunter tale that marks the beginning of what will undoubtedly become a sparkling career’ Steve Cavanagh, author of The Defence

‘An action-packed crime thriller dripping with intrigue from the Deep South, and with a feisty no-nonsense heroine to boot. It’s a début that demands to be read, with excitement and exhilaration flying off every page. In Lori Anderson, Broadribb has created a memorable and authentic female lead – and readers will be left wanting the next instalment of her adventures as soon as possible’ David Young, author of Stasi Child

‘Tough as a pair of rhino-hide cowboy boots and unremittingly energetic. An explosive, exciting debut’ David Mark, author of Dead Pretty

‘An action packed Southern road noir that pulls no punches. Single mom/bounty hunter Lori Anderson is an engaging new heroine, and Deep Down Dead is quite simply a hell of a thriller’ Mason Cross, author of The Killing Season

‘A fresh and compelling debut with an intriguing plot, a great new heroine, and a setting that zings with authenticity’ Anya Lipska, author of A Devil Under the Skin

‘If anything, Broadribb and her protagonist, tough Florida bounty hunter Lori Anderson, have more than a hint of Lee Child and Jack Reacher about them, with (literally) no punches pulled. The other parallel with Lee Child is, of course, the fact that this is an English writer making a sterling job of finding an American voice for both the narrative and the characters, and Broadribb proves to be just as adroit in this area as her male counterpart … a promising debut delivered with both energy and colour’ Barry Forshaw, Crime Time

‘Fast, furious and thrilling’ Graeme Cameron, author of Normal

‘Deep Down Dead grabs you like a whirlwind – once you’re in, there’s no getting away till it’s through with you. Pacey, emotive and captivating, this is kick-ass thriller writing of the highest order’ Rod Reynolds, author of The Dark Inside

‘A relentless page-turner with twists and turns that left me breathless’

J.S. Law, author of Tenacity

‘Deep Down Dead oozes authenticity. This is an engaging, original thriller with the type of characters you wish you knew in real life. Fresh, compelling and beautifully written, with a real cinematic quality. Read it. Now’

S.J.I. Holliday, author of Black Wood

‘Lori Anderson is a bounty hunter like none you’ve ever encountered before. This is a series that will run and run. You’ll need to clear some time in your diary to read Steph Broadribb’s Deep Down Dead because you won’t want to set this one aside till the end. A genuine page turner’ Howard Linskey, author of No Name Lane

‘Fast, furious and utterly addictive, Deep Down Dead is a blistering debut and marks Broadribb as a rising talent to watch’ Neil Broadfoot, author of Falling Fast

‘Non-stop adrenaline rushes in this romantic action-adventure, introducing a gritty, earthy, unstoppable heroine in bounty hunter Lori Anderson – and a bad boy opponent/partner who is actually worthy of her. If you love romantic suspense, you’ll love this ride’ Alexandra Sokoloff, author of The Huntress/FBI thrillers and co-author of The Keepers series

‘The story moves at a frantic pace, and the plotting, along with the writing, is so deft and assured that it’s really quite staggering that this is a debut. But what really sets this book apart is the characterisation. Lori and JT, it’s kind of like reading early Reacher, where you know you’re at the beginning of something very special, characters that will stay with you, books that you’ll wait patiently for each year’ Chris Whitaker, author of Tall Oaks

‘A stunning debut from a major new talent’ Zoë Sharp, author of the Charlie Fox crime series

‘This is perfect for fans of Lee Child and Janet Evanovich, with the same American charm you find in Charlaine Harris, but also has a sensibility that is completely unique and totally Broadribb. Lori Anderson is a fascinating heroine, with plenty of secrets and depth, but also totally kick-ass and relevant. Deep Down Dead is just so assured for a debut, and there wasn’t a single false step. It’s fun, thrilling, edge of your seat but also dealing with some seriously dark issues, and introduces a cast of characters I want to meet again! A great start to what is already one of my favourite series. Can’t wait for the next one’ Alex Caan, author of Cut to the Bone

‘Powerful, passionate, and packs a real punch’ Fergus McNeill, author of Knife Edge

‘A gem of a read that delivers thrills at breakneck pace … Lori is a feisty heroine we all wish had our backs’ Marnie Riches, author of The Girl Who Wouldn’t Die

‘There are a couple of different ways to think about this debut. One is an entertaining bounty-hunter adventure, and on that level it’s quite a ride. But another take is as a character study, with depth – the relationship between protagonist Lori, daughter Dakota and male lead JT. It’s assured and emotionally moving. Will be keeping an eye on this author and what she does next’ Daniel Pembrey, author of The Harbour Master

‘A kick-ass American thriller and a great read … crying out to be a Hollywood movie. I couldn’t put it down’ Louise Voss, author of The Venus Trap

‘I ripped through this high-octane, breathlessly paced thriller in almost one sitting. Loved kick-ass Lori and her sexy-as-hell love interest JT – a combo to get your heart racing, and then some’ Ava Marsh, author of Untouchable

‘Steph Broadribb’s debut novel has been a long time coming, but it was definitely worth the wait. Dripping with authenticity, filled with unforgettable characters, and with a plot to die for. The writing is fantastic, making it one of my favourite debut novels for a long, long time. Deep Down Dead is just the first novel in what will be an incredible career for Broadribb. I can’t wait to read the next Lori Anderson book!’ Luca Veste, author of The Dying Place

‘We all need a fast-talking, gun-toting heroine with a heart of gold in our life, and Lori Anderson is a most compelling creation. If you don’t read Deep Down Dead, you’ll really be missing out!’ Claire Seeber, author of The Stepmother

‘This writer! This book! I haven’t witnessed such a buzz about a new author for quite some time, and that buzz is entirely deserved. Breath-takingly pacey and authentic. You have to read it’ Michael J. Malone, author of A Suitable Lie

‘This thrilling debut is a masterwork of suspense, as bounty hunter, Lori Anderson, takes us on a road trip fraught with danger, passion and high-octane jeopardy. Steph Broadribb is top crime talent! Unputdownable’ Helen Cadbury, author of To Catch a Rabbit

