“Bobby Tatro escaped last night.”
He gave Ethan a few seconds for the words to sink in, then told him what he had. By the time he finished, Juliet was there, in her new leather jacket and jeans, her Glock in its holster on her belt. Joshua didn’t go through Tatro’s escape again. He left Ethan to do it and got in his truck, speaking to his sister through the open door. “I’ll be back in an hour. I’ll check on the status of the search. Sam’s in the shed. The folks wanted to stay, but I made them go—they’ve got a big job they need to finish before winter.” If anything, his blue eyes hardened as he shifted his gaze to Ethan. “Wendy’s asleep. She doesn’t know about Tatro. Tell her she can reach me on my cell phone.”
He pulled his truck door shut, started the engine and backed out of the driveway. Juliet grabbed Ethan’s arm, her fingers digging in. “Wendy doesn’t know what about Tatro?”
And Ethan told her, without emotion. She didn’t interrupt, but when he finished, she ground her teeth. “Son of a bitch. Damn. Rivera must be beside himself.” She focused on Ethan. “I need to call him. Stay put.”
She took the three steps onto the side porch in a single leap. Without waiting for an invitation, Ethan followed her into the warm country kitchen. There were no pecan rolls freshly made by a hired cook. How was he going to explain the Carhills and his relationship to them to Juliet? How would he make her understand his sense of obligation to Ham?
He headed back out to his car, fetched his overnight bag and found his way to a bathroom sink to get cleaned up. A long, hot shower would have to wait.
When he returned to the kitchen, Juliet was off the phone, putting on a pot of coffee. Her back to him, she scooped coffee from a five-pound can and dumped it into a filter. “Help yourself when it’s done. Mugs are in the cupboard above the sink. Left side. I’m taking a shower and clearing my head.” She hit the power switch for the old coffeemaker and spun around at him. “Rivera and Joe Collins are meeting with your friend from the White House this morning. Mia O’Farrell. Nate Winter’s flying up from Nashville.”
“Juliet—”
“Did this O’Farrell arrange Tatro’s escape?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Well, someone did. He had outside help. The plan had to be set up in advance, just in case he was arrested. He didn’t know I’d catch him at my apartment. He didn’t have any visitors in jail. Now—” She broke off, inhaling. “Damn it, a police officer was almost killed.”
“Anyone you know?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She stalked past him, stopping abruptly in the doorway, turning to him. Her eyes, a clear sky-blue, black-lashed, were wide with anger and determination, and regret, Ethan thought. She softened slightly. “We’ll talk. Then we’ll head to New York together.”
“Juliet—”
The edge came back. “You don’t have any choice.”
She about-faced and ran upstairs, trusting him, at least, to stay put, drink coffee and wait for her.
Either that, Ethan thought, or she’d keep one eye on the bathroom window and shoot him where he stood if he tried to leave.
He poured himself coffee and drifted out to the front porch, shaded by a maple tree with leaves so red, so bright, he couldn’t take his eyes off them. But he kept seeing the photo of Juliet, lying in Tatro’s hut. Had he been meant to find it?
Bobby Tatro was an instrument. A tool someone was using to get what he wanted. Ham Carhill—the same. Mia O’Farrell—the same. Means to an end.
Ethan picked up a single red leaf that had blown onto the porch and twirled its stem between his fingers. How long had it been since he’d led a normal life? Even if he went back to Texas and took his place alongside Luke on the ranch, Ethan had no illusions.
A normal life wasn’t in the cards for him.
It never had been.
Ham tucked himself into a booth at a lunch-and-breakfast place down the highway from his motel. He drummed the Formica table with his fingers while he looked over the plastic-encased menu. A short, plump waitress about his mother’s age took his order for pancakes and home fries.
“Any sausage or bacon with that?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“You like your carbs, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She sighed and tucked the order pad into her apron pocket. “Wish they affected me the way they do you.”
He didn’t tell her that a week ago he’d been eating fatback and beans. If his captors had set snake meat in front of him, he’d have eaten it, too. She went to put in his order, then returned with a mug of coffee. Normally Ham didn’t drink coffee. He hoped the caffeine would give him a buzz.