Chapter Twenty-Three
Brantley felt his blood heat.
It had started a ways back, when he noticed a red truck following them onto Flat Creek Road.
At first, he figured it was someone who lived down there, so he waited until they turned off.
Three minutes into the drive, they did. But strangely enough, a black, older model SUV pulled out not much later, this time from the other side of the road from where the first guy turned.
Since he wasn’t the paranoid sort, Brantley had merely kept an eye on them, but he kept driving, doing the speed limit, taking stock of their surroundings.
But it was the third guy, this one in a silver Honda, that had given away their little game.
They had been waiting at a stop sign, making it obvious what they were doing.
Especially when Brantley paused long enough to let them go, only for the guy to wave him on.
Brantley had waved back, flashing a good ol’ boy grin.
“They think they’re stealthy,” Brantley told him. “Probably trained by the FBI.”
“How do you know they’re followin’ us?”
He had to give Reese credit for not looking back and making it obvious. Although his truck’s windows were tinted, he didn’t doubt the guy was close enough to see if Reese turned around.
Brantley explained the leapfrog game they’d done.
“How would they know we’re here?”
“My guess is Bobby was asked nicely to let good ol’ Marty know if anyone came to town lookin’ for him.”
“Wouldn’t that make him look suspicious?”
“Sure. But flash some cash and you can buy yourself some buddies who’ll keep you apprised.”
“True.” Reese looked over at him. “Where to now?”
“Figure we’ll stop at a gas station up here,” he said when he turned right on 290, which would take them back the way they’d originally come. “See what they do next.”
“And then?”
Brantley smiled. “If they follow, we’ll lead them outta town, circle back.”
“And if they don’t?”
“We’ll grab some lunch, wait a bit, then double back.”
“To where?”
“The safe house.”
Brantley could feel the intensity of Reese’s stare. “What safe house?”
“The one they don’t think I know about.”
“And how do you know about it?”
“I was trained by Uncle Sam’s Navy. How do you think I know about it?”
He could tell Reese wasn’t impressed by his response.
“Did the store owner tell you?”
“No.”
“You saw a sign? Safe house here with an arrow pointing to it?”
Brantley chuckled. “No. Now hold your questioning until we’re done. You get Tesha out, let her do her business. I’ll get gas.”
“Want somethin’ from inside?”
“Energy drink.”
Brantley watched the silver Honda that was following them pass when he pulled into the parking lot.
He kept his eye out for the others as he got out and pumped gas.
The red truck drove by going in the opposite direction.
He was moving slowly. Slow enough to earn a honk from someone trying to pull out of the parking lot.
By the time Brantley was finished, Reese was coming out of the store with Tesha and two energy drink cans.
“Do we still have company?” Reese asked when he climbed into the truck.
“No. Doesn’t mean they’re not waitin’ up the road.”
“For what? Us to leave town?”
That would be a reasonable assumption. Since Brantley hadn’t stopped during their scenic drive, it was likely their pursuers thought he hadn’t found what he was looking for. Little did they know, but they could’ve flashed bright neon signs with arrows pointing and not been as obvious as they were.
“Do me a favor,” he told Reese when he put the truck in gear and pulled out of the lot. “Pull up an address for me. I need to know who owns the property.”
When he had his laptop open, Brantley rattled off the address.
While Reese did the search, he continued to drive, making a few turns, left, then right, then right again.
He saw no one following, and he was confident they believed he’d given up.
But he still wanted to stall, to give them time to get comfortable again, so he drove toward the city limits, heading north.
He figured there would be a decent enough restaurant up ahead, and they could have lunch, talk through what their next steps were, and give Atticus and Archer a heads-up.
“It’s owned by a corporation. Looks like it’s leased out as a hunting retreat.” Reese looked at him. “Why?”
“How long’s it been on the market?”
Reese typed, Brantley drove.
“They put it up for sale in November of 2018. Haven’t changed the price since they did.”
“Almost four years ago,” Brantley noted.
“And?”
“And the for-sale sign is rusted and bent, which means they clearly aren’t marketing the property with any sort of priority. The gate was leaning and barely latched with a rusted chain looped around it, but no lock.”
“You saw all this while driving by?”
Brantley decided not to be offended by Reese’s lack of faith in his abilities. “But two brand new trash cans were sitting at the edge of the street, one with the lid open and some takeout containers on top.”
“Could be someone decided to clean out their car when they drove by. Figured it was a safe bet no one lived there.”