‘Finished this at a gallop! Great action scenes and great atmosphere in a top romantic thriller’ C.J. Carver, author of Spare Me the Truth

‘Relentless, breathtaking and emotionally charged. A roller coaster of a read!’ Jane Isaac, author of Beneath the Ashes

‘Steph Broadribb’s gritty debut will appeal to fans of the Sue Grafton alphabet series. I can’t wait to see what bounty hunter Lori Anderson gets up to next!’ Caroline Green, author of Hold Your Breath

‘Deep Down Dead might be a fast-paced, adrenaline-fuelled read but Steph Broadribb does not sacrifice character development to achieve that. Instead we are treated to three characters who will live on in my memory … easily one of the best books I’ve read this year’ Book Addict Shaun

‘Deep Down Dead is an ass-kicking thriller of the highest order. I can’t recommend it highly enough!’ Bibliophile Book Club

‘Deep Down Dead is an all American thriller. A real page-turner, full of pulsating action. It sucks the reader in from the very start through to the nail-biting conclusion’ Trip Fiction

‘Deep Down Dead has an authentic American feel with a fantastic plot, vivid setting and amazing writing that puts you right into the heart of the action – a clear winning formula. Deep Down Dead heralds the start of a new series. It’s contains everything you want in an action thriller – a strong female lead, sexy potential partner, thrilling plot and a lot of heart. This book is going to fly its way up the charts! Bring on the next Lori Anderson book!’ Vicki Goldman, Off-the-Shelf Books

‘This book is set to be one of the debut hits of 2016. Steph’s writing is tight, flowing and the book rockets along at a pace that entertains the reader. Steph has a beautiful way with language and you feel right there with the main characters as they set off on their journey. I haven’t read anything like this and the setting and style is wonderful. If you love the work of Cormac McCarthy then this book is for you’ Ian Patrick

‘An action-packed thriller that grips you from page one and never lets go, characters you can’t help rooting for, and fantastic cinematic writing that puts you right in the thick of the action. This book is smart, sexy and one hell of a read. If I’d been reading the paperback version rather than the eBook, I’d probably have ended up with paper cuts from turning the pages so fast’ Lisa Gray

‘Broadribb has combined accurate research with compelling characters, a fast moving plot and an authentic American voice. Add fantastic writing and you have one amazing debut. Best of all, we’re left with a bit of a cliffhanger. Book 2 is on its way! Joy Kluver

‘A fast-paced, nail-biting, hard-hitting novel that not only takes you on an all-guns-blazing action adventure but will also through the emotional ringer’ Chillers, Killers and Thrillers

Deep Down Dead

Steph Broadribb

For Pod

Contents

Title PageDedicationPrologue123456789101112131415161718192021222324252627282930313233343536373839404142434445464748495051525354EpilogueAcknowledgementsAbout the AuthorCopyright

Prologue

Today

I open my eyes and the first thing I see are the cuffs. Flexing my wrists, I test their weight and try to ignore the dull ache in my right hand where the gash across my skin has dried crusty brown. The bruising on my forearms has turned a deep purple. From the way my ribs feel, I figure they must look the same. I keep my breathing shallow; seems it hurts a little less that way. I look up.

He’s sitting opposite me, arms folded, legs stretched out beneath the table. Waiting. In this windowless box it’s impossible to tell how much time has passed. Still, I can’t look at him, not yet, so I focus just below his eyes, where the dark shadows lie. My heart’s racing, a voice in my head screams, run, just run. I want to, I surely do, but I can’t. For all that’s gone down, someone has to pay. It’s time for me to pony up.

‘You lookin’ at me now? Good. So answer the question.’

Same Kentucky accent, but he’s not at all how I’d imagined. Guess that’s the way it goes when your only contact has been by cell. I force myself to meet his gaze, swallow down the nausea, try not to let fear distort my voice. ‘Can’t believe all you hear.’

‘Tell me why.’

Now the moment’s come, I don’t know if I can. Was he in on it? Should I trust him? Sure, he looks the part. He’s wearing the uniform black suit, smart and efficient, shades hooked inside the breast pocket. He’s a little older than I’d imagined, nearer fifty than forty, and wears his hair on the long side, slicked back to keep it tamed. He runs his hand through it, smoothing the strands into place. I wonder if he’s nervous. I sure as hell am.

His cold stare says he figures that I’ll talk eventually. All he need do is wait, because time’s almost up for me. Every second I baulk, the people I love get dragged further from me. So we both know I have to give it up on his promise, tell him enough to end this, to stop all the talk of death row. But there’s an order to these things, and we both know that too.

He puts a plastic beaker on the desk, pushes it from his side to mine. Inside there’s a red liquid, two shades paler than blood. ‘Drink. Medical said you’re dehydrated.’

They’re right. My mouth’s drier than gator hide in August. Can’t remember the last time I drank or ate properly. Shit like that hasn’t figured much these past few days. The drink looks real tempting, but I need something from him first. This situation, it’s all about power. If I do something for him, the balance swings over to his side, but if he does something for me, I get it a little more on mine.

I glance down at the cuffs. Look back at him. Wait.

He takes the hint. Leans across the table with the keys in his left hand, ready. As he moves, I catch the scent of his cologne – lemon, clean and sharp. Hope he’s that way too. I have to trust him; we’re all out of time to do anything else.

I push my hands over the wooden veneer towards him, palms up. The torn muscle in my shoulder feels like it’s on fire. I don’t let it show; bite back the pain. He uncuffs me, slips the bracelets and key into his jacket pocket. Eases back in his chair. Watching, again.

That’s first base, right there.

So I drink. Show willing. Know I need the fluids, can’t risk the dehydration muddling my mind, confusing the story. Have to tell it right. The liquid’s raspberry-flavoured water. It’s sweet, too sweet, and stings the corner of my mouth where I’ve taken one too many punches. I grimace at the taste. ‘So how does this work?’

He stares right back at me. ‘Tell me everything.’

I jerk back, spooked. Try not to wince at the spur-sharp pain in my side. He’s moving way too fast. You can’t jump from first base to fourth, it ain’t polite and I can’t allow it.

