Chapter 52

Joel Satie was already in his vehicle, speeding toward Dawson Ridges.

He’d been investigating for weeks now. His sister Hettie had helped, but mostly, it had been painstaking work, following up lead after lead.

Tonight, it had all come together. He had a good idea who was responsible for all the shit out at Dawson Ridges.

He’d tossed off a quick call to Dawson, and it had gone to voicemail. No matter. He’d jumped in his truck because this information, and what could happen, was deadly.

Seemed one of the men on Dawson’s team had had records covered up. It hadn’t been easy to find, because he was living under an assumed name. But the original name—Duke Berringer—made his skin crawl.

The guy had been in and out of psychiatric facilities for years. Deemed low risk at first, he’d escaped numerous times. And by the time they caught up with him, each time, he had a job, a room, and people that thought he was aces and found him responsible. They trusted him with personal and commercial secrets, had allowed him into their inner circles.

Duke was always yanked back to the same type of facility, but as time went on and nasty things were reported as occurring in each of the locations where he’d lived for those short periods, sometimes much later, an astute doctor had noted all the connections, and she’d started a file. What she hadn’t liked was that the mayhem had gotten progressively worse. More serious, then more violent. First, to the actual buildings and businesses, then it had escalated to bodily injury. And it had always been carefully planned.

The damn file had grown to a burgeoning size and she’d kept collecting data. Then Duke Berringer absconded, once again, some five years ago. And this time, no one had been able to find him. Until now.

Because Duke Berringer was Kelvin Kirby. And he was living in a trusted position as one of the long-term hands at Dawson Ridges.

Joel shut his headlights off and deliberately turned off the long driveway into the ranch. He didn’t drive in through the welcoming posts and the wooden banner at the official entrance to the spread. Instead, he parked a way off, under the cover of brush and the pines. Then he made his way toward the main buildings.

The ranch was dark except for a dim light on in what he assumed was the kitchen of the main house, and a dimmer light, barely on, in the main barn. Not the look of a spread that was in robust health, full of people and hands.

Oh. Today was that build, out at the Foundation. No wonder the place is deserted. Shit. His heart pounded harder.

Perfect timing for a coup de grace.

* * *

Kelvin was arranging the gas cans into a circle. He’d gone silent. Molly tried to engage him in conversation, but after a bout of anger where he yelled uncontrollably at her and scared her even more, he now ignored her. He seemed to have descended into a place all his own.

Damn. Why hadn’t she brought her cell phone with her? She might have been able to call someone, notify Cole somehow…

“All done.” He came and stood in front of her, a satisfied look on his face. “All I need to do is light that,” he pointed toward a conglomeration of items at the barn’s gaping entrance. “Then I light the one at the main house, and everything happens. You first, then the house. Boom! Pity you won’t get to it see it all go up.”

His face brightened. “Or maybe I’ll switch it up. Let you see the end of your home and your stupid dogs, then take care of you, after. It’s a thought. I’ll sit down here for a moment, and we’ll talk it out together. How’s that? Let you have a say in who dies first. We’ll work through all the gory details together. Right? I’m so glad I thought of it because it’s… ”

A dark block of a body struck him from the right, and shoved him forcibly away from Molly Dawson. They toppled over, rolling onto the ground. And then the fight started.

They fell into the cans, which scattered, and gas poured. The intruder jumped on top of Kelvin, punched him in the face. Over, and over. Molly winced, even as she yelled and cheered the man on. Kelvin screamed, grappled with the man, managed to roll them over so he was on top and he got off a couple of blows into the challenger’s face.

But the one on the bottom was not outdone. A well-aimed kick at Kelvin’s groin and he crumpled, rolled off and away. The intruder scrambled up, grabbed a chain from a rusty nail, wrapped it around the wounded man’s feet and locked it with a gizmo pulled from his jeans. Then he yanked handcuffs from another pocket, encircled Kelvin’s wrists, and snapped them shut. He stood off, stared at his prisoner, then at her.

Her heart yammered in her throat. Was this the cavalry, or simply a better bad guy? She kept her mouth shut.

“You Molly Dawson?”

She nodded.

“Let’s get you undone.”

He strode toward her. She didn’t want to show fear, but couldn’t stop herself from shrinking from him, nonetheless.

He scrutinized her. “Name’s Satie. Joel Satie. P.I. Your son…”

“….contracted him to find out who the hell was trying to rip Dawson Ridges from us.”

Cole didn’t afford Kelvin a glance but stalked to her side. He touched her tied-up hands gently, and a pained look came into his eyes. Then he started cutting through the restraints, carefully, but as fast as possible.

He gave Joel a hard look, snapped into Delta North Special Ops leader mode, barked out an order. “The gas. Cover it up. All of it.”

Joel’s eyes widened, then he followed Cole’s gaze. He grabbed a shovel and covered the flammable trail Kelvin had spread with dirt, took care of the rest of the gas that had leaked from the cans, too.

Cole cut the last restraint, and they fell from her wrists. The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, crushed to his chest. “Ma. Ma.”

“Son. We didn’t know…”

“We didn’t.”

He held her for long moments, then extended her gently to arm’s length. He no doubt saw the tears starting to trail down her face. She was determined not to cry, not to upset him, but hell. They’d leaked out.

“He’s sick, Ma. We didn’t know.” He brushed a bit of the moisture off her cheek, and she felt the love he had for her. It was simply overflowing.

Then, words failed him. He pulled her to his chest once again, pressed her tight against him. Didn’t let go.

“He’ll have a lot to answer for,” Joel said. “Constable Burke is on his way.”

“I’m beholden to you, Satie.” Cole said, still holding her. “We all are. You and us…we’re blood, from this day forward.”

Joel blinked, then a curious expression of surprise, and pleasure, streaked across the face that had been messed up. There was blood, a smear of gas that reflected in the light, and dirt. Now, he was lost for words.

But he came up with something, a boyish charm exuding from him. “Bronze says it’s been a slow night. Needed something to jazz it up.” He offered a smile.

“That kind of jazz?” Molly Dawson leaned on her son’s arm, then adjusted her middle-aged bones, and stood tall. “I can definitely do without.”