“Oh, yes. Let’s go with that.”
“What? It could happen.”
“It could. But it didn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“The store owner told you, didn’t he?”
Brantley chuckled. “No. I swear. Speakin’ of the store owner, I bought you somethin’.” He reached into the back, grabbing the bag he’d stashed when they first got in.
“What is it?”
“Good ol’ Bobby drives a hard bargain when it comes to givin’ up information.”
Reese pulled out the statues. “You actually paid money for these?”
“I did.”
“How much?”
“Probably more than I should have. But it was worth it.”
Reese frowned, peering over at him. “How do you figure?”
“Do you really think we would’ve had people tailin’ us if we were goin’ in the wrong direction?”
Reese was quiet for a moment, then said, “Fair point.”
“I know it is. Now let’s get some food and figure out how we’re gonna get into that house.”
“Where’re we gonna eat?”
“I saw a sign for a barbecue joint back in town.”
“Barbecue. Of course.”
“Hey. It’s a small town. You gotta try the barbecue.”
“Hey. What’s up, boss?” Atticus answered when he saw Brantley’s name appear on his phone screen.
“Where’re you at?”
“We are in… Where are we?” he asked Archer, putting the call on speaker so he could drive without crashing into someone or something.
“Somewhere between Austin and Blanco.”
“I don’t think that narrows it down much,” Atticus told Brantley.
“We’re almost to Dripping Springs,” Archer clarified.
“How long will it take you to get to Johnson City?”
Another question Atticus couldn’t answer while driving, so he looked at Archer.
Archer was staring at his phone when he said, “I’d say half an hour. Maybe less since Atticus is driving.”
“Good. Head this way. Have you had lunch?”
“Nope. And I think Archer’s stomach’s startin’ to get pissy.”
Archer chuckled. “Heard that, did ya?”
Oh, yeah. Atticus had heard the rumble of Archer’s stomach about twenty minutes ago. He’d been expecting the man to suggest they grab some food, but since he hadn’t, he figured he wasn’t quite ready for lunch. Apparently, he was wrong.
“We’re at Pig Pen Barbecue in Johnson City. Meet us here.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Atticus said with a grin. “See you in a few.”
“Did it sound like they’ve got something?” Archer asked from the passenger seat.
“You mean somethin’ besides food?”
Archer chuckled. “Yeah.”
“I can’t imagine they’d have us drive that way unless they did.
” Since they’d gotten nowhere in their search for Allison Bogart—despite a cell tower ping near Dripping Springs—Atticus was more than happy to follow a hot lead.
Flashing her picture door-to-door was not as much fun as it sounded, even if it was the quickest way to find someone when you didn’t know where to look.
The rest of the drive was done mostly in silence, except for the radio, which was tuned to a country station. Not exactly what Atticus would’ve selected if he’d been alone, but when he found the channel, he got the feeling Archer liked it, so he went with it.
“Jesus,” Archer said when they pulled into the parking lot of the barbecue place. “Can you smell that?”
“I smell it,” he confirmed.
The air was fragranced with mesquite wood and meat. Lots and lots of smoked meat.
“I swear that’s what heaven’s gonna smell like.”
Atticus laughed. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
They got out and made their way inside, finding Brantley and Reese at a wooden picnic table, plates of food half eaten in front of them.
When they walked up, Brantley raised a hand, signaling someone. “I didn’t know what y’all wanted, so I got a little of everything. Take a seat.”
Atticus waited for Archer to get his long legs under the table, then did the same, mindful that Tesha was down there.
“Did y’all find somethin’?” he asked, accepting the glass of water with lemon that the server brought him. “Thanks.”
“We spent part of the mornin’ shakin’ a tail,” Brantley said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“Oh, yeah?” Archer directed his full attention to the man. “That sounds promising.”
“One of the shop owners sent us on a wild goose chase,” Brantley explained. “We took a twenty-mile detour, but got some interesting information along the way.”
“We think we got some information,” Reese corrected.
“Trust me. That’s a stash house.”
“You think you know where Kylie is?” Atticus asked, feeling hope swell inside him.
The idea of finding this woman who was clearly important to so many people was what fueled him right now.
He wanted to find her—alive and well—and assist in bringing her back to her family.
At the same time, he wanted to do serious bodily harm to the bastard who had taken her.
Brantley shook his head. “I didn’t say that. But it’s worth a look.”
“What about the tail?” Archer inquired. “You shake him?”