Hawk: A Stepbrother Romance Part 20

"Keep going until I tell you, then pull off."

I nod, and drive, glancing at Hawk. We've gone almost half a mile further when he taps my shoulder and I pull the car off the road into a cut out in the corn next to the road, driving almost to the edge so the car won't be visible. I turn everything off and we're bathed in black.

"Give it a minute for our eyes to adjust."

I nod, watching the world slowly paint itself back into being in silver tones. There are so many stars out here, a star field so vibrant and alive it's like the sky is on fire. It's the only light this far out. We're in Amish country now, the only man-made lights are the yellow glow of lamps on the farm back there and the far distant lights of Paradise Falls, like a hint of a sunrise. Far in the distance, the red warning lights on the bridge towers blink-blink, blink-blink, and the yellow cables glow bright in the night. Hawk opens his door and steps out.

When I rise from mine, he takes my hand. His hand his huge, mine disappearing in his grip, and his skin is rough, calloused, like hard and well worn leather. It's funny how I feel when he clasps my hand. He makes me feel soft, if that makes any sense at all.

"Stay close."

I nod, though I'm not sure how well he can see me.

Like a hawk, probably. Ha, ha.

He almost pulls me along as we walk. I plant my feet carefully, trying to avoid a rut or a dip in the side of the road as the lights bob closer with every step. It's an Amish farm, all right. A big one. A ma.s.sive farmhouse stands well away from the road, and there are stables, a barn nearly as big as the house itself, and more outbuildings.

Not a single strand of wire moves between them, and the only light comes from lamps and candles, and there's not much of that. We draw near to wear Tom turned off and Hawk stops, squeezing my hand. He searches through something, then finds a narrow track in the corn.

I move through, wincing as corn stalk leaves sc.r.a.pe over my skin. As we get closer, I hear a distinct, rhythmic chugging noise. Hawk must hear it too, he stops and his jaw clenches as he listens. He nods and pulls me along, turning so we step out of the corn, away from the entrance to the barn.

There's something off.

"Look at the lights," I whisper.

There's something bright in the barn, the light slipping through knife-thin gaps in the wooden walls and crawling out from under the ends of the planks, along the ground. More in gaps under the roof. The whole inside must be brightly lit. Hawk swings wide around it, pulling me with him. The rhythmic noise only grows louder as we get closer.

It sounds like an engine.

Hawk crouches behind the barn, and I slip down beside him. He presses his face close to the wood and pulls back sharply.

"Look."

He shuffles aside and I peer through the gap in the boards.

I, uh, wasn't expecting that.

It looks like a science lab, not a barn. They even have those black-topped tables, like the science labs where I did my undergraduate work. There must be two dozen people inside, all dressed like Amish, except they're wearing gas masks and hoods over their heads. The chugging is from what I think is a really big diesel generator, wired up to bright halogen lights that make the inside of the barn bright as day.

There's a really strong chemical smell, too. Vats of chemicals, the whole works. Tom is standing at the front of the barn, talking with the guy he met earlier today- Eli. I can't hear anything they say, their words drowned out by the generator. Tom appears pleased with himself, smiling a Cheshire cat smile while Eli, the man he met this morning, talks, holding his suspenders in his hands like he's in a Norman Rockwell painting.

The two move through the barn doors and outside, and I pull back and glance at Hawk. He nods at me and I tip my chin in the direction they were headed, and we work around the barn.

"Impressive facility," Tom's voice drifts across the open s.p.a.ce between the outbuildings. "This is a large operation."

"We've been supplying to the Leviathans for over a year now, since their previous connection was shut down."

"Now you'll supply my business partners. You'll need more facilities like this, one operation isn't going to be enough."

"What are they making?" I whisper, to Hawk.

"Methamphetamine, I think," he murmurs. "Stay low, and stay quiet."

Something scuffs behind me. A long shadow pa.s.ses along the dirt, following the way we came alongside the barn. Hawk doesn't waste a second, he grabs my arm and pulls me back, straight from the barn into the corn. The sounds of the stalks sc.r.a.ping are like thunder in my ears. The footsteps quicken and through the leather sharp leaves and stalks I see an Amish guy walking along with a freaking shotgun, peering into the corn. He's heading our way.

Hawk tugs my wrist, and I follow behind him as he tries to thread silently through the corn. I feel a sharp pain on my arm and suck in a breath, then see red trickling down my skin. One of the leaves cut me. Hawk veers towards the road, hunched low. I fall beside him and stop.

The Amish guy is behind us, walking through the corn. He stops, and lifts a leaf. My blood is quite black in the moonlight.

