Grey Areas 3 & Grey Areas 4 (Box Set)

By Brad Carl

Get Grey Areas 3 & 4 together and save money!

Barrett Greyson continues to try and make his way back home to Colorado to see his dying father, but Randy and his mother have other plans for him. Sergeant Jackson has found himself caught in the middle of DEA Agent Delia DeMarco's disappearance as well as a cocaine ring and a murder no one is supposed to know he committed. DeMarco's twin brother, FBI Agent Chase Sheehan, has made his way to Gable, Iowa, to find his sister. During his search he gets way more than he bargained for. In the meantime, Claire and Maddison are both dealing with white lies and the small fortune that got away as well as two more missing persons: Chum and Fast Eddie. The story picks up where it left off in Grey Areas 2: Ghosts of Winter and railroads ahead with each page turn, leading to an ending you will not see coming. Be sure to read Grey Areas and Grey Areas 2: Ghosts of Winter before enjoying Grey Areas 3: The Wrong Side of Right and Grey Areas 4: Smoke and Mirrors & White Lies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brad Carl
• Release date: Apr 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370674954

Brad Carl

Brad Carl is a former radio personality who still earns part of his living by doing voiceovers. Growing up in the Midwest, reading and writing were passions of his for many years. It wasn't until recently that he decided to release his work to the world. Brad is also a successful businessman, networker, and speaker. He currently resides in Kansas City with his wife, Kristi, and daughter, Presley. The family also has a dog named Ali.

Book preview

GREY AREAS

Books 3 & 4

(Box Set)

BY BRAD CARL

Copyright © 2015 Brad Carl

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

Cover art adaptation by Matt Downing Photography

Copy editing by Free Range Editorial

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

Thank you so much for buying Grey Areas - Books 3 & 4 (Box Set).

Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about Grey Areas - The Saga.

Thanks again for supporting my work and spreading the word.

—Brad

I’d like to extend a massive thank you to both Brandon Nichols and Matt Downing for their help. They have been using their brains and abilities to make me look good and I am forever grateful.

GREY AREAS

(BOOK 3)

THE WRONG SIDE

OF RIGHT

I

What the hell are you doing? Barrett shouted across the restaurant.

Calling your bluff! Randy hollered back. He ended the exclamation with what almost sounded like a question mark. Barrett watched Randy closely as he held the gun in the air like an Old West outlaw who was staring down his nemesis.

The restaurant was full of gasps, tears, and shrieks. Barrett remained frozen near the exit.

Shut up! Randy screamed, shaking his head back and forth like a father who had reached his limit with his children. Not a peep! No one move!

Barrett wondered if he was speaking to the people in the building or the voices in his head. He didn’t care enough to stick around to find out, so he made another move for the door. This time, before he was able to push the door open, Barrett heard gunfire and more screams. Turning his head ninety degrees, he witnessed Randy holding the gun out away from his body. A middle-aged woman was on her knees about twenty feet from the big man. She was crying and begging for her life.

Don’t kill me, she said, sobbing. Randy ignored her and refocused his attention across the restaurant on Barrett.

I was aiming for her shin, he explained, but I missed.

Still stunned at Randy’s disregard for drawing outrageous amounts of attention to himself, Barrett did not respond. Instead he glared at the giant Goldilocks. He could see Nora observing the scene as if she were sitting in a theater, watching a play.

Without warning, Randy grabbed a small boy from his seat next to his family. The toddler immediately began to cry. The boy’s mother screamed hysterically and his father stood up and began to make a move towards Randy.

Sit down, Papa Bear, Randy instructed him, poking the gun in the little boy’s ribs He held the child with his left arm, wrapping it around his waist. Do you want to see how far I’ll go?

Randy glanced at the door again, making sure Barrett could see the gun.

Put the kid down, Barrett urged.

Get over here, Randy retorted.

Why? So we can pay the bill before we leave? Put the kid down and let’s go.

It wasn’t ideal. But there hadn’t been much lately that was. Going back to Gable hadn’t even been on Barrett’s radar. The only saving grace he could think of was that he’d have a couple of hundred miles to think about how to work it to his advantage.

Fine, Randy replied. He handed the boy back to his parents, keeping the gun in a defensive position.

The poor kid couldn’t be more than two years old, Barrett thought. Now he might be scarred for life.

