Scarlet Falls: Hour of Need Part 22

Grant would be carrying a convoy of regrets back to Afghanistan.

"Any idea where we might find Donnie?"

Mac scratched his chin. "I can ask around. I know a guy who might be able to help." He pressed Print. The printer on the credenza chugged, squealed, and spat out a copy of the photo.

"You aren't going to visit someone from your old gang?"

"It's our best shot." Mac frowned.

"Isn't it dangerous?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I'll be fine."

"How do you still know this person is still in your old gang?" Grant couldn't stop his voice from turning parental. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

"I've run into him a couple of times over the years." Indignation filled Mac's tone. "You don't think I'd go back to that life, do you?"

"I'd hope not."

Mac laughed. "Grant, I camp with otters for a living. That's quite a distance from working for a drug dealer."

Grant winced. "I'm sorry. I should trust you."

"We haven't seen each other much in the years since you left." Mac shrugged.

"I know, and I'm sorry about that, too."

"You've been fighting a war. So I'll give you a pa.s.s." His brother s.n.a.t.c.hed the picture from the printer output tray.

But guilt nagged Grant. He could've been around more. He didn't have to take every a.s.signment and move he'd been offered. He'd let his desire to advance in rank take precedence over his family's needs. He'd left Lee to deal with their father's dementia and Mac's foray into crime, once a year swooping in for two weeks like some BFD. When in reality, Lee had been the big f.u.c.king deal, quietly getting unpleasant s.h.i.t done on a daily basis. But it seemed Lee had also fallen prey to the Barrett family weakness: blind ambition.

Mac put a hand on his shoulder. "Really, Grant. It all turned out all right. If you hadn't done the military thing, Dad would have pressured me or Lee into it. Let's face it, neither one of us was army material. Lee was too sensitive, and I was too lazy. You did us a favor by living the old man's dream so we didn't have to."

Mac had a point. Lee could never have shot a man in the face, not even to protect a fellow soldier. It wasn't a fault, just a fact. Lee had believed in people's inherent goodness. No man went to war and came back the same person. Grant would have nightmares for the rest of his life, but combat would have destroyed Lee.

Mac folded the picture in half. "Enough of this touchy-feely c.r.a.p. I have to go. It'll be easiest to find Freddie early in the day."

"I'm going with you."

"I don't know if that's a good idea." Mac scanned Grant from head to toe. "You don't blend it with that crowd. They're an ugly bunch."

"No worries. I've seen plenty of ugly."

"Yeah. I guess you have." Mac shrugged. "I know you're used to giving the orders, but you'll have to follow my lead this time out."

"OK." As if anyone in the family followed Grant's orders anyway. He closed the Internet browser. His Beretta was as heavy on his hip as his current control issues weighed on his mind. Weapons and instability were a bad combination, but the cops hadn't been able to find Donnie Ehrlich. Grant couldn't go back to Afghanistan with his brother's killer on the loose, still a threat to his family. Donnie needed to be stopped. Carson deserved to sleep without nightmares.

Mac tucked the folded picture into his pocket, then ran upstairs for his wallet. Grant ducked into the kitchen. The scent of fresh coffee teased his nostrils. Ellie sipped from a mug as she folded a load of baby laundry.

"You don't have to do that," he said.

"I need to keep busy." She folded the last tiny sock and set the basket aside. The sight of her brightened the darkness inside him. He wanted to scoop her up and take them both to bed. Pathetically, he actually wanted to sleep with her. For some reason, he couldn't get the thought out of his head that his nightmares would be easier to take with her at his side. He had no doubt making love to Ellie would be amazing, but his attraction to her ran deeper than s.e.x. It was a completely foreign feeling for him.

"Coffee?" she asked.

"No, but thanks."

Nan snored on the couch. Hannah came down the stairs and went directly for the coffee pot. She set the baby monitor on the counter.

"Where are the kids?" Grant asked.

"They both fell asleep." Hannah dumped milk into her coffee and downed half the mug. "I feel like I've been run over by the minivan." She'd taken the third baby-walking shift. "Didn't Carson get any sleep last night? He looks beat."

"He crawled in with me about midnight." Grant hadn't minded. The boy had interrupted a nasty nightmare.

"So you didn't get to sleep all night?" Sympathy creased Ellie's face.

