Lena had given up then. Hank was gone. Charlotte was dead. Lena was a fugitive. Two days ago, a couple of men had argued in the hospital corridor about whether or not to kill her, and Ethan… who knew how Ethan was involved?
Lena went outside to think. She was sitting on one of the boxes stacked on the back porch when she heard the motorcycle. The pipes must have woken up everyone on the street, but no one threw open their windows to complain. She followed the rumble as the bike came up the drive, parked in front of Hank's house. It was Deacon's bike, she knew it by sound, just like she knew there was no way Deacon was riding it.
As quietly as she could, Lena made her way toward the old Chevy in the backyard. She slid underneath, the rusted floor of the cab scraping her back as the gate creaked open.
The motion light on the side of the house tripped on. Harley blinked up at the light, clearly annoyed. Clint came behind him, closing the gate.
'He wouldn't come back here,' Clint said, nervous. 'Just let the dope do its work. He's not gonna go far off the needle.'
Harley spoke with the clipped, nasally accent of a New Englander. 'That should kill him rather too painlessly, don't you think?'
Clint was obviously nervous. 'Let's just go, man. There's nothing in the house.'
'I would love to talk to him, see what exactly he thought he might accomplish.'
'I don't think that would be a good idea.'
'I don't think you were brought into this organization to think.' Clint was much stronger than Harley, but he flinched as the younger man grabbed him by the shoulder. 'You've known Mr. Norton for a while.'
Clint shook his head, obviously seeing where this was going. 'I did my job. I did exactly what you told me to do.'
'You've had a close connection to the family over the years.'
'No, sir. That don't matter. I don't play favorites.'
'Then why is Hank Norton's niece still alive?'
'You told us not to kill any cops.' Clint spoke carefully. 'You issued a standing order.'
'And now we've got two cops to deal with: one on the run and the other rather curious as to why.'
'I'm sorry. It was my call.'
'It's good of you to accept the blame, Clint, but your lack of initiative explains your lack of progress in the organization.' Harley turned back to Hank's house. 'Let's go see if you at least did this correctly.'
'I can't be responsible if-'
Harley didn't say anything, but his expression must have spoken volumes.
'I'm sorry, sir,' Clint repeated, fearful, respectful. 'We can go in through the back door.'
Both men went into Hank's house. Lena could hear furniture being knocked over, glass breaking, as they moved through the rooms. There was an old cliche that said there were two types of people: leaders and followers. Harley was a leader, but so was Ethan. There was no way the two of them could be working together. Neither man would take orders. Neither would put up with each other's attitudes. Put them in the same room, and you might as well sit back for the most violent cockfight of your life.
The kitchen door opened. Harley came out of the house and walked down the stairs with a spring in his step.
For his part, Clint was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as if he had been sick.
'Find the cops,' Harley tossed over his shoulder. 'Both of them. Find out what they know, and if they give the right answers, find a way to persuade them to go on their merry way.'
'And if they give the wrong answers?'
'Initiative, Clint.' Harley clapped him on the shoulder again, bowed his head as if in prayer.' "O, God of vengeance, let your glorious justice be seen"!'
Clint seemed uneasy, but he stood there quietly until Harley raised his head. Still, he waited a few more seconds before leading Harley back toward the gate.
As soon as they were gone, Lena slid out from under the truck. She ran so fast out of the backyard that her heart felt like it was going to explode. She found the Mercedes and rolled down all four windows, listening for the motorcycle's pipes as she drove, having to backtrack a few times before she was able to find Harley stopped at a red light outside the library. A white sedan was in front of the bike, and she assumed that Clint was behind the wheel.
The light turned green and the sedan went to the left. Harley went straight, and she followed the bike. The Mercedes' headlights were off, and Lena slowed, hanging back so Harley wouldn't see her. Ideally, two cars were used in a tail, but Lena was hardly in a position to have such luxury. She just kept back as far as she could and hoped Harley wasn't the kind of driver who was constantly checking his rearview mirror. She sure as hell was checking hers. Clint could all too easily have looped around to see if Harley was being followed.
He hadn't, though, at least as far as Lena could see. The road behind her remained clear. When she saw the bike turn into what looked like an abandoned warehouse, she kept on going, steering the car up the hill and finding a spot where she could view what was going on below without being spotted.
She had spent two nights watching the warehouse, grabbing some sleep at the school before making the long journey back to the motel in Florida to regroup during the day. The second night back, she'd brought the camera. Through the lens, she'd been able to better see who was going in and out of the building – the usual suspects, plus a few surprises. It was the surprises that made her start to see her way out of this for the first time since she'd arrived in Reece. Lena just needed to get Jeffrey and Sara out of harm's way, then she would make her move.
Between the motel, the digital camera, and gas for the car, Lena had blown eleven hundred dollars of Hank's emergency cash. She figured she could find a twenty-four-hour Kinko's somewhere and make copies of the camera's flashcard. Photocopies were cheap, and her log of the comings and goings at the abandoned warehouse were meticulous.
Hank had obviously found out something about these guys and their operation. Harley had said as much that first time she had seen him at the house. He'd spoke about Hank's downward spiral in terms of vengeance, and you did not seek revenge on somebody unless they struck at you first. Hank must have tried to play the mother of all poker hands and got caught in a bluff – either that, or they had attacked him at his weakest point, his addiction. He must have fought them at first, but once he got hooked back on the dope again, the struggle was over.
Lena didn't share her uncle's weaknesses, at least not where drugs were concerned. All she wanted out of this was freedom – not justice, not money, not vengeance, though God knew Charlotte and Deacon deserved retribution. Lena couldn't think about either of them now because it was the living she had to protect. Charlotte still had a family. There was still Hank, Sara, and Jeffrey to think about. Lena couldn't afford to bluff. Whether Ethan was behind this or someone else, it didn't matter. First thing in the morning, she was going to lay all her cards on the table.
With the right hand, she might be able to win back some lives. If she lost her own in the process, so be it.
FRIDAY
TWENTY-THREE
Jeffrey had forgotten what it felt like to wake up feeling like a human being. While he was under no illusion that the Holiday Inn of Beaulah, Georgia, was a pantheon of hygienic bliss, all he cared about was that the place looked clean. The sheets were crisp white, the pillows fluffed and inviting. The carpet showed tracks from the rigorous vacuuming and didn't stick to the bottom of his feet when he walked across the floor. Room service came hot and fresh. The staff seemed happy to be there – at least none of the maids had cursed at him. Best of all, the bathroom was as close to heaven as he'd been in a while: the shower had been strong enough to take the hide off an ox and the toilet flushed without an ominous gurgle.