“Too late,” he said. “Get down.”
Avery dropped to the ground, flattening her body against leaves and fallen sticks.
Grant didn’t drop down like she did. Instead, he shoved his gun into the back of his waistband and straightened, raising his hands above his head. “Don’t shoot.”
Avery looked past him to four men advancing on them, each carrying military-grade rifles with banana clips capable of holding thirty rounds of ammunition each.
The man in the lead, sporting a long brown beard, a camouflage hat and overalls, spoke, “Come out in the open, or I will.”
Grant pushed through the brush and emerged into the clearing.
The bearded man waved his rifle toward the woods. “Your girlfriend, too.”
Avery remained motionless.
“If you don’t come out,” the man said, “I’ll shoot your boyfriend first, then come after you.”
Avery rose, her hands held high. “No need for violence,” she said as she eased through the underbrush. “I’m Agent Hart with the FBI.”
“You hear that, Roy?” the bearded man said. “We got us some feds snooping around our private property. What should we do with them?”
“Shoot ’em,” Roy responded. “Don’t matter if they’re feds or Jehovah’s Witnesses, they’re trespassing.”
Bearded guy looked to Grant. “You got a warrant?”
Grant shook his head. “No, we don’t.”
“All the more reason to shoot ’em,” Roy said and spat tobacco on the ground at Grant’s feet.
“Randy Smolka, what the hell are you thinking?” a woman’s voice sounded from the direction of the house. Moments later, a short, plump pregnant lady appeared around the side of the barn. She marched up to the group of men, waving her hand. “Seriously? Are you trying to get us killed? Put those rifles away. We don’t need to give the sheriff, Texas Rangers or DEA an excuse to raid our facility and shut us down.”
The men, each at least a foot taller than the woman, shifted where they stood and lowered their rifles to point at the ground.
Randy squared his shoulder, his eyes narrowing at Grant and Avery. “They’re trespassing on private property.”
“And if you shoot one, they’ll yank our license, and you’ll likely go to jail.” The woman turned to Grant and Avery and stuck out a hand. “I’m Lucy Smolka. This idiot is my husband, Randy, and the others are his brothers. And you are?”
Grant took the woman’s hand. “Grant Hayes, and this is Avery Hart.”
“They say they’re with the FBI,” Randy said.
“All the more reason to be friendly, not threatening.” Lucy held out her hand to Avery. “Don’t you mind my husband. Ever since we got a license to grow hemp, they’ve been on edge. Some of the kids in town think it’s a license to grow marijuana and have sneaked into our greenhouse and damaged our plants. Thus, the early warning system they’ve rigged around the place.” She looked from Grant to Avery. “Were you sent to investigate our operation?” Her brow furrowed. “The TDA was here three weeks ago, testing. Aren’t they the only ones responsible for administering and regulating Hemp production in the state?”
Avery stepped forward. “Actually, we’re working on a murder investigation.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “The one involving the three women they found recently?” She stepped closer to her husband. “You don’t think we’re involved, do you?”
Avery shook her head. “No, ma’am. But we’re looking for places where the killer could hold the women before killing them.”
Lucy raised a hand to her throat. “You think he’s somewhere close by?” She glanced up at Randy.
The man slipped an arm around his wife’s waist. “We won’t let him get near you.”
“Now I’m glad you have all those booby traps surrounding our home,” Lucy said. “Why did you think to look here? We’re not murderers. We just grow hemp for medicinal use.”
“Do you know of any place in the vicinity where someone might have brewed beer or whiskey a long time ago?” Grant asked.
“Someplace inside a building?” Avery added. “Maybe a basement?”
