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“Can you give us a lift back to my place? It’s on your way.”
The driver nodded. “Sure, hop in.”
They squeezed into the front seat next to the driver and he dropped them off at Jim’s cabin.
As they collected a couple of shovels, a coil of rope and a pickax from the garage, Jim placed his hand on the small of Scarlett’s back. “You don’t have to go, Scarlett. I can do this by myself. I can tell you how it all turns out while you’re having a glass of wine at a bar overlooking the city.”
“I know you can do it by yourself, Jim.” She turned toward him and cupped his chin with her hand. “But I want to be there with you. It’s one of my people who caused this whole mess.”
“Danny is no more your people than Slick is mine. We’re not responsible for their actions. You don’t have to put yourself in danger to prove anything or to redeem the Quileute.”
“What danger? Nobody but us and Dax knows the location of those drugs, and we may be way off base.”
“Don’t downplay it. You’ve been targeted from the get-go.”
“And that’s why I need to see this through.”
He handed her a shovel. “Then let’s get busy.”
He stuffed two flashlights and the rope in one saddlebag and tucked the head of the pickax in the other.
Once on the bike, Jim rested the two shovels across his lap and Scarlett grasped the handle of the pickax, holding it in place.
“Hang on with one arm. I’ll go slowly. I had wanted to go out earlier while it was still light, but going under cover of the darkness might work out better.”
As he started the bike, Scarlett’s arm wound around his waist and he shoved off. They met only two cars on the way to the area of the forest that contained the abandoned mine where Wyatt Carson had stashed three children in an attempt to recreate the Timberline Trio case.
He cut the engine well before the entrance to the trail and rolled up silently. There were too many low-hanging branches for Jim to attempt to take his bike any farther into the woods, so he parked it off the road, concealing it behind some bushes. No need to advertise their presence here.
He handed Scarlett a flashlight and a shovel, and he took the other shovel and the pickax. He wound the rope around his body.
“Ready?”
She nodded, her eyes wide but her mouth determined.
They ducked into the woods, Jim leading the way with Scarlett close behind him. When they reached the clearing with the entrance to the mine and the tall pine where Slick had proposed to Wendy about a hundred years ago, Jim slowed and held out his hand.
He wanted to check the area first, but Scarlett charged past him. He made a futile grab for her jacket.
“If Dax just buried the drugs, there should be some signs of fresh dirt, even with the rainstorm coming through this afternoon. Hopefully, that rain made the ground soggy enough for some easy digging, and maybe Dax marked the spot somehow.” Scarlett marched toward the pine, her flashlight sweeping the ground in front of her.
Jim choked out a harsh whisper as he staggered into the clearing after her. “Scarlett, hold on.”
Then he heard it—the click of a gun’s safety.
Scarlett yelped as Jim’s flashlight illuminated her pale face, an arm around her throat and a gun to her head.
Her uncle growled. “Drop the tools, Kennedy, and you might as well give up your gun right now.”
“We called the sheriff’s department, Danny.” Scarlett squirmed in her captor’s grasp. “They’re on their way to meet us.”
“Nice try, Scar, but I already know Granny warned you off Musgrove. You wouldn’t have called him.”
Chewy stepped from the shadows and waved his weapon at Jim. “Drop your stuff, Kennedy, and step toward the mine.”
Jim hesitated only for a second before Danny placed the muzzle of his gun against Scarlett’s temple. He tossed his shovel and the pickax in front of him, dug his gun out of his pocket and dropped it on the pile.
“How do you know what Granny told us? How did you know we’d be here?”
Jim licked his lips. Maybe if Scarlett could keep her uncle talking, he could get his weapon back. Chewy wasn’t the brightest biker he knew.
