Chapter 5 #3
Matt cleared his throat and handed them the last piece of information.
“One other thing. We had a phone call from Lee Peters’s girlfriend, telling us that she and Lee were texting back and forth when the wreck happened.
We had recovered Lee’s phone from the wreck and checked it.
He was texting her, and likely not looking up when Helen’s car came over the hill.
Helen was no longer in control, but her foot was still on the accelerator.
If Lee hadn’t been texting, he would have seen her and swerved.
I don’t know if this helps or makes it worse to hear, but these are the facts, and you all deserve to know the whole story.
I will be giving the Peters family the same information. ”
Travis swiped a hand across his face, as if to wipe away the horror of what he’d just heard.
“Trisha is…was Lee’s girl. The last thing he said to me when he dropped me off at the house was that he was going to see Trish.
I don’t know how many times I told him not to text and drive.
If only he had looked up, he could have swerved and missed her.
Damn it,” he muttered, and he got up and walked out of the room.
“The bodies are being released to the respective funeral homes. You can contact them to make the arrangements. I’ll see myself out, and I’m so sorry for your loss,” Reddick said.
Garrett got up, turned in a random circle, then sat down again and put his head in his hands. Trudy stood. “I’m going to make some coffee.”
Holly moved to where her dad was sitting and put her arm around his shoulders. “Love you, Daddy.”
Garrett reached for her hand. “Love you, my sweet girl. Thank you for being here with us.”
* * *
Burgess Dixon was more tied up in knots than he had been when the Feds put the witness against him into protective custody.
He’d dealt with that problem without a shred of evidence pointing back to him, knowing that they could suspect all they wanted, but unless or until they had proof, he was, once again, a free man.
But he’d made one small mistake in going after a cop who’d called his bluff, turned the tables on him, and put a target on Dixon’s back. Anything happens to Kingston, Dixon would be the assumed guilty party.
Even though there was no evidence to show that he had ordered the hit, Kingston had publicly pointed the finger at him.
And that put Dixon back in the crosshairs of the Dallas PD, the Feds, and the State Attorney’s office.
Although he’d called the contractor and ordered a stop on the hit, he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew that everyone gunning for Kingston had been notified that there was no more bounty.
* * *
Whistler no longer knew where he stood with the boss, and Dixon wasn’t showing his face anywhere until the bounty-hunting fiasco had blown over.
Dixon would have breathed a lot easier had he known Kingston had put himself on ice, but his only choice was to ride it out and hope the hunters were all pulled in.
He only had himself to blame for the mess he was in, but what worried him more was that his contact in the Dallas PD had gone quiet.
What was happening? What the hell was going on?
* * *
The black ribbon of highway Gunner was traveling on was visible only within the extent of his headlights, unrolling before his eyes as the miles he’d already traveled disappeared into the darkness behind him.
Other than the occasional coyote intersecting the light from his headlights as it loped across the highway and meeting a couple of bull haulers going in the opposite direction, they were his only visible signs of night traffic on 86.
Then seeing the faint glow of light from the little town of Crossroads on the horizon made his heart skip.
Finally.
It was the beacon he’d been watching for—the light that would guide him home. Nearly six steady hours of driving and he was almost there. Lord, it would be good to sleep in his old room tonight and wake up to the sound of his dad’s voice, and the scent of coffee and toast wafting down the hall.
There was a level of comfort in knowing the room he’d grown up in was still considered his.
He belonged to Crossroads. The people there helped raise him and his brothers, him more so.
He was the baby…the seven-year-old without a mother.
Part of him knew she had once loved them, but not enough to be faithful to their dad, and not enough to face the consequences of her actions.
She’d taken the easy way out and left them drowning from her sins.
That was his identity then, and he’d been running from it ever since. Going to Dallas had been his solution to putting it behind him, but it hadn’t taken long for him to realize there wasn’t enough distance in the world to outrun his past.
This threat to his life was a wake-up call.
He wasn’t happy. Hadn’t been happy one day in Dallas since he arrived.
He was good at his job, but he’d isolated himself because he didn’t want people to dig into his past, and it hadn’t helped a damn bit.
A bad man was trying to kill him, and somebody in his workplace was aiding and abetting.
In all the years since Gunner had moved to Dallas, he’d never put down roots or had any desire to do so. And all the years in between, when he came back to Crossroads for holidays and family time, the hardest part had been leaving it, time and again.
But the lottery win, the attempt on his life, and the distrust he now felt within the workplace had changed his focus.
During this long, silent drive, he’d come to a life-changing decision.
This trip to Crossroads was different. This time it was a homecoming, and if he could make it work, maybe for good.
