A large man with tufts of gray hair sticking out from a greasy ball cap and a nose permanently reddened by years of working outdoors came to L.J.’s window and bent to look in. “You need to get out while I hook up,” he said.
A man of many words… “Right. Of course.” Ink gave L.J. a pointed glance to indicate he should do as the driver asked.
L.J. got out, but it took Ink a bit longer to vacate the cab. He wanted to move without looking like too much of a cripple. He hated the attention his injury drew, which was pretty ironic, considering his tattoos. He used to enjoy the horrified reactions he often inspired. But fear and intimidation were different from pity. Ever since a bullet had damaged his spinal cord, the stares he received made him desperate to stop all gawkers, or punish them, just like when he’d let loose on that Realtor. He’d dismissed the incident at the cabin as if he’d meant to kill the old guy, but Ink still wasn’t sure what had made him snap. The disappointment of being told something he didn’t want to hear, he supposed. These days that was all it took. His mother claimed he’d been like that ever since he was a baby. But he knew he was getting worse. The injury had screwed up his mind as well as his body.
“Can you see the gun?” L.J. whispered as they watched Harvey go to work.
Ink barely looked. “There’s a slight bulge, but it’s not really noticeable. Maybe you’re just well-hung, huh?”
“I am well-hung.” He grinned at the joke but shoved his hands in his pockets to help conceal the weapon. “So…we let him drive away?”
“That’s exactly what we do.”
“Then what?”
“We get the hell out of here.”
“On foot?”
Ink clenched his hands in his own pockets. “Quit whining. Once he’s gone, we can hitchhike.”
L.J. kicked a pebble across the road. “But I thought you had plans in Pineview. I thought that’s why we came here. You were going to take revenge on that bitch that got you shot, remember?”
She’d also spat in his face, which to him was almost as bad. No one spat in his face and got away with it, least of all a woman. “You don’t need to remind me. I haven’t forgotten. I could never forget. It’ll happen. It just needs to happen a certain way.”
“Why?”
“Because if I play this smart, I might get the bastard who shot me—and her brother, too.”
“But hitchhiking? Seriously? Who’s going to pick up someone with lightning bolts for eyebrows? Those tattoos’ll scare everyone who drives by.”
His Crew wannabe was growing too bold for his own welfare. Ink would’ve broken his jaw for less, but they had enough problems right now. He’d deal with L.J. later. “I’ll hang back in the trees until you flag someone down.”
“And then what?”
The tow truck’s winch made a grinding sound as it lifted the Toyota.
“We ask for a ride.”
“What if they refuse after they see you?”
Ink gritted his teeth. “We blow the driver’s head off and take his car. What else?”
L.J. might’ve argued against more violence. He talked tough but it was mostly an act. He’d vomited after Ink had beaten that Realtor to death. But he didn’t have a chance to speak. Finished, the tow truck driver walked over.
“You two need a lift?”
L.J. waited, allowing Ink to respond. “No, thanks.”
The man’s craggy face showed his surprise. They were far enough from town that he’d expected the opposite answer. “You sure?”
“Positive. A friend’s coming to get us.”
His gaze shifted to L.J., then moved back. “Why not meet your friend in town? Save him the trip?”
Refusing to reveal his discomfort, Ink cocked one leg to ease the pain shooting up his distorted spine. “Because he doesn’t live in Pineview, and he’s already on his way.”
The tow truck driver scratched under his cap. “What if he misses you?”
“He won’t.”
He didn’t mention how far it would be if they had to walk. If he’d noticed that Ink was handicapped—or tattooed—he didn’t make an issue of it. Ink appreciated his “live and let live” attitude. This was a man who knew how to mind his own business.
“Fine by me.” He held out a contract fastened to a clipboard. “Just need you to sign this and show up at Reliable Auto this evening or tomorrow morning to see about the repairs.”
“No problem,” Ink said and scribbled Ron Howard’s name.
Harvey—his name was on his shirt—accepted the clipboard and handed him a copy, then started walking away. But Ink called him back. “Hey!”
He turned before reaching his truck. “Yeah?”
“You don’t happen to know a woman who lives in Pineview who’s about five-ten, blond hair, blue eyes and has two kids, do ya?”
His eyebrows came together as he squinted against the sun. “Why do you ask?”
“She’s my sister, adopted out at birth. I’ve been searching for her for years. A P.I. I hired, when I could afford that type of thing,” he added sheepishly, “told me she lived here. I’d sure like to find her. Can’t tell you how much it would mean to me.”
“You don’t have a name?”
“Her birth name was Laurel Hodges. I know that much, of course. But I don’t think she goes by it.”
He took his hat off, shoved a hand through his hair. “What does she look like again?”
Vivian sat in her living room, staring at the windows and doors as if she expected someone to try to break in. Jake hadn’t returned from the lake yet. Mia was in her bedroom, playing dress-up. And Vivian was supposed to be working. But she couldn’t concentrate. Instead, her mind was feverishly developing ways she could defend herself and her children if that became necessary.
But…short of installing iron bars over every point of entry, which was completely impractical given the fact that she had no money, there wasn’t a lot she could do. She felt very vulnerable, living alone with her children in a small community, unable to even voice her fears.
Would The Crew come at night as they had in Colorado? Should she have Mia and Jake start sleeping with her?
That’d worked when they were small, but she wasn’t sure Jake would go along with it at nine. He was so damn independent, so determined to throw off the yoke of her protection.