That was a lesson he would like to think he had passed on to his boy. Apparently, though, his son hadn’t also gotten his common sense to go along with it. That was why they were in this position, in the first place.
Now, all that was left forhimto do was clean up the damned mess, and hope the rest of his son’s little crowd of rogues didn’t do anything else beyond stupid.
He had spent the last three weeks cleaning up what his son had left behind, so that it didn’t come back to haunthimlater. There was some overlap between their businesses, they operatedin the same circles, paid the samefeesto those in charge. If his son had been stupid in what he had kept written down or in what he had said—it could be catastrophic for him.
Unless…his son’s friends didn’t screw this up, too. If they did what had to be done without fucking up, then all of his problems would just go away.
If the cards aligned right, that Barratt girl would be dead by morning. Then she’d be out of the way.
His son had probably gotten a real kick out of operating all of his little games in his father’s own back yard. Hughes Heights, the homes for the best of the best of Finley Creek County. Best of the region, actually. There were plenty who worked in Wichita Falls who commuted from Hughes Heights. Even a few that flew into the capitol on a daily or weekly basis. Hughes Heights was one of the elite areas in the entire state.
He hadn’t been too fond of his son’s idiot friends playing their games there.
Now he just hoped it didn’t come back to bitehimandhisfriends in the ass.
If that Coleson woman was taken out of the equation permanently…well, that would just speed his own plans up considerably. Heather Coleson was nothing but trouble. And always had been.
He wanted her dead. More than anything else in the world right now. If Heather Coleson was dead, ninety percent of his own problems would be fixed instantly.
They were goingto have to deal with her eventually, once and for all.
No matter who that pissed off.
Some things just had to be done.
12
Dom didn’t thinkthis was going to end well. People were going to die. People were going to be hurt. People, women, he cared about were out there somewhere. With men who had already hurt them. Men who were capable of doing far worse.
And Dom felt fucking helpless to stop them. To find Powell and Heather. They had nothing more to go on with these assholes than they’d had two years ago. Nothing. Other than what Heather had given them on that video.
They were out there. And chances were high they were already dead.
Dom saw Gunnar’s face over and over in his head. That man loved that woman. No denying that. The knowledge that a virtually defenseless woman like Powell Barratt was out there with known killers sickened Dom.
He’d listened to the recording on Heather’s phone a few times now. It told them one thing—the ones who had Powell and Heather were the ones involved in the OPJ drug trafficking ring.
That connected them to Kimball’s bullshit—and the choir hall shooting crew.
There was probably some serious overlap. Of course, there was—the type of crime ring they thought was operating in Finley Creek now wouldn’t tolerate sharing territory. Or profits.
It was the same people doing this. Maybe spidering out from a center crew, but…he’d bet there was just a handful of people controlling everything going on in this town.
Everything.
But finding that asshole was getting harder and harder to do.
Dom left. He had to get out there, actuallydoingsomething to find Heather and Powell.
When all else failed for him, he’d hit the streets. There was always someone willing totalk.For the right price.
He had a guy out there who had his ear to the ground for anything that could earn him a twenty or fifty.
It took Dom less than twenty minutes to track good old Tony down. He pulled up next to the man who was loitering against an old brick duplex on the corner of Boethe and Twenty-fourth. Dom rolled down the window. “Get in.”
That was all it took.
“Hey, bossman. Been a while. You doin’ good?” Tony was a smaller man, maybe five-six or so. One fifty on a good day, with a mouthful of fillings and cavities. His clothes had seen better days, too. Tony was completely harmless—he wouldn’t hurt a flea. He just didn’t have the greatest track record withchoices,at times.
