They were in business.
Just when he was about to go wake up Dylan, he began hearing a calf bawling, and it sounded like it was nearby. His first thought was that the runaways had found a way out of their pen, and he quickly went through the bar to look outside.
It was another longhorn yearling, clearly highlighted beneath a three-quarter moon, standing in the highway, bawling loud and long, trying to find the herd.
As Asher unlocked the door and walked out, he began hearing the ones they’d penned in the nearby pasture beginning to bawl back. That was all the little bull needed to hear. He watched it dart across the highway and clear the ditch before trotting off toward the fence line. Satisfied that since it had found the herd, it wouldn’t go anywhere, and the owners could pick up the little runaway when they came to get the rest. After one last look around the area, he went back inside, then down the hall to where Dylan was sleeping, and gave him a tap on the shoulder.
“Hey, Dylan, your turn to stand watch,” he said.
Dylan threw back the covers and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, then put his boots back on and stood up.
“Anything I need to know?” he asked.
“Just one runaway bull we missed rounding up. It was bawling for the herd. When they began to answer, it ran across the highway toward the pasture they’re in. Nothing more… Oh… I found where the Brandt brothers are living, but that’s info for another day.”
“I’d hate to try hiding anything from you or Gunner. Had you been living in that time, you two would have found Jimmy Hoffa,” Dylan said.
Ash shrugged. “Part of the job. There’s fresh coffee in the pot. I’m going to catch a couple of hours sleep before the party starts. Wake Gunner up around three. Oh…and here’s my gun. Don’t shoot yourself.”
Dylan grinned. “I’ve shot plenty of nail guns. I think I’m good.”
Asher shook his head and went across the hall to his bedroom, kicked off his boots, and went belly down across the bed without bothering to turn back the covers.
Chapter 13
The door between the house and the bar was open when both brothers walked into the living room the next morning. Gunner was standing at the front windows overlooking the highway when he heard them coming up behind him.
“Gut feeling says they’re just minutes out,” he muttered.
“So, you have become psychic overnight?” Dylan asked.
He pointed up. “A chopper has been circling. Ash said there would be a chopper. I am not psychic, but I am observant.”
Asher walked up between them. “It’s go time, brothers.”
“What will they do?” Dylan asked.
“Likely take photos of the site as it is, then video the removal. It will be verification that it wasn’t recently buried. I doubt they’ll be able to pull Brenda’s fingerprints off the box, but I could be wrong.”
“They didn’t book her into jail. How would they have her prints?” Dylan asked.
“Autopsy,” Asher said, then just as Gunner predicted, they saw three black SUVs coming up Highway 86 from the east. “There they come.”
As they were pulling off the highway, the chopper was circling.
Asher rolled his eyes. “Coming in at daybreak to allay suspicion, in a little town that only experiences LIFESTAR choppers. Everybody will be on their phones, or standing on their porches, waiting to hear who’s hurt or dying beforewe even get to the basement.”
The brothers made a quick pivot and headed into the house to greet their guests. They opened the back door as the agents were coming up the steps. As predicted, one was carrying a video camera and a tripod, and there were two carrying what looked like forensic cases.
Asher pointed up. “Unless you want all 2,500 residents of Crossroads in our front parking lot banging on the door to see who’s hurt, or who else just got shot here, you might want to tell them to do their backup farther away and higher up.”
One of the agents looked a little wild-eyed and grabbed a radio, while the rest filed in. As soon as the last one entered the house, Dylan locked the door, and Asher and Gunner promptly flashed their badges.
“Asher Kingston. Special investigator for the Texas state attorney general’s office. Gunner Kingston, Homicide detective with the Dallas Police Department. Dylan Kingston, general contractor out of Austin. Gentlemen, may we see some identification?”
Twelve agents blinked in unison, then promptly displayed their badges.
“Thank you,” Asher said. “Can’t be too careful these days. The shit we found in our basement is what nearly got our dad killed. Who’s in charge?”
