Page 84 of Daybreak

“Hey, Gunner, you have company,” he said.

Gunner glanced up. FBI. He could spot them anywhere. They were all wearing sunglasses, although the sunny day called for them, but they all had a tendency to walk like Tommy Lee Jones about to start a fight.

“Gunner Kingston?”

“Yes.”

The man obviously in charge flashed his ID. “Special Agent Lavinsky. Heard you caught our man. Much appreciated. We’re still working the case of the safe house murders.”

“Ah…and I’m the guy who worked the case of your missing witness who was found dead in a warehouse.”

Lavinsky blinked. “I don’t think I knew that.”

“So, Tom Rowdy isn’t talking?” Gunner said. “I worked in the same homicide department. The information he kept leaking to Burgess Dixon also got a homeless man who went by the name Yankee Dan killed, and resulted in a fifty-thousand-dollar bounty on my head. You will be interested to know that Whistler just confessed in front of me and a dozen cops as to why he killed Dixon.”

“I would be interested in knowing what he said,” Lavinsky said.

“It was the day I sort of invaded Dixon’s office. I had to remove the bodyguard to get in. Dropped him with one good karate chop and went in to express my displeasure to Dixon about the hit. Because I took Whistler out like that, Whistler believed Dixon was losing faith in him and guessed he’d be the next one to fall. He went all proactive and struck the first blow, which was fatal. Then he told me it was all my fault for making him look bad in his boss’s eyes.”

Lavinsky smiled. “Something as simple as ‘losing face,’” he said, then pointed to Gunner’s arm. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” Lavinsky said. “Maybe we’ll see each other around.”

“Nope. I turned in my resignation a few days ago.”

Lavinsky frowned. “Shame. The PD is losing a good cop.”

“They lose good cops every time one dies in the line of duty. I’m going home to West Texas to be close to my dad. He’s not going to be here forever.”

“What is your dad’s name?” Lavinsky asked.

“Jacob Kingston. My mother was Brenda Kingston, an accomplice in an armored car robbery over thirty years ago. Unknown to all, including the leader of the gang, she buried the stolen loot in the basement of our home, then swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills because she knew the FBI was coming. She died in their car on her way to jail. Thirty years later, that unclaimed money nearly got Dad killed. Maybe you remember. My brothers and I solved the crime, found the money, and your people flew to Crossroads in a chopper to pick it up.”

Lavinsky reeled like he’d just been slapped. “You’re that family? Damn. We’re still holding our heads in shame for that one. I’d like to shake your hand…if you have one that doesn’t hurt and isn’t bleeding.”

“The left one’s good,” he said, and the two men shook hands.

“You give your father my best,” Lavinsky said. “Tell him I said he raised some really fine men.”

Gunner said nothing as they drove away, then looked back at what Brewster was doing. “Are you about through here?”

“The driveway of a gas station is filthy. All of that detritus is in the wounds on your arm. Get yourself to the ER for a tetanus shot and let them finish this up. The cut isn’t going to stop bleeding until you get stitches. They will give you meds and stuff for pain. If you don’t feel like it, we can transport you there ourselves.”

“My girl will take me,” Gunner said, and in that moment, he felt a rush of emotion for the fact that he could claim that.

“Okay then, but you’re a bloody mess, so if she doesn’t pass out at the sight of you, you’ve got a good one,” Brewster said.

“Holly is not a fainter. She may give me hell for winding up in the middle of this again, and she will take me to the ER whether I want to go or not.” Then he walked over to the gas pump where he’d left his car, pulled out his credit card to pay for gas, and began refueling.

Chapter 17

As Gunner was replacing the hose at the fuel pump, he was also concluding that driving himself home might not have been his best decision. He was beginning to get stiff, and everything was burning, but he was alive and still upright. It was enough, and it was over—finally over.

He eased in behind the steering wheel, wincing when he reached out to start the car, then drove back into traffic. No speeding for him today. About thirty minutes later he pulled into his driveway and saw Holly waiting in her car. She did not look happy.

He rolled slowly into the garage and eased himself out. When he turned around, Holly was already coming toward him.