In Seconds (Bulletproof #2)(56)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Now you’re really pissing me off,” Rex growled. “I’ll take the kids to Virgil, but I’m coming back.”

“He will, you know,” Virgil said. “He won’t let you face this alone.”

He’d probably try. But she didn’t think his body could handle much more. “We’ll talk about that once you have the kids.”

She had a feeling it would all be over by then, anyway.

17

The digging seemed to go on forever since Ink couldn’t do much of it. L.J. was young and strong, but it took one man with a shovel several hours to dig four graves, even in the soft, loamy earth of the forest. Ink would’ve skipped burying the bodies; he was anxious to return to town now that they had a car. But he couldn’t leave his victims in the house. The stench would soon be unbearable, even if they shoved them into a closet or a back bedroom. And they couldn’t just dump them in the forest in case someone stumbled across them. Provided no one realized these men were missing, quite some time could pass before anyone came looking for them. Certainly long enough for him and L.J. to finish their business here in Pineview.

That meant they had to bury the dead.

Ink was glad they’d made that decision, out of sight, out of mind. While L.J. toiled in the forest, Ink had been swabbing up the blood in the living room—as much as he could reach. He’d been so determined to shoot every man before that man could react he’d slaughtered them all before they knew what hit them. And it’d created quite a mess.

Relieved to be done with the cleaning, he stood and watched L.J. work.

“This is bullshit.” L.J. rested against his shovel and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “It’s hotter ’n hell this afternoon, and here I am doing manual labor.”

“So? At least you won’t have to sleep on the ground tonight.” Ink tossed the camera belonging to one of his victims into the grave that would soon hold another of the bodies. “No more going without a shower, either.” He took the beer he’d carried out under his arm and popped the top. “There’s another one of these waiting for you in the fridge.”

“You gotta be joking! You think I care about having a beer right now?” L.J. motioned to the blanket that covered the only man he hadn’t yet pushed into the ground. “This guy’s blood’s all over me.” He held out his arms to show Ink the pink rivulets where the dead man’s blood had blended with sweat.

Ink merely shrugged. He’d seen and done a lot worse than shoot a few guys who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. After he’d killed his sister for getting him in trouble with the cops because he’d robbed a liquor store, he’d stood by her casket and cried along with his mother, all the while smiling inside that he didn’t have to deal with the bitch anymore.

“So? Someone had to carry him out,” he told L.J. “It didn’t hurt you.” He took a long drink of his beer, found it as refreshing as he’d hoped. “Just be glad you’re not him, huh?” He pointed at the dead guy and laughed but L.J. didn’t join in.

“You scare me, dude.” This wasn’t a casual statement. Ink had been the kid’s idol in prison but L.J. no longer seemed impressed, and Ink wasn’t all that surprised. No one liked him once they really got to know him, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Pretty soon, every person who encountered him looked as horrified as L.J. did now. His own sister used to stare at him as if she’d never seen a bigger monster. That was another reason he’d killed her. She was his first murder, not that anyone had been able to pin her death on him. Not yet, anyway. The police were still working on that one. Had been for fifteen years and probably always would be. He’d done it as a drive-by while riding along with some of his more violent friends and she was walking home from school. Everyone assumed a rival gang had made the hit.

“That’s good.” He told himself the change in L.J.’s feelings about him didn’t matter. L.J. wasn’t going anywhere until Ink was done with him. “You should be scared. Because if you ever cross me—” he grinned “—you know what’ll happen.”

L.J. gaped at him as if he’d never seen him before.

“Why so glum, huh? Now that we’ve got a cabin and a car, the fun’s just starting.” Ink lifted his can in a salute and hobbled back to the house. He’d taken eight hundred bucks off the men he’d killed, four cell phones that didn’t work, thanks to the remote location, the keys to their vehicle and several credit cards. He didn’t understand why L.J. was so shaken. They were set.

Now all they had to do was head into town and find Laurel.

Myles put out a Be on the Lookout, or BOLO, on the two men he’d found with the Toyota truck. Then he spent the afternoon and evening driving around Libby and Pineview, asking everyone he met if they’d seen anyone fitting either description. “Ron Howard” and his younger companion seemed to have disappeared into thin air, but they had to have gone somewhere. When Harvey left them on the side of the road, they’d been on foot, which gave them only three options. They’d walked. (Which meant they couldn’t have gone far.) They’d stolen another car. (There’d been no reports of that—at least, not yet.) Or they’d hitchhiked. Surely, anyone who’d picked them up would remember.

Bob, down at the Gas-n-Go, told Myles they’d been in to get gas yesterday. Based on his estimate of the time, Myles figured it was right before he’d found them on the road. He hoped their images had been captured on the security tape; he planned to create a flyer. A picture would be a far better search aid than mere descriptions.

But the tape was so old and overused he couldn’t differentiate one customer from the next, let alone capture images clear enough to print. He told Bob to buy a new tape, just in case they came in again, and left disappointed. He wanted to find out who these men were, what their backgrounds were and why they’d driven a truck stolen on the outskirts of a farming community in central California all the way to Montana. What business did they have here? Unless they had family in the area, the backwoods of Lincoln County was a bit out of the way for a random visit.

He checked the frozen lasagna he’d put in the oven when he got home. Not done. Those things took forever. Judging by the frozen lump in the center he wouldn’t be eating until midnight. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if Marley was waiting for supper. He’d let her go to Elizabeth’s more than six hours ago. He didn’t like that she was outside his protection, but he believed she was safer there, with adults, than staying alone while he worked, especially after dark.