J. Black - The Survivors Club

“So they decided to team up and prove that the family was killing people,” Tess said. “Only Hanley wants to build a case, and Wade wants something else.”

“Money.”

“Probably.”

“He’s a mean son of a bitch,” Danny said. “It wouldn’t surprise me that he’d kill Hanley and try to pin it on the Alacrán. Thirty rounds to make it look like overkill.”

“George trusted Peter Deuteronomy to keep his USB disk. He was afraid of what Wade Poole might do.”

“Or do to him . You thinking what I’m thinking, guera ?”

Tess was. Wade Poole’s next target was the family. If you put yourself in his position, what would he do next?

Extortion .

They discussed the possibility that Wade Poole might go after the DeKovens. How would they react to extortion? What kind of pressure would it put on them? And how could Tess and Danny use it to further their own goals?

“This might be the crack in the dam,” Tess said.

“Yeah, it could be.”

Tess got the feeling Danny was fading. She knew he was beginning to realize that everything had changed now, and would be changed for a long time, and sleep would be one of those catch-as-catch-can deals.

“You sound like the walking dead,” Tess said.

“But I’m the happy walking dead.”

“Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. What were you saying?”

“What do you think Poole’s next move is gonna be?”

“Depends. If he’s a hard-ass, he’d start killing people. In the family.”

Tess said, “To encourage the others to negotiate, or just because he could?”

“Both, I guess. Maybe he’d kill one of them to scare them.”

“Chad,” Tess said.

“He’d be the obvious choice. He could show that he had a long arm. That he could get them anytime.”

“What about Hanley? I think he killed him because he had everything he needed and he knew Hanley wasn’t going to go along with what he was planning.”

“Sounds about right.” Danny sounded like he was drifting off to sleep. “Tell you what, that family better be scared, if they know what he did to Hanley.”

“You think they know how he was killed?” Tess said. “Because if they don’t, maybe someone should tell them.”

CHAPTER 48

Doris Glazer and her dog Buster rounded the last curve of the trail before the pull-off where she’d left her car. It had been a good hike on a picture-perfect day, but now it was time to head home and take a nap before her shift at Fry’s in Nogales. She stooped to leash Buster, and when she looked up she saw a dog standing in the dirt road.

The dog was a sorry sight, but Doris knew it was an Australian shepherd. It had a collar and tags—somebody’s pet.

The dog stood in the road, head down, panting. And between pants, it was whining. Doris saw why. The dog was dripping blood from its hind end. Its legs were trembling and splayed out for balance.

“Oh, my God.”

The Australian shepherd had been shot in the flank.

While the dog was in surgery to remove the bullet, Doris called Animal Control and gave them the registration number on the tag. The dog’s name was Bandit, and it belonged to a Jaimie Wolfe, who lived in Patagonia.

Doris had seen Jaimie Wolfe around town, knew her to say “hi” to on the street. Jaimie had that ranch where she taught horseback riding. Her number was unlisted, and since it would be a while before Bandit would be released—and frankly, Doris was worried about paying for the surgery—she decided to drive over to the farm herself.

But no one was there. It was getting late and she had to get ready to go to work, So Doris had to leave it for now. She’d done the right thing, and even if she had to pay out of her own pocket in the long run, Doris would figure out a way to make her dollars stretch a little more.

She doubted it would come to that. Anyone who owned a horse farm had to have some money to pay for their own injured dog.

CHAPTER 49

Michael and Martin had spent the morning shopping and the afternoon sunning by the pool, a light lunch, and a massage for Michael’s aching muscles.

As Michael had expected, Martin had forgiven him. Maybe it was thanks to the TAG Heuer Grand Carrera chronometer Martin now sported on his beautiful, lean-muscled arm. His feet were still tender, but Michael knew a foot masseuse at the Los Palmas Resort down the road and summoned him here on his lunch hour. Since the bastinado left no marks, the masseuse suspected nothing.

Michael had told Martin they would “heal together,” and Martin was more than willing to forgive him. Now he was agitating to go to a play tonight in town. Michael didn’t let on to Martin, but he didn’t want to go out. He wanted to stay here and think. And maybe turn the place into a guarded fort. The phone rang. He glanced at the readout—Jaimie.

He didn’t want to hear whatever hard luck story she was peddling this time, so he ignored the call.

Jaimie had tried several times to raise Michael, but he wasn’t answering his cell. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe the trouble she was in. And it was getting cold now. Spring nights in the desert mountains could get down into the teens and twenties, and she was wearing a tank top and jeans.

The man—Wade—looked disappointed. “I thought you two were closer than that. He ignores your calls?”

“Maybe he’s busy.”

He’d stripped off the duct tape, partly because he wanted her to call her brother, but also because it was doubtful anyone would hear her out here.

Wade watched her and massaged his forehead. He’d been covering his right eye and pushing his palm against his temple for a while now. Migraine . She knew, because she got them herself. “He’d better get unbusy. This is a limited-time offer.”

She shrugged. It was hard to shrug being chained the way she was, but she did it anyway to show him that she didn’t care. Every muscle ached. She was cold—shivering. She hated her goddamn brother more than anything on earth except for Mr. Congeniality over there. “What did you do to my dog?”

“I shot her.”

“You bastard!”

“Not very ladylike, are you?”

“Fuck you.”

Jaimie wanted to kill him. Adele was hers. Adele belonged to her. She loved Adele. She didn’t love hardly anyone, but she loved that dog. And now Adele was gone.

Tears slid down her face. She wiped her nose with her good hand, and was surprised when her captor shot up off the ground and kicked her in the ear.

The pain was shattering. She rolled on the ground in agony, the pain flashing through her like a pulsing red-and-black orb, filling her vision, filling her whole world.

He stood over her. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again.” He kicked her hard in the side.

Jaimie heard the banging rattle, and suddenly felt him grabbing up links, jerking hard on the choke chain, the metal biting into her flesh. Her air stopping.

Buzzing in her hears. Her vision dimming, little dots like a fuzzy TV screen turning dark, darker, can’t breathe …swimming in agony, needing air—

And suddenly he released her. She fell forward, air gushing into her lungs. Air and dirt—she was facedown and gasping.

“Mind your manners! I’ve killed women like you for a lot less.”

She was aware she was gasping, trying to pull in air. Gasping and sobbing at the same time. Trying to get a deep breath and failing.