NOMAD (Sons of Sanctuary Book 3) Page 5

  “I had a little business that was taking off. I told you about it before. Matchmaking. Online parts.” Bud nodded. “We got married and, by the time the baby came, I had enough money to make a down payment on a house. She picked it out. Austin stone is what they call it. It wasn’t huge, but we didn’t have a big family. Just Molly, me and the baby.”

  Cann stopped talking for a while. Bud supposed he’d gotten lost in thought, like mentally turning through the pages of a photo album located in his memories.

  “Boy or girl?” Bud gently prompted to get him to come back to the conversation.

  “Girl. Kiley Marie.”

  “Pretty name.”

  “Yeah. Molly and I both had reddish hair. Kiley’s was flaming.” He chuckled. “Eyes so big and blue I used to say she looked like a cartoon.

  “I had a pickup I used for bad weather days. Molly never drove it, but maybe her car didn’t start. She got in the truck and it was rigged with explosives that…” When Cann didn’t finish the sentence, Bud knew he was trying to steady his voice. “It was meant for me. Both cars blew. House caught fire.”

  Bud looked out the passenger window feeling a little bit sick at her stomach and wishing she hadn’t pressed him to tell her. “Oh God.”

  It had been a couple of hours since the last time they’d seen another car. He looked at his watch. “We’ll be there in an hour. After that, you’re never gonna mention this again.”

  “That’s why you’ve been… nomad.” He nodded.

  “Why were you coming back now?”

  That was the one question he hadn’t expected her to ask. And it was the one question he wasn’t prepared to answer. At least not fully.

  “I wanted to take care of some business.”

  “And then what?”

  She wasn’t going to let it go as easily as he’d hoped.

  “I’ve told you everything pertinent. The rest is my business.”

  “Pertinent?”

  “Yes, Bud. Pertinent.”

  “Don’t you Bud me!”

  He smirked. “That is your name. Right?”

  “Yes. It is. Sugar.”

  His smirk grew. If that was supposed to be a dig, it had the opposite effect. He kind of liked it when she called him ‘sugar’. He kind of liked it when she called him ‘Johns’, too.

  They rode in silence for a while without even the middle of the night fire and brimstone preachers to distract each of them from their private thoughts.

  “There’s a little more coffee,” Bud said quietly. “You want it?”

  He nodded.

  When she handed him the thermos lid that doubled as a cup, he took it gratefully. Bringing it to his lips, he felt the steam rise and settle on his face. An involuntary sigh caused his chest to rise and fall.

  Bud wasn’t going to offer condolences. She sensed he’d take it as empty words, hollowed out all the more by all the time that had passed. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel the pain in his voice. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t sympathetic. She couldn’t imagine having that kind of happiness, people to love who love you back, and having it destroyed so suddenly and in such a grotesque manner.

  The fact that he was sure it was a murder meant for him made the whole of it simply unbearable. And she marveled that he’d held himself together at all.

  No, she wasn’t going to tell him she was sorry, because that wasn’t what he needed from her, but she hoped that somehow he knew it.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t some kind of freak accident?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure it was meant for you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you uh… find out who did it?”

  He turned his head away for a second, glancing out the driver’s side window at the darkness. When he looked at the road again, he said, “No.”

  It was one of the shortest, most concise words in the English language, but it was infused with so much feeling, mostly bitter resentment, that it conveyed paragraphs of information.

  “Have you thought about what you’d do if you found out?”

  He hesitated for just a second before saying, “Every damn second of every damn day.” He pulled out the phone Brant had given him. “You know how to use the flashlight app on this phone?”

  She took the phone. “Of course. I didn’t just crawl out from under a rock.”

  He let that go. “All right. I need you to help us find the place. Look right there on top in the console and get that paper. Then read me what it says. I think we’re gettin’ close to the turn off.”

  “You can’t put it in GPS?”

  “There’s no addresses out here, sugar.”

  “Oh.”

  CHAPTER Five

  “Stayin’ at the club tonight,” Brant told Garland.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “We might be gettin’ a visit from the Texas Rangers. If we do, I need to be here to control the message.”

  She laughed. “You mean you don’t trust Burn to be spokesperson for the club?”

  “Thanks for the cold shiver that just ran up my back.”

  She laughed again. “Okay then. I’m watching telenovelas.”

  “Good. Get the crap out of your system while I’m not there.”

  “It’s not crap. Alejandro is about to find out that Miranda is really his daughter.”

  “Christ. Don’t forget to set the alarm.”

  “Who needs an alarm with these dogs, Brant? I feel sorry for the poor ne’er-do-well that tries to come in here uninvited.”

  “Just set the alarm.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Garland.”

  “Okay! I will.”

  Brant had barely hung up when Arnold said, “At the gates, boss.”

  Brant had a choice to make. He could walk out beyond the gate and talk with whoever’d been sent and he’d be perfectly within his rights to keep the law at a distance. But going out of his way to seem open to inspection might dispel a cause for warrants. If he could lay suspicion to rest and send the dogs off in a different direction, that would be a win. Definitely the smarter choice.

