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“I had to clear out of the motel,” he explained in a rush. “Someone tossed my room, looking for money or, I don’t know, they just turned it upside down and I had to go.”
“Are you hurt? Do you have any money?”
“No, I got away without them finding me. And I have a few dollars for today, maybe tomorrow. Raven, this is just killing me.” The sadness and desperation in his voice was real. He was a man at the end of his rope, driven close to insanity by the fear of capture, torture, and death. It pained him to an even deeper level that his sweet sister was involved now, but what could he do?
“I got us some help,” she said simply.
“Who?” he asked, suddenly very wary. “Who, thecops?”
“A friend of a friend who deals professionally with the kind ofpeopleyou’ve been associating with. And you’re going to talk to him.”
“Raven, no!” he wailed. “If I’m busted, they’llslaughterme in prison. And if they even know I’vetalkedto a cop, none of us will be safe, Raven.Noneof us.”
“You let me worry about that.” From the sounds on the line, Raven felt certain her brother was crying. “Once you’re helping my friend with some information, he’ll be able to guarantee your safety.”
Hank was sobbing. “Forget it, Raven,” he sniffed. “I’d rather put a gun in my mouth right now than talk to somepig. You’ve got me all wrong.”
She snapped. “Listen, youunbelievablemoron! We need the cops to take down this gang, right? Then you’ll be safe, and that’s theonlyway it’s going to happen. The more you help them, the safer you’ll be.”
Hank was silent for a long time. “It’s hopeless, sis. Hopeless.”
“Don’t talk like that. Just get in your car and come to the bakery. I’ll be there from nine today. We’ll talk, and I’ll put you in touch with my friend.”
“I can’t...” He was gaining some control of himself. “Curt’s there, in Pendale. If he sees me, or my car, or you...”
“No one’s going to mess with me today. Besides, we think we know what this guy’s driving. You said his name’s Curt?”
“Yeah, he’s a muscle man for Vincent, the big cheese in San Antonio. They’ve sent him to bring me in.”
“Well, he’s not bringing you anywhere. Straighten yourself out and get in your car. Take the back roads. I’ll see you at Cheryl’s.”
Raven ended the call and flopped on the bed, her heart aching with pity, confusion and sheer rage. After her date, with her mind as settled as it had been since her move, Raven began to feel the good things which had come from sharing this crazy, warped situation with people she trusted. Ridge’s reaction had been beyond perfect, she thought with a warm glow, and this let her finally open up to Maggie and Wes as they opened a bottle of Jim Beam and talked it all out until the small hours.
Although Wes had wanted simply to track down and beat up her cowering brother, Raven had found herself taking Maggie’s advice: take deep breaths, consider the situation from the outside, and remember that familyisfamily, no matter what stupidity, pain and danger they brought to your life.
Ultimately, though, she had taken Hank’s panicked call because of Ridge. He would protect them both, she knew, and Corbett seemed to offer the only safe way out for Hank, the onlyrealsolution. She just had to be patient. And maybe a little lucky.
Ridge had beenat his accustomed table for twenty minutes when the grey sedan made its first pass. He double checked the license plates and noticed, once more, the short crewcut of the driver, a man in his early 40s perhaps, relatively heavy-set. The takeout coffee cup he held was from the diner at the gas station outside of town, towards the highway which led to San Antonio, so Ridge could surmise he hadn’t taken a room in Pendale. And now he had a name: Curt.
Although he’d never show it, Ridge was furious with Raven’s impromptu plan to meet Hank here at Cheryl’s. He felt that it endangered everyone and could lead, in the worst-case scenario, to a gangland shootout in the middle of a tiny, rural town, two hundred yards from aschool, for God’s sake. He had kept these concerns to himself, resolving — with an iron determination — to protect her as best he could.
A shifty, lanky-haired character walked into the shop, glancing all around and behind as he did. Ridge watched him intently from behind his morning paper. He wore a dark-green overcoat and muddied sneakers, his jeans were torn at the knees, and his worried face was unshaven and furrowed. Hank approached the counter and nervously muttered something to Cheryl, whose normally bright demeanor turned suspicious and sour within seconds. She looked the crumpled visitor in the eye, poured him a coffee and bid him wait on one of the barstools which surrounded the counter. Ridge watched Cheryl dry her hands and bustle into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Ridge said as he took the stool next to Hank’s.
“Hey, buddy,” the harassed man said distractedly. He smelled of coffee and something else, the cloying scent of energy drinks.
“You, er... You got a permit for that?” Ridge asked quietly enough that none of the half dozen customers might overhear.
“Huh?” Hank looked up, confusion on his stress-scarred face. “Permit for what?”
“A concealed carry permