Jack took the gun from his waistband and held it out in front of him, the muzzle pointed up to the ceiling, just like he’d seen in the cop shows on television. Heeding Lonetree’s advice, he left the safety on but kept his thumb on the mechanism so he could release it in a hurry if he needed to. The instant it took to disengage the safety could cost him valuable seconds, but he also knew it gave him the time he needed to avoid shooting the wrong person. He appreciated that Lonetree’s suggestion was clearly an act of self-preservation.
Jack moved into the next room. Still dark. There wasn’t a light on in the place. The prey was either gone or expecting them.
Jack squinted to interpret the shadows in the room, but the curtained windows blacked the moon out. There could have been a gun positioned three feet from his forehead and he wouldn’t have known it. Despite the impenetrable darkness, he felt something was different about this room. He knew without light, without hearing a sound. He knew something was wrong.
Someone is in the room. Someone is watching you.
A brilliant light flashed on overhead. It burst through his dilated pupils and turned the world glaring white. He raised his left arm to shield his eyes and his right hand to point the gun at whatever was in front of him. Blinded and scared, he pulled the trigger. Hard. The gun didn’t fire. He hadn’t removed the safety.
He crouched to the ground on reflex and fumbled with the gun, sliding the safety to the side. By the time he raised the gun again, his eyes had started to adjust to the light and his brain had caught up with the action. No one had shot at him. He wasn’t being attacked. Instead, the person who had turned on the light was sitting in front of him, regarding him with interest, as if curious whether Jack would figure out the safety on the gun or not, and once he did, if he would fire the weapon.
Satisfied after a few beats that Jack would not shoot, at least not yet, Max Dahl withdrew his hand from the light switch on the wall and sat back in his leather chair.
“I thought you might come by tonight.”
Lonetree moved expertly around the corner from the front of the house, his gun trained on the space between Max’s eyes.
“And I see you brought a friend. Joseph Lonetree, right?” He lowered his hand back to the armrest of the chair and sat smiling at them both. “I don’t suppose we could do this over a drink, could we?”
“Are Kristi or the kids here?” Jack asked.
“They’re gone. At her mother’s in Annapolis.”
Jack took a step forward, his knuckles white from his grip on the gun. “Where’s Sarah? Tell me or I’ll kill you.”
Jack thought he saw a momentary flare of indignation in Max’s eyes. But it was there only for a second, as if his friend suddenly remembered the charade was up and he was no longer entitled to trust.
“I swear to you, I didn’t know anything about it. I just heard about it tonight. After they’d already taken her.”
“Do you know where she is?”
Max shook his head. “I know where they’ll take her eventually. But they won’t do it right away. They’ll want things to calm down first. I’m so sorry. I understand how it feels to know you’re losing a daughter.”
Jack searched for any sign that Max was lying. The seconds stretched out as the two men stared each other down. Jack knew it was insane to believe anything Max said. Their entire relationship had been a lie. Lonetree had shown him the proof. Max was the enemy. He was a vicious killer, a predator. Jack had expected to feel rage at this moment. Rage for the lies Max had told. Rage for the betrayal of a friend. Rage for the evil that Max took part in. But his emotions were different than he expected, and he could not find the anger he knew he was entitled to feel. Something about Max had changed. His shoulders were slumped forward, his eyes circled with dark rings. Jack noticed the slight shake in his hands. Despite everything, Jack still felt pity for his friend. No matter the monster he was, right now he was just a broken man. The father of a little girl who was dying.
“How about that drink?” Max asked.
Jack hesitated. He and Lonetree had agreed that he would get the first crack at getting Max to help them. If he wasn’t successful, Lonetree would take over the interrogation. Jack wondered how long the big man would wait before he took matters into his own hands. He decided to see how far he could use his and Max’s friendship to make him talk. Lowering his gun, but knowing Lonetree still had him covered, Jack walked over to the small bar where he knew Max kept the good bourbon. He took out two tumblers, clinked some ice into each and poured two fingers of auburn liquid. He crossed the room and handed a drink to Max.
“Here’s to the truth,” Jack said.
Max paused, then raised his glass slightly toward Jack. “The truth.” He slugged back the glass of bourbon with a satisfied moan.
“I’m sure you know most of the story already, considering the company you’re keeping.” Max nodded toward Lonetree sitting behind Jack. “By the way, I met your brother a few times. He was a good man. Not that it makes any difference, but I was against removing him.”
Lonetree’s face was a mask. Jack remembered the story about Lonetree’s brother telling him who had killed him. Lonetree gave no indication that he accepted Max’s assertion or knew anything to the contrary. He simply stared and waited. A professional soldier on mission.
“Who else is involved Max? Who has Sarah?”
“I’ll tell you what I can, but you have to understand Jack, I can’t tell you everything.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You don’t know these people. They’ll go after Kristi and the kids. They’ll punish me through them. Even if you kill me, if they think I betrayed them, they’ll still take their revenge on my daughters. I won’t risk that. Not for you. Not for Sarah. I’d rather die.”
Lonetree stood up and raised his gun. “Sounds good to me.”
“Wait,” Jack yelled. “He said there are things he can tell us.” He turned back to Max. “Right? There are some things you will tell us.”
Max shrugged. “Sure, but it won’t do any good.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s hopeless, Jack. You can’t stop these people. Make no mistake, they will kill Sarah. They’ve decided they need her and that’s the end of it. Nothing will change that now. The only question is whether or not you’re going to die trying to save her.”
Rage tore through Jack’s system from hearing his daughter’s life dismissed so easily. The gun, still in his right hand, seemed to throb, begging to be used to punish Max for talking about Sarah in such a way. Jack felt the danger in such power. He carefully placed the gun on a side table. “You could help us, you know. Help us destroy them.”
Max grimaced. “It’s too late for that. Much too late. Besides, if they thought I helped you, they would take my family. I won’t risk that.”
Lonetree crossed the living room so Max could see his eyes as he spoke. “What makes you think your family is safe from me? You think I’ve never killed a woman? That I would hesitate to kill the child of a monster like you? Look at me and tell me if you think your family is safe.”
Max stared at Lonetree. “What I’m worried about is worse than death. Much worse.”
“All right,” Jack said. “Tell us what you can. After that, we’ll decide what to do with you.”
Lonetree backed away and leaned against the fireplace mantle, a brooding statue waiting for his chance to take action. Max took a deep breath and told them what he dared.
SIXTY-TWO
“There were fifteen of us at the beginning. Only a few of us are still in Prescott City. There were others. Some moved on. Others…well, some of them are no longer around.”