Page 29 of Bait and Switch (Subtle Deceptions #2)

EIGHTEEN

Gabriel

Wednesday evening

“Here.” Elton held his keys out to Gabe. “You drive.”

Gabe accepted them with a raised eyebrow—two could play that game—and veered to the driver’s side, wondering what had brought on the change of heart.

They’d exited the post office, having dropped off Kelly Perkins’s mountain of boxes, much to the chagrin of the man behind the counter.

Gabe was itching to know what she bought and sold while also actively realizing that probably he didn’t want to know at all.

He decided to imagine that she traded in rare Beanie Babies or Furbies.

Conveniently, the store of oddities that doubled as the island’s post office carried a few cheap cell phones among its stock of inexplicably obscure hand tools, plastic beach toys, puzzles, and barbecue supplies.

Who would’ve guessed? This was the best-kept secret on Heartstone, and Gabe had immediately set about picking a phone out for himself and getting it set up.

When Elton hadn’t been paying attention, Gabe had added a second phone for him but left it in the packaging for now. They could argue about it later.

“Gimme that phone. We need to talk to Casey a-sap and I have his number memorized,” Elton said once he was settled in the passenger seat.

Case in point.

With a shake of his head, Gabe handed over the phone he’d activated.

“Drive faster,” Elton demanded. He had his left hand tucked underneath his thigh, almost as if he was resisting the urge to shove Gabe out of the way and grab the wheel.

“Old man, I’m driving as fast as I fucking can. This may come as a shock to you, but Wheel Man has never been my specialty. Not once.”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell Casey what Kelly told us about Snowcap,” Elton grumbled, continuing to hold the phone to his ear. “We’re still connected, I’m not hanging up.”

“Hanging up,” Gabe teased, trying to lighten the mood. “We aren’t living in the eighties anymore.”

Sure, Casey had intended to click off, but he hadn’t.

“He must have been distracted and slid his phone into his pocket and?—”

“And we’re eavesdropping on the longest butt dial in the history of butt dials.”

It wasn’t a butt dial, but he couldn’t think of what else to call it.

And, Gabe reasoned, neither of them liked what they were hearing.

The connection wasn’t particularly clear, and a couple of times Elton claimed they’d lost the connection only to hear Casey’s voice again after a few seconds.

What they were listening to was fucking disturbing, and it was taking too long to bump their way up the road to where they assumed Casey was.

When Gabe jammed his foot down on the accelerator, the truck’s engine screamed in protest. The steep, winding, pothole-filled roadway was not designed for fifty miles an hour, and he was not one of the Fast and Furious guys.

“Dammit, I can’t hear anything again. I think we lost ’em.”

He was focused on the road, but Gabe still saw Elton jab a gnarled finger against the cell phone’s screen with vigor.

“Don’t break that thing. It’s the third one I’ve bought in less than a month, I’m not made of money.”

“We need to go faster.”

“Seriously, Elton, I’m driving as fast as I can. The last thing we need is a breakdown or worse. Then we’d be the ones who’d have to call someone to come get us out of a jam.”

Since when had Gabe become the voice of reason?

“No, I hear ’em again. Sounds like Calvin has finally lost his tenuous grip on reality.

Goddammit!” With his focus one hundred percent on the road, Gabe imagined Elton was pressing the phone against his ear as if that might make it easier to hear what was being said, even though Casey was already on speaker.

And did they really need to hear what was being said at this point anyway?

Habit had Gabe glancing at the rearview mirror as they bounced along. Red lights flashed in and out behind them.

“Hey, I think there are cops or some kind of emergency vehicle behind us.”

Elton twisted around to peer out the back window. “Fire truck, I’d say. That glow we’re seeing must be fire.” He turned back around, his profile tense. “We’re getting close to Gordon’s place. Drive faster,” he repeated. “Old Bessie can handle it.”

Gabe pressed harder on the gas pedal and the truck lurched forward again, the Snowcap Estates sign appearing and disappearing.

“Old Bessie? Really?”

Not the time to get distracted, Chance.

“No, but I had to give her a name just now.”

It had started snowing when the road turned from county to Forest Service and thus paved to dirt and rocks.

It wasn’t sticking, not yet. But it was falling faster now and the tiny blizzards in the truck’s headlights made it hard for him to see the road or anything else.

Gabe’s grip on the steering wheel was tight enough that he knew his hands were going to hurt tomorrow.

