Page 159 of Cold, Cold Bones

“It means I observed a detail and made a connection that you and Slidell missed.”

“I doubt that argument will fly with Skinny.”

“Tell him if he cuts me out, I’ll go on my own.” Not really, but I was bursting my skin with pent-up energy.

“Or that one.”

“If Olivia is in one of those buses, she’ll be terrified. The last thing she’ll need are you two charging in like storm troopers.”

“I’ll call you back.”

He did.

“Saddle up, podna.”

“Yippee kiyay!”

For the second time in two days, I was heading to Gaston County.

35

February has a way of messing with North Carolinians. One day we’re pulling on mittens and boots, the next we’re sniffing the buds on our pear trees.

Based on the previous week, I dressed for cold. Crossing to Slidell’s SUV—not his own, so I assumed another CMPD issue—I realized my mistake. The sky was immaculate, the sun going for a personal best. Once buckled in, I checked the weather icon on my phone. The fickle mercury was expected to dance around in the sixties.

Slidell and Ryan were similarly overdressed. Both were in unzipped leather jackets and had shed their gloves and scarves. Both wore aviator shades and faces as droopy as month-old produce.

I sat in back. While driving, Slidell explained the op. Thinly.

Three cruisers would assemble by the road leading down into the far side of the valley. We’d descend by the usual route, led by two more cruisers and a small-unit SWAT team. Preoccupied with the potential takedown on Sledge Road, Mangiorotti hadn’t objected to Slidell’s request for extra manpower. The feds had already commandeered most of the cops with body armor anyway.

At Slidell’s command, all would engage. Fast. The surveillance cameras would be taken out. I would remain in the SUV until Kramden was in cuffs or Slidell gave me the go-ahead.

“Capiche?”Skinny twisted to ask, not so gently.

“And if I see the suspect, you know, running away or something? Like on our first visit?” A bit snarky, but Slidell’s brusqueness was grating.

“You see Beyoncé on a tricycle your ass stays in this crate.”

“We should leave her a handheld,” Ryan said.

Slidell nodded.

Ryan lifted a radio from the floor by his feet, adjusted a dial, then passed it back. My squinty eyes dared him to query my knowledge of portables. He didn’t.

We made record time. Sunday traffic was light. The flashing bubble lights helped.

As our team assembled on the little knoll, Slidell and Ryan donned bulletproof vests. Then everyone observed the valley below.

A blue Ford Fusion was parked by the stairs leading down into the buses. No one was visible. Nothing moved. I wondered if Kramden could possibly be fool enough to return here knowing of Slidell’s previous bust. Perhaps he hadn’t been back until now? Perhaps he felt the compound was the last place the cops would suspect? A hide-in-plain-sight mentality? Perhaps he had nowhere else to go? The house on Sharon Hills was also under surveillance.

Through my handheld, I listened to the exchange between Skinny and those across the valley.

“B unit up?”

A lot of clicks came back.

“A?”