Come on, Mom, Randy told the old woman. He pushed her wheelchair away from the table as Nora grabbed the newspaper, never once letting his eyes stray from Barrett. It was hard to believe they had been eating and chatting only moments earlier.

As Randy and Nora approached the front door, Barrett spoke again. "Have you given any thought to how we’re not going to get spotted driving a big yellow school bus through the Midwest? You know, now that you’ve made us stick out like a sore thumb?"

Randy stopped pushing the wheelchair. Without completely turning around, in an effort to keep an eye on Barrett, he strolled back to the father of the boy he had briefly snatched.

Give me your car keys, Randy told him.

What? the man asked.

Jesus Christ, man. Do I have to shoot someone to…?

Randy fired the handgun. The restaurant patrons gasped and screamed again. The kid’s father looked down at the floor.

Sometimes my body gets ahead of my brain, Randy explained. You’re lucky; I missed again. Looks like you were close to having one of your little piggies go to market. Now give me your keys unless you want me to turn your entire foot into a slab of bacon.

The man obeyed and handed Randy his keys. He looked back down at the hole in the floor, next to his left foot.

Here, Randy said. He dangled the bus keys in front of the man’s face. It’s the least I can do. A trade-in.

#

The house was dark with the exception of one dim lamp on an end table. In the reclining chair next to it was Jackson, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. He held his gun in his right hand. It rested over his heart, making it look like he was pledging allegiance to…something.

After receiving the phone call from Pablo, Jackson had called his wife to check on things. Not wanting to alarm her any more than he already had when he sent her away, he mentioned nothing about the latest events. Even so, Caroline Jackson knew something was going on. This kind of stuff didn’t happen to a small town police officer every day.

When Jackson had told her to pack up and take the kids to her mother’s in Minnesota, he was elusive as to the reason. But his wife hadn’t objected. Within thirty minutes, Mrs. Jackson was on the road with their children.

He thought they were safe. Until now.

What the hell did I do to deserve this? Jackson thought.

Worse yet, what was he going to do now? Killing Chum was one thing. He did what he thought he had to do to protect his family. And Chum was dead any way you sliced it. That’s how Jackson justified it to himself, anyway.

But now DeMarco was gone. She was dead as far as he knew. And these guys already knew where his family was. For this, Jackson could blame no one but himself. He should have been more careful. He could’ve swept the car for a tracking device or made sure they weren’t followed. But he had been so wrapped up in the entire predicament and getting them out of town, he plumb forgot what the protocol should’ve been. Not that he was accustomed to acting like a special agent, but his protective service training in the military had taught him how to do it all. Instead, Jackson had neglected to recall or use any of it.

And now what was going to happen? What were these guys going to try to get him to do next? Whatever it ended up being, how could he not do it? They’d kill Caroline and the kids. He couldn’t go to Chief Perkins. All he’d want to do is call the FBI and DEA. Besides, going to his boss would mean he’d have to tell him what had happened. Everything. It just didn’t seem like a good idea right now. While Jackson wanted all the help he could get to protect his family, he wasn’t ready to confess those sins right now: murder and kidnapping a federal agent, then allowing her to be abducted by the cartel, who did God knows what to her.

No, there wasn’t much more Jackson could do right now other than wait. Wait for further instructions and sink deeper into the muck he hadn’t asked for.

Jackson continued to contemplate his limited options while his brain fired but his body went numb. He felt as if he’d fallen asleep for the night with his eyes open. Before he knew it, the ceiling he’d been staring at for hours was flooded with light from a cold winter sunrise. It was time to go to work.

#

Chase had rented a car after his plane landed in Omaha and driven as far as Adler before settling down at a hotel for the night. Following a continental breakfast the next morning, he checked out and drove another twenty minutes north to Gable.

His original intent was to drive into town and scope things out, inconspicuously. But before he made it there he noticed the police station along the highway. Chase pulled the white sedan into the lot and walked through the door.

Morning, stranger, Chief Perkins called from his desk. What can we do for you?

I’m looking for someone, Chase said.

Okay, Perkins replied, waiting for more information.

My sister, Chase explained.

Your sister, got it, Perkins confirmed. I didn’t catch your name.

Sheehan. Chase Sheehan, Chase stated, moving forward to the man’s desk. Perkins stood up and offered his hand.

I’m Chief Nathan Perkins, he said. And around here somewhere is my lone wolf sergeant. Excuse me a second.

