Rick Mofina - Whirlwind

“Maybe a neighbor. I don’t know, but she wasn’t part of it and I couldn’t hurt her. With Arlen and Brice it was self-defense. No need to implicate us any further.”

“Do you think she saw us?”

“No. Don’t worry, I came up from behind. We’re going to get through this. We’re alive, we made it this far and we got a place to lay low, a good place. We got Hedda coming with the money. Then we’ll be done with the kid and we’ll be gone. I told you, I know a guy who’ll get us whole new identities. We’ll disappear, maybe to Belize, let things cool off. It’s going to work out, darlin’.”

“I don’t know, Mason. With all that’s happened, I’m worried.”

He took a long look at Remy in her blond wig, ball cap and sunglasses. His hand found its way to her left inner thigh and he began caressing her. “You know, you look good in that wig, darlin’.”

Remy said nothing and they passed much of the next few hours saying little. Mason stopped for a cold beer to help deal with his craving. And at one point, Remy used the truck’s adapter and a portable coffee cup warmer to heat a bottle of formula for the baby. As the miles flowed by and they neared their destination, Mason consulted Garza’s directions, which he’d entered into his phone. Soon they left the interstate for farm roads and country routes, cutting through the South Plains. Driving deeper into the region, they saw fewer homes as the landscape grew more isolated.

“We’re almost there. It’s straight through this village or hamlet or whatever,” Mason said as they passed a dilapidated barn and a decaying school that looked like a ghost from the Dust Bowl days. Other aging buildings were sprinkled on either side of the empty road. Not much in the way of people. They came to L. T. Smith’s Store and Gas. It was in a single-story building with two ancient gas pumps out front.

“We’ll stop here,” he said. “You go in and get some groceries, enough for a couple days. I’ll stay in the truck with the baby.”

“I don’t want to leave the baby. I’ll take him,” Remy said.

“No. Think of the news reports-you might draw suspicion.”

“You go, then.”

“No, you go. You know what things to get for the kid.”

Remy said nothing but when she opened her door, Mason added, “And get me a Cherry Coke and something for my headache.”

Remy got out of the air-conditioned pickup truck and felt the full force of ninety-nine degrees of Texas heat. A cat napping in the shade of the store’s front porch opened a lazy eye to greet her as she entered.

A man in his sixties wearing a T-shirt and jeans looked up from his crossword puzzle at the counter.

“Hey.” He smiled.

“Hey.” Remy smiled back and browsed the shelves. “Just got to pick up a few things.”

“Let me know if I can help. Where’re y’all coming from?”

“San Antonio.”

Remy went to the cooler for cold cuts and soda, putting things on the counter before she got bread, peanut butter, bottled water and other items.

“I’ll get you a box.” The man went to a back room.

As Remy continued browsing, she glanced at Mason in the pickup. A strange feeling shot through her. It arose from seeing him kill Arlen and Brice. Somehow it drove home the point that there was a lot more going on with Mason than she ever realized.

I really don’t know him.

“This should work.” The man returned with a cardboard box. “Find everything you need?”

“Yes, thank you.” Remy reached into her bag for cash.

“Where y’all headed?” the man asked as he rang up her food and gave her change.

“That way.” Remy pointed to the right, the way the truck was facing.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were going the other way and through the crossroads.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s just- Well, no, it’s not my business.”

“No, I don’t mind, why?”

“Miss, there’s nothing really down that way. The road goes for maybe a mile and a bit then it dead-ends. There’s a lot of land and the old Dixon Ranch, but ain’t anyone livin’ out there. Some fellas go hunting down that way every now and then. Are you going to have a picnic or something?”

Remy thought on that before smiling. “We’re just exploring the countryside.”

“Well, you take care now. We might see some rain.” He scanned the sky. “Want me to put your box in your truck for you?”

“No.” Remy wrapped her arms around it. “I can manage. Thanks.”

After putting the groceries in the bed of the truck, Remy climbed into the cab and passed Mason a sweating can of cherry cola. She opened one for herself, touching the cold can to her forehead.

They continued driving. Remy said nothing to Mason about the clerk’s comments as she wrestled with her growing unease in silence.

What’s really going on with him?

Or is it me? Are the fear, stress and exhaustion making me paranoid?

They’d left the paved road for a winding dirt road. As gravel popcorned against the pickup’s undercarriage, Remy took in the empty scrubland, the rolling grass, scattered brush and the occasional stand of trees.

Where’s he taking us?

As they came out of a small valley, she saw the cabin sheltered by cottonwoods. She observed no signs of life as Mason pulled the truck around the back and shut off the motor.

Will we be safe here?

Remy unbuckled Caleb.

As she took him in her arms and felt his tender cheek against hers, a huge emotional storm erupted in her heart.

I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can give you up.

Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex, Texas

From their desks in the FBI’s Dallas Division on Justice Way, Agents Grogan and Quinn could see the Stemmons Freeway.

Cars passed by like time ticking down on the case, Grogan thought, as he worked at his terminal while Quinn worked the phone. Grogan clicked on the sketches of their suspects, the man and woman.

We’re gaining on you.

Waves of information were rolling in on the double in Fate. Pieces were coming together fast. The victims were tentatively identified as Arlen and Brice Gribbley of Mesquite, Texas. They were brothers. Arlen had a criminal record. The motel towel found in the Fate residence was being analyzed. The details Kate Page had provided at the scene were good: the information from the dying man, naming DOA as a link near Lubbock, was a solid lead.

Page had also reported hearing a baby.

Grogan and Quinn interviewed the neighbor Hazel Hill for her account of seeing a woman and a baby, stressing that the woman had short dark hair under a wig. Rockwall County’s canvass of the neighborhood had yielded reports of muffled sounds of firecrackers, then a Ford pickup racing down Briscoe Street-that description fit with the vehicle description the manager of the Tumbleweed motel had given on the couple with a baby who’d stayed in Unit 21.

Then there was the discovery of the laptop belonging to Lamont Harley Faulk on the road a few doors away, as if it had been lost or discarded.

Fate PD had confirmed Faulk owned the home where the Gribbleys were killed. The Dallas PD had tentatively ID’d Faulk as the male found murdered in the garage he’d managed, Ray’s Right Fix Auto Repair. Faulk was found with his head in a vise-the violence suggested outlaw motorcycle gang, but no assumptions should be made.

Using all of the new information, and assistance from the DEA and Texas Department of Criminal Justice, the FBI had established a link to DOA’s network and an address near Lubbock. Everything pointed to the baby being in the Lubbock area.

And now Quinn was confirming details for a warrant.