The pain doesn’t fade. Nausea rises real fast and bile hits the back of my throat. I cough. Makes my bruised ribs hurt like a bitch. I bite my lip and press my arm against my side. Show no weakness. ‘I have to get out of here, take my daughter home.’

He shakes his head. Leans forward, elbows on the table, face level with mine. ‘Not going to happen. This situation? It’s real serious. You’re in no kind of position to be making demands.’

He’s testing me. Wants to know how desperate I am. The answer? Real desperate, but I know way better than to let that show. This game here is all about timing. What I say, and whether he believes me, that’ll be the difference between life and death. ‘So what then?’

He stares at me, unblinking. Leans closer. ‘Tell me the real story. Multiple homicide an’ the rest that’s gone down? There’s no one else can help you. I’m the guy you’ve got to convince. Right now, and right here.’

The room seems to shrink. The space feels airless, more claustrophobic. What he’s just said, I hate it. I want to howl at the unfairness of it all, punch him until he feels the pain too. But I don’t, because I know that he’s right. I’ve got no other choice but to trust him. So I put down the beaker. Watch the liquid ripple once, twice, before lying still. Count in my head, all the way up to ten, then look up and meet his gaze. I can’t delay any longer, need to move us on to second, defuse the situation. ‘Honey, I can give you answers, just as soon as I know we’ve got a deal.’

He sits back in his chair, and crosses his legs, real relaxed. Keeps eye contact. ‘Depends.’

There’s a certainty about him, a determination that’s somehow quite attractive. He plays hard to get real well; oftentimes I like that. Not today, though. Not now. Hard to get is hard to read, and one wrong move, one wrong word, will only end one way: everyone I love gone. ‘I’m listening.’

‘You tell me what happened. No bullshit, just the absolute truth from start to finish. Do that, then I’ll tell you if we’ve got a deal.’

No guarantee, but I figure it’s my best shot. So I nod, and let him take third. Act like it’s my idea, though. Force a smile as I swallow down the fear. ‘You best get comfortable, sweetie. This’ll take a little while.’

He nods, and I know that it’s time. Now I have to get us to fourth, tell the story right, secure a deal.

There’s a click as he switches on the audio recorder. He leans forward and places it on the table, dead centre. Looks me right in the eyes. ‘You’re up.’

And so I tell him.

1

Three days earlier

CF Bonds sits two minutes from the main drag of West Colonial Drive. It’s nothing special, just a squat one-storey on Franklin, a few hundred yards from some fancy dog-grooming parlour and a take-out chicken joint. Not that Quinn, their top bondsman, would let fried anything past his lips. He’s a health nut, into protein shakes, moisturiser and eighty-dollar haircuts. Looks good on it though, if having a man all waxed and buffed is your kind of deal. All that gym work does build a guy’s stamina real nice. I found that out when I took him for a little test ride a couple of years back.

So I parked up outside, and me and my baby girl, Dakota, loped across the sidewalk to the entrance. The silver bell above the door jangled as we walked on through. Sounded real quaint, unlike a lot of the folks requiring the services of Quinn and the crew, but anyways, the noise had him jumping from his chair and striding out front to greet us.

I was glad of it. The small waiting area, divided off from the main office by a bulletproof glass screen, could get you to thinking that you were some kind of human goldfish if you stood there long enough. I never did like the feeling of being confined.

Quinn grasped my hand, pumping it up and down in that steady rhythm of his. ‘Lori, good to see you.’

‘You too,’ I said, extracting my hand. Overfriendliness most likely meant he’d got a job that needed doing. Good. What with the rent due and being three months behind with the payments for Dakota’s medical treatment, I needed cash, and fast. ‘Can we talk?’

He nodded. Turning to Dakota, he smiled and ruffled her strawberry-blonde hair. ‘Hey, kitten. Ain’t you growing like a weed. Why, you must be at least ten years old by now?’

Rolling her eyes, she put her hands on her hips and thrust out her chin; a stance that never fails to remind me of her daddy. ‘I’m nine, and I’m not a kitten or a weed, I’m a tiger.’

Quinn laughed. ‘Well, alrighty then. Can I get the tiger a glass of milk?’

Dakota nodded, grinning.

Quinn glanced at me. ‘You want coffee?’

I shook my head. Quinn makes weak-assed coffee. ‘Tea.’

While he fetched the drinks, I led Dakota through the glass door and across the office. It wasn’t a large space, just two desks with a couple of visitor chairs in front of each. On the wall behind Quinn’s workspace a map of Florida was pinned to a bulletin board. The desk itself looked as neat as a showroom display: paper in trays, pens in their tidy, mouse on its mat. From experience I knew that the red tray closest to me was the spot where he stacked the jobs to assign. I took a peek. There wasn’t much, two or three files at best. Damn.

Quinn returned. He sat behind his desk and gestured for me to take the seat opposite. I sat down and turned to Dakota, who’d gotten on to the other chair, her bare legs squeaking against the faux-leather seat. ‘How about you go see what Mrs Valdez is working on?’

She frowned. ‘Can’t I stay here?’

‘No, sweetie. This is a business meeting.’

Quinn leant across the desk. ‘Mrs Valdez is out back in the filing room. I hear she keeps a jar of cookies there.’ He took a blank bond application form from his drawer, wrote something in the box in the top corner and handed it to Dakota. ‘If you deliver this to her for me, maybe she’ll give you a cookie as a reward.’

Dakota’s eyes lit up. She leapt from the chair, picked up her milk and took the paper. ‘Cool. I’ll find her.’

We watched her skip over to the back office.

‘She’s looking well.’

‘For now.’ I stirred honey into my tea, slow and steady. Didn’t look at Quinn.

I nodded towards the files in the red tray. ‘So what have you got for me?’

Quinn shook his head. ‘Not much.’

‘Shit. I’ve got rent to pay, Quinn. And the hospital instalments, they’re real high, y’know?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve only got what I’ve got.’

