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Chapter 9
As Brody sat in his truck, watching Lainey and Phoebe get into Lainey’s car, the back of his neck itched, and he shifted to study the empty compound. Then the hillside on the opposite side of the road.
Someone was out there. Tracking him.
He didn’t see a soul, just as he’d seen no one but Phoebe on the compound grounds. But the sense of being studied, of someone scrutinizing him, was strong.
He wanted to jump out of his car and search the compound. Find whoever was hiding in there and find out why they were there. Why they were watching him.
Because someone was hiding. Phoebe’d heard someone walking around the grounds. The sense of eyes on Brody confirmed what the girl had said.
Casually, as if merely scanning the grounds one last time, he turned toward the compound. He rested his arm across the back of the other seat, trying to project relaxed. Waiting for the woman and the girl to be ready to go.
But his gaze bored into every window he could see. Waited for any movement, no matter how slow or stealthy.
He didn’t see a thing. But he’d bet a lot of money someone was in one of those buildings. Watching them.
Behind him, Lainey started her car. When he glanced in the rear-view mirror, Lainey motioned for him to go. He pulled onto the road with one last look at the compound. Maybe he’d come back with Brett, Frank, Chase and Garrett. The five of them would search the place from one end to another. See if they flushed anyone out.
Putting the problem out of his head for now, he focused on the girl they’d found in the compound. Checking his rearview mirror, he saw Lainey and Phoebe talking. A few minutes later? Same thing. He wondered what they were discussing.
Thank God Lainey had spotted Phoebe moving around the compound. A few seconds one way or another, and they’d have had no idea she was living there.
Her father was Art Larsen. A guard at the compound. Brody’d met the guy once or twice when he’d delivered beef to the compound, and he hadn’t cared for Larsen. He’d come across as a bully, the kind of guy who liked to throw his weight around. If he’d acted that way at home, Brody couldn’t blame Phoebe for not being interested in finding him.
The guy in charge of the compound, Jeff Conway, had contracted with Brody for regular deliveries of sides of beef. Conway had actually approached him and asked if he was interested in selling meat to the compound. And since Brody always sent a steer to the local slaughterhouse for himself, it was easy to send a few more. Conway had bought four sides at a time, and he was willing to pay Brody premium prices for the convenience of having them delivered. Easy money. No trouble to drop the meat off at the compound.
Brody frowned, thinking about the arrangement. Conway had died, he remembered, and a new guy had taken over. Smith or Smythe. He’d called Brody and asked for the same deal Brody had given Conway, and Brody was happy to agree. He’d made a nice profit on that beef.
He slowed as the ranch came into view and pressed the transponder to open the gate. As Lainey drove through, he watched in the rearview mirror until she was over the cattle guard and had closed the gate. A few minutes later, they were at the house.
Brody stepped out of his truck and hurried to Lainey’s car. Opened the doors for her and Phoebe. The girl frowned at him, as if the idea of a man opening a door for a woman was odd. Something she’d never seen before.
She probably hadn’t. Brody couldn’t see Art Larsen opening doors for his wife or his kid.
Phoebe stood on his driveway and studied the house. Then the barns and the pens. Finally she looked at the cabins set behind the barn. Turning to Brody, she said, “Nice place. Peaceful.”
The first thing Phoebe noticed was the peace and quiet of the ranch? Brody’s mouth tightened. That told him everything he needed to know about the girl’s home. Working to keep his voice light, he said, “Thanks,” as he steered Lainey toward the door, knowing Phoebe would go with her. “It’s a lot of work, but I love it. Can’t imagine doing anything else.”
As they stepped into the house, Phoebe stopped and stared around again. Was she plotting out the doors? The windows? Escape routes?
In her place, that’s exactly what he’d be doing.
What he had done a long time ago.
Brody blocked out the sad, ugly memories of foster homes and inhaled deeply. Something delicious was baking -- had to be tonight’s dessert. He glanced at Phoebe, and saw her swallow, as if saliva had pooled in her mouth when the aroma hit her. The poor kid must be really hungry.
“Let’s go into the kitchen and see what kinds of snacks Vi can rustle up. We don’t usually eat until a little later, but I figure you could use something to tide you over. Since we made you drop your apples.”
Phoebe shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to her one way or another, but he saw the longing in her expression.
“Hey, Vi,” he called as he headed for the kitchen. “We have another guest who’ll be staying with us, and she could use a snack. She missed lunch today.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes at him, and he grinned when she turned to look at Vi, who came out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towel. Thank God Phoebe hadn’t been completely beaten down.
Vi frowned at Brody. “Someone missed lunch?” She glanced at Phoebe. Did a double-take. “Phoebe? What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Vi,” Phoebe said shyly. “Um, Brody and Lainey, they, um, invited me to stay here. With them.”