  For years the club had been squeaky clean when it came to such things as drugs. After all, Brant had raised a child there.

  “Tell Juice to send ‘em on up.”

  Arnold looked surprised, but nodded.

  Brant walked out into the main room. “Shut that off.” He motioned to the TV as he barked the order at the prospect behind the bar. Everybody gave Brant their immediate and undivided attention. “Rangers on the way up. Just relax. If they ask if you’ve seen Cann, the answer is…”

  In unison everybody in the room said, “No.”

  Brant nodded his satisfaction with that. He looked up at the security cameras that simultaneously showed six views of the compound and grounds. “Shut that down and make sure the feed from the past two days is destroyed. Now!”

  Rally hurried toward the server room to make sure the cameras were offline. They went dark just as Arnold was opening the door for the Rangers.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” Arnold said.

  Two armed Rangers stepped inside. The first was Forge Russell, whom Brant had known most of his life. The Fornight family had always had ties to the Rangers. In fact the founder was a great-uncle of Brant’s, and one of his dad’s brothers had served.

  Brant came forward and stuck out his hand. “Russ,” he said. “What brings you out here?”

  “Brant. Got a situation.” The guy next to Russell was young enough to be his kid. Brant guessed he was a new partner. “This is R.W. Mackey.” After Brant shook hands with the younger man, Russell said, “We don’t want to disturb your evenin’. Just have a couple of questions. Got some place where we can talk?”

  Brant looked around. There were twenty-odd people in the room. “Oh.” Brant played ignorant. “You mean some place where everybody doesn’t hear what you got to say?”

  Russell almost rolled his eyes, but leveled o
n Brant and his defiant smirk instead. “Yes,” he said evenly. “That is what I mean.”

  “You can come on back to the office, but it’s kind of tight in there.”

  “That’s okay. We won’t be long.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The two Rangers followed Brant back to the office, the younger one doing his best to visually record every detail and not miss a thing.

  Brant sat down behind his messy desk and motioned for the two other men to sit in the two old wood deacon’s chairs. Russell sat, but Mackey chose to stand by the closed door.

  Brant waited patiently.

  “Seems we’re lookin’ for one of your boys,” Russell said.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well. I’m guessin’ it’s not for a speedin’ ticket, since that’s outside the purview of Ranger business.”

  “Now, Brant. You know perfectly well that Ranger business is whatever we decide to make it.”

  “State your business, Russ. I have a telenovela to watch with my wife.”

  Russell chuckled softly. “I’d almost like to see that. I really would. But tonight I’m lookin’ for an SSMC member, wanted for kidnapping. For starters.”

  Brant shook his head. “Kidnapping,” he said drily. “Now, Russ. You know good and well that none of my boys are gonna be kidnappin’ anybody. That’s not just ridiculous. It’s ludicrous. And you know it.”

  “I’m finding it kind of interesting that you’re not askin’ who it is we’re lookin’ for.”

  “I know who you’re lookin’ for, Russ. We have a TV.”

  “Well, sure.” Russ smiled. “That explains that.”

  “I also know that Cannon Johns is not a kidnapper. I strongly suspect you know that, too.”

  “Maybe I do. Thing is,” he paused to make a face that looked more like a wince than anything, “girl’s pop is one of us.”

  “Like I said. Got a TV out there. Big one, too.”

  Russell nodded while clearly assessing Brant for truth telling. “Course you’d tell me if you’d seen him.”

  “You’d be the first one I’d call.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Russell smiled. “Could we maybe have a look at your internal camera feed? Just in case he came in and out without you noticin’?”

  “Well, sure. Let’s go on out here. We’ll all watch it together. Maybe make popcorn.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Brant. I hurried over here without dinner.”

  Back in the main room, Brant said, “Rally? Ranger Russell here would like to see our video for the last couple of days.”

  Rally shook his head. “Sorry, boss. We’ve been down since Tuesday.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know that,” Brand said. Turning to Russell, he said, “Sorry about that. I didn’t know.”

  Russell nodded. “Shame about the popcorn.”

  “Yep. There’s a cantina over in Dripping Springs.”

  “Yeah. I know it. You mind if I ask the rest of these folks if they’ve seen our man?”

  “Be my guest,” Brant said.

  “For the record,” Russell addressed the entire room, “have any of you seen Cannon Johns recently?”

  Everybody shook their head no except for Brash, who said, “Not except on TV.”

  Russ looked Brash over. “This one yours?”

  Brant looked at Brash like he was trying to decide. “Yeah. He’s one of ‘em.”

  “You got two?” Russell seemed surprised.

  “Long story,” Brant said.

  “Well, maybe another time.”

  “Yep.”

  Rally already had the camera feed up and running again by the time Juice closed the gate after the Rangers.

  CHAPTER Six

  Driving slow, reading from Brant’s typed note with headlights on bright, they found the dirt road turn off.

  “It’s kind of… I don’t know,” she said.

  “Remote? Dark? Barren?”

