Page 57 of Hard Rain

He was suddenly very glad Boone was still talking.

“Copy.”

“And Tauber?” Boone growled.

“Yeah?”

“Try not to disappear again.”

The radio went dead.

“It’s all your fault,” Axel pointed out, taking the radio from him and pocketing it.

“You followed me.”

“Still evaluating my choice.”

He snorted.

“Cutter didn’t ride out alone,” he reminded him.

“Somebody’s helping him,” Axel agreed.

“Come on.”

“Where we going?” Axel fell into step beside him.

Whip started toward the trees. “To find out who picked him up.”

“Good.”

Whip glanced over. “Why?”

Axel shrugged. “Because I’m gettin’ tired of hiking.”

Whip snorted.

“You realize we’re in Oregon, right?”

“One of its many flaws.”

Whip kept walking.

There was no fixing Axel.

WARRANTS

“Federal marshals!”

The front door slammed inward hard enough to rattle the walls.

Axel crossed the threshold first.

The place should’ve been condemned years ago. The sagging porch gave beneath his weight but had held, thank fuck. Broken windows patched with plywood lined the sides of the washed-out yellow house.

They’d waded through knee-high grass across the front lawn, and he was pretty sure his boots would never be the same.

Inside, the smell hit him immediately: Rot, cigarette smoke, and something chemical. The stained carpet squished faintly beneath his boots. Like the floor was trying to spit him back outside.