"It's all right," Grant said. "I've gone without sleep before."

"But it isn't ideal," Ellie said.

"Mac and I are running to the store," Grant lied. "Need anything?"

Hannah squinted at him in suspicion.

"Milk and bread." Ellie refilled her mug. "And coffee."

"Milk, bread, coffee. Got it." Grant headed for the door. Hannah was right on his tail.

"Where are you really going?" she whispered.

"Just taking a drive."

"Not buying it." Hannah crossed her arms. "You're going after Donnie."

Grant didn't answer.

"I should go with you," she said. "I'm a better shot than Mac."

"You're a better shot than me too, which is why I want you here to protect them." Grant nodded toward the back of the house, where the family was gathered. "One of us has to be with them all the time."

Her mouth twisted into a frown. "I don't like it."

"I know." He kissed her on the cheek. "And that's why I love you."

Her brow creased. Their family wasn't big on emotional p.r.o.nouncements or public-or private-displays of affection, but maybe being so tight-a.s.sed was a mistake. He wished he'd told Lee at least once that he loved him. Now it was too late.

He put a hand on his sister's shoulder. "I trust you to take care of them."

Her head bobbed in a tight nod.

"We'll be back soon." Grant grabbed his jacket from the closet.

His sister's eyes softened with the affection she couldn't vocalize. "You'd better be."

"We will." When this was all over, the Barretts were going to start spending time together whenever possible.

Mac jogged down the stairs into the foyer. "Ready."

"Let's do this." Grant opened the door. He scanned the street before leading the way to his rented sedan. The neighborhood looked quiet.

Mac jerked a thumb toward his SUV. "Would you rather take my truck?"

"No. I don't want anyone to recognize it or us unless it's necessary." Grant slid behind the wheel. "Besides, I paid for the d.a.m.ned rental insurance."

"All right then." Mac got into the pa.s.senger seat.

"Where are we going?"

"Let's try the rail yard first. That's where Freddie's been hanging lately." Mac checked the clip on his 9mm and returned the weapon to his shoulder holster.

They were both quiet while Grant drove across town. He stopped in front of a closed gate marked with Private Property, No Admittance, and other threatening signs. No one paid any attention. The abandoned rail yard had been hosting illegal activities for decades: underage keggers, teenage s.e.x, drug deals, and more. They got out of the car.

Mac pulled a set of wire cutters out of his pocket. "In case I can't find the entrance, we can make our own."

Grant eyed the six-foot chain link barrier topped with three rows of twisted wire. "Make sure the fence isn't hot."

His brother rolled his eyes. "Like this is my first break-in."

"I'm not going to respond to that."

"The electricity on this fence hasn't been live in years." Mac led the way down the fence line. Behind a patch of scraggly bushes, he found a crudely snipped hole in the wire. He tossed the cutters at the fence. No flash or sizzle. The power was off. "See?"

They slipped through, the knee-high weeds brushing the legs of Grant's jeans. Soggy spots squished underfoot, and mud sucked at their boots. They walked between the tracks, rows of cast-aside freight cars forming a tunnel. His skin itched. He could feel eyes on them. Grant crouched to look under the cars. Their blind flank spooked him. Ahead, a thin plume of smoke curled into the overcast sky. They moved past the serviceable cars into the realm of the abandoned. Weeds grew waist-high through the corroded, unused tracks.

"Wait a minute." Grant climbed a ladder on the back of one of the cars. From the roof, he scanned the back of the rail yard. He didn't see anyone, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He returned to the ground. "You sure we should just walk in like this? I'd feel better if we had Hannah and a sniper rifle covering us."

"It'll be OK." Mac kept walking. "This is Freddie's realm. He owes me. I guarantee someone's been watching us since we went through the fence. If Freddie wanted to kill us, we'd already be dead."

"That is not a comforting thought." Adrenaline warmed Grant's body, and nerves jittered up his spine. What if they were ambushed? What if this Freddie guy Mac claimed owed him one decided to cancel his debt with a bullet? Sweat soaked Grant's back. He unzipped his jacket to let the heat out, and to give him better access to his weapon.

Mac stopped, slapping his arm. "You should have left the gun in the car."

