Page 151 of Lone Star

“It’s Texas,” Ray said, staring fixedly at the muzzle of Albie’s gun. “There’s trucks like ours all over the place.”

“I’m looking for one big and powerful enough to drive through the wall of a house and back out again without too much damage. One with room for cargo. One–”

“Shit.” Ray’s eyes widened and rolled toward Fox, though he was careful not to turn his head. “There was one that passed us on our way in. Blew right past. I saw it in the rearview as it came by, and it had dust and plaster and shit all over the windshield. It was caught in the grill – and, shit, yeah, it had a brush guard. A big one. Like one you’d put on to go mudding.

“Hey, Ty, you remember that truck?”

“Describe it to me,” Fox said. “In better detail.”

“Shit, yeah, it was – lemme think. It was a Chevy – yeah. A new one. Black. Lift kit. Had those wide side mirrors, aftermarket chrome, like you’d use if you were pulling a camper or something. Black brush guard. Tinted windows. Camper shell on the back.”

“Wonderful,” Fox deadpanned. “It passed you?”

“Yeah. Going eighty, at least. Headed this way. Don’t know where it went, though.”

“That’s alright, we’ll find it.” Fox stepped in front of him, then, facing his brother. “Albie, were you listening?”

Albie grimaced. His gaze was trained – it was fixed. He had Ray in his sights, and all logic had abandoned him. He wanted answers; he wanted blood, and he wasn’t going to be picky about trivial details like innocent bystanders.

Fox had never seen him like this, and, frankly, it was pitiful.

“I looked in the truck.” He took a step forward. “And the girls weren’t there. They were never there.” Another step. “Where would they have put them? There wasn’t time.” Another step. “Did you hear what he said about the other truck? That was our boys. They’ve gone past here.” He reached up and curled his hand around the barrel of the gun. “We’re wasting time.”

The last was what finally seemed to penetrate. Albie blinked a few times, and his gaze sharpened; the harsh line of his mouth slackened.

“Albert,” Fox said, and he wasn’t a parent, but he’d heard enough parents speak to children to know that was how he sounded now. “Give me the gun.”

Albie blinked again, and his grip loosed just enough for Fox to wrench the pistol away. He tucked it into the back of his own waistband and then stepped forward and took Albie by the wrists. Walked him forcibly back toward the bikes.

“Sorry about that!” He called over his shoulder. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call the police.”

Behind him, Ray said, “Shit, we’re Lean Dogs fans. Normally.” He muttered something unintelligible after.

Fox hadn’t been thinking about their cuts, plain as day. He wondered if anyone else had witnessed this little spectacle. The last thing the Dogs needed was bad press and a rumor mill amidst all this upheaval.

Priorities, a small voice chimed in the back of his head. He’d never been very good with those.

They reached the bikes, and Fox gave Albie a hard shake. “Snap out of it.”

Albie glared at him, and ripped out of his hold. But the next second he turned, and dropped his head, hands going to his hips. To keep them from shaking, Fox knew. To give them something solid to grab onto. He could see the tremors in Albie’s shoulders; hear them in his shuddering breaths.

“I was in the room,” he said in a choked voice. “Charlie, I was there with them, and I couldn’t get to them.”

“There was a truck driving through the wall,” Fox said. “No one could have gotten to them.”

Albie shot a glittering, hateful look over his shoulder. “You could have.”

Fox didn’t counter him; probably he could have. But he did put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “So let’s go find them.”

Albie took a huge, unsteady breath, and nodded.

Forty-Four

“Do you have a way to contact Luis?” Cantrell asked. He looked more exhausted and lined than he had only a couple hours ago at the precinct. “Did you try calling back the number he used to reach you?”

“It was a blocked number,” Candy said, his gaze on the wrecked common room. “That won’t matter. If this is a ransom situation, he’ll make contact with us.”

“And if it isn’t?”

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