Problem was, as a bail runner, I was associated to CF Bonds but not directly employed by them like their in-house investigator, Walt Bailey. For them, it was cheaper to have Bailey to do the work. In truth, Quinn owed me nothing.

‘Like I told you last month, and the month before that, things have been running smoother.’

‘Is that right?’ I stared at him hard. His cheeks flushed a little. I kept on staring. ‘You know what happens if I don’t make a payment this month? They cancel her follow-ups. You know what that means? If the cancer comes back they won’t be watching, they won’t catch it in time.’

‘Yeah. Look, I get it, but I just—’

‘Quinn, you gotta give me something.’ I pictured the letter sitting on my kitchen counter, the big red words stamped across the top: FINAL DEMAND. I had to find a way to pay. Couldn’t think on the alternative. My baby couldn’t get sick, not again.

‘Look, maybe I can shift one or two of Bailey’s cases your way. A couple of skip traces, few hundred bucks a shot.’

Shook my head. ‘Thanks, but that won’t cut it. I need something big.’

He glanced at the files in the red tray. ‘Well, there is this one job, but it’s not local, and you’ve always said—’

‘What’s the money?’

‘Five figures.’

That sounded more like it. ‘How “not local”?’

‘West Virginia.’

Not local, for sure, but at that money could I really refuse? I smiled my most charming smile. ‘I’m listening.’

If Quinn was surprised, he didn’t let it show. ‘There’s only three days left until the summary judgement, so you’d need to get it done fast. You interested?’

‘Depends.’ I pulled the spoon from my tea. There was still a dab of honey on the tip. I put it in my mouth and sucked while I let Quinn sweat a little.

You see, a bond gone that far along means just one thing: no one else has managed to catch the guy. Since they’d skipped out on their original court date, you could bet Quinn had been trying his damnedest to find them. In Florida there’s a thirty-day statutory surrender period between non-appearance in court and the bond being forfeited. If this guy wasn’t brought in by the summary-judgement date, CF Bonds stood to lose a whole bunch of dollars, and they really hated that. So, if this fugitive was still out there, they had to be real smart or real fast or, most likely, both. ‘How much you offering?’

‘Ten thousand.’

Damn. Ten grand. I worked at keeping my expression Texas-Hold- ’em neutral. As a bail runner, I was entitled to ten percent of the bond value if I brought in the fugitive in time for the summary judgement. Most of the cases I’d worked had been worth a whole lot less – three or four figures rather than five. ‘He’s on a hundred-thousand-dollar bond?’ I asked. ‘What he do?’

Quinn flicked through the short stack of files and found one with a sticky note on it marked JULY. He plucked it from the pile, opened it and scanned the document inside. ‘Caused some aggravation in that amusement park down near Fernandina Beach – Winter Wonderland. Seems our guy had a problem with the owner, a Randall B. Emerson. Security stepped in and called the cops.’

‘Much violence?’

Quinn flicked through the pages of the thin file, shook his head. ‘Some posturing, perhaps.’

‘Guns?’

‘Not that it says.’

I frowned. Was I being paranoid or was Quinn acting a little evasive? He needed this fugitive back fast, so was he skimming over the truth to be sure I’d take the job? ‘Why the high bond, then?’

‘Well, you know what the amusement parks are like. We need those tourists, and places like Winter Wonderland pull them in from all over. I’m guessing it was about making an example of the man rather than him being a danger.’

Made sense. Part of the whole amusement-park experience was that you were entering a world where bad things never happened. Any kind of disturbance in that sugar-coated ecosystem would be bad for business across the whole state. ‘So why isn’t Bailey getting him?’

Quinn sighed. ‘He was. Trouble is, Bailey had an accident a couple of days back. He was chasing down this young guy and tried to vault over a wall.’

I tried not to smile. Bailey is built more for the couch than the chase. ‘Bailey did? Now that I wish I’d seen. Hell, I’d have paid for the privilege.’

‘Yeah, it didn’t go so well. He landed bad, got himself a busted wrist.’

Fractures are never fun, but Bailey had been riding my ass ever since I’d signed up with CF Bonds. The jokes at my expense never grew old for him. Perhaps this was him reaping a little of what he’d sown. I hoped so. ‘How come this bond’s gotten so far along, anyways?’

Quinn’s expression turned serious. ‘Yeah. About that. Look, the guy isn’t local. We only did his bail as a favour for an old business associate of the boss. The fugitive lives out in Georgia, but when Bailey made a visit, he was already in the wind. We’ve been tracking him these past few weeks. Bailey found a location for him yesterday, over in West Virginia, so I called Bucky Dalton, thinking he could go collect him. Turns out Bucky got himself all shot up by some drug dealer he was tailing and he’s in the hospital peeing into a bag. So Bucky’s older brother, Merv, agreed to pick our fugitive up and hold him until we can collect.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Last I knew, Merv wasn’t licensed for work here in Florida. Any pick-up he’d make for you would be unlawful.’

‘Yeah, well…’ Quinn stared at the weak-assed coffee in his cup like it was real interesting. ‘So, as I said, the job’s yours if you want.’

But did I want it? I needed the money, that was for sure, but with school being out, and Krista – my neighbour and regular sitter for Dakota when I was on a job – about to set off visiting her folks in Tennessee, chances were I’d have to take Dakota along on any work I did out of state.

Through the door to the back office I spotted Dakota sitting beside Mrs Valdez, helping her fold letters and stuff them into envelopes. She was chattering away all happy, her pigtails bobbing up and down as she nodded at something the older woman had said. As if sensing my gaze, Dakota looked up and met my eyes. She grinned.

I looked back at Quinn. Shook my head. ‘The thing is, I’ve got no sitter for Dakota right now. She’d have to come along, and I’m not real keen on some fugitive being around my kid.’

Quinn shrugged. ‘I get that, Lori. But if you’re looking for a high-money job, this is all I got. Should be easy, no complications, just a taxi-driver gig. The man you’d be collecting is a professional who got mixed up in a bit of trouble when tempers ran high. Bailey’s done the tracking. Merv’s picked him up.’

