Cold Shadow (Cold Country #2)(75)

         
       
        
"Sometimes it feels too new, but it's not really the same," he said, defending his decision to hide his relationship with Quinn.

"If you say so," she said, casting him a look filled with disappointment. "In this town, I guess, sometimes it's better to keep things quiet than risk the ire of public opinion. Would you boys like something to drink? You both look parched."

"That would be nice," Nathan answered as his phone rang. It was Natalie checking in. He didn't tell her where they were. He kept it short and sweet. She and Quinn were driving around looking for the truck. No luck so far. He disconnected and followed Mrs. Ortiz into the small kitchen. "The house looks lovely. The kitchen needed an upgrade, badly."

"Your father is the kindest man," Mrs. Ortiz said starting the coffee pot. "Coffee or lemonade?"

Half an hour later, Nathan waited for Drew to blast him for wasting time. Drew didn't say a word as they buckled in and headed back out to the highway. Back at the crossroads, Nathan came to a stop and waited. "She didn't need to know, not yet," he said because he was tired of waiting for the censure.

"I agree. It's going to feel like a betrayal if we have to go back with bad news," Drew said.

"I know. I'll accept the responsibility," he sighed. "I hope it doesn't come to that."

"No word from Nat and Quinn in a while," Drew sighed as well. "We should start back toward town. Check the stores and markets again. If we don't find him … "

"If we don't find him, I'll drive to the office and file the missing person report myself," Nathan agreed. He didn't like it. How the hell could someone disappear so completely in just a few hours? He'd been chasing that same question for weeks.

"It's going to wreck your sister," Drew said quietly. "She loves him."

"I know." Nathan checked the clock and his phone. No new messages. He punched in Nat's number and got nothing. He checked his phone for signal. "We're in a dead zone."

"Explains so much," Drew said, pulling his own phone out and checking it for service. "Very dead. I don't even have service."

"Like your phone is better than mine." Nathan turned toward town one more time. "I think I need to get some water and to take a leak. Maybe that gas station is open this time."

"Maybe." Drew fumbled with his phone, turning it around in his hands as if he was trying to find service without looking like he was trying to find service. "How long has the place been open? I mean, the building looks like it's about two seconds from being condemned at the other end. I'm surprised they'd get the county to approve a deli in a building that …  What the hell, Nathan?" 

The hair on the back of Nathan's neck stood on end. He resisted the urge to smooth it as he pressed the accelerator to the floor.





Chapter Twenty




He always loved a Tennessee summer twilight. He drew in a deep homesick breath. The air was heavy and warm but sweet at the same time. He could smell fresh-cut grass and a whip-poor-will calling off in the distance. The sun wasn't down yet, but going. Slowly.

The gravel under his face stung like a bitch. An ant crawled across his nose. "Nathan," he said, his voice coming in a croaked rasping whisper. Nathan didn't answer.

He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the sky through the roof … there shouldn't be a roof … or sky. He woke up. God, his head hurt like … someone had tried to take it off.

"What are we going to do with that one?" He heard a male voice that he didn't recognize. Maybe he did. It wasn't Nathan's voice. "He's a goddamned fed, Victoria."

"Kill him," a female-presumably Victoria-answered. "Or stick him in the meat locker and we'll have some fun with him later."

"We already have one, we don't need two. Last time we had two we almost got caught." The dude wasn't the brains of the operation, that was for damned sure. "And the deputy? That big motherfucker is still out there."

"Then we have to hurry before this one wakes up. Get him inside, and we'll go after the deputy. I got the keys out of the truck. He isn't going anywhere." Victoria had a different accent than he heard around here. More like what he heard up in DC. She sounded more Tidewater than Hillbilly.

Nathan was loose. Drew closed his eyes and thanked God for small favors.

The last thing he remembered was pulling up behind the old row of crumbling brick, the white club-cab truck he'd ridden in tucked inside like it belonged. It didn't belong. He remembered hearing Nathan shout, followed by gunfire …  Oh, God, he'd been shot …  Was he shot?