Page 58 of Not Our Daughter

“You look like hell, Brock,” said the driver.

“You’re going to look the same if you don’t get this damn truck moving.”

The guy grinned and stomped on the gas, and they began to exit the airport property. Brock pulled out his phone and made a call to the driver’s brother, Judd. Both guys used to work for him on the ranch but had moved to Austin a couple of years ago to pursue rodeo full-time.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Judd answered.

“You still on them?” Brock asked.

“Yep. They just parked a block off Sixth Street.”

“Don’t let them out of your sight, Judd. I’ll be there shortly.”

“You got it.”

Brock hung up. When he’d been informed earlier that Cole and Lisa Shipley had come back to Austin, he had speculated a few possible reasons: One, they had stored money somewhere and needed to return to get it. Two, they wanted to see family before he or the FBI caught up with them. Or three—and this was the most dangerous—they were going to try to figure out who’d really killed Candace McGee thirteen years ago and see if they could somehow exonerate themselves.

Brock obviously couldn’t allow that to happen. He’d immediately recruited help around town. Several guys in the capital city owed the family favors, and he was calling them all in right now. He’d sent them out to monitor various people around town he suspected Cole might try to find. Brock had a short list of people who had been closely associated with Candace McGee years ago, and whom they’d monitored for a brief time in the aftermath of the woman’s death. Just to make sure none of them knew more than they should or caused any trouble. No one did. One person on the list was Candace McGee’s sister, Hailey. She had been easy to find. They’d struck gold by trailing her only minutes ago. Judd had followed the Shipleys from the Tex-Mex restaurant.

The guys out there helping him were to follow and nothing else.

They weren’t killers. That was his job.

Brock made another quick call. It was immediately answered.

“You better have good news for me.”

“We have eyes on them. I’m headed to them right now.”

“Good. Finish this tonight, Brock. I can’t sit in front of a national audience tomorrow with this damn thing hanging out there and dominating my mind.”

Forty-Five

Cole parked a block off Sixth Street, Austin’s famous bar and entertainment district. The plan was for him to go alone to try to find and talk to the tattoo artist. There was no reason for all three of them to expose themselves out on the sidewalks of Austin. Especially in a wild place like Sixth Street, where there was a heavy police presence. As soon as he got out of the vehicle, Cole could hear live music booming out of a host of venues. Jazz. Pop. Rap. Country. Classic Rock. It could all be found on Sixth Street. He hadn’t been there in more than fifteen years, but it looked like nothing had really changed. Many of the same bars were still going strong. The entire street was still blocked off at night and the crowds of people were still packed in tight. It was Sunday night and the last chance for Austin’s party crowd to get their groove on before college classes and the professional workweek took back over.

Cole put on a pair of nearly transparent sunglasses he’d purchased at a gas station and kept the hood of his new black sweatshirt up over his head. He wasn’t going to take any chances on being recognized. Thankfully, people wore all kinds of weird clothes, glasses, and hats on this street. He peeked at the mapping app on his phone. BlindSide Tattoo & Piercing was a block up ahead of him on his left. He began quickly threading through the dense crowd. As expected, the police were everywhere. Arrests were made every night on Sixth. Cole alreadyspotted two uniformed officers sitting up on police horses. He could see the same kind of grouping only a block away. He made sure to stay as far away from them as possible.

He spotted Voodoo Doughnut up ahead and knew the tattoo parlor was directly across the street. More weaving in and out of the crowd, passing by Darwin’s Pub and the Soho Lounge, before finally stepping up to the bright-blue and black front of BlindSide Tattoo & Piercing. The lettering on the outside of the glass door said the shop was open until two thirty every morning of the week. He opened the door, moved inside, and climbed a set of stairs. BlindSide was on the second level. He entered a cool and spacious lobby with black leather sofas, chairs, mirrors, hardwood floors. Most of the seating was currently occupied. The place was busy. Heavy metal music was pumping.

Cole approached a glass counter, where a young woman with pink hair, several nose piercings, and full sets of tattoos covering both of her arms looked up at him.

“Hey,” she said. “What can we do for you?”

“Is Jack Harlen working tonight?”

“You bet. Every night. You got an appointment?”

“No, I’m a walk-in.”

“Can I get your name?”

“Seth Rutter.”

“You done this before?”

“Get a tattoo? No, first time.”

There was no reason to lie. His eyes scanned the room, looking for the guy they’d already identified from looking up his Instagram account.

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