Page 61 of Beehives and Broken Heroes

Chris glanced at Joseph, and the man nodded. He turned back to them. “All right, hop in.”

She opened the back door and held it open for her sister before getting in herself. “Thank you!”

A couple of minutes later, they were making a right onto the highway. Joseph turned the radio up, a mix of hip-hop and rap something or other that had probably never once played over the radio waves in Harvest Ranch. Allie frowned. For some reason, she hadn’t expected them to be listening to that kind of music.

“So,” Jo said from her seat next to the door, “how long have you known Brandon?”

Joseph had his arm rested in the center console, and he flipped that object she’d seen earlier around in his hand. “Eight years.”

“That’s nice,” Jo said. “Having a long-standing friendship like that.”

They caught up with a car in front of them, more cars headed in the opposite direction toward Charleston.

Chris grinned. “Brandon’s an easy guy to be friends with.” Something in the way he’d said that sent a chill up her spine.

Allie’s sixth sense kicked in. Something wasn’t right.

Joseph moved the silver object around in his hand and flipped the top back—a lighter. Her gaze dropped to the console beneath his hand. Two small, plastic screw-on caps for the valve stems on tires. Her eyes went wide. Her mind whirled as she thought it through. Had they let the air out of the tires? Could they have? The men had come from the highway, but … she and Jo been away from Jo’s trucks for several minutes while they’d been running around the property looking for Brandon.

The click of metal floated back to her as Joseph shut the lighter. And in the quick sound, pieces came together. Brandon had said he was trying to keep her safe when she’d run away from him. That he couldn’t tell her why he’d lied because he wasn’t allowed. If only she could prove the men were or weren’t who they said they were.

Old Blue Eyes! That’s right, Joseph had blue eyes and liked Sinatra.

She couldn’t see his eyes from here, so she cleared her throat. “Don’t suppose you guys have any Rat Pack in here? Do you?”

“What’s a rat pack?” the driver said, glancing at Mr. Scowl.

Mr. Scowl shrugged and leaned forward just a little—but it was enough for Allie to see the back holster he wore and the gun inside of it.

Crapola, they were in so much trouble. Also, how did they not know who the Rat Pack were? Shame on them! She pulled out her phone and glanced around for an excuse to snap a picture—Virginia sunset to the rescue. “Look at that sky!” She motioned for Jo to lean closer to her. “Let’s get a selfie.”

Jo frowned at her but did as she asked.

Allie snapped a picture of Not-Joseph. “That looks great.”

Jo leaned in and whispered, “What’s goin’ on?”

Allie sent the picture to Brandon, with a quick message, then silenced her phone. Traffic started to slow in front of them.

Allie: Is this Joseph Murphy?

His reply was almost instantaneous.

Brandon: Please tell me you’re not with that man right now.

Allie’s stomach lurched. Jo glanced down at the text and squeezed Allie’s arm. That was a big ol’ no! Allie sent another text.

Allie: I can’t . . . because that would belying.

Traffic came to an almost standstill.

“You normally have this much traffic into town?” the driver asked.

“It’s probably the concert,” Allie said. She shot a quick glance at Jo. “River McKenzie is playing at the fairgrounds tonight.”

The driver leaned closer to Mr. Scowl and spoke in a low voice. Jo glanced at Allie, brows raised, but she was too busy listening over the music to what the men were saying. “Should we go back to home base? Look for him later?”

Look for who later? Brandon? Oh, holy mackerel. Did these guys want to hurt him?

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