Page 155 of Hush
“If we can find Pasha, though, we might be able to find a new angle on this. He could confirm whether Kryukov did or did not send that text that morning. See what Kryukov’s state of mind was. How he behaved. If he noticed anything while he was there. We need to find him.”
Mike gripped his hand, and they wound deeper into the forest, catching up to Etta Mae and her wild squirrel chase. She’d treed a group of them, and they teased her mercilessly, skittering from tree branch to tree branch, snickering down at her as she circled the trunk and barked. They let her have her fun, until the squirrels fled and Etta Mae lost interest in the lifeless tree, and all three trooped off again.
Hours later, sweaty, exhausted, but happy, they made their way up to the main gravel road circling the mountain and walked back. There was no one around, not even Willy, and they held hands on the way. Etta Mae, exhausted, trudged at their side, her tongue hanging out but her tail still wagging.
As they came around the bend, past Willy’s house, their cabin came into view.
A black SUV with blacked-out windows, the staple of federal DC, was parked on the gravel road, blocking Mike’s car in the squat driveway.
“Shit.”
Tom’s heart pounded. “Someone found ushere? Who? Why?”
Mike scowled. “They’ve gone to a lot of trouble to find us, whoever it is. Take Etta Mae inside. I’ll see what this is all about.”
Tom clipped Etta Mae’s leash onto her harness and squeezed his hand. They were in full view of the SUV, out in the open, but he still leaned in for a kiss on Mike’s cheek. “Good luck.”
Mike waited until Tom was inside before he approached the SUV. No one had come out while he and Tom were in the road, but he’d seen a shadow in the front seat. The driver was still inside.
He came up along the driver’s side and waited.
Finally, the door opened.
FBI agent Lucas Barnes stepped out. He grinned, waving, and squinted as he took off his sunglasses. “Hey, Inspector Lucciano. How’s it going?”
Mike frowned. “I’m fine. What’s going on?”
“Nice place out here. You guys really buried yourselves.”
“It’s Tom’s place. He wanted to get out of DC for the weekend.” He hesitated. “What’s up? Do you have any information on Baryshnikov?” Why had Barnes driven all the way out here?
Barnes started walking, a slow amble as they headed for the cabin. “Yes, I do. We’ve been searching for him. So far, we’re coming up empty. I thought I could ask Judge Brewer if he had any more information about Mr. Baryshnikov. Anything else he knew at all.”
Mike’s cheeks puffed out as he exhaled. Tom knew a lot, a whole lot, but would it be helpful? And, was he ready to come fully out of the closet today, right now on this summer afternoon in Lonely Pine Gulch? Mike’s thoughts swirled as they kept walking, slow steps across the gravel driveway.
“What’s up with these snakes?” Barnes jerked his chin to the warning placards, feet from them. He frowned, looking the ground over as his hands landed on his hips.
“The neighbor apparently keeps a bunch of timber rattlers in the gulch. It’s steep, maybe a fifteen-foot rocky drop. The snakes can’t get out. You’re fine.” Mike grinned. He turned toward the cabin. “Let’s go talk to Tom.”
A hand grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him off-balance as a blade slid into his back. Once, twice, a third time, rapid strikes that sent fire racing through him. He felt the blade pierce his skin, slide deep. Bursts like bombs going off roared in the muscles of his right side, and he stumbled, suddenly unable to breathe. Someone grabbed his gun, tucked into a concealed holster in the small of his back, and hurled it down the gravel drive. “What—”
The hand on his neck rose, covering his mouth, his nose. He tried to scream, but the sound was muffled. Over his shoulder, he saw the blade rise in Barnes’s hand.
Jesus. Barnes was going to kill him. He was going to slit his fucking throat. Mike screamed again, the sound of a desperate, dying animal, trying to thrash, trying to move against the tidal wave of pain, a lava flow of burning agony that was searing through his right side.
“Fuck,” Barnes hissed, his feet slipping. He tugged Mike with him, but Mike pushed into Barnes, using his momentum, and spun out from under his grasp. He opened his mouth, ready to shout, to scream, to warn Tom—
Barnes kicked him, a fierce front kick right to his sternum that stole the breath from his body. He flew backward, knocked off his feet, and his heels skittered in the gravel.
And then, he tumbled over the edge.
Falling, a dark boulder, sharp, slammed into his side. A crack, and pain roared out from his ribcage. Spinning, he tumbled again, sliding against vines and ferns and wet moss as he plummeted to the bottom of the gulch.
Thegulch. Therattlesnakegulch. He tried to gouge his fingertips into the stone and stop his fall, climb his way up.
He hit bottom, landing with athudin a patch of dried leaves and scattered weeds. He froze, his right side on fire, every inhale shooting agony through his body, his heart beating a frantic, wild, primal rhythm.
He had to get to Tom. He had to save him.
