Page 7 of Not Our Daughter

“Have they already apprehended them?”

Lester shook his head. “No, not yet. We’re headed that way right now.”

“Who is?”

“Mark Burns. This was originally his case.”

“Are they sure it’s them?”

Lester handed him the folder. Fisk flipped it open, again trying to hide the fact that his hands were jittery. There were a dozen color photographs inside. A man standing by himself by a lake and then sitting with a woman and a girl.

Lester said, “Seventy percent computer match on the guy. Ninety percent on the woman. But Agent Burns isone hundred percentcertain it’s them.”

Fisk quietly cursed, glanced over toward five flat-screen TVs mounted on a wall behind a small conference table. Each was tuned to political news. All the stations were currently showing clips from today’s confirmation hearings for the newly nominated candidate for the US Supreme Court. The hearings in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee had been a bloodbath the past three days. He was exhausted.

“How much time do I have?” he asked Lester.

“What do you mean?”

“How much time until they take them into custody?”

Lester shrugged. “Probably four hours. Burns wants to be there himself.”

Fisk could feel sweat building up on his lower back and under his armpits.

“You don’t look so good,” Lester mentioned. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Can I keep these?”

“Sure. Just make sure they don’t get out.”

“Of course. All right, I gotta get back to work.”

Lester stood, headed for the door. “My wife has been dying to eat at that new sushi place that just opened over on Pennsylvania Avenue. Nakashimi. But it’s booked out for two months. Anything you can do?”

Fisk’s eyes remained glued to the photographs. “Tell Brenda on the way out. She’ll make it happen.”

“Appreciate it.”

Fisk looked up. “Hey, Ross.”

The man turned around.

“Keep me posted on this situation. Anything and everything you know. No matter the time of day or night. It’s that important to me. I need you to be my eyes and ears.”

“Of course.”

Fisk watched the man step out of the office. Lester knew better than to ask any details about how Fisk could possibly be involved. That had been part of their deal for decades. No questions. Just information. Alone again, Fisk rushed back over to his desk, careful to not step on the broken glass, and grabbed his cell phone. His contact answered immediately.

“You alone?” Fisk asked.

“Yeah, in my hotel suite. Why?”

“We’ve got aseriousproblem.”

Five

Brock Gunner had been running the massive ranch for more than fifteen years. At over 520,000 acres, it was the third biggest in Texas. But he’d been working for the family for more than twenty-five years. That’s what everyone in West Texas called them—thefamily—because they were such a powerful force in these parts. He’d started with them as a sixteen-year-old high school dropout ranch hand and worked his ass off sunup to sundown, gaining the respect and trust of most everyone around. But it took him killing a man who’d betrayed the family in a bad oil deal for the patriarch to bring him into his inner circle. Brock was twenty-two when he’d pulled that first trigger, burying the body where no one would ever find it. That’s when his status really grew. He soon became an enforcer for the family. At six foot two and built like a linebacker, he was damn good at it. When the family had an issue, Brock would step in and resolve it. That usually meant breaking bones or such to get their point across. But there had been other times when more drastic action was required.

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