26. Adriano
Chapter twenty-six
Adriano
Day One of the Deadline—Evening
Moon Hollow, Utah
I adjust the binoculars with clenched teeth, sweeping the vast expanse of land a couple of miles from me.
The main house on the ranch is a low-slung structure made out of bleached wood and rusting corrugated metal.
It’s surrounded by other smaller structures, but one stands out to me—a cabin with an antenna, tucked against the base of a sandstone cliff.
That must be how the ex-police commissioner communicates with the ranch to ensure his family’s safety.
I’m still deciding which building to infiltrate first when I catch movement through the window of the main house. It’s fucking Jeremiah himself.
Without hesitation, I back away from the ridge where I’d been observing and spring into action. My boots press silently against the sandy ground as I crouch forward, gun in hand, my pulse steadying as my focus locks in.
The cold evening air blows as I stop at intervals to lie flat on the ground to avoid detection. Since there’s no fence, I have to move cautiously, or this shit ends before it even starts.
After reaching the main house’s perimeter, I lean against the corner of the wall to listen for any signs of life.
When I hear nothing, I crouch over to the window, peering carefully inside to see Jeremiah Coulter in what looks like the living room, rocking in a creaky chair with a rifle across his knees.
He looks exactly like the photo Francesco had sent.
Slender, full beard and a deceivingly soft face… exactly how a con artist would look.
Taking in the layout of the room, I slip back around to the main door.
My gun is already aimed as I twist the handle and shove the weak wood open with a heavy shoulder.
He immediately jumps up, the rifle clattering to the floor, but before he can scramble to get it, I already have my Glock cocked and pressed against his temple.
“Don’t.” My voice is flat. “The sound will carry. Liza and the kids will hear.”
His eyes widen at the mention of her name. “W-What do you want?”
“I think you already know.”
Slowly, he rises from his crouched position, raising his hands in surrender.
“Where’s Liza?”
“Look man, I don’t know—”
Before he finishes, I land a heavy blow directly to his jaw. He groans weakly, stumbling to the floor from the force. Of course, he’s a weakling. He’s a con artist, not a soldier.
“Look, I can’t. H-He’ll destroy me,” he groans.
“Bastard’s dead,” I spit. “Now answer the damn question, or you’ll be next.”
His eyes dart around the room as his resolve crumbles. Good. “Cabin. She and the kids are in the cabin. Who are you and why do you want them?”
Ignoring his question, I fist his collar. “I want you to walk with me to the cabin. You’re going to knock on the door. You’re going to tell Liza there’s a power problem and that you need to check the connection box inside. When she opens the door, you’ll fucking step aside.”
“Fuck, man, you can’t make me do that. Liza is smart, she’ll sense something’s wrong. We haven’t had a power outage in years!”
“You’re a con artist. Time to put on the best fucking show.”
Without giving him the chance to be a coward, I nudge him toward the exit, my gun pressed against his side. The walk to the cabin is tense, and I can see Jeremiah shivering.
We get to the door of the cabin, and he knocks. Twice. I move away, hiding around the corner. There’s silence until the deadbolt thunks.
“Antenna’s throwing codes, Liza. I need to check the router in the closet. The wind is kicking up ahead of the storm coming in, so it might’ve knocked something loose.”
She hesitates, then opens the door. As Jeremiah steps forward, I move. I’m inside before she can scream, clamping my hand over her mouth.
There are three children in the living room, all of whom look scared.
“Sit. Be quiet. And no one gets hurt,” I growl to Liza, slowly letting her go when she stops thrashing against my hold. She quickly backs away, wedging herself between the kids and me.
“W-Who are you?” Her lips tremble. She looks twenty years older than her society page photos—blonde hair and dull blue eyes, probably the result of being holed up in the middle of nowhere.
“The consequence of your husband’s choices.” I lower the gun but let it remain visible.
“He made a deal with some people… involving a man named Victor Caughn. That deal got my family killed. Now, the people behind that deal have taken someone from me. You’re going to tell me how to find Caughn.”
“I don’t know any Caughn!” Her voice is a desperate hiss. “My husband... he never talked about his work. He just sent us here to be safe.”
Not in the mood for any fucking bullshit, I stride toward her, shoving her out of the way and snatching one of the toddlers by her arm, pointing a gun at her head.
“I’m not a man with much patience, Liza,” I grit out, though I’m careful not to press the barrel of the gun into the child’s skin. “So you better start talking.”
Her eyes widen, and I see maternal terror overriding everything else. Good.
“Something has happened to my husband, hasn’t it?”
“He’s dead.”
She swallows thickly, eyes darting from the crying toddler in my grasp to me. “Please don’t hurt her. Paul, my husband, had a safe house. Said if anything ever happened to him, I should go there to find the truth.”
“Where?”
“An abandoned shack,” she whispers, shakily. “He took me there once, years ago, before... all this. To show me. In case he died.”
She continues, giving rough directions. Something about a major landmark and a dirt track off a dirt road, close by.
“I promise, I don’t know how to find Caughn. I only met him once…with my husband, outside of this ranch. You’ll find something there that’ll lead you to him.”
Tense silence eats up the space as I study her to assess her body language. It looks like she’s telling the truth.
“That’s the only thing about his work life that he told me, I swear! Now please let my baby go!” she cries.
I oblige, releasing my hold on the girl as she scampers toward her mother, wailing louder than before.
“If I find out you’re lying to—”
“I’m not,” she interrupts fiercely. I furrow my brow at her when she reaches into her blouse, bringing out a small, rusty key.
“Here,” she stretches her hand toward me. I take it. “It’s the key to the shack. The truth is in a lockbox under the floorboards in the back room.”
I clench my jaw, nodding once as I go to walk out of the cabin, but her voice stops me. “Looking for Caughn means you want some sort of justice. Please… take revenge on the people that killed my husband.”
I bite down the urge to tell her that her husband was no saint either, and simply walk out.
***
After driving in the truck I’d stolen while heading to the ranch, I reach the shack, shove the door open, and instantly move over to the back room. Within seconds, I spot a loose floorboard.
It creaks as I step on it, and I instantly drop to my knees, peeling it back to reveal a cold, steel box. The box requires a passcode, but with one shot fired at the latch, it flies open. Inside is a single sealed envelope.
I tear it open, taking in its contents. There are photographs, handwritten notes, and photocopies of bank transfers.
My brow furrows as I scan through, realizing that all of this is the ex-commissioner’s handwritten ledger of a decade of corruption that transpired between him and the mayor.
And a deed to a mining claim. The claim is in the name of Victor Caughn. The location is Ruby Mountains, Eastern Nevada. Coordinates are scribbled in the margin, right next to a faded Polaroid attached to the deed.
A man with a forgettable face, thin lips, and dead eyes stares back at me from the photo. Anger tightens my chest as I stare back at it. Caughn.
I force myself to steady my breathing, then take a moment to piece it all together. The ex-commissioner left evidence to expose the mayor because he didn’t fully trust him… and just maybe this deed is proof of Caughn’s location… as leverage.