Chase nodded and took a step back. Chief Perkins turned and hollered down the hall towards the restrooms.

Jack! Company!

Jackson appeared from around the corner. Chief Perkins had given him grief when he arrived late for work and looking like he had tied one on the night before.

After the introductions, the conversation continued.

You said you’re looking for your sister, Perkins reiterated.

That’s right, Chase confirmed, reaching into his pocket. I should also mention I’m with the FBI.

He handed his credentials to Perkins, who glanced at them before handing them back. Jackson didn’t seem fazed. He was still in a daze following a sleepless night of spinning wheels and lucid nightmares.

Welcome to Gable, Agent Sheehan, Perkins greeted him more formally. How did your sister go missing?

Well, I didn’t say she was missing, Chase elaborated. I just haven’t been able to reach her, which is kind of strange. She’s supposed to be here in your town.

Sorry about that. I just assumed since you were a fed and— Perkins interrupted himself. What’s her name?

Delia. DeMarco. Delia DeMarco.

Jackson’s heart skipped a beat.

Agent DeMarco? Perkins confirmed. Well, yeah. She’s here. She’s working on the — the Chum — err — Tom Chumansky case. He’s slippery.

Chase nodded. Any idea where she is now? When was the last time you had contact with her?

The chief massaged his chin. As I recall, he began, she arrived late the other day.

The other day? Chase asked. Which ‘other day,’ exactly?

Perkins looked to his sergeant for help.

I didn’t know she was here, Chief, Jackson informed him.

Oh? I guess I didn’t get around to telling you, Perkins said. Yes, that’s it. I apologize for the confusion, Agent Sheehan. She showed up late Saturday and contacted me. Because it was over the weekend, I got sidetracked and never got around to telling anyone else.

How did your conversation with her go? What did she say? Chase asked.

Perkins sat down at his desk as if it would help him recall his phone call with Agent DeMarco. She called me on my cell phone, Perkins elaborated. He picked up his phone from his desk and began scrolling through the history.

It was eight fifteen Saturday night, he said. She said she had come to help with the investigation and that she’d be in touch. She also said she was staying in Adler at the Stone Creek Inn.

Jackson listened but remained silent.

I assume you gave her an update? Chase inquired.

Yes, of course, Perkins agreed.

What did you tell her?

What’s going on here, Agent Sheehan? I feel like I’m being interrogated.

The chief opened his hands on the desk, indicating to Chase he had nothing to hide.

My sister and I are very close. She hasn’t responded to any of my attempts to contact her in over twenty-four hours. That never happens.

I see, Perkins said. Well, I think I’ve told you everything I know. But we’re here to help. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. Maybe in the middle of some surveillance?

Maybe, Chase said. But it’s highly unusual that she hasn’t even returned a text message.

There are a lot of reception gaps out here in rural Iowa, Jackson added. Depending on her service provider and location, it’s possible she hasn’t even received your messages yet.

Chase thought about this.

That’s always a possibility, Chief Perkins agreed. But we still want to help. We’ll figure this out together, Agent.

"So what is the latest in the ongoing investigation? What did you tell her?" Chase asked.

Well, there wasn’t much to tell, Perkins said. We follow Chumansky wherever he goes. Try to follow his pal Eddie Clark, too.

Jackson jumped into the conversation. Mostly he goes to his stores and new home in Adler and his ex-wife’s house here in Gable. He hasn’t done much else for weeks.

Why aren’t you watching him now? Chase asked them.

The two uniformed men looked at each other.

Office Hodge should be on that right now, Jackson told them.

Does he know Delia is here?

Perkins reacted with a puzzled look. I guess not, he said. I mean, unless she happened to run into him. He has met her before, so it’s possible.

So no one has seen my sister?

I guess not, Perkins said. I’m sorry. I’m sure she’s here somewhere. I know how determined she was to catch Chumansky in the act of…doing something.

Chase took what seemed like his first breath of the conversation before speaking again. Would you mind getting the Stone Creek Inn on the phone? I’d like to find out if she checked in.

After confirming that Delia had, indeed, checked in to the Stone Creek Inn around nine o’clock Saturday evening, Chase decided it would be best to drive back to Adler and begin his search there. Retracing Delia’s steps made the most sense. Since they were both federal agents, it was easy for Chase to do this. But being twins brought an extra edge of understanding that was impossible to explain to people. There was a shared sixth sense between the pair, something that ran so deep they rarely felt the need to talk about it because they just knew.