  “Yes. I guess it’s all those things. Maybe it’ll look different in the light?” His only answer was a brief bark of laughter. “This says, ‘The gas isn’t turned on. So if you want hot water, you’ll have to heat it on the fireplace. If you want hot food, you’ll have to cook it on the fireplace’.” She looked at Cann. “Are. You. Serious?”

  He shrugged. “Good thing it’s turned cool then.”

  When the headlights hit the rock exterior of the house, Bud said, “That’s it?”

  “I’m guessin’ so.”

  The entire place appeared to be no bigger than twenty-two feet square, but there was a ramshackle detached garage. When he saw it, Cann saw the wisdom in that. A safe house isn’t safe if a vehicle is parked outside saying, “I’m here. Come and get me.”

  When they pulled up next to the house and stopped the truck, Bud seemed hesitant to get out.

  “What’s the matter?” Cann asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s just so…”

  “Listen, darlin’. You want to keep that baby safe. This is what safe means.”

  “You know that for a fact? That we’re safe here?”

  Years ago he’d come to believe that the only thing he knew for a fact was that he would not ever allow himself to love anyone again.

  “I think so. But it’s the best option we’ve got. Right?”

  “Right,” she said. “And you forgot. I’m sugar. Not darlin’.”

  “I forgot?” He smirked. “What’s the difference?”

  “Darlin’ is biker speak for all women under sixty who are something less than butt ugly.”

  He felt a full-throated laugh bubble up before he could tamp it down. Damn if she wasn’t right. He’d never given much thought to when and how the term was used, but she’d pretty much nailed it.

  “According to your imaginary lexicon, what does ‘sugar’ mean in ‘biker speak’?”

  “Same thing except a little bit more personal.”

  Damn if she wasn’t right again.

  When his amusement waned, he said, “Cheer up, sugar. Look at it this way. You may have sent my life careening off into unexpected territory, but you’re a lot better off.”

  There was no arguing that. She’d gone from being a penniless runaway cowering in a rain storm to being queen of a safe shelter with food and an escort who was also the sort of protector people want when they need protection.

  Cann opened the door and found the light switch using the light of the phone. Nothing.

  “No electricity either,” Bud said drily.

  “Stop your bellyaching. Women had children for thousands of years before Edison came on the scene.”

  “Yes. But they didn’t have cell phones that need charging.”

  Cann had to admit that she had a point. He found a box of matches and lit the oil lamp that was sitting on the rustic table. It wasn’t much light, but it was a small house. One room with a wood floor, bunk bed, table, two chairs, a rock fireplace, and a cowhide sofa that, oddly, would have sold for a lot of money in Beverly Hills.

  Bud walked over to the kitchen sink and turned on the water. “Thank God for small favors,” she said when it came on. “Guess that means the toilet will work. Speaking of that. Will you please make sure ther’re no snakes in here so I can go to the bathroom?”

  Cann was lighting a third candle. “Snakes, huh? They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. And that’s what people who are not afraid of snakes always say.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. Snake hunt.”

  “And I get the bottom bunk.”

  He looked at the bunk bed. “You think the top will hold my weight?”

  “Well, there’s a puzzle for you. Do I want to fall out of a second story bed or be crushed by an enormous biker dude?”

  With a smile, Cann said, “Your choice,” in an infuriatingly cavalier way.

  Taking the oil lamp by the handle, Cann shone the light in every corner and cupboard before proclaiming, “Al
l clear, your highness. The premises is viper free.”

  “Ok. If you’re wrong, you’ll have two deaths on your conscience.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to think I have a conscience. You’re assuming.”

  “Yes. I do. And no. I’m not,” she said as she took a candle and closed the door. Toilet. Sink set in a prefab cabinet. Clawfoot tub which, again, would no doubt bring big bucks in Beverly Hills.

  When she came out, Cann was making the last unloading trip. He’d put her bag on the lower bunk and the cooler in the kitchen end of the room.

  She looked around. “It’s kind of cold in here.”

  True to Brant’s word, somebody had made sure the sheets were clean and there was a pile of firewood on the hearth.

  Cann hesitated because chimney smoke is a long range visual signal that somebody’s in residence and there would likely still be enough coals to make smoke when the sun came up. But, he supposed, Brant wouldn’t have specifically mentioned having firewood stocked and left instructions encouraging him to make use of old school cooking and water heating if it wasn’t safe.

  “All right. I’ll build you a fire. You hungry?”

  She shook her head. “Just tired.”

  While Cann banked wood for a fire, Bud climbed up to the top bunk. She sat on her knees and wiggled around a little.

  “What’re you doin’?” Cann asked.

  “Testing to make sure this bed will hold your ginormous ass up.”

  He laughed out loud. “First, I do not have a ginormous ass.”

  “Do,” she said as she climbed down.

  “Do not. Second, I was just kidding. Of course the bed will hold my perfectly formed manly body aloft.”

  It was her turn to laugh and she did it in the most scoffing way possible while secretly thinking that he did, in fact, have a perfectly formed manly body.

  She slid under the covers.

  “What’re you doin’ now?” he asked.