He moves with purpose, turning the shotgun to carry it pointed forward instead of across his body, stopping to sweep it around every time he steps between rows of corn. Hawk pulls me to him and ducks low as the gunman walks down between the rows, scanning, eyes sliding everywhere in the dark. He has one of those masks around his neck. He draws nearer, his every step hammering loud in my ears.

Then he stops and calls out, back towards the barn. We both look at the same time and see two more come running out, toting shotguns. Tom and Eli walk around the side of the barn and stop, staring fixed into the corn.

Oh s.h.i.t.

"Let's go," Hawk whispers in my ear.

He pushes through a row of corn and heads fast down the row, still bent double, and I dart along behind him. The farmers are spreading out in the corn, each taking a row, and when they don't spot us, they move to the next one. There's five now, maybe more. It's only a matter of time until they spot us.

It's only half a mile or so to the car but it feels a million miles away. At this rate we'll never make it. As I glance over my shoulder, one of the farmers steps into our row, spots us, and starts running, shouting.

"f.u.c.k it," Hawk barks, "Run! Go!"

He stands up and pulls me along with him, running faster than I thought he even could. I keep trying to look back over my shoulder as I look forward, hoping I don't hook my foot somewhere in these ruts and break my ankle.

Hawk crashes through a crow of corn, and comes out covered in dirt and cuts. He pulls me behind him but it doesn't matter, the farmer is on us. I can see my car in the distance, parked along the edge of the road, the dull blue finish almost black at night, picking up a sheen from the stars.

Not far. I run, and behind me the report of the shotgun is like thunder. He either fired up in the air, or missed. We break into the open and the farmer sprints up onto the road and comes at us shockingly fast, then slows and brings the gun to his shoulder.

A weird noise cuts through the night still, a kind of whoop-whoop sound, like something small moving really fast, and whatever it is whips around the farmer's legs. There's a shocking crack as his knees bend funny, all out of angles, and he goes down in a heap on the road. Shouting, he grabs the shotgun and rolls over with a grunt, and then the handle of a knife appears in his shoulder, the short blade buried in the meat of his joint.

His right arm goes rigid and his fingers open, and out of nowhere a whipcord thin figure all in black runs out into the road and kicks it out of his hands. It goes flying and sc.r.a.pes across the blacktop. More voices are shouting behind, and lanterns now, too. The black-clad figure turns to us.

"Get in the car and drive. That way!"

I blink, shocked to hear a woman's voice. I look at the car out of instinct, and when I turn back, she's gone, like she just melted into the dark. Hawk doesn't waste any time. He s.n.a.t.c.hes the keys from my hand and I climb into the pa.s.senger's side as he starts it up, throws it in gear and floors it.

The, ah, takeoff is not very impressive. It throws me back into my seat a little as the front wheel chirps. Hopefully with the lights off, the five Amish men in the road behind us can't see our license plate or make out the type of car we're driving. Hawk glances back and sets his gaze grimly on the road.

"I knew this was a bad idea," I blurt out.

He gives me a sour look and pushes the accelerator down to the floor. We're not doing forty-five anymore, more like eighty.

Then something big and black blasts past us like we're standing still. Hawk slams the brakes as whatever it is spins out in the road, skidding sideways to a stop.

I lean forward.

It's actually hard to see in the dark. It's a car, but not like any car I've ever seen. It looks like some kind of exotic sports car, but more like a kid's idea of what one looks like than a real one. The tires are too big, too k.n.o.bby, almost like they're meant for off-roading.

The body sits up a little, too high from the ground and the body panels are all flat and angular, painted a dull mat black that seems to drink up all the light instead of bounce it back. Most of the front and back end is open struts, no body work, and it doesn't have doors; as far as I can tell, the top slides open. Then it does, and the same person from before hops out and runs over to the car.

She yanks the black face mask over her head and shakes out short, sweat-slick red hair.

"Follow me," Jennifer barks. "We need to get off the road."

Hawk Now The... thing in front of me starts up again and starts rolling, more slowly now. I keep glancing back, expecting to see headlights, but none appear, and I let out a long, slow breath. Alexis is clutching her arm, trembling. I grab her hand and squeeze, and she looks over at me and rests her head on my shoulder.

"Are you hurt?"

"Just my arm," she sighs. "G.o.d that was close. We shouldn't have done that."

I choke the wheel with my other hand. Maybe she's right, but I can't get what I just saw out of my head. My father talking to an Amish man running a freaking meth lab in his barn. The whole thing is so d.a.m.n surreal. I feel like I'm driving through a dream. Cruising down the highway following... I'm not sure it's a car. It doesn't have a license plate. It looks like some weird off-roading hybrid of a Jeep and a Lamborghini. It has a turn signal, though, and it trips and starts blinking. I slow down, wondering where we're supposed to go when I spot a dirt track.

