Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [118]
My hands tightened on the edge of the glass counter. I remembered they’d come into Clementine’s the night J-Hawk had been murdered, and I’d kicked them out for no IDs. “Now I know who you mean. They claimed to live with their dad.”
“Damn liars. They live in that old Brubaaken trailer. Place is for sale, but no one is gonna pay that kinda money for it.”
“Where’s the Brubaaken place?”
“Quarter mile past Red Gulch Canyon turnoff on County Road Seven.”
“Did you tell Anna where they lived?”
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“How long ago did she leave?”
“An hour or so. Why?”
I didn’t answer, as I was too busy running out the door to my truck. As soon as I cleared the city limits, I pressed the pedal to the floor. Piece of crap truck topped out at 65 mph.
I ran through several scenarios, but the truth was Anna wouldn’t let either of those guys live. She’d shoot me if I got in her way of dispensing justice for J-Hawk. So going in alone half cocked was full-out crazy. I’d had enough crazy to last me a lifetime. No way could I let Anna get away with this, and I felt damn guilty for not sharing my suspicions last night. Maybe this could’ve been prevented. I snagged my cell phone and dialed.
“Anna figured out that Cliff Garber and Tyler Lewdonsky killed Jason Hawley. Because they pawned his knife. The knife she gave him. Yes, I knew it wasn’t listed in his personal effects, but I never thought it’d show up. She’s probably already at the Brubaaken trailer on County Road Seven. I’m on my way out there now.” I listened. “No, I’m going in because she won’t hesitate to kill them both, and if they die it’s on my conscience.”
My brain filtered through the images of Anna in full soldier mode. Picking our way through the chaotic streets of Baghdad. Keeping our heads bowed, finding the targets, killing up close and personal under the cover of darkness and the flowing fabric of our burkas. No wasted effort. No wasted time. Get in, complete the mission, get out.
But I knew that wouldn’t be Anna’s way this time. This time, it was personal. This time she’d make a point to make it hurt. She’d draw out the torture until the punks detailed everything they’d done to J-Hawk. Everything J-Hawk had said in return. Then she’d return the pain tenfold.
I feared her. But I also feared my reaction to this vengeful Anna. Could I pull the trigger if it came down to choosing her life or the lives of the scumbags who murdered the man who’d brought me back from the dead?
Lost in thought, I accidentally drove past the turnoff. I whipped a U-turn and backtracked, slowing as I approached the McIntyre Real Estate sign by the road.
Stealth entry was probably pointless, but it was the only advantage I had. I parked in the ditch and grabbed my Taurus.
No rush of adrenaline. Just coldness in the pit of my stomach. I crouched in the yellow sweet clover lining the ditch leading to the driveway. My gaze swept the broken-down barn, a caved-in chicken coop, and the rickety wooden pallet serving as stairs to the trailer’s door.
A puke-green, rusted-out International Harvester truck sat sideways next to the trailer. Sections of metal skirting wound through the weed-choked yard like steel ribbon. Anna’s Land Rover was parked halfway between the truck and the barn. The back end was open. Sunlight glinted off the metallic cardboard suitcase of Coors Light.
She’d lured them out with booze. Not her usual strategy. If she’d stormed the trailer, she could’ve killed them while they slept.
But she’d want them awake. Alert. Afraid.
A far easier way for Anna to get them outside: pretend to be a buyer who asks for a tour of the property. Offer them beer. Act like their friend. Wander to the backside of the barn. The side that wasn’t visible from the road. That’s where I would’ve taken them. Lined ’em up against the wood barn siding and emptied the clip. Reloaded and done it again.
A pain-filled shriek echoed from behind the barn. My gut tightened. I ran across the patches of gray dirt dotted with clumps of dead grass. Color appeared. Random