It did sound easy. And a taxi ride – well, that sounded safe enough. But would it be safe enough for my daughter to ride shotgun? I wasn’t real convinced of that.

‘All I need,’ Quinn continued, ‘is for you to collect the man and bring him back for the summary judgement in three days. Your Silverado’s fitted out with restraints and a full transport kit, isn’t it?’

I nodded. ‘Yeah.’

He smiled, revealing thousands of dollars’ worth of dental work. ‘So there’s no chance of this man getting close to your little girl, is there? The way I see it, this is easy money, and fast. Hell, I’d go do it myself if I wasn’t needed here.’

I snorted with laughter, couldn’t help myself. The most physical Quinn had ever gotten was a Boxercise class at the gym. ‘Is that right?’

His smile sagged. ‘Sure is.’

Guess I’d deflated his ego a little. I studied his expression for a beat, considering his offer. He was right, it sounded easy and the money was good. My Silverado had a proper travel cell, real secure, so there’d be no need for Dakota to be in contact with the fugitive. But I’d had another idea. Krista wasn’t due to leave for her folks’ place until that afternoon. I could offer her a thousand bucks to delay her trip by three days and watch Dakota for me. What with three kids and her husband out of work she always needed cash, so I was sure I could convince her.

‘So, will you do it?’ Quinn was looking hopeful again. He needed this man back fast, and he knew I had the skills to get it done. Seemed like I was near on his last shot.

That got me to thinking. CF Bonds might be prepared to pay a little more than usual for this job, and any extra sure would help. ‘West Virginia is an awful long way from Florida. Perhaps if you upped my percentage I could work something out.’

‘Well, maybe,’ Quinn said, trying to cling on to his smile. ‘I could go to eleven percent.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s gonna cost me more than one percent in gas money. I was thinking closer to twenty.’

‘Jesus, Lori. You’re trying to bleed me to nothing here.’ He opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a calculator and tapped in a few numbers. ‘I guess I could scrape by at fifteen. Final offer. What do you say?’

Fifteen percent on a hundred-thousand-dollar bond would give me fifteen thousand bucks. That sure was a decent stack of money. It’d pay the arrears I’d gotten into on the medical bills and allow for me to pay a few months’ rent in advance. But it all hinged on Krista sticking around, and on me feeling able to leave Dakota with her. It’d be the longest I’d have been apart from her since before she’d gotten sick. This past year I’d never stayed away overnight; was always watching for the slightest sign of the cancer returning, so I’d be sure to catch it early and get her help. Three days. Could I bring myself to leave her that long? I sure hoped so. Her treatment had to continue.

I was still thinking on it when I heard the flush of the john followed by heavy footsteps trudging from the backroom to the office. Bailey.

‘Oh look, it’s Barbie the Bounty Hunter,’ Bailey said, his tone loaded with sarcasm.

He waddled over to me and offered the hand that wasn’t in plaster for a flaccid handshake. His palm felt clammy as he gripped mine. He stepped closer; too close. I could feel the press of his generous belly against my hip and smell the chilli dog on his breath.

I removed my hand and resisted the urge to wipe it on my pants. ‘So you tracked this guy for a few weeks. What can you tell me?’

Bailey ignored the question. He walked to his paper-scattered desk and plonked himself down in his chair. The wooden frame creaked under the strain. He glared at Quinn and shook his head. ‘You’re sending her after my fugitive?’

I smiled real sweet as I imagined punching Bailey in his doughy, three-chinned face. ‘Don’t look so troubled, sweetie. This ain’t my first rodeo.’

‘So you’ll do it?’ Quinn said.

I winked at Bailey, whose cheeks had turned an ugly shade of puce, then looked back at Quinn. ‘Sure.’

Quinn smiled, looked relieved. He nodded towards the file. ‘The warrant and auth-to-arrest are inside. You—’

‘Did he tell you that your fugitive is one of us?’ Bailey interrupted. ‘The leads I followed, they’re all in the file, but from what folks said he’s quite the superstar bounty hunter out in Georgia. Shit, some even called him a legend.’

I frowned. ‘Yeah, and now he’s a fugitive.’

‘A smart one.’ Bailey sucked in his gut, pushed his chest out. ‘Been in the wind over a month, but I found him.’

Poor Bailey. So competitive. He just hated that my clearance rate was higher than his. ‘Good for you, sweetie.’

I’d forgotten that Bailey never got anyplace fast. He either wanted to impress me, or show his superiority, or maybe both. Whichever it was, he launched into a description of all the web searches he’d done, the papers he’d pulled, the folks he’d talked with. All that information would be in the case file, I didn’t need it verbal too. From Bailey’s yammering it sounded like he’d interviewed everyone but the neighbours’ pet dog’s cousin before he’d gotten lucky with an address.

‘… works for a Victor Accorsi, known as Pops, he’s a bondsman based in Savannah…’

Pops I knew. He’d given me my first job when I’d gotten into this game. My mentor had made the introduction almost ten years ago. I felt my heart rate quicken. ‘You got a name, a mugshot?’

Quinn thumbed through the papers in the file until he found the booking photo. ‘That’s him,’ he said, passing it to me.

‘Son-of-a-bitch.’ I dropped the picture like it was the business end of a branding iron. It landed face up on the desk.

I stared at the photo. Heart racing, mouth dry.

It was him.

The man I’d seen in my nightmares for near on the past decade. The only other living person who knew the truth of what happened all those years ago.

2

Robert Tate. Robert James Tate. The man I’d known as JT.

I glanced again at the mugshot. I knew every inch of him, or at least I did ten years back, when he’d taught me the first rule of my trade: Never trust no one. The booking picture wasn’t great, but it told me JT still had his rugged good looks; the same remarkable blue eyes, which looked azure or cobalt depending on the light and which, in this photo, squinted a little into the camera; and the same foppish, dirty-blond hair.

Quinn was watching me real close. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Friend of yours?’

I nodded. ‘Something like that.’

Bailey gave a long whistle. ‘Well, shit, girl. You do get around.’

I glared at Bailey. ‘He was my mentor. Taught me the business. Trained me. Helped me get my licence, before I came to Florida.’

