Chapter Thirty-Three
The rain had started hours before Bear arrived at the bar. He drove a hundred miles, the last twenty spent on back roads that were like ribbons of mud. By the time he pulled into the narrow driveway and killed the engine, he was ready for a cold one.
He climbed out of his truck, his boots hitting a puddle. “Fuck!”
The rain pelting nearby pine trees sounded exceptionally loud in the remote part of the backwoods.
He walked the rest of the windy road and when he came to the cabin he stopped at a distance to get an idea if the place was occupied.
The shack sat at the edge of the woods like it had something to be ashamed of. The bent tin roof, the cockeyed porch, and the low hanging beams made Bear feel sorry for the place. One strong wind and the walls might cave in.
This was definitely a place a man would go when he didn’t want to be found.
The golden light in one window meant a light was on.
Bear went to adjust his Stetson but came up empty. He’d left it back in the truck.
Bear had tracked Clark out there in the middle of nowhere. If Bear could do it, whomever Clark was running from could too. It was only a matter of time.
He loaded his gun with a fresh magazine and checked the safety with practiced calm. He slid the Glock back into its resting place at his waist. It didn’t appear Clark had any idea that he’d been found because there was exit activity in the cabin.
Bear wasn’t sure why Clark had gone to the trouble of faking his death and running unless he was afraid his death would end up reality.
Taking a more subtle path into the grass, his boots sunk into the wet earth as he moved through the trees.
Every branch seemed to be swaying in the wind.
Every shadow had him on edge. His pulse stayed steady though.
He was built for this. He’d spent most of his life learning to navigate dangerous situations without as much as a flinch or wince.
At the porch, he paused, getting an idea what he was up against.
The door was partially open.
Not a good sign.
Bear withdrew his weapon and gripped it with both hands, aiming at the ground, as he stepped up to nudge the door.
The smell of mold and damp wood accosted his nostrils…and something else that made the hairs lift on the back of his neck. Gunpowder.
Standing at the threshold and using all his senses, he checked out the dimly lit surroundings. The place was sparsely furnished. A cot in one corner. A battered duffel bag sat on the end.
Bear silently made his way inside. On the table sat a cup of cold coffee and maps spread out with locations circled in red. A radio buzzed from a kitchen windowsill. On one chair was a smear of blood. Had he made it too late?
He moved through the small space and came up empty.
Then he heard a shuffling sound outside.
The back door swayed in the wind.
Before Bear even made it through the exit, he saw legs.
Keeping his gun steady, Bear slowly and carefully pressed his back to the wall and peered through the gap between the door and frame. He heard a low moan.
“Clark? Texas Ranger. Put your weapon down and surrender.”
“I-I don’t have a weapon,” came a weak response.
Bear stepped through the opening. Clark, bearded and a feral expression, was half sitting, his legs spread out wide in front of him. He had a hand clamped against his stomach. Blood seeped between his fingers.
“Shit! Where is the shooter?”
“Gone. Long gone,” Clark said.
Bear darted back inside, grabbed a towel off the bathroom rack and raced back outside.
He dropped to his knees next to Clark and pulled his hands away from the gunshot wound high on his abdomen.
Bear pressed the towel against the spot where blood leaked hot and dark.
There was too much of it. Clark looked up at Bear through a half-dazed gaze.
His face had gone gray, his lips blue, and his breathing came in small gasps.
He wouldn’t make it long. “Who are you? Ranger, you say?”
“Who did this?”
“I-I didn’t see...”
Bear shoved the towel hard against the wound.
Clark winced. “They wanted me out of the way. I know too much.” He coughed and it sounded wet.
Bear felt the heat of the fresh blood soak the fabric. “Talk to me. Tell me who would do this.” The only thing left was the truth so Bear could make sure the shooter paid for this.
“Bentley’s manager. It was all—all a design. Pulling out of the race. They’re trying to set me up. They want Fletcher to be the hero. They needed me gone.” Clark’s hand dropped from his lap to his side. His head swayed some.
“I’m going to get you an ambulance.” He pulled out his phone.
“Don’t. Bother. No service. Dead anyway.” He crooked his finger. “Come.” Bear leaned in, straining to hear the man. “Her. Next. Tonight.”
Bear pulled back looking down at the dying man. “Are you saying Aasia is next?”
A weak pained laugh rattled in his throat. “I never liked her, but we were both dancing with the devil. She must live to bring him down.”
His body twitched. His eyes lifted to stare upward.
Bear looked down at the screen of his phone. Clark had been telling the truth. He had no bars of service.
Clark’s head rolled.
A gasp sounded from deep within his throat.
“Stay with me, Clark.” But Bear knew his words were useless.
Clark coughed and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
His stomach spasmed.
Fuck.
“Damn it!” Bear pressed harder, his hands now slick with blood.
“Floor. Board.” Clark said through clenched teeth.
“What floorboard?” Bear snapped.
Clark’s eyelids drooped.
Bear shook Clark’s shoulder. “Stay with me!”
“Kitchen,” he rasped. “Ledger. Names. Proof.”
Clark’s eyes widened, panic flashed over his now-blue features.
Rain poured down the man’s weathered features.
His last gasp for breath echoed through the shadows. His body went limp.
Bear shook his head as he closed the man’s eyelids then stood, dropping the soaked towel on the floor inside the cabin as he went into the kitchen and scrubbed the blood from his hands.
His mind wandered to the night Texas Heat was ambushed and shot.
All the blood left behind when they were taken away by ambulance.
Bear wanted nothing more than to bring down the people responsible for nearly taking out half his team.
Aasia was in danger.
He had to get to her before it was too late.
He looked down at the battered planked floor.
He searched furiously for loose boards.
Then he came to one.
Bending, he used a butter knife to pry the boards up and there he found what Clark had promised. A ledger and an envelope full of documents.
Bear didn’t waste any time.
He hauled ass back to his truck and jumped into the driver’s side, slamming his foot on the gas pedal. The back shimmied, spewing mud all over, as he headed back toward Fin’s Creek.
His throat was tight and his head ached as he kept looking at his phone. Waiting for service. It wasn’t until he was closer to the interstate that he finally saw that he had service.
He called Aasia’s phone and she didn’t answer. He left a voice message…
“Call me. It’s important. It’s an emergency.”