They had to get to Casey in time. Ranger Man was not made of steel.

Elton pointed. “There it is, the turn.”

Slowing back down to a crawl, he wrestled the truck past a boulder and a tree stump and onto the access road. It wasn’t that late, but everything looked different in the winter’s early dark. If Elton hadn’t been there, he would’ve missed the turn.

His head hit the roof of the cab. “Fucking fuckery.”

The sense of urgency was stifling. Gabe was scared for Ranger Man—he was more than scared, he was terrified.

If Casey was in trouble, or the fire was out of control, what could Gabe and an eighty-year-old man do?

They weren’t firefighters or cops, and as far as Gabe knew, they had no weapons.

Although he wouldn’t put it past Elton to have a gun stashed somewhere in the truck.

Gabe wasn’t terribly worried about his safety, but if Elton got hurt on his watch—or worse—he’d have to move to Siberia or Mars. And even Mars might not be far enough.

But he was also painfully aware that nothing and no one was going to stop Elton from racing to Casey’s assistance. Or Gabe, for that matter. Which meant what? Casey didn’t even like him.

Really, Chance, cons shouldn’t try and con themselves.

“I see taillights,” Elton whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

Elton ignored him. “That’s Casey’s. Pull in behind it.”

Gabe did not point out that he was perfectly aware the Wagoneer was Casey’s.

“Now what?”

“Now we figure out what the hell is going on. Leave the headlights on so we can see what we’re doing.

” Twisting to reach underneath the truck’s bench seat, Elton pulled out a battered tire iron.

The thing had to be an antique—just like Elton.

“There’s a pipe wrench in the toolbox in back. And we have Bowie.”

At the appearance of the ancient tool, Gabe winced. Dammit, he should’ve convinced Elton to stay at home. He sighed; the attempt would’ve been unsuccessful. That was his final thought on the matter, and he was sticking to it. There was no turning back now.

Gabe turned around and eyed the dog in the back seat.

He’d been quiet for most of the drive, but now that they were stopped, he’d popped up on all fours with a low whine.

Bowie knew something wasn’t right. His doggy expression was serious and intense as if to say My person needs me .

Staring back at Gabriel, he released a little huff of impatience and stomped his feet.

“Right. Okay, there are three of us. I stand corrected. Let’s do this. But when it’s done, we’re going to have to come up with nicknames for our crime-fighting gang. And maybe Keith wants to be a part of it too.”

He opened the door, not expecting Bowie to leap over the seat and his lap and dash into the darkness. The headlights and the flickering glow from the remains of Gordon’s shed hardly made a difference. Had Gabe ever experienced dark like this? An almost complete lack of light? He didn’t think so.

“Dammit, Ranger Man is going to kill me with his bare hands.”

And Gabe would let him if bare hands meant that Casey Lundin was alive and uninjured.

“He’ll find Casey,” Elton said as he eased himself off the seat and down to the ground, the tire iron gripped in one hand.

Trying to imagine Elton actually whacking someone with the tool—and failing—Gabe fished around in the truck bed’s toolbox for the wrench.

He would be the one to do any necessary thrashing.

It was a big one, around two feet long, and weighed maybe three pounds.

If he walloped someone with it, they weren’t going anywhere, for a little while anyway.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

Was he nervous? Fuck, yes. Running cons and grifting marks seldom required violence.

Gabe wasn’t a violent person, having learned early that force rarely achieved the desired results.

Which, thinking about it, was why he was in this situation—maybe the Colavitos would have left him alone if he’d responded with violence instead of running.

But neither Larry nor his idiot nephews were in The Valley.

This situation had nothing to do with Seattle.

Even Gabriel couldn’t imagine a scenario in which the family were at all involved with Rizzi’s game.

He and Elton were sure it had to be Rizzi, and perhaps some unknown partners, someone like Spurring, who were behind recent events.

They hadn’t yet come to a conclusion as to the exact reasons why Dwayne had been killed, Deputy Nolan assassinated, and Peter murdered, but the eight-ball had been queried and it had indicated signs point to yes when it came to Sheriff Eli Rizzi.

The driving force, the main theme, had to be money, of course. Greed and money. Or power. But likely all of the above. When tonight was in the bag, they could all work together figuring which combination of the three it was.

It’s always money, Chance. Follow the money. Power and greed follow the cash.

For once, Gabriel wished his inner Heidi was wrong.