Bailey leered at me, his yellow-toothed grin mocking. ‘Is that right? How come you didn’t stick around in Georgia?’

A simple question with a complicated answer, which I wasn’t going to spill to Bailey. ‘He always worked alone. Said it was safer that way – with no one to worry about he could think clearer. I respected that. Training me was only ever a short-term thing.’

Quinn shook his head. ‘Sounds like a real charmer.’

Sarcasm. Nice. But Quinn was righter than he knew. JT had been charming, but he was tough too. I still remembered his lecture on clarity of focus. We’d been heading back to the truck after a job that had very nearly gone bad. I’d delayed cuffing a woman who’d been holding a Moses basket. She’d clung to the basket, crying that she couldn’t leave her baby. I’d stepped far closer to her than I should have done, tried to assure her it would be okay, that we’d not be leaving her baby behind. JT had told me that my sympathy was a weakness, drilled into me that emotion would get me injured, or worse. And he’d been right. There was no baby. The woman had fired at me with a long-barrelled revolver she’d hidden under the blanket in the basket. If her aim had been better, or JT hadn’t pulled me to safety, it would have been game over. Stay objective, he’d said in our debrief. Focus on the job. Don’t form close bonds. Never let anyone get under your skin.

That wasn’t the only one of his rules that I’d broken.

Quinn looked at me real funny. ‘You still up for this job?’

I nodded. Didn’t hesitate. I wasn’t going to throw away the opportunity of a fifteen-thousand-dollar pay-out because of the way things had ended with JT. All I’d lost back then had cost me dear. I wasn’t going to add my daughter’s health to the list.

‘Good.’ Quinn tapped the details into his computer and printed out a job docket – the agreement that made my pick-up on CF Bonds’ behalf legal – and handed it to me. As I took it our fingers touched. The contact did nothing for me, but from the way Quinn’s expression had gotten a whole lot more intense I figured he was about to say something deep. That, I could well do without.

Looking away fast, I picked the photo from the desk and slipped it and the docket into the back of the file. ‘Three days then.’

Quinn sighed. ‘Yeah.’

I waved through the doorway at Dakota. ‘Come on, honey.’

She said her goodbyes to Mrs Valdez and skipped over to me. Taking her hand, I led her to the door. Before opening it, I turned back to Quinn. ‘I’ll text you when I have him.’

The drive to Yellow Spring, West Virginia, would take me the best part of fourteen hours, getting me to the location where Merv was keeping JT a little before midnight. Even with a smooth run, the round trip would have me on the road for near on two days. First, I needed food, a change of clothes and to persuade Krista to delay her trip and watch Dakota.

Home is a two-bed apartment at the Clearwater Village complex. Residential, not holiday lets, and a reasonable kind of neighbourhood for the price. Still, as we climbed the concrete stairs to the second floor I noted a fresh pile of cigarette butts heaped in the corner of the twist. I guessed Jamie-Lynn’s teenage son and his buddies had been hanging out here again, and made a mental note to speak with them on my return.

Our apartment is second along from the stairs. Krista’s place is right next door. Her blinds were down, not a good sign, but I pressed the buzzer and waited anyways, willing her to be home.

Didn’t do no good. Maybe she’d just gone to the store for groceries, but seeing as she was about to take a long trip I knew that was real unlikely. Still I waited. Had to hope.

Nothing. As Dakota pressed the buzzer again, I unlocked our door – first the Yale and then the upper and lower deadbolts. Pushed it open and paused, just for a moment, to listen.

A sheet of paper caught my eye. It must have been pushed under the door while we were out. I scooped it up, unfolded it and read the note. Shit. I turned to Dakota. ‘It’s no good, honey. She’s gone.’

Dakota looked up at me, disappointed. ‘So I won’t get to have a sleepover?’

‘I guess not.’ In the note Krista said she’d be visiting with her folks for the next three weeks. She asked me to water her plants when I got the chance.

‘What about your job, Momma?’

Damn good question. There was no one else I trusted to watch Dakota – no friends and certainly no family – but I’d already agreed to do the pick-up. Going back on the deal would have me look a fool, and make Bailey’s taunts even less bearable. Worse still, I’d lose out on the fifteen thousand bucks that would guarantee Dakota’s treatment continued.

I remembered what Quinn had said: Take her along – you’ve got a full transport kit. True, I did, but if I took her along she’d meet JT, the man who knew my worst and darkest secret, who could threaten the life I’d built for us here in Florida, and who I’d promised myself right back at the very beginning would never know about Dakota. I couldn’t stand for him to learn the truth, but what choice did I have? I’d be damned if I did, or damned if I didn’t. Either way, I’d put her at risk. Forcing a smile, I held out my hand. ‘I’m not sure, baby.’

Dakota stepped away from Krista’s front door and joined me. Slipping her hand into mine, she looked up at me with those big blue eyes of hers and said, ‘I could help.’

I thought back to how things had been when she’d first gotten sick. The sleepless nights I’d spent sitting beside her hospital bed; all the drugs they’d pumped into her fragile body; her pain, which I’d been powerless to erase. It never got easier to live with the fear. Even when she’d gotten better, the doctors had said she was in remission and the cancer could come back at any time. So far it hadn’t, but that didn’t stop me from worrying, watching for the slightest sign.

I knew the choice I had to make. Whatever else he was capable of doing, JT would never hurt a child. ‘You know, sweetie. Maybe this one time you could come on a ride-along.’

‘Really?’ Dakota beamed. She hugged me, then rushed through the gap between me and the door. ‘It’ll be so fun. I’ll make us a picnic.’

‘Stop.’ My tone sounded harsher than I’d intended. Not her fault, but mine. The fear was back, churning in my stomach. Fear about the decision I was making, about seeing JT again after all these years, about having to remember what I’d done, what he’d done. About facing up to the horror of what had happened to Sal.

I tried to smile, almost pulled it off. Forced a lighter tone. ‘Sneakers, sweetie.’

