Page 53 of Shine On Oklahoma

So they dropped her off in the parking lotand drove away, and she walked around back to use the outdoorstairs because she wasn’t in the mood to make small talk withwhoever happened to be inside the saloon. She made it all the wayto her room, closed the door behind her, and finally pulled out herphone to check for anything from Jack.

An alert was flashing on the lock screen.

PHONE FINDER ACTIVATED

#

Jack woke up so cold his teeth werechattering, and had no idea where he was or how he’d… Right, right.Vester Caine, the farmhouse, his body pounding down those basementstairs. He sat up slow as it all came back to him. It was daylight.He was on the ground, in a thin patch of scrawny trees. Saplings.His arm was throbbing and his head hurt. He remembered prying thecasement window out, and crawling through the hole it left in thewee hours before dawn. He thought it a pretty good bet that itwouldn’t matter what showed up in theAurora Free Times.He’d pissed off Vester Caine, drugged his men, and tried to stealhis cigars. He was going to be shot if he didn’t get out. So he gotout.

He wondered how far he’d made it before he’dpassed out. A mile? More?

Somewhere, a door slammed. “Move it!” a deepvoice roared. “Find that sneaky sonofabitch!”

Okay, he hadn’t made it a mile. He hadn’teven made it a hundred feet. When he looked in the direction thatvoice—Caine’s voice—had come from, he had a clear view of the oldfarmhouse with its peeling white paint and weed-patch border. Aceand Phil were heading into the woods, in two directions. Caine washeading in another. None of them were coming directly towardhim.

He got to his feet, but stayed in a lowcrouch, keeping them in sight, moving to the furthest spot fromthem, around behind the farmhouse. He wasn’t going to get away fromthem. Not on foot, he wasn’t. His grave would be a shallow one inthis scrub-lot if he didn’t put some distance between him and themfast.

He checked his pockets again, found his phonewith the shattered screen. He’d known that already. He’d tried tosend a distress call, hadn’t he?

No time. Not now. He might have a chance, andit might be his last one. He crept to the edge of the trees, rightup to the waist-high weeds that had once been the farmhouse’s backyard. He could hear Caine and Phil and Ace crashing through thewoods, looking for him.

Fine. He had one chance, the way he saw it.If it didn’t work, he was dead, but he was dead if he didn’t try ittoo. He dashed through the weeds to the back door. It was unlocked,the first piece of good luck he’d had so far. He opened it andducked inside, racing through that place like his feet were onfire. Kitchen. Nothing. Dining room, nothing but the humidor andthe whiskey. Living room. Score. A set of keys on a Cadillackeyring right on the makeshift coffee table. He grabbed them. Thenhe ran back through the dining room and paused.

Yeah, why not?

He grabbed the whiskey and cigars, and headedback through the kitchen, and out the back door again. He took timeto listen for them. He couldn’t hear much, which probably meantthey’d gone farther away. So he crept around the house, and quietas a mouse, put his treasures into the Caddy, closed the door sosoftly it didn’t even latch. Then he yanked his pocket knife outand went to the SUV that belonged to either Phil or Ace. ProbablyPhil. He jabbed the knife into three tires, stabbing into thesidewall and ripping forward to ensure they’d go flat faster. As hegot to the fourth tire, front driver’s side, he saw through thewindow that the keys were in the switch. Well, hell. He took themand ran back to the Caddy.

They were gonna hear him start the motor.There was no question about it. And there was only one road. Heheld his breath, cranked the key, slammed the car into gear andstomped it. The back tires spewed dirt and gravel, then caught. Hetook off like the very devil was after him, keeping his head low incase they came out of those trees shooting.

But they never did.

#

“Oh, God, oh God, oh God,” Kendra whispered,pushing back her hair with one hand, tapping the phone locator appwith the other. Jack must’ve activated his, and if he had, thatmeant he was in trouble.

He was always about the backup plans, and heloved technology. Said it had revolutionized the business. She wasgrateful for that as she read the notification on her screen.

PHONE FINDER has been activated for one ofthe devices on your account. That device has been located.

She could hear her father’s voice just asclearly as if he was standing there beside her.

“Old-school scammers have to adapt or goextinct. Tech is either an opportunity to con better than everbefore, or the end of your career. You get to choose. Me? I’m gonnaride the wave.”

Jack Kellogg, con-man philosopher.

She tapped the “Send to Map” button, and itopened, showing a road map with a pulsing blue dot on it, and a“Start” button for turn-by-turn driving directions.

Her father was in Oklahoma. And not very faraway, either. An hour, in the ‘Vette.

She pocketed the phone and yanked opened thecloset to pull out a small hard-shell case. It was ivory-coloredwith lavender blossoms all over it and looked about big enough toserve as a makeup bag. It was a case she’d hoped never to have toopen, but she had to now. She took out her handgun. It was shinysilver, brand new. She’d never even fired the thing, but she knewhow. Jack made sure his daughters knew how to handle firearms, justin case. He hated the things, said any con who had to resort toviolence, much less gun violence, shouldn’t be in the game. But healso believed that in their business, it was better to have one andknow how to use it, than not. There was no telling how mad a markmight get.

The gun, a 9-millimeter Ruger, had been aChristmas present from Jack two years ago. She checked that thesafety was on and the barrel empty, then filled the magazine. Shewas already wearing jeans, but her blouse had to go. It was low-cutand sexy, chosen with Dax on her mind. She took it off and pulledon a T-shit that fit snug and moved easy. Her stilettos would beuseless in a fight, so she traded them for soft socks andlightweight black hiking shoes. She put the black leather jacketback on, shoved the gun into her right pocket, spare clip in herleft. She grabbed her purse off the bed where she’d thrown it, andstarted back outside, but her phone rang.

She was so wrought up, she answered itwithout looking first. “Jack?”

“No, it’s me,” Dax said.

“Oh.” She sighed, disappointed to her bones.“I can’t talk now, Dax, I—”

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