It's slow going in Alexis' Honda. She sits up a little, but keeps her chin propped on my shoulder. The point of her chin digs into the muscle a little but I don't care, she can do that all night if she wants. I can smell her every time I breathe. The car bounces around us as I slowly work it over ruts and b.u.mps in the dirt track, the vehicle in front of us deftly sliding over them like they're not even there.

It feels like an hour crawling along, though we can't have gone very far. Finally a road appears ahead, and the odd machine turns off, heading south again. After a minute or so of driving, I realize where we are, another country road that tangles its way north from town. Alexis sits up as we pull off yet again, turning across the oncoming lane and into a gas station parking lot. The black machine slips around the back and pulls right into a work bay, and the engine cuts off. The top slides back and the driver vaults out, landing lightly on her feet, though I see a twinge in her face and she still has a bit of a limp.

I kill the Honda's motor and step out.

"What the h.e.l.l were you doing?" Jennifer demands.

"What are you doing?" Alexis snaps back.

"I thought you were a teacher," I say, eyeing her.

She's wearing tactical gear, and not wanna-be mall ninja c.r.a.p. A thin, light Kevlar vest, expensive looking boots, a neoprene breathable suit that covers her from head to toe, and a web vest full of gear. There's a pistol on her left hip and another one tucked on her right shoulder, and she's wearing a sleek backpack I presume to be filled with other gear. She sighs and leans on the back of the... car.

"What the h.e.l.l is that?" I nod at the vehicle.

"Oh, this? It's my car."

"That's not a car."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Come inside."

After opening the door with a key, we step inside what was, at some point, an old school gas station with a service bay and a little store inside; now it looks more like some kind of safehouse. There's a couple of cots, a medicine cabinet, some first aid gear, and what I am pretty sure is a gun safe standing in the corner. Jennifer winces as she strips out of her vest and pack, and sits down on one of the cots. Then she flinches as she spots Alexis' arm, and grabs a first aid kit from the cabinet.

"Let me look at that."

Sighing wearily, Alexis sits down as the older woman leans over her arm and tugs her sleeve up.

"You won't need st.i.tches, but I should clean this."

"We can't stay long," Alex insists. "If Tom gets back and sees we're missing..."

"Hush," Jennifer says.

Alexis yelps as the disinfectant touches her wound. Jennifer gives her a look, glances at me and dabs the wound clean while Alexis chews her lip, then spreads a bandage over it.

"You'll live."

"Mind if I ask what you're doing out here?" I ask.

"What are you doing out here?" she shoots back.

I scrub my fingers through my hair. "We followed my father out here to find out what he was doing."

"What did you find?"

"A meth lab in some Amish guy's barn. Unless this is a really f.u.c.ked up dream."

"It's not a dream," she sighs, and pats Alexis' shoulder.

Alexis stands up and moves next to me. "We need to go."

"Not yet," Jennifer says. "What were you two doing following him? Why didn't you call me?"

Alexis sighs. "You're my little sister's English teacher. When you said you'd help, I thought you meant, like, moral support or something. Or your husband could put us up in a hotel. Everybody knows he's got money."

She glances towards the open door and the black monstrosity sitting in the garage beyond.

"Or maybe," Alexis went on, "You'd take whatever I found and go to the police. I didn't expect... this."

"The police aren't going to do anything," Jennifer sighs, rising. "Not any connected to this town. Not unless something changes. No, we'll expose your father-"

"He's not my father," Alexis snaps.

"We'll expose Tom to the authorities, but we need solid evidence. Solid evidence you may have just ruined by tipping them off that someone's looking into it. You've also put yourselves in danger. He's going to be watching both of you closely now, Alexis. He'll suspect you."

"You talk about him like you know him," I say.

She looks at me. "Know your enemy as you know yourself."

"What's your involvement in this?"

"He's tied into other people," Jennifer says, calmly. "A man once told me that if we took him down, the machine would keep turning and another one just like him would take his place. That's Tom. Whatever he told you," she glances at Alexis, "he's just another piece in the machine and it's his turn to sit in the chair."

"So what's the point?" Alexis says, softly. "Maybe we should just run."

"I'll back you if that's your decision," Jennifer nods. "We can keep you safe for a while."

"I don't want to do that," Alexis says, so softly. "I want to help you stop him. I don't want him to be mayor. I don't want this town to be like it was when your father-in-law ran everything."

"She's right," I say, taking her hand. "This is my responsibility, not yours. He's my father. He killed my mother."

She looks at me, at Alexis, back to me.

"If that's how it is, but this isn't amateur hour. I know what I'm doing, you don't."