Page 53 of Lure

“While she has a right to information about her and her sister,” I said, willing to concede that much. “This operation has nothing to do with her.”

Once we finished this, it would be done and we could reorient our focus to her.

“I get that,” Lunchbox said, folding his arms before leaning back against the side of the vehicle. “But it’s also bullshit, Cap. Do you get that?”

Voodoo returned, cutting off any response I would have made and tossed the cellphone back at me. “I got shotgun, Cap. You haven’t slept in the last two days. This is at least a two hour drive, get some sleep.”

Tucking the phone into my pocket, I pulled open the back door and slid in. It was an oversized SUV and that left me with room to stretch—some. Like the boys, I was dressed in dark fatigues, a dark shirt, and dark combat boots. It was common enough wear and we didn’t stand out.

I pulled on a dark cap and my own sunglasses even as Lunchbox pulled out of the hangar.

“Two hours there,” Voodoo said. “How long do you think we’ll need for questioning?”

“As long as it takes,” I answered in tandem with Lunchbox, then folded my arms, tilted my chin down, and went to sleep.

“Cap.”One word and I lifted my head. It barely felt like I’d gone to sleep. The lack of grit in my eyes said it had definitely been at least an hour, though not quite two. “We’re ten minutes out.”

Voodoo passed back a takeout cup that smelled of strong black coffee.

“Thanks,” I said, voice a little rough but I took a swallow of the bitter brew. It was strong enough to sheer paint from the walls. Good thing. “Any word?”

“Just a text,” Lunchbox said. “They are there and waiting for us. Didn’t beat us by much.”

I nodded, then took another swallow of the coffee. It was hot, but not really scalding. I definitely wanted to burn off all the cobwebs.

Our destination was a nondescript, dead little town in the middle of nowhere. The roads out here weren’t much to comment on, old state highways that were just two lanes for a hundred miles or more.

The dusty little town boasted a sign that was old, and hanging crookedly by a single chain while the other swung brokenly against it.

Settle Down.

Founded 1889.

Someone had a sense of humor. The town beyond it wasn’t much to speak of. If there was more to it than the main street, I didn’t see it. While it was back from the state highway, the only visible road was a rough gravel and dirt scattered path.

The storefronts were right out of some old Western show, the tired and faded colors a mere echo of what they might have been. There was debris on the porches—or what passed for their porches. Maybe a boardwalk that joined the old storefronts together, and gave people a place to walk that wasn’t the dirt streets.

Since more than one step looked busted in half, I’d go with the idea that they weren’t secure. There were actual fucking tumbleweeds rolling along in what would presumably be a hot breeze.

“What a shithole,” Voodoo said, studying the town a lot like I was. “Probably do ghost tours and shit out here.”

“Probably,” Lunchbox said. “Though I don’t trust the sturdiness of the buildings. The one on the end is starting to lean.”

He wasn’t wrong. Still, he pulled down the main street then around the back to park behind a squat adobe building right next to another SUV. I didn’t wait for Lunchbox to put it in park before I set the empty cup down and slid out. The stifling air that greeted me was every bit as roasting as opening an oven door.

Sweat dotted my face even in the achingly dry air under the relentless sun. Yeah, it was a shithole in the middle of a desert. But it would serve its purpose.

A backdoor on the squat adobe building opened and a former FBI agent stepped out to scan us. He was armed, but the gun was secured and clearly visible in his shoulder holster. Since we were similarly attired, I didn’t worry about it.

I crossed the short distance and held out my hand. “Cash,” I said by way of greeting. “Thanks for taking the time.” Though to be fair, I actually hadn’t expected one of the heads of the Network to be our delivery agents.

“Don’t mention it,” the tall man with the light hair, hard eyes, and square jaw stated. “Seriously, don’t. Come on in. It’s fucking miserable out here.”

Though I doubted it was much better in there. A feminine laugh, low and husky, drifted out as I stepped in behind Cash with Voodoo and Lunchbox a few steps behind me.

“You didn’t have to come,” Vienna Drew stated from where she was seated at what was probably once upon a time a desk forthe sheriff of the town. Unlike the wood outside, it seemed to still be in good shape.

The lean, athletic blonde woman reclined with her feet on the desk. For all that she had to be over a decade younger than any of us, I would never mistake that for inexperience, much less weakness and vulnerability.

---