Page 22 of Cryptic Curse (Bellamy Brothers #7)

HAWK

I keep shovels in my truck.

I mean, you never know when you’re going to have to dig something up, right?

Sometimes seedlings in the orchard, sometimes a rogue cottonwood that threatens to coat the grazing fields in that white shit every spring.

Or sometimes you have a diseased steer that can’t go to the slaughterhouse.

We bury those on the edge of our property if it’s from a nonreportable disease or natural causes. A lot of ranchers actually compost large carcasses, but we don’t. We respect our animals too much for that.

My shovels came in handy that night eight years ago.

And they’ll come in handy now.

So will the leather working gloves and the box of giant black plastic trash bags. And especially the headbands with flashlights on them.

Eagle and I don’t talk as we make the long drive to the border where the barn still stands.

Thanks to Vinnie, the EPA is requiring an environmental assessment before we can raze the barn. Except…according to Vinnie, the EPA had already stepped in when he made contact with his person there.

So many mysteries around what happened that night nearly a decade ago.

When we finally roll up to the barn, the sun is setting.

Good. Nightfall will be here soon, and Eagle and I don’t really need to be seen doing what we’re about to do.

I kill the engine and we sit in silence for a moment, looking at the decrepit old barn that holds so many of our childhood memories.

And one chilling secret.

“Ready?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“You sure this is safe?” he asks.

Safe? I can’t help a scoffing laugh. This has never been safe.

“The only person who’d be surveilling this place is in a hospital bed barely able to string a sentence together,” I say.

“Still…”

“For Christ’s sake, E. Man up, already.”

Eagle nods and unbuckles his seat belt. “Fine. But what exactly are we going to do with a dead body?”

Good question. But I’m a step ahead of my brother, as usual. “We’ll take the remains to the coroner, try to get a name attached to his DNA or dental records.”

“Right,” Eagle says, “and the coroner will go straight to the police.”

“No, he won’t. I know the coroner. Dad knows the coroner. We’ll pay him off if we have to.”

“You’ve done that before?” Eagle asks.

Seriously? He’s asking me that question?

“Who the fuck has fixed all of your shit, E? It takes money, and you’d be surprised how many people bow down to the almighty dollar.

Besides, whoever this guy is, he was a career criminal.

His death was a net positive for the world.

Now no more questions. Let’s just get this shit done. ”

We step out of the truck and grab the shovels from the back.

The night is quiet, and our boots crunch on the dry earth beneath us as we walk to the barn. Despite the years that have passed, I remember exactly where we buried him.

In the dark it’s harder to see, but I flick my flashlight on and guide us toward a spot in the floorboards marked with an X—a crude grave marker hidden away from prying eyes.

We pull up the boards and start to dig.

We work side by side, sweat trickling down our faces inside the hot barn. The dirt is packed hard and it takes a while before we strike something solid.

A distinctive thud echoes when my shovel hits wood. My heart pounds, the rhythm matching the steady pace of our digging. But it’s only a piece of an old two-by-four.

Eagle pauses and wipes the sweat from his brow, casting me a nervous glance. I give him a nod of encouragement and we keep digging.

After what feels like hours, we come to the bags of cocaine.

Plastic lasts for an eternity, and other than being covered in dirt, the bags are intact.

Great.

We’re now in possession of a boatload of illegal drugs. Fully in reach of my addict brother, who currently has a makeshift weapon in his hands.

Perfect.

We threw them on top of Vega’s body after we tossed him in the ground, so we’re almost there.

I angle my headlamp for a better view and keep digging. I brace myself for what we’re about to encounter.

Human remains.

Human fucking remains.

Will there be an odor? Will his skin be intact or will it have decomposed by now, leaving only clothes and bones?

Fuck.

“Damn,” Eagle says. “How deep did you and Falcon bury him, anyway?”

Not this deep.

But I don’t say the words.

I continue, tossing shovels full of dirt up and out of the pit.

My hands are blistering even under the gloves.

It wasn’t this deep.

Not this far down.

And then I see it.

A piece of red fabric.

I set my shovel down and tug at the material.

It’s a red bandana.

Was Vega wearing a bandana?

I think back. So much of that night is a blur.

But no… He wasn’t wearing a bandana.

He could have had one in his pocket, but…

Nope.

Vega was a drug kingpin. If he carried a handkerchief, it would have been the finest silk.

This bandana came from somewhere else.

Someone who…

“Fuck,” I say.

“What?”

“There’s no body, E. Someone got here before us.”