Page 73 of Prodigal Son

It was with reluctance that she braked to a halt and put the van in park. Driving was the thing that had given her strength. Now she was about to step out onto solid ground and become a mere mortal again.

She glanced sideways over at Albie, and read his nod as approving.

But, behind her…

“Let me out of this bloody death trap,” Raven said, pushing open the big sliding side door. “Jesus!”

“She’ll get over it,” Albie said with a shrug, and opened his own door.

Axelle climbed out, with a mounting sense of dread, and walked around to the back of the van, where the boys were hauling out Clive. He’d cried during the trip, face wet and shiny with fresh tears.

“Fancy him now?” Albie asked his sister.

Raven made a disgusted noise and headed for the back door of the building.

Axelle lingered, watching as two of the guys got Clive up on his feet, holding him by the arms.

“We need to stitch this,” Chef said, grimacing at the bloodstained, makeshift bandage.

Albie said, “Get him inside.”

Axelle fell into step beside him. “What happened back there?” She was starting to shake, fine tremors that chased one another up her arms; she folded them across her middle to keep them still.

Albie seemed outwardly unperturbed. “I don’t know. We’ll find out.” He sounded so sure that she almost believed him.

Twenty

Morgan’s place – the one not listed on the map, but that Abe swore he knew the location of – was only an hour from Norris’s, but the difference in the landscape was stark. These were tidy, rolling farms, unfurling like quilts beneath an indigo sunset sky, split rail fence and stone walls marking the borders between pastures of sheep, and cattle, and shaggy horses.

The moon was coming up, a cold sickle on the horizon, and the light went down, down, down, and then was gone when Abe said, “This is it. Turn here.”

Eden was driving, and she slowed to a crawl. “You’re sure?” A glance up the driveway revealed a dark sprawl of fields bordered by walls, and a dark farmhouse crouched at the end of a gravel path, the stones reflecting the scant moonlight. A larger structure loomed beyond: a barn, judging by its A-frame roof.

“Yeah, this is it,” Abe said behind her.

She traded a look with Fox – or, tried to. He sat peering out the window, expression unusually withdrawn. The light was minimal, just the glow of the dash lights, but she could see his small frown, and knew it marked a deep sort of contemplation – a sort he’d never shown her when they’d been together.

With a sigh, and a fair amount of trepidation, she turned the van up the twin dirt ruts of the drive, and piloted them toward the dark house. She parked. Killed the engine. Shivered.

“Nobody’s home, it looks like,” she murmured. This place, though lovely in the headlights, gave her the willies in a way that Norris’s sty hadn’t. Every time she blinked, she saw his tortured body, hanging by its bony wrists. These people weren’t TV gangsters; they were killers. Trained weapons – and someone was systematically killing them off.

She didn’t want to get out of the van.

In the backseat, Devin said, “Come on, then,” and popped his door. The others piled out, groaning and stretching.

“You coming?” Fox asked, and she glanced over to see that he’d finally looked her way. Gaze still heavy, contemplative.

She swallowed and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Palmed her gun. “Yeah.”

Gravel crunched underfoot as they headed for the house. Eden hung back, for once not ashamed to let someone else take point. She already knew what they’d find inside: nothing. And what they’d find in the barn: bodies.

Evan reached the bottom step first, and paused, hand on the bannister. “Did you guys hear that?”

Eden turned in a slow circle, gun trained on the ground, ready to fire the second she caught sight of a target.

“What?” Devin asked.

“No, I hear it,” Fox said. “It’s low. Sort of a…a hum.”

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