Rick Mofina - Whirlwind

As the miles and hours passed, Kate used her phone to search for leads and updates, while Jenna and Blake did what they could to keep on top of developments.

But there weren’t any.

All Kate had was a wisp of a location in Anton, this “Vickson’s Farm.” Kate was fairly certain that’s what the dying man had told her. She’d gone over it a thousand times in her mind. But when she called a cab company in Anton their response was odd. They said they’d heard of Vickson’s but didn’t know where it was. The same happened when Kate called a gas station and a corner store. When she tried a county office, she was told the clerk with access to Anton property records would not be back. When she called a post office, utilities office and the library, she got recorded messages with prompts. It was a little strange because Anton was not that big of a town, Kate was confident someone would know of this address.

So far no one did.

Now she searched for it on her phone again, to no avail.

Kate’s challenge was made more difficult because she couldn’t use the resources of the newswire service. She couldn’t go to Tommy Koop for help, and she couldn’t call the FBI agents directly.

As time passed, the backseat where she sat had become overgrown with drive-through food wrappers, her notebooks and the old fanfold map of Texas she’d studied repeatedly every few miles. They were less than fifty miles from Lubbock when Blake slammed his palms on the wheel in anger.

“So, just where in hell are we supposed to go in Anton, Kate?”

She didn’t know.

Again, she scrutinized her map, scouring the counties, the cities, towns, hamlets, villages, every dot until her eyes glazed and memory propelled her back to the gurgling utterances of the man who’d died only hours before.

Kate reached into her pocket for a pen and suddenly remembered something critical that would help.

Near Lubbock, Texas

The cabin stood empty, sheltered by the cottonwood trees.

But the shade provided little relief from the heat, Remy thought when they stepped inside. The air was musty.

No air-conditioning. Cripes. My head’s pounding.

Holding the baby, Remy was hot, sweaty and her nerves were fraying as she struggled to keep herself together after their long drive to escape the horror behind them.

After fixing a spot for the baby, she opened every window to capture the soothing breezes that were kicking up under the clouding sky. Radio reports had said conditions were ripe for a tornado in the region.

“My buddy uses this property for hunting,” Mason said, going room to room inspecting the place. It had three good-sized bedrooms, a full bathroom and a huge kitchen that opened to a spacious living room. The plumbing and electricity worked. So did the fridge and stove.

“There’s no TV but the cell signal’s good,” he added.

While Mason brought in their groceries and luggage, Remy took a cold shower, then made baloney sandwiches. They ate them with nacho chips before she gave the baby a bottle. Remy and Mason said little to each other as the tension between them thickened. Mason had put them in a situation where people had wanted to kill them. Remy couldn’t get that out of her mind.

It gnawed at her.

Later, when she was cleaning their plates, she’d noticed Mason checking his pockets for his crack supply. Just as she was going to demand that he stop taking drugs, his phone rang.

“Yeah, go,” he said. “Yeah…good…yeah…tell us then, okay.”

The call ended.

Mason slid his phone into his pocket while grinning triumphantly.

“That was Hedda. She’s boarding her flight with her assistant in Chicago now. She’ll be in Dallas this evening, get the cash in the morning then fly to Lubbock, where we’ll meet her and do the deal.”

Remy could feel her heart begin to beat faster.

“This is gonna happen, darlin’,” Mason said. “In twenty-four hours, the baby will be gone, our troubles will be gone, and we’ll be gone, with one hundred thousand dollars to start new lives. All the bad will be behind us.”

Remy said nothing as Mason got himself a cold beer from the fridge. The can whooshed as he opened it and guzzled.

“Fix up the big bedroom for us.” He belched while checking one of his guns. “I gotta go outside and take care of some business.”

Remy welcomed the time alone to think.

As she looked for fresh linen for the king-size bed in the larger bedroom, she saw Mason through the window. He was in the back on a large porch swing that creaked as he swayed.

She watched him reach into his pocket for a square of tinfoil. He unfolded it and heated the underside with his lighter while inhaling the rising smoke through a glass tube. He dropped his head back and rocked in bliss.

Remy’s eyes narrowed.

Mason’s addiction not only troubled and disgusted her, it reinforced all of his broken promises to change…and drove home the truth: she didn’t really know him. She didn’t know what was going on in his head beyond the facts.

He’s good at killing people and the world is looking for us.

All of it made things very dangerous because they were coming to a point of no return in their lives, and she was afraid of Mason, of everything.

It’s so messed up, she thought.

The baby’s cries came from the living room, where he’d been napping.

Remy went to check on him. He needed changing. After cleaning him and putting on a fresh diaper, she took him into her arms and held him.

At this very moment Hedda Knight’s on a jet coming here to take you away from me .

The glint of a small jewelry box in her bag caught her eye. She opened it and took out the corner of cloth cut from the blanket her stillborn son was buried in. As she held the baby, she pressed the cloth tenderly to her face.

Then she kissed Caleb Cooper’s cheek.

I can’t do this. I can’t lose you, too. I saved you from a very bad mother. You and I are meant to be together.

At that moment, she heard the sound of rain against the house, then the murmur of a voice outside the living room window. She saw Mason had taken shelter under a tree while talking on his cell phone.

It was weird, but even with the rain she could hear Mason’s side of the conversation almost echoing to her through the open window.

“Yes. Garza, listen, I’ll give you the five tomorrow, but by tomorrow night I’ll have all the money for my buy-in. That’s right, the fifty, no problem. That’s right. No, you heard wrong-I’m not tied down. No, once I have the cash and we get rid of the kid, I’ll get rid of her, too…she’ll be history. Right. Yes, it was always the plan.”

Lubbock, Texas

The FBI’s jet continued its dive.

Oxygen masks dropped from overhead. Grogan and Quinn heard alarms humming from the cockpit. Hail pinged on the fuselage. Quinn’s fingers dug into the armrests. Her stomach was pressed into her seat before the pressure suddenly eased and the alarms stopped.

Mercifully the crew had pulled the aircraft out of its steep descent and leveled it. Relief rolled through the cabin, and minutes later the Gulfstream landed at Lubbock’s Preston Smith International Airport.

“Sorry about the rough ride,” the pilot said as they taxied. “We’ve come upon a tornado watch, just bad luck. Be safe out there, guys.”

The jet came to a stop at an isolated hangar where a line of idling police vehicles from the FBI’s Resident Agency, Lubbock PD and the Hockley County Sheriff’s Office waited in the rain.

The SWAT members carried their gear down the plane’s gangway. After a quick round of greetings, the convoy roared along U.S. Route 84 for the thirty-minute trip to Anton, a small rural town of about twelve hundred people northwest of Lubbock. Soon the grain elevators, which stood beside the Santa Fe Railroad line rose from the flat terrain. Tires hissing in the rain, the vehicles rolled through the drowsy town, passing the beauty shop, the gas station and farm equipment supply store.