She scuttled back to the door. Slipping off her sneakers, she placed them in a neat pair on the mat beneath where our coats hung from two metal hooks. Glanced up at me, all bashful. ‘Sorry, Momma.’

I smiled, genuine this time. ‘Go make us that picnic.’

Our little apartment might not be much, but clean is one thing that doesn’t cost. I’d gotten the place a little cheaper than the going rate due to the water damage caused by a hurricane the previous year. The roof had been mended, but the box room had looked pretty nasty, with the walls discoloured where rainwater had flowed through the gap in the roof and been left to dry. Didn’t matter. I’d fixed it up real nice. With a few pots of paint and a bit of effort I’d converted it into Dakota’s bedroom. I hung bright pictures to cover the more stubborn stains and used two pretty bead lampshades and some purple drapes I’d found at the thrift store to cosy up the place. After living there ten months, it was someplace we could finally call home, and it sure as hell beat the last place. I hoped I could afford for us to stay.

In the kitchenette, I put my purse and the CF Bonds file on the counter and dropped my keys into the teal bowl we’d picked up at the weekly street market in Celebration. Next to the bowl sat Dakota’s end-of-term science project: a papier-mâché volcano that glowed red as it erupted and, so long as the water reservoir was filled, produced an impressive cloud of steam. Dakota had spent weeks perfecting the wiring of the electronic circuit board and remote control. She’d sure deserved her first prize.

I stared at the dormant model, trying to resist the lure of the file beside it, and more specifically, the mugshot. Didn’t want to think about JT. There’s no sense in being sentimental about a person you haven’t seen in years. Sentimental doesn’t pay the rent, and it sure as shit couldn’t keep up the repayments on my baby’s medical bills. I had to be practical, to focus. Make the pick-up, bring him back to Clermont, get him booked in at the precinct. Done.

Dakota was busy choosing food from the refrigerator, narrating her choices as she put them in the cooler: ‘… and some peanut butter cups, and this cherry yogurt, and a pack of cheese strings—’

‘And these peaches, and a pack of salad,’ I said, pulling them from the upper shelf and stashing them on top of the yogurt.

She pulled a face, and fished the plastic bag of salad out again. ‘Lettuce, Momma. Really?’

I took the salad and dropped it back inside. ‘Yes, really. It’s good for you.’

Dakota gave an exaggerated sigh. She opened the icebox, took out four ice packs, and pushed them against each side of the cooler. ‘I think we need some ice cream.’

‘Honey, it’ll melt.’

She took four snack-size tubs from the icebox. ‘They’ll be okay. I’ll put them right up against the ice.’

I nodded. ‘All right. Now go pack your overnight bag.’

When she’d scampered off to her room I opened the cupboard below the sink and removed my metal footlocker. I opened the combination lock and checked my tools. I wasn’t expecting trouble. JT knew how things worked, and if Bailey had located him and had Merv pick him up, then my money was on JT wanting to be found. Still, there was no sense in going underprepared.

My brown leather carryall, the ‘go-bag’ I’d used ever since I’d started in the business, was stowed at one end of the box, battered but serviceable. I pulled it out, unzipped the front section and inventoried the equipment: my leather rig, two canisters of extra-strength pepper spray, three sets of plasticuffs, a roll of twenties totalling two hundred bucks – my emergency cash, which, if I hadn’t gotten this job, I’d have offered as a token gesture towards Dakota’s outstanding medical repayments – and my X2 Taser. Almost everything I needed.

In the bottom of the footlocker lay my Wesson Commander Classic Bobtail. I stared at it for a long moment. I remembered how my mentor had lectured me on the foolhardiness of doing what we did without a gun. Remembered what had happened when we did.

I reached into the locker, my fingers stretching towards the weapon. They started shaking, first a slight quiver then, as my fingertips grew closer to the wooden grip, more violently. I couldn’t do it. Still couldn’t. After almost ten years, the memory of that night, as vivid as ever, began to replay again in the dark place behind my eyes. I shuddered. Squeezing my eyes tight shut, I tried to force the images away. It didn’t work, though. Suddenly, it was as if I was right back there, and it was happening all over again.

I see the blood. Watch it gush from her chest, crimson spreading acrossthe pink fabric of her shirt, pooling on the ground beneath. There’s so much, too much, it’s impossible to stop the flow. I have to try though, and I try real hard. Press my fists against the wound. She’s lying on her back, pale face turned skywards, eyes unfocused. I think that I’m crying, but all I can hear is that sound, the wheezing, gurgling. She’s trying to talk, and failing. Trying to breathe. Failing.

I opened my eyes, yanked my hand away from the gun. Standing, I gripped the edge of the worktop, breathing hard. I needed to get control, knew I had to get past this, because things were different this time. Dakota would be there. I had to be able to protect her.

I took the dishtowel from the hook beside the sink and folded it in half. Leaning down, I lifted my carryall from the footlocker and unzipped the front pocket. I took a breath, and before I could think on it any longer, scooped the gun and a box of ammo into the dishtowel, bound them real tight and stuffed them into the pocket before zipping it closed. I told myself it was a precaution; I’d never have to use them. But it sounded hollow, like a throwaway line I’d bullshit someone else with. Didn’t help.

I turned towards Dakota’s bedroom. ‘Honey, you ready yet?’

‘Nearly, Momma.’

I took the carryall to my bedroom and set it down on the patchwork quilt of my bed. The bag was always packed for a last-minute job, with changes of clothes and underwear: practical, non-sexy underwear. All I needed. So why, this time, was I wondering about more? I took two steps towards the closet and stopped. Shit. It was a job, not a date. I hesitated a moment longer, then opened the door and yanked a matching set of black lace panties and bra from the underwear tray and threw them into the carryall. Be prepared, always. Another of my mentor’s rules.

I went into Dakota’s room to see if she was done. I found her sitting on the fuchsia-pink rug beside her bed, selecting bottles of nail polish from her dress-up box.

‘Hey, sweetie. How many you got there?’

‘Five.’

‘You think it’s enough?’

She tilted her head to one side. ‘I guess. Maybe we could do each other’s nails?’