Chase thanked Perkins and Jackson for their help. The men exchanged phone numbers and agreed to inform each other if they heard from Delia. As Chase drove away from the station, Perkins received a phone call. Jackson watched the departing car through the window, shaking his head.

#

What’s been going on lately? Dr. Hammond asked Claire. How have you been feeling?

Still crazy, Claire admitted. She was already lying flat on her back in the recliner.

You’re not crazy, Hammond assured Claire as she wrote something in her notebook.

Okay. Define ‘crazy’ for me.

The psychologist paused. Let’s look it up in the dictionary, she suggested. Dr. Hammond pulled her laptop closer and typed quickly on the keyboard. Google is your friend, she quipped. Claire continued to stare at the ceiling as she always did during these therapy sessions. The dictionary defines the word ‘crazy’ as mentally deranged, impractical, and completely unsound. Is that you?

Claire didn’t answer

Are you mentally deranged? Hammond asked.

Define ‘mentally deranged,’ Claire requested.

Hammond typed some more on the keyboard. ‘Derange’ means to upset the normal condition or functioning of something or someone.

There, Claire said. That’s me. I’m crazy.

Um, no. That just means you’re out of sorts.

Whatever. I’m pretty screwed up right now.

The term ‘derange’ often gets used negatively, but when you look at the word you can see it’s derived from the word ‘de-arrange,’ Dr. Hammond explained. You want to tell me why you’re feeling this way?

Claire thought about this before replying. I can try.

I’m all ears, Hammond said, pushing her laptop away and returning to her pen and notebook.

This is all in confidence, right? Claire asked. She considered sitting up but didn’t want to run the risk of losing her train of thought by seeing Dr. Hammond’s nervous eye tic.

Of course, Hammond replied.

Okay, Claire said with a big sigh as she began to tell the story of the past several days. She detailed how Maddison had invited her to dinner and how she had asked for Claire’s help getting to the hidden money. She told the therapist how she had lied to Sergeant Jackson for money and how now it seemed Chum and Eddie were both missing. Dr. Hammond did not ask questions as her patient spoke. Instead she only scribbled notes and glanced in her direction. When Claire was finished, Dr. Hammond set her notebook and pen down.

That’s quite a story, she uttered. How does that make you feel?

Claire bolted upright in the recliner without using the lever, causing the back of the chair to smack her even farther forward.

How does it make me feel? she exclaimed, regaining control of her body. "How do you think it makes me feel? This crap hasn’t gone away. It’s still hanging around. It won’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be here. I never asked for this. I haven’t done anything to deserve this!"

Deserve what, Claire?

Claire reached down one side of the chair and grabbed the lever to bring it upright. She pulled the band from her ponytail and let her hair fall to her shoulders. When she finally spoke, she said, Feeling like a victim.

Hammond leaned forward. Are you a victim or are you just feeling like one?

What’s the difference? Claire snapped back.

The difference lies in what happened, Claire, Dr. Hammond said forcefully. She got up from her chair and took two steps in her patient’s direction. Before she continued speaking, she put her hands on her hips. Who are the victims in all of these events we’ve discussed during our sessions? Think about that for a minute.

Claire did as she was told. Leaning forward and looking at the floor, she considered the circumstances of the past few months.

A strong person knows she is not a victim, Hammond said. The word isn’t even in her vocabulary. She pushes forward and perseveres.

Claire looked up at her therapist but said nothing. She didn’t even worry about seeing Hammond’s surprise eyes.

Eddie was shot in the leg. Marty was murdered. Maddison found out her husband was a criminal. What makes you such a goddamn victim? Dr. Sherrie Hammond was clearly annoyed by her client’s pity party.

Am I really paying for this kind of treatment? Claire protested.

Hammond retreated a step before saying more. I’m sorry, Claire, she said. But you’re paying me to help. And I’m trying to do that by telling you the truth.

Doctor and patient took a moment to gather their composure.

You’re not a victim in this, Dr. Hammond said.

Claire looked up and made direct eye contact with her psychologist for the first time in a long time.

Then what am I? What am I feeling? she asked in desperation.

