Page 29 of Sins of the Fathers
“You’re pretty damn sure we’ll show up,” Dawson growled, and Grady knew that the day wore hard on him too.
“Figured you’d want to know what we got back from our sources—and forensics,” Gibson returned easily, unflustered by Dawson’s pique. “And we’ve got a few questions of our own. But I think you’ll be very interested in what we’ve found.” To the agent’s credit, he didn’t sound smug.
Dawson glanced to Grady, who nodded. “Okay. We’ll be there. We’ve picked up on a few things ourselves.” He ended the call and let out a long breath. “I’m sorry. You don’t need that on top of everything,” he said to Grady.
Grady shrugged, then winced when the motion made his arm ache. “We needed to eat anyhow. And maybe Gibson and Tucker got good intel with all their fancy connections. I’ll call Denny and see what his network has turned up. I’d put our friends up against Gibson’s government resources any day.”
“And you’d probably be right,” Dawson agreed. “But maybe if we put what we’ve gotten together, we’ll figure out what’s really happening. Because I’ve got the awful feeling that we’re not seeing the whole picture.”
They had time to go home, shower and change before meeting the agents. Dawson fussed over Grady and made sure the dressing on his arm didn’t get wet. They stole a few moments of peace over coffee and cookies before heading out again.
“You sure you’re up to going out?” Dawson asked. His concern warmed Grady even as it made him a little twitchy.
“Yeah—we don’t have to make a late night of it. Eat food, swap info, come home. Good thing we started the morning off right, because I don’t think there’ll be much left of me by the time we get to bed,” Grady replied.
“Eat another cookie. The sugar will help.” Dawson pushed the plate closer to Grady.
“Already had two. I need to be able to make an attempt at eating whatever they’re ordering for us,” Grady protested.
“Hope it’s good. I’m starving.” Dawson grabbed a six-pack of beer to take with them as a gesture of goodwill, and they headed out.
* * *
OverlookCabins were part of a mom-and-pop motel complex with a retro fifties vibe and enough modern upfits to be trendy. They parked the Mustang next to the black Corvette just as Gibson opened the door.
“Come in. The food just got here.” He stepped aside to let them enter, and Grady breathed in the aroma of wood-smoked barbecue.
“Hope you like it. The guy at the front office told us where the locals eat.” Tucker stood to welcome them.
The cabin had a kitchen with a table and a comfortable living room. A hallway in the back presumably went to one or more bedrooms. It felt cozy. The pine-paneled walls, plaid throws on the couch, and stuffed deer head on the wall retained the “rustic” vibe.
Dawson and Grady helped set out a feast of pulled pork, baked beans, potato salad, coleslaw, and cornbread on the counter as Gibson got out plates and Tucker set a bottle of beer at each place setting.
“Eat first—talk shop after,” Gibson said, settling his lanky body into a chair beside Tucker, who didn’t seem to mind the invasion of his space.
Dawson and Grady sat across from the pair, and Grady didn’t feel self-conscious at all with his knee pressed against Dawson’s under the table.
“If this tastes as good as it looks, I’ll need to go for a run to work it off,” Tucker said, although that hadn’t stopped him from mounding his plate with food.
“I could make you chase the ’Vette,” Gibson teased. “Be your pace car.”
“I’d be drifting the whole way,” Tucker joked back, trading stock car racing terms in their jibes.
Grady couldn’t help trying to figure out their hosts. Gibson looked like he could be by the books. Every time Grady had seen the two agents on the clock, Gibson’s shirt had been neatly pressed, tucked into his regulation khaki pants, hair just so, with manicured stubble.
Tucker, on the other hand, looked like chaos incarnate. He had a shaggy shock of red hair and a scruffy beard. Tucker’s slightly rumpled clothing looked like he’d grabbed what he’d worn the previous day without bothering to iron.
“How did you two team up?” Dawson asked an instant before Grady could ask the same thing.
The lawmen exchanged a look.
“Now there’s a story,” Tucker said.
Gibson took a pull from his beer. “After the fourth time I arrested him, the powers that be decided we could either work together or spend the next decade chasing each other.”
“Arrested?” Grady hadn’t expected that.
“Ricky Jon—”
