“Oh.” Coke stopped, then a look of genuine pain crossed his face, like his stomach cramped. “I gotta go.”
Someone’s coffee didn’t settle, obviously.
“Okay, babe. I’ll make you some grits.” Missy always had grits. Dillon thought they were bizarre, but easy on the tummy.
Coke disappeared with a wave, and after a few moments Pansy and Jerome came to him, staring him down. Little beggars.
“If I give you sausage you have to promise not to tell the other dogs.”
He got two thumps from the heavy, white-tipped tails.
He was beginning to worry about Coke, about to go find the man, when Adam Taggart came in from outside, all frowns. “What the hell’s up with Pharris?”
Nate glanced over and frowned, as well. “What do you mean?”
“He just took my truck and hied out of here like the hounds of hell were chasing him. I don’t get it. Was there an accident or something?”
“No.” Dillon pulled the pan off the heat. “He left?”
Nate was already on the phone. “Hoss? Hoss, call me, man. Soon as you get this.”
Then Nate called again.
Cold worry settled in the pit of Dillon’s belly. What the hell? He tugged his cell out of his pocket before dialing Coke.
It went straight to voicemail, so he hung up and headed for the bedroom at a dead run. The truck keys were on the bed, Coke’s go-bag was gone, and that was…that.
What the ever-loving fuck?
“What did you do, Dillweed?” Nate asked him, blocking him from leaving the room.
“What? I was making pancakes!”
“I know! I was right there! What did you say?”
Dillon flapped his hands in the air, making the puppers dance. They’d followed him to the room. “I don’t know! How do you say something that makes someone get in a truck and drive away?”
“I haven’t the foggiest goddamn idea, man! I do know that he’s not scared of fucking up with anyone else on earth but you! You he wants to be perfect for!”
Dillon nodded slowly, replaying the conversation with Coke. “I snapped at him, then growled at Jason. Man, was that shitty of me. He told me we’d go to Waco after this…”
“He likes home. That’s not grumpy making, man. Maybe he had a stroke…”
“No.” No, that wasn’t even a possibility and Dillon refused to accept the idea. “I thanked him, told him I knew he was the good twin.”
Nate’s head tilted to the right. “Huh?”
“I was teasing him! Good twin, evil twin? You know? Like Stephen King’sDark Half.”
“He’s not a twin, though.”
Dillon blinked. “Sure he is. Was. I found it online, and Brenda said he was dead. The twin.”
Nate shook his head. “What did I tell you about leaving the past buried, man? How many folks can find all this out, online I mean?”
Dillon pursed his lips. “Not many? I mean, I had to know a lot about him and I had the need to know.” Dread replaced the worry. “What did I do, Nate? Why would that make him leave?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I told you, that’s a sore spot. It hurts him. It was bad, Dill. Jail time bad. He wants to be your hero.”