Dr. Hammond reached for her desk chair and wheeled it to where Claire was sitting. She sat down directly across from her before speaking again. I think you’re feeling overwhelmed, Hammond said. And I also don’t think Chum and Eddie were killed or abducted or anything like that.

You don’t?

No, Dr. Hammond continued. It seems far more logical to assume they skipped town with the money.

Claire thought about this while stroking her forehead. I’d agree with you if I hadn’t witnessed the violence I did. It was all about that money.

That is true, Dr. Hammond agreed. And aren’t those criminals in prison now?

She had a point and Claire knew it. Am I just a drama queen?

Hammond shook her head and answered. No. You’re just in a funk right now and still processing what happened this summer. The entire arrangement with Maddison and the money and the missing guys? It’s just compounding things and making it difficult for you to get past it all.

How am I supposed to deal with Maddison? Claire asked. She’s not going to leave me alone. I’m the only other person who knows what happened. Am I supposed to tell her I think her husband and his buddy are lovers and ran off together?

Dr. Hammond smirked at the thought. "Now that’s kind of dramatic, she said. Just leave it open. Don’t tell her you agree and don’t tell her you don’t."

That works — because I don’t know what I believe, Claire remarked.

There is one more thing to consider, Hammond said as she got up from her chair and began to move it back to her desk.

What’s that? Claire asked.

You could go to the police.

Wait a minute. I thought you didn’t believe anything bad has happened.

I don’t, Hammond agreed. But if you need a way to deal with it because Maddison is upset, it might be best to let the pros investigate things.

But we lied to the police, Claire reminded her. I could go to jail.

Sherrie Hammond stood next to her chair and crossed her arms. I’m a psychologist and don’t know anything about the law, she said. "But I’ve watched enough episodes of Boston Legal to know how you should handle this."

Great, Claire said. I’m listening. Should I take notes?

Hammond shook her head.

Wait a minute. Is this covered by my insurance? Claire asked. Are you going to charge me extra?

I should, Dr. Hammond replied with a comforting smile. But I won’t.

II

The heavyset hotel manager swiped the master key card for room 104. When the light turned green he pulled the handle down and pushed on the door just enough to keep it open. He turned to Chase.

It’s all you from here, Agent. The manager looked as if he had just woken up. His black hair was tousled and his white shirt was untucked in the back. Even his gold name tag was hanging sideways from the pocket of his shirt.

Chase reached for his gun and took control of the door. Thanks...Norman, he said with a glance at the name tag.

The sight of Chase’s firearm caused Norman to back away. I-I’m just going to go back to the front desk and make sure everything is okay, he said.

Chase grinned. I’ll let you know if I need backup.

Norman’s big body hustled down the hall in a brisk walk and disappeared around the corner. Chase didn’t know what to expect inside. The chance of there being any danger behind the door was slim. His biggest concern was about what danger had already happened in room 104.

He held the heavy door open with one hand while keeping his gun drawn with the other. As he entered the room, his stomach tied itself in a knot with worry of what he might discover. From his position in the doorway Chase could see nothing on the bed or desk that showed evidence of foul play. He let the door slam behind him and flipped the bathroom light switch. The shower curtain was open, revealing a dry and empty bathtub. The sink was also dry and the counter area surrounding it still contained his sister’s travel essentials including a curling iron, toothbrush, and makeup.

Chase moved to the living area of the hotel room. The bed had clearly been slept in. Delia’s small suitcase lay on top, open. He reached inside and shuffled the clothes and other items around, looking for a sign that might tell him where his twin sister was now.

Before arriving at the Stone Creek Inn, Chase had stopped at the two Mecca Warehouse locations in Adler. His first thought was to possibly find Delia conducting surveillance on Tom Chumansky. When that hunch turned up nothing at the first location, Chase decided to go inside and speak to Chumansky. But no one had heard from or seen him all day. After receiving the same information at the other store, Chase inquired about Chumansky’s right-hand man, Eddie Clark, only to discover he had not come to work either.

Suspicious as it seemed, Chase hoped his sister had simply hit the jackpot and placed both men in federal custody over the weekend. After making a couple of phone calls and doing some quick research on his phone, Chase found this theory to be another lost cause.

He sat down on the edge of the hotel bed and began crunching the facts. Three people were missing, two of them were tied to organized crime, and the other was a federal agent. The fact that Delia had gone this long without making contact with Chase only reinforced his belief that something was wrong. She would never go this long without communicating. It was all tied together — Chase was almost certain of this. But what should he do next? Where was he going to find the answers he needed?

