The hard look shifted into concern. “I know the Longbows. Bodine’s their girl? The one who runs the resort?”
“That’s right. I’m looking for the LaFoy place. John Gerald LaFoy. He’s got a son goes by Easy.”
“Don’t know it. Can’t place that name.”
“He’s got a cabin, at least one outbuilding. An old horse, a dog, a milk cow, some chickens. Living off the grid. Has some business with the true patriots.”
“Don’t know the name LaFoy, but there’s a place about a mile as the crow flies.” He gestured northwest. “Mad Max—my boy called him that. My boy and his friends used to like riding up that way, till they got too close to that squatter—and he’s nothing more than that—and he ran them off. I had some words with him about that, but that’s ten years back easy. Sovereign citizen, half-crazy, you ask me, but live and let live. We steer clear of each other.”
Hope, stronger, brighter, ran steady through Callen. “Have you got a phone on you?”
“I do.”
“I need you to call Sheriff Tate, tell him what you told me, tell him where to find the cabin.”
“You think he grabbed her up?”
“He’s got a son, too, and yeah, they’ve got her.”
“You wait for me to get a horse—quickest way to get there from here. I’ll go with you.”
“I can’t wait. Call Tate,” Callen said, kicking Sundown into a gallop.
He had to slow when the ground roughened, the trees thickened. As he rode, he dragged out his own phone, called Chase. He barked out the location.
“I’ll be coming in from the north.”
“I’m a half mile out,” Callen said, and shoved the phone away.
He’d barely done so when he heard the gunshot.
*
LaFoy studied Bodine as he shut the door. Leaned on it, she noted—braced like he needed the support. His color looked sickly, his eyes red-rimmed. Easing her hand behind her thigh, she slid the dulled blade between her fingers.
She’d fight.
He had a gun on his hip, a knife sheath on his belt.
She’d fight.
“Knew he was up to something, sneaking in and out of here the way he’s been. Insulated the walls, I see. Maybe he’s not as stupid as he looks.”
He cut his gaze to the bed, back to her. “Doesn’t look like he’s taken his rights yet, and that’s for the best. The son honors the father. I’m the head of this house, the house I now provide for you. You’re Myra, my wife. You’ll call me Sir, and obey in all things. Take off your clothes and lie on the bed.”
“You look sick. You look like you need a doctor.” She needed him to come closer, close enough she could use the knife, get his gun.
“Take off your clothes,” he repeated, starting toward her. “I will take my God-given rights, and you will bear me sons.”
She stood her ground. If she backed up he’d see her leg wasn’t shackled. “Please.” She let some of the fear show. “Please don’t. Don’t hurt me.”
He grabbed her shirt in one hand, tearing it, backhanded her with the other. With her ears ringing, eyes watering from the blow, she struck out, jabbed the knife into the side of his throat.
The shock of it had him stumbling back a step, dragging her with him. As blood spurted and ran, she got her hand on the butt of his gun. A violent coughing fit pitched him forward. She went down under him, cursing, screaming, jabbing again as she fought to free the gun from his belt.
His hand closed around her throat, squeezing with shocking strength. She heard another shout, not her own, and the weight, the pressure released.
She saw Easy hurl his father against the wall.
“She’s mine!”
“I’ll beat you bloody, boy.”
“You lied!” Now Easy’s hands clamped on his father’s throat. “I could’ve killed you in your sleep. I nearly did.”
As she crawled, wheezing, she saw LaFoy’s fist plow into Easy’s face. And they set on each other like animals as she gained her feet and ran.
Rough ground, a swaybacked horse, an old cow that hadn’t been milked, a chain spiked into the ground, and an old dog collar.
She thought of Alice, and in panic started to run toward the woods.
A cabin, and two trucks. She forced herself to change direction, to not give in to the visceral need to run, just run. One might have keys in it.
She heard the shout, kept running, but when she heard the sound of running behind her, she whirled, lifted the gun. She aimed it at Easy, center mass.
“I swear I’ll shoot you. I won’t think about it twice.”
He stopped, his mouth bleeding, held up his hands. Actually smiled. “It’s okay. It’s okay now. I stopped him. He shouldn’t’ve tried to take what’s mine. It’s okay for you to be my wife. I thought it all through. It’s like Adam and Eve, the children of Adam and Eve. We’re going to start a family. In a little while, I’ll get Chelsea, too. She likes me. You’ll have a sister wife.”
“We’re not, you’re not. On your knees.”
“I can make you feel good. I know how.”
When he took another step, she braced herself to shoot, to kill if she must.
“Don’t make me do this,” she warned.
Then she swung the gun away from him, toward the man charging out of the prison with a knife in his hand and murder in his eyes.
“Honor thy father!” LaFoy shouted, and Bodine fired. Fired a second time when he barely slowed, and a third before he dropped to the ground.
“You shot him.” His tone curious, his head angled, Easy stepped over, nudged his father with a boot. “I think he’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He was a mean son of a bitch. It’s why he couldn’t keep a wife. Kept having to bury them. I didn’t want to be mean to the two I picked out before. That wasn’t my fault. I won’t be mean to you.”
“Please don’t make me shoot you. Please don’t.” Her hand shook, shook so hard now she feared she wouldn’t be able to steady it enough to pull the trigger.
He just smiled as he started toward her.
They both heard the horse coming, turned in time to see Callen pull the gun from his hip as Sundown sailed over the fence.
“On the ground, Easy. Facedown on the ground or I’ll put you there bleeding.”
Callen swung a leg over Sundown’s neck, dropped lightly to the ground. “Now.”
“It’s my land now. I’ve got a right—”
Callen took the simple way. Two punishing lefts.
“Keep him there.”
In response Sundown set one foot on Easy’s back.
Leaving Easy facedown on the ground with the horse guarding him, Callen strode to Bodine.
“Let’s have that.” He took the gun from her shaking hand, stuck it in his belt. “Let me see, let me see where you’re hurt.”
“It’s not my blood. It’s not mine. I’m not hurt.”
“You sure?” He shoved his gun in its holster, trailed his fingers over the bruise on her face.
“I shot—I shot—”
“Shh.” He gathered her in. “You’re all right now.”
He heard the sirens, and the hoof strikes. “You’re all right now,” he repeated.
“My legs are going.” Her knees didn’t buckle, they evaporated.