Page 94 of Three-Inch Teeth

“Lock the doors,” Joe said. It was the first time he’d ever said it to Marybeth.

“You call Nate,” Marybeth said in a panic. “I’ll call Liv.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Yarak, Inc.

“KILL THE LIGHTS and back up slowly,” Cates whispered to Soledad through the open back-window slider of the pickup truck. “Complete silence from now on,” he cautioned everyone. Then he gestured to LOR to proceed.

Cates was in the tractor seat at the controls. Soledad and Johnson were inside the cab with Soledad behind the wheel. LOR was bunched up at the foot of the bed near the closed tailgate. The man slowly opened the rear hatch and readied his range finder.

The front door of Nate Romanowski’s home was illuminated under a lone porch light. Interior lights were on as well, but no one had looked out to see the vehicle approach the house and back up. So far, so good, Cates thought. He reached down and fingered the grip of the pistol that was tucked into the shaft of his cowboy boot.

Just in case.

The twin air cylinders were completely filled and the compressor had been turned off. The steel head of the mechanical bear jaws loomed in the open rear window, poised to lash out.

“Twenty-seven feet,” LOR whispered.

Cates relayed the distance through the slider to Soledad.

“Twenty-two feet.

“Eighteen feet.

“Fifteen feet,” LOR said, and Cates whispered, “Stop,” to Soledad.

The pickup ceased moving. Soledad killed the engine.

Cates triggered the red-dot sight and trained it at eye level on the crack between the door frame and the door itself.

“Ready,” he said. It was Bobbi Johnson’s signal to get out of the truck.

*

INSIDE, LIV STIRRED a pot of green chili on the stove with a wooden spoon. When Kestrel said that she “wanted to do it”—something the girl demanded more and more—Liv picked up her daughter and balanced her on her hip and handed over the spoon.

Kestrel used the implement to thrash around the pot. “Gentle,” Liv said.

“I’m helping,” Kestrel said.

“Yes, you are,” Liv smiled. “You’re a good helper.”

Nate was on his way home. She’d texted him earlier to ask him to stop at the grocery store in Saddlestring for a gallon of milk for Kestrel and a package of flour tortillas to eat with the chili.

That was when there was a light knocking on the front door. It startled Liv because visitors rarely came to their home, since it was several miles off the county road, and she hadn’t noticed a vehicle outside.

“I’ll do it,” Kestrel said, wriggling to get free of Liv. She meant she wanted to open the front door to see who was there. Visitors to the house were a rare and exciting event in their household.

“No, you won’t,” Liv said, depositing her daughter in her high chair to keep her contained. Kestrel had yet to meet a stranger she didn’t want to talk to, which was a trait Liv and Nate were getting concerned about.

“You’ll stay right here, little bug.”

Liv quickly untied her apron and hung it over the back of a chair. As she did so, her phone burred with an incoming call. Probably Nate, she thought, wondering what brand of tortillas to buy. She thought she’d call him back as soon as she dealt with the visitor.

Liv looked through the gap between the front-room window curtains and peered outside. A pickup truck with Wyoming plates was backed up to the front porch. A thin woman with straggly blond hair was standing in front of the door. The woman looked nervous, Liv thought.

“Probably lost,” she muttered as she reached for the doorknob.

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