It was time to pay back the people in Crossroads for all they’d done for him and his family, and to be there for Jacob as he continued to age.
The glow on the horizon was getting brighter, and then in the distance he saw the usual assortment of cars and trucks packed in the Tumbleweed parking lot, and the lights blazing from every window like the beacon on a lighthouse, and every tense muscle in his body let go.
He took the turn off the highway and drove through the narrow lane on the west side of the bar that took him to their house behind it and parked, breathing a huge sigh of relief as he killed the engine and got out to get his bags.
He was in no danger here.
Nobody was hiding in the shadow to try and kill him.
He was home.
As he started up the back steps, the door opened inward, and Pearl was standing in the doorway.
“Welcome home, honey! Come in! Come in! You must be exhausted.”
Ever since Pearl had moved in with his dad, the whole atmosphere of the house had shifted. Something good was always baking or on the counter, and his dad was lighthearted and happy.
“It was a long drive, for sure,” Gunner said, then dropped his bags and gave her a big hug. “It’s so good to be home.”
Pearl was beaming. “Park your bags. Have you eaten? I brought fried chicken and potato salad from the Yellow Rose, and there’s coconut cream pie here from yesterday.”
“I have not eaten, and that sounds amazing,” he said.
“Then go do your thing and say hi to Jacob. I’ll have your food heated up by the time you get back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gunner said and pulled his bags through the kitchen and down the hall to his room, then went to wash up. He could hear Pearl humming and banging lids and cabinet doors as he went back up the hall, then through a door that led to another hall and into the bar.
Jacob was behind the bar, popping the cap off of a bottle of Lone Star beer and sliding a little bowl of salty pretzels in front of the man sitting at the counter.
He wiped his hands as he was turning and saw his son standing at the other end of the bar.
He also saw exhaustion and stress on his face, and something else—something that was probably the reason he’d come home. But that was for later.
He started smiling and headed toward his youngest son with arms wide open.
“You made it!” he said and gave Gunner a big hug and a pat on the back.
“Yes, I did. I can see how busy you are, and Pearl is about to feed me. We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Absolutely okay,” Jacob said and beamed with pride as his customers began shouting out greetings of their own to his son.
Gunner waved. “Don’t be giving my dad any grief now. I’m too tired to have to whip someone’s ass.”
A roar of laughter followed him as he left the bar.
He was smiling when he sat down at the kitchen table to the food awaiting him.
“Sit with me,” Gunner said as Pearl poured herself a cup of coffee.
“I want to hear all about what’s going on, and what’s already happening.
Is Davey your fry cook still living in the apartment above the Rose? ”
It was all the invitation Pearl needed to unload, and the first thing she started with was the tragedy of Helen Dillon and Lee Peters’s wreck.
Gunner let her talk without mentioning he already knew that, because he didn’t want anyone to know that he and Holly had been communicating. He cleaned his plate and downed a big piece of pie before Pearl finally ran down and began asking him about work and any plans he had for his big windfall.
“Work’s been a headache, but that’s mostly a cop’s life,” he said as he got up and carried his dirty dishes to the sink. “Can I put these in the dishwasher?”
“Yes, but I—”
“No, ma’am. You’re not at the Rose. You’re at home, and you already fed me. I can at least clean up after myself. I do it at my house all the time.” He rinsed the dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher, then dried off the counter. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Pearl hugged him. “No, baby. Just kick your boots off and watch some TV or stretch out on the bed. If you fall asleep, Jacob will wake you up to say good night.”
Pearl’s head barely reached the middle of his chest, but he hugged her anyway. “I’m happy you and Dad are together,” he said.
Pearl sighed. “So am I. You look like you haven’t slept for days. Go lie down.”
“Yes, ma’am. On the way,” Gunner said and walked out of the kitchen.
Pearl watched him leaving and could tell by the way he was moving that, for whatever reason, he was carrying the weight of the world on his back.
Gunner heard the TV come on in the living room and guessed Pearl was settling in to watch some shows.
All he wanted was to get off his feet. Even if his feet did hang off the end of the mattress now, it was still where he felt the most relaxed.
He sat down on the bed, took off his belt and shirt, leaned down to take off his boots, and then rolled over on his belly and closed his eyes.
Muffled voices from the bar on the other side of his bedroom wall were as familiar as the faint sound of the country music—the lullaby of his childhood. He knew the song he could hear playing—an old Lee Brice song that was an anthem of what he’d become.
“I’m hard to love, hard to love… Oh, I don’t make it easy…”
There was an ache in his heart as he fell asleep.