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“We didn’t have enough evidence on him to hold him. The others had fingerprints on file and they were quickly matched to the weapons used in various crimes.”
“He’ll flee,” Heather said. “He can get out of the country. He has passports and several different identities. I’ve seen them.”
“And that’s why I’m here,” Detective Brice said. “I wondered that very thing. Any idea what names are on those passports?”
She slowly shook her head. “I saw a box of them in the kitchen. I had just opened it when Kens walked in and pitched a fit. I never saw the box again.”
“You don’t remember any of the names?”
“I didn’t even look at the names. I flipped through them and that was about it. I remember one that was sort of unusual though. Rons was dressed as an older woman, carrying a big black pocketbook. He wore a red wig.”
“Anything else?”
“No,” she said apologetically. “That’s the only one I remember and only because it was comical. If I hadn’t known Rons, I wouldn’t have known it was a costume.”
“All right then,” Detective Brice said, standing. He shook hands with Draegan, plucked his jacket from the booth, and headed out. “Oh, and Heather?” He slowly turned and grinned. “Give my regards to Mr. Reynolds. Tell him I’m sorry I missed him.”
Draegan returned the chair to its appropriate table. He then sat across from Heather, pushing the detective’s mug aside. “Gabe, Justin, and Curt went out this morning with Allister. We’d already heard the news. Gabe said to tell you not to worry. Rons won’t come near here.”
Her pulse raced and she swallowed back her fear. “I’m not worried about me, Draegan. I’m worried about them. Rons was always the Vance brother everyone underestimated. He was kind to me at times, but when he showed his true face? He revealed more evil than any of the others.”
Draegan stroked his chin in deep thought. After a moment, he pulled free his cell and typed out a message. One ping indicated someone fired one right back. Draegan looked up at her then. “Any chance Rons was the one who killed Dons?”
“From the beginning I thought it was a fifty-fifty chance, but you heard the detective. They had prints and they couldn’t pin anything on Rons.”
“Considering he’s the one with an old lady ID, I’m willing to bet he’s the mastermind behind a lot of the Vance family business.”
Serena arrived with breakfast. She blushed like crazy again, fumbled the silverware, and nearly dumped Draegan’s pancakes in his lap.
“I think she likes you,” Heather said, using her fork to cut her eggs.
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
* * * *
“I’m not believing this,” Justin muttered, placing the binoculars at the bridge of his nose. “Check this out.” He handed over the binoculars.
Gabe took the field glasses and adjusted them. “What the hell?”
“Looks like our boy is making his move,” Curt said, dialing Draegan. “Who’s guarding the gate?” A beat later, he said, “All right. Let Bradley and Markie know a little old woman is standing at the intercom post. She should be requesting entry. She’s wearing a bold orange dress with a raincoat to match and sunglasses. And she’s carrying a large black bag.”
“This ought to be good,” Gabe said, passing the binoculars over his shoulder.
“Can we get any closer?” Curt asked, leaning between the bucket seats.
“Not with Allister’s big ass right in front of us. Somebody should’ve told him if he wanted to go undercover, driving Trouble’s dually wasn’t the way to do it.” Justin frowned. “Get Markie on the phone. Dude’s packing.” He gripped the binoculars. “Shit! He has explosives!”
“Fuck!” Curt swung his sniper rifle over the seat.
“So help me, if you fire that gun with me sitting here, I’ll kill you myself after I’m stitched up with a hundred or so stitches.”
Gabe punched the code in the phone, alerting all of Trouble’s founding fathers. “Do not. I repeat, do not open the gate. Rons Vance is at the post ringing in now. Looks like he’s wearing some fire.”
“Fuck! Allister is moving closer.”
“Maybe he didn’t get the message.” Justin laid on the horn. The alarming repetition of the horn resonated in the surrounding area.
Gabe dialed Allister direct. “Get out of there!”