I smiled. ‘That’s sweet, honey, but I’m gonna be real busy these next three days, and there’s going to be a lot of riding in the truck. It could get dull.’

Dakota smiled. ‘I don’t care. I wanna go with you, Momma. I always have to stay home, and you promised we’d spend more time together this holiday.’

She was right, I had promised. But that had been before the final demand arrived. ‘Okay, sweetie, but I need for you to promise me something.’

‘Like what?’

‘That you’ll do exactly what I say, no question. I have to know I can count on you.’

‘Like in the look-out game?’

I smiled. The look-out game was one I’d invented to teach her about being vigilant, staying safe. I never wanted her to get into trouble the way I had when I was a kid, but if she did, I sure as hell wanted her to be able to get herself out of it. ‘Just like in the look-out game.’

Dakota grinned. ‘I promise, Momma.’

I nodded. ‘Okay, good. So you got your toothbrush?’

Dakota rummaged in her rucksack and pulled out her purple toothbrush. ‘Right here.’

‘Good job.’ I picked up her sleeping bag from the frilly purple duvet. Nodded towards her rucksack. ‘You ready then?’

She zipped the bottles of nail polish into the side pocket of her pack, hoisted it over her shoulder and grinned. ‘Ready.’

I triple-locked the apartment and we started down the stairs to the parking lot. Dakota was humming a tune to herself, jumping down the steps two at a time, acting like we were heading out on holiday rather than a bounty-hunting gig.

I couldn’t share her joy. Taking the job had been all about the money. And it was good money, for sure. But since I’d first realised the fugitive was JT, a doubt had nagged at me. And the more I thought on the case, the more I felt a real uneasiness about the thing. See, back when I’d known him, JT had been all about justice. Sure, justice by any means – rough or legal – but the mentor I’d known had stood by his actions, every time. So him turning fugitive didn’t sit right. If he’d committed a crime and skipped out on the consequences, I figured the facts of the matter must be a whole lot more complicated than Quinn, Bailey and the thin file in my purse were telling. I needed to figure out the real truth, had to know what’d changed him.

Hoped to hell that it wasn’t my fault.

Course, I should have guessed just where my curiosity would get me, but right then I had no idea that the new life I’d built for myself and my daughter would be shot to shit inside of twenty-four hours.

3

Yellow Spring, West Virginia. A place deep in Hicksville country, and much further from my Florida territory than I’m usually inclined to travel. We’d covered the nine hundred miles in thirteen hours – quick work even by my standards. Still, all that driving had sure made me ache. Good job we’d almost reached our destination.

With all that had happened to his brother, I knew Merv would be twitchy and trigger happy, so it was important for anyone keeping lookout to believe I’d come alone. I gave no mind to Dakota’s protesting about it. The safest place for her when we entered the location would be behind the blacked-out windows in the fully kitted-out fugitive transport section of the truck. There, ducked down in one of the moulded plastic seats, she’d be hidden from outside view, but visible to me through the Plexiglas screen.

When the navigator’s display showed we were three miles from our target, I pulled off the road. It was near on midnight, and it’d been a long half-hour since we’d passed any indication of human life. As we’d swept around a sharp bend, the headlamps had picked out a gap in the trees and given me a glimpse of an old gas station with two pumps and a rusty sign out front, all shuttered up for the night.

With the Silverado’s engine idling, I took my cell from its cradle on the dashboard and dialled the number for local law enforcement. I usually work alone, but this place was real remote and I reckoned that the assistance of a lawman or two could help ease the situation should things get ugly.

The call didn’t connect. No signal. Damn.

I’d have to get things done the old-fashioned way. I sure hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. I reminded myself this was a straight pick-up, a transfer from Merv to me. Told myself the only reason I was worried was because Dakota was here. Didn’t quite convince myself, though. I was uneasy. I’d not managed to connect with Merv even though I’d tried to call several times these past few hours. There’d been no answer on his cell, although maybe the signal was patchy this high up in the mountains. But there was no answer on the home phone either. Seemed unusual behaviour if he was waiting for my call, as he should have been. I do not like unusual. Unusual has a bad habit of causing me grief.

I glanced at Dakota. ‘In the back now, honey.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘But I hate it in the cage, the seats are too hard. Why can’t I just stay up front with—’

‘No. You promised you’d do whatever I said.’ I knew she’d hardly slept on the journey, and tiredness made her cranky. ‘I need you to do this for me. Please.’

‘Can I play Goldrush Galaxy on your cell then?’

I didn’t want her to be bored. An unhappy child was in no way helpful for my focus, and without a signal the cell was of little use to me. I unplugged my smartphone from the charger and handed it to her. ‘Sure. But volume off, okay?’

As she climbed into the back, I reached into the stowaway box beneath the passenger seat for my carryall. Taking my rig from the bag, I removed my jacket and fastened the straps in place. I made the usual checks: plasticuffs, taser, pepper spray. Left the gun in the bag. Satisfied, I pulled my jacket back on and turned to secure the Plexiglas screen between Dakota and me.

With the divider in place it felt like I drove the final miles in solitary. Me and the radio was all. Mountainside FM: Classic Country. Those whiney lyrics, guitars and shit seemed fitting companionship. Besides, I couldn’t get a clear signal for any other station, not smothered under the heavy blanket of the trees. So I drove those miles listening to the sounds of The Grand Ole Opry, winding my way up the crumbling blacktop, the temperature falling the higher I went. Whether it was the gloom, or the lonesomeness of the tune on the radio, or the melancholy that came over me when I allowed myself to dwell on the fact that I was about to pick up the man who’d been my mentor, I don’t rightly know. Still, in that moment I’d gotten the strongest feeling that this job was going to be trouble.

The road had hugged tight to the route of a broad mountain stream for a good while before the navigator told me I’d reached my destination. To my left the ground fell sharp away from the raggedy edge of the asphalt, a clear twenty-foot drop to the water below. The stream, wide and shallow, had more power than a casual glance might give it credit. But I knew from the way that white foam kicked high over the stones in the riverbed that it took no prisoners. I shuddered. No doubt that feral beauty had lured many folks to their death.