Page 47 of Diamonds in the Mud

I waited for her response and almost fell asleep in the chair.

“Sounds good. See you then. Sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve been kinda busy.”

“Understood. Night.”

After shutting everything down, I set an alarm and crawled into bed for a few hours before Ben would arrive.

When the man finally knocked on my door, I’d dressed in black jeans, a shirt, and my leather jacket. I had both my guns on me—one in the holster where Ben and everyone else knew I wore it every day and the other one tucked in my motorcycle boot. I also had the knife I always kept in my other boot.

“Ready?” Ben asked after running his eyes over me quickly and approving of my attire.

“Yeah,” I said, following him down the stairs.

“We’re leaving the bikes tonight,” he said as he walked towards his truck. I climbed in the passenger seat and sat back as we drove out of town.

I didn’t know what I had expected, but almost an hour later, he pulled off the county road and onto a dirt lane choked with overgrowth.

“We walk from here,” he said as he climbed out and pulled an empty bag out of the bed. There were a few bags and boxes in the back of his truck that I hadn’t noticed before.

“Who?” I asked. Ben just chuckled.

“You’ll see.” He started walking.

What in the hell had I gotten myself into?

We walked for almost twenty minutes. The pathway got a hell of a lot narrower. I was thankful Ben had brought a high-powered Mag flashlight that lit up the way.

When we made it to a clearing, he shut off the light and we stood there like idiots in the middle of swamp land for almost ten minutes. I wanted to ask questions but felt like Ben would have just told me to shut up.

I vaguely worried about gators. Did they attack at night? Shit. After that thought, every sound I heard caused me to tense.

When my eyes finally adjusted to the dark, I realized just how many stars there were overhead. The trees blocked out a lot of them and the moon was nothing more than a sliver in the night sky.

I’d never really been one to enjoy hiking or camping. But even with the mosquitoes buzzing around me, no doubt sucking my blood wherever my skin was exposed, I thought it was a beautiful night.

Then I heard a noise.

“Who dat?” someone called out in a thick Cajun accent.

“His name is Jameson,” Ben answered.

“Where da oder man?” the voice asked.

“Jail. You get me and Jameson tonight,” Ben said firmly.

The quiet stretched on. “Follow me,” the voice said, and Ben started moving without turning on the light. I followed him, the both of us tripping occasionally on vines or roots.

When I spotted a light coming from a hut, I realized Ben had been following a boy. The kid was no taller than my hips. Skinny too. I’d wager no older than six or so. He wore baggy clothes that had many holes in them and didn’t have any shoes on.

“Who dat?” a deeper voice asked, almost causing me to jump.

“Jameson. Declan couldn’t make it,” Ben said, sounding slightly annoyed. “Are we good?”

The quiet stretched out for almost two full minutes, during which time I was barely breathing. I had no idea if they had weapons on me, how many there were, or even how in the hell to get out of the place.

Then I heard something land by Ben’s feet. He bent over and picked it up, turning it over in his hand a few times. “Where’s the rest?” Ben asked.

“Da boy will show you where da rest at,” the man said, his Cajun accent so strong that he was hard to understand. “Where is our stuff at?”