"No way." Grant followed his brother over a set of tracks. "This isn't the first time I've met with people of questionable loyalty. I'll be fine." Meetings with Afghan tribal leaders had been dicey. Allegiances were hard to predict and could shift as quickly as a dust storm. But Grant wasn't feeling like his usual disciplined self.

"We will be significantly outnumbered. Drawing your weapon might get us both killed."

Discarded cars lined up like vertebrae. A dog barked and a chain rattled. Two men leaned out of the rusted door of a black car. Next to the opening, smoke and flames swirled out of a barrel. One of the men wore motorcycle boots and a leather jacket. The other was decked out in cargo pants and a black zip-up. Their accommodations suited the homeless, but the men appeared fit and well-fed rather than indigent.

"Do you know them?" Grant asked quietly.

Mac shook his head. "No."

The two men jumped down, their shoulders squared, backs straight, and postures aggressive.

Leather Man hung back and let his buddy take the lead. From under a black knit cap pulled low on his brow, the leader eyed Grant and Mac with suspicion. The men moved apart, covering Grant and Mac from both sides.

"You want something?" the leader asked, his tone suggesting they should say they were lost, then get the f.u.c.k out of there before they got hurt.

"Maybe," Mac said. "Is Freddie around?"

Grant let Mac take point on the conversation. He stepped away from his brother to cut off the flanking maneuver and keep a collapsed freight car at his back. No one was sneaking up on them.

The leader leaned forward and tilted his head. "You know Freddie?"

"I do." Mac kept his gaze on the leader. "Tell him Mac is here to see him."

Interest glimmered. Grant scanned their surroundings. The hairs on his neck waved in a bats.h.i.t frenzy. He could feel the weight of other eyes on him. They shouldn't be out in the open while the enemy had cover. His hand twitched, but pulling his weapon was the wrong move. He had no idea how many armed men were watching. d.a.m.n it. He shouldn't have let his brother talk him into this. They were in the middle of nowhere. Two shots and a shovel, and no one would ever find their bodies.

The leader turned and went back to the freight car. Two minutes later, he reemerged. The man following him was at least six foot six with a heavily muscled body that had to weigh three hundred pounds, none of them fat. A mix of blond and gray hair fell from a receding hairline to his shoulders. His bushy mustache and scraggly beard matched.

He strode toward Mac without hesitation. Mac's eyes clouded with anxiety for the first time. Grant's lungs locked down. He curled his hand into a fist to remind himself not to go for his weapon.

"Mac!" The giant enveloped him in a bear hug. With one hand still on Mac's shoulder, Freddie's gaze shifted to Grant and darkened. "Who the f.u.c.k is that?"

"My brother," Mac said, relief softening his features.

"Brother, huh? I've met your brother. This isn't him." Freddie jerked a thumb in Grant's direction. "He looks like a cop."

"You met Lee. This is my other brother." Mac shook his head. "Grant's military. Been in Iraq and Afghanistan."

Freddie nodded, his suspicion morphing into something else. Respect? "Man, thanks for your service."

And that was the absolute last thing Grant expected to hear. "Uh, you're welcome."

"Let's go somewhere more private." Freddie looped an arm around Mac's shoulders and steered him past the barrel fire to the rail car. They hoisted themselves inside. The interior had been fitted out with discarded upholstered furniture. A makeshift table held ziplock bags of pot and white powder. Two guys with a.s.sault rifles lounged behind the tables. A third man, nearly as large as Freddie, counted bags and stuffed them into a duffel bag. His blond hair was cut in a razor-sharp style that could have graced the cover of Esquire. Instead of the leather look favored by the rest of Freddie's men, this man wore European casual: dark jeans and a white shirt open at the neck. Though they were dressed as complete opposites, this man had to be related to Freddie. His son, Grant bet.

He looked up as they entered. A smile split his face. "Mac!"

"Rafe, how the h.e.l.l are you?" Mac gave Rafe a shoulder-slapping, one-armed man hug.

Grant looked away. He had no idea Mac had been involved with a drug dealer of this scale. Freddie had said he'd met Lee. Looked like Lee had kept the truth from Grant.

Mac dropped into a chair, far too comfortable for Grant's comfort.

Freddie frowned from Grant to the drug display. "You sure he's not a cop?"

"Positive," Mac said.