Clark wasn’t married, but Chumansky had a wife, or ex-wife. Chase couldn’t recall for certain the couple’s current status. Heading back to Gable seemed like a good idea. He didn’t have a lot to go on, but he certainly had more information now than what he’d received from the police department earlier in the day. There was no doubt in Chase’s mind that Devling had made the right call by sending Delia to Gable. The investigation by the locals was a disaster, and at this point Chase wasn’t sure whether he should continue to involve them or not.

He took one final glance around the room before closing the door behind him. He was disappointed that the search had yielded minimal results, but he was confident a refueling of his body would help him think more clearly. On the way to Gable earlier that morning he had spotted a restaurant that served authentic Mexican cuisine. At the moment, it sounded perfect.

After retracing Norman’s path down the hall, he turned left and headed out the lobby door. As he passed the front desk he saw that it was empty. Chase assumed the manager was hiding in the back office, more than likely with his fingers on the phone, ready to dial 911 if necessary.

Like that would help, Chase thought. He strolled across the parking lot to his rental car and jumped inside. As he drove away, a blue minivan pulled into the lot from the other side.

#

Barrett sat in the uncomfortable lounge chair in the corner of room 105 inside the warm comfort of the Stone Creek Inn. It was now five o’clock in the afternoon and snow had started to fall in the area. Trying to go to Gable now to find the money would be a worthless move, according to Randy. Instead, he spent more of his prisoner’s money on a hotel room for the threesome. Nora was in her wheelchair in the short entryway by the door. She held the gun tightly in her lap as Randy used the bathroom.

Do you like this? Barrett asked her.

What are you talking about? Nora squawked back.

This, Barrett said. Traveling around the country at your age confined to a wheelchair.

Nora snorted. I do okay.

You do. But is this how you want to spend your —

Just knock it off right now, bub, Nora snarled. I’m not going to be your ticket out of here. I’m in this for the long haul.

Barrett shook his head. I believe it, he said.

Just then the volume of a toilet flush increased as the bathroom door opened and Randy entered the room.

What’s going on in here? he asked. Barrett couldn’t tell if he was mad or just talking louder so he could be heard over the running water.

Nothing, Nora replied. Just the usual poo-poo.

Randy took the gun from his mother and sat on the edge of the twin bed furthest from Barrett. He tapped the gun in his empty hand repeatedly. It was as if Randy were applauding himself.

Are you finally done underestimating me? he asked Barrett. They had hardly spoken since screeching off from the truck stop in the dark red Nissan Altima Randy had received as a trade-in for the bus. Despite being fed up with his captor, Barrett was impressed with Randy’s understanding that he needed to ditch the new car fast. The authorities would be looking for it by make, model, and color. After driving the Iowa back roads for several hours, they finally parked it in a secluded lot in Charles City. From there they wheeled Nora several blocks through the snow- and ice-covered sidewalks to the center of town. Randy had called a local taxi service on the way. The cab met them on a corner, and Randy gave the driver five hundred dollars from Barrett’s money to drive them fifty-five miles south to Waterloo. Once they were dropped off it took Randy another ninety minutes to score a blue Dodge minivan at a local pub. Barrett wasn’t sure if Randy had stolen it or bought it, and he didn’t really want to know. The thought of how much of his money was being wasted away right now was not pleasant. Although fifteen years old, the minivan was in decent shape and drove well. Randy made Barrett drive the back roads until late in the evening when they stopped at a hotel in Iowa Falls.

That was the first night the trio had slept outside of a moving vehicle. Barrett had considered trying to escape while Randy and Nora slept, but he was tired. If he was going to break away it would need to be when he was more focused. The next day they drove all the way to Adler. It only took three and a half hours of drive time to get there, but they had a late breakfast before leaving and stopped for lunch along the way. When they finally arrived in town it was late afternoon and snow flurries were beginning to accumulate. Barrett was surprised Randy had stopped, but figured any delay in getting to Gable was a plus in his book.

Did you need to go batshit crazy the other day? Barrett snarled. What the hell is your problem? There’s probably a multi-state APB out for you now.

Randy chuckled. You did that, pal.

Right. My bad, Barrett said sarcastically. He sat back in the chair and slouched. "So what do