Page 18

Hagen stared out the window as they drove to Gideon Caine’s farmhouse. The road was mostly empty. Lines of trees edged the fields, stripped of their leaves. The bare branches looked like scarecrows warning Hagen and Stella away.

Hagen was grateful for Journey and Lucas’s company.

Places as sparse as this gave him the creeps.

The flat fields of farmland that stretched to the horizon seemed to reveal everything.

The vastness of the landscape felt as if nothing were hidden, except the identity of Charlie Caine’s killer.

And the name of the person who’d die next.

They’d have to dig those answers out of this bare, frosted land.

Journey pulled off the road and stopped. “We’re here.”

Hagen didn’t move. The unpainted fences, rusty corrugated iron sheds, and piles of scrap metal that littered the area weren’t his idea of a farm. He’d imagined something closer to his sister Amanda’s ranch, all white fences, fresh straw, gravel roads, and gentle stomps of horses in their stables.

This place was less bucolic. The road up to the small, low- slung house was muddy and rutted.

A heavy anvil stood on a block of wood next to a trailer loaded with metal pipes.

Damp hay leaked from under a green tarp topped with a thin layer of frost. Lengths of hose curled around a hook on an iron wall.

Hagen wondered if any part of that hose could still hold water or if, laid out, it would leak like a garden sprinkler.

From one of the sheds came the sound of metal striking metal.

Journey killed the engine. “Caine senior’s wife died of cancer twelve years ago. His son was in the military for the last seven years. He’s been alone most of that time.”

Her explanation sounded less like background and more like an excuse for the mess. Hagen had lived alone since leaving college. His home had never looked like this.

“When did Charlie come back?”

“About eight months ago. People in town say Caine senior seemed to come alive again then. Not sure how the man will cope now. Not well, probably.” Journey stepped out of the cab.

The rest followed suit.

A horse neighed from somewhere away to the left.

Hagen thought of Amanda again and remembered that he and Stella still hadn’t talked about where they were going for Christmas.

He really wanted to spend time with his sisters and his mother.

Miami would be fine, sure. But for Hagen, there was something odd about wearing shorts on Christmas Day.

And there was always the smell of corruption in Florida’s fetid air. Last time they’d been there was for a case that had centered on bribery. The stink was hard to get out of his nose. Even the horse dung on Amanda’s ranch smelled better.

Lucas flicked his head. “This way. ”

Hagen and Stella followed Journey and Lucas into a barn, where Gideon Caine was working on the engine of an old tractor.

White stubble covered his cheeks and jowls.

He was underdressed for the weather, and his plaid shirt was buttoned wrong.

A thermal undershirt visible beneath his collar was stretched and stained, dirty enough that it had probably remained on his body for days.

He lifted his head from beneath the tractor’s hood as they approached, then wiped his hands on the sides of his cargo pants.

“You again.” He didn’t smile.

“Us again.” Lucas flicked a finger toward the tractor. “That thing looks like a collector’s item. How old is it?”

Hagen recognized Lucas’s approach. He was trying to build a connection, to break down the barriers between an old farmer and a government official in a suit.

Caine snorted. He patted a patch of rust on the wing.

“Almost as old as me. Must be the last farmer around here not to use that new crap those expensive tractor makers hand out. Can’t fix them, and they always belong to the company.

Those bastards can cut you off anytime they want.

This old thing might belong in a museum, but at least it’s all mine. ”

Pride flickered across his face for a second. He lifted his chin toward Stella, then Hagen.

“Who are your friends?”

“These are Special Agents Stella Knox and Hagen Yates. Nashville. They’ve been sent to help with?—”

“Oh.” Caine sagged and leaned hard on the side of his machine, his large fingers curled around the inside of the hood. Hagen had guessed his age at about fifty. He’d aged at least twenty years in the space of a few seconds, though, and broken.

Stella moved first. She guided him to an old wooden chair that stood by the wall. The legs creaked menacingly as it took Caine’s weight, but he sank into it.

“The murder of my boy. That’s what you’re here about, is it?” He swallowed hard. “Well, first thing you should know…” He fixed his eyes on Stella. “He was the best kid in the world. None better. He did seven years in the Rangers. Had just come back to work on the farm.”

Stella knelt beside him, taking his hand in both of hers. “That must’ve been a good day for you.”

“Damn right. He’d paid his dues. I thought he was going to take this all over one day.

One day soon, even. A few years of working together, father and son.

Then I’d hang up my boots and enjoy a quiet life while Charlie did all the hard hauling.

” He scratched the stubble on his cheek.

“He was a tough boy, Charlie. Could put in a full day and end as strong as he started.”

Caine wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. No one spoke. The horse neighed again. Caine reached into the torn pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He lit up without asking or offering.

“Figured Charlie would get married soon, you know. Raise a family here, just like I did.” Caine took a long drag. The smoke drifted through the workshop like a spirit longing to stay.

Hagen pushed his hands into his pockets. His suit wasn’t as warm as he’d thought it would be, though the cold didn’t seem to bother Caine. “Know if he was seeing anyone since he got back?”

“You mean getting serious with a girl? Don’t think so.

Charlie was…he got around some when he was young, see.

” Caine’s face pinched at the memory. “I thought he took advantage sometimes. They’re good girls round here.

But Charlie was a good-looking guy, and he knew it.

I guess wh en you’re young, it’s okay. But he was looking to settle down now.

Or so he told me. Just hadn’t found the right woman yet. ”

The right one is hard to find.

Hagen shot a glance at Stella. “So what was he doing since he got back? Apart from working on the farm. He have friends here?”

“He didn’t hang out with his old friends so much.

Most of his buddies now are veterans like him.

He said they understood him best.” Caine flicked the ash from his cigarette.

“He’d started volunteering with the high school football team too.

He was a quarterback in his day, you know?

Arm like a piston. Eye like a hawk. If he hadn’t set his mind on the Rangers, who knows where he’d have gone. ”

Stella shuffled her feet. A piece of straw had stuck to her shoe. “You know if he spent a lot of time online? On his phone? Did he talk about any internet groups he was a member of?”

“Naw.” Caine took another slow drag of his cigarette. Tobacco looked like the only pleasure he had left. “All that new technology stuff was never really his thing. He was like me. If it doesn’t work, fix it. And if it does work, don’t bust it. New stuff’s a load of crap.”

She plucked the straw free and tossed it away. “We’d like to talk to his new friends. Know where we can find them?”

“The Prairie. He hung out there a lot when he wasn’t here. Working. Most evenings, he was there.”

Journey explained, “It’s a bar on the edge of town. Popular with ex-military types. It’ll be open tonight.”

Stella thanked him and noted the name. “Can you think of anyone who might’ve done this?”

Caine shook his head. “Charlie didn’t have any enemies. Everyone loved him. Only a monster would do something like this. ”

“Monsters are more common than you think.” Stella gestured to the barn and fields. “Mind if we poke around a bit?”

“Do what you need to do.” Caine slumped in his chair, his cigarette between his fingers and his broken tractor rusting beside him.