Chapter 31 Hawk
HAWK
The barn smells like dust and sweat. Reyes is slumped where I left him, wrists lashed to the support beam. I’ve jammed a sock into his mouth—not that anyone’s close enough to hear him even if he could yell—but it makes me feel better knowing he can’t make a sound.
He’s going to stay here until I figure out what to do with him. But I need to make sure no one else wanders by.
Eagle’s laid up in the hospital. Dad’s still trapped in his own head, words locked behind the aphasia. Raven has no reason to drive all the way out here. That leaves Falcon.
I pull out my phone and call. He answers on the second ring.
“What’s up?” His voice is casual, but that won’t last.
“You headed out toward the old barn today?”
“Nope. Why?”
“Because if you were, I’d tell you to turn around.”
He pauses a moment. I can almost hear his synapses firing as he wonders what the hell I’m up to and why I didn’t involve him. Finally, “All right, I’ll bite. Why?”
I lean against the truck door. The sun’s high and hot, baking the metal. “We have a…guest in the barn. I figured you might not appreciate the surprise.”
Silence again.
Until, “Are you going to explain what the hell you’re talking about?”
“His name’s Hernando Reyes.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t have. He’s a Colombian national who has a vacation home in Austin. He was one of the men—” I stop, jaw tightening. I’m not sure how much my brother knows about Daniela’s past.
“What, what?” he prods.
I sigh. “How much do you know about Daniela’s past?”
Another pause. “Everything. Vinnie told Savannah.”
“Fuck. So you know. Reyes is one of the men who…”
“You don’t have to say it,” Falcon says.
“Good. I can hardly think about it, let alone talk about it. Especially since she and I are involved now.”
He sighs. “I guess I have to ask. What is Reyes doing in our old barn?”
“I went to his place in Austin. Took him down, brought him here.”
He gasps. “You kidnapped him? You?”
I grit my teeth. “Sorry I’ve fallen off that pedestal, Fal. I haven’t changed. Our lives have.”
“That’s bullshit.” I can hear through the phone that his teeth are gritted.
“You think? You’re the one who spent eight years of your life locked up for something you didn’t do to protect Eagle, who’s probably going to die now anyway.”
“Hawk…”
“Sorry. I don’t want that. You know I don’t.” He has no idea how much I want Eagle to live. “But my days as the family fixer are over, Fal. Someone is stalking Daniela, and I’m going to put a stop to it.”
“Yeah, I get it. I felt the same way when Miles McAllister had Savannah. But damn… You just broke in and dragged him out?”
“He’s alive. Bound. And yeah, I wanted answers. I thought he was behind the gifts Dani’s been getting. But…”
“But?”
“I got a call from Vinnie while I was still at Reyes’s. The DNA from the notes matches someone else. Clifford Haynes. Some registered sex offender.”
Falcon exhales. “And you’re telling me this now because…?”
“Because I don’t think Reyes sent the gifts. He’s still guilty of plenty, but maybe not this.”
“All right,” Falcon says slowly. “So where’s this Haynes guy?”
“Oak County. About forty minutes out.”
“You going to talk to him?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
I think about turning him down. Why the hell should he put his life on the line for my woman? But I’ll do better if my big brother is with me.
I rub at my forehead. Normally I’m the cool and collected one. Quiet Hawk, who thinks everything through.
Ever since I met Daniela, that version of me has gone out the window.
And I’m not sure yet if I’m happy about that or not.
* * *
The drive’s all glare and heat shimmer. The kind of heat that turns the truck cab into an oven if you’re not blasting the AC. Falcon’s quiet, which means he’s thinking.
Finally, he says, “You sure this Haynes guy’s involved?”
I rake my fingers through my hair, sighing. “I’m not sure of anything at this point. My first two suspects were dead ends. But his DNA’s on the notes. That’s enough to get my attention.”
“Any priors besides the sex offender registry?”
“Burglary. He served time for that and for child porn. He’s out now. His address is listed.”
Falcon shakes his head. “I met men like that when I was on the inside. Those kind of guys…Prison doesn’t fix them. I don’t think anything can.”
We turn down a cracked asphalt road that eventually leads us to the Haynes place.
The house is a single-story with faded blue siding set back from the road behind a patchy front yard. A chain-link fence runs the perimeter, and a rusted mailbox leans at the end of the drive.
The heat is relentless out here. No shade, no breeze. The porch boards look warped from the sun.
“Home sweet home,” Falcon mutters.
“No car,” I say, scanning the drive. “Either he’s out or he doesn’t drive.”
We climb the steps. They groan under our weight. I knock.
Nothing.
“Clifford Haynes!” I call.
Still nothing.
Falcon glances at me. “Do you think he’s ignoring us?”
“Or he can’t answer.”
I try the knob. It’s locked.
“Are you going to knock politely all day?” Falcon says.
I pull a pick from my pocket. “Of course not.”
After I work at it for a few minutes, the lock clicks open, and we step inside.
The smell hits first—stale air mixed with something metallic and faintly sweet. Not fresh. Not right.
The living room is dim, blinds drawn tight. A sagging couch faces an old TV. A coffee table is cluttered with beer cans and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts.
“Charming,” Falcon says, his voice low.
We move into the kitchen. Yellowed linoleum, peeling laminate counters, a sink full of dishes crusted with food. The fridge hums faintly.
“He’s not only a derelict. He’s a slob,” Falcon mutters.
We walk down the hallway off the kitchen. Three doors—one open to a bathroom, one to a room stacked with boxes and old electronics, and one closed.
We check the bathroom first. Rust stains around the drain, a toothbrush caked with dried paste.
The storage room is worse. Stacks of VHS tapes, some without labels, are piled on warped shelves. Falcon runs a hand over one box. “This feels wrong.”
I let out a shiver as a chill runs down my spine. “This whole place feels wrong.”
We go to the closed door. I put my hand on the knob and glance at my brother. “Ready?”
He nods.
I open it slowly.
The blinds in here are cracked just enough to let in a thin line of sunlight. It falls across the bed…
And the man lying in it.
Clifford Haynes is dead.
He’s been slashed across the throat.
Fuck. Just like that attorney, Brick Latham, who we found in Raven’s old bedroom in our parents’ house. The pillow beneath his head is soaked dark, the blood dried to a deep rust color. His eyes are open, glassy.
Falcon stands in the doorway. “Well. That explains why he didn’t answer.”
I step closer and look around. No sign of a struggle. On the nightstand is a lamp, an old wind-up alarm clock, and a full glass of water.
“This was quiet,” I say. “Controlled.”
“Professional?” Falcon asks.
“Could be. Or someone who knew him well enough to get close without a fight.”
We search the rest of the room. Dresser drawers hold folded clothes with a few porn magazines tucked underneath. The closet is half empty.
Falcon checks under the bed. “Nothing but dust.”
The whole place feels staged.
“I wonder if someone from Daniela’s past paid him to leave the notes.” I say. “And then got rid of him.”
Falcon nods. “Which means the person behind the gifts is still out there.”
I don’t reply right away. I stare at Haynes’s dead eyes, and the heat outside suddenly feels colder.
“Yeah,” I finally say, massaging my temples to ease an erupting headache. “It does.”