Page 70 of Not This Night

“I need to speak with Big Joe,” she said suddenly as the phone was answered.

“Er… who is this?”

“Ranger Blackwood. Tell him to get on. Or else,” she added.

A sigh. Steps. “Joe!” the voice shouted. “Some Ranger on the phone for you, big fella.”

The sound of weary footsteps, muttering. For a moment, she half expected the phone to hang up. But then a heavy breathing sound and a grunt blasted across the line.

“What?”

She felt a flicker of relief but didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Big Joe, it's Blackwood. I need you upstairs in Withersnow's room."

There was a pause, a muffled grumble from the other end. “You said I was free to go.”

“Yeah, well… you’re gone, aren’t you? Let’s not do it again."

“House rules…” he muttered.

"Listen," she snapped, "I don't care about the house rules. Get to his room now. Check the floorboard we uncovered. I want photos of everything you find."

"Everything?" Big Joe's voice, skeptical.

"Every damn thing, Joe. Send them directly to me." Her eyes never left the road, even as she commanded his compliance.

No response.

"Joe, listen," Rachel's voice cut through the static, "I'll make it worth your while."

A grunt echoed in her ear. Big Joe's reluctance was almost tangible, a muddy footprint on an otherwise clean operation.

“The cash,” she said. “There’s cash in there. It’s yours.”

A hesitation. “All of it?”

“Yes.”

“Free and clear?”

“Yes! Now go!”

“Rachel?” Ethan muttered at her side.

But she ignored it. Sometimes, one had to use unique bait.

Rachel tossed the phone onto the dash, her gaze unswerving as the landscape blurred past. A siren of urgency wailed in her veins. She pressed harder on the accelerator, the engine growling.

Minutes slipped by like shadows at dusk, each one stretching longer than the last. Then, her phone buzzed. Her hand shot out, snatching it up. On the screen, a cluster of images was downloaded one by one, each thumbnail promising a clue, a secret unveiled.

"Got something?" Ethan asked, his profile tense against the backdrop of flashing scenery.

"Photos from Joe." Rachel tapped the first image, and it filled the screen.

Her eyes flickered over the photo—a stack of cash, worn and crumpled. Then another tap—there it was, a gun, its metal surface rusted. She swiped to the next—a newspaper clipping, edges frayed, words screaming silent histories.

"Damn," she muttered, taking in the trifecta of evidence.

"Share the wealth, Ranger," Ethan said, a hint of dark humor in his voice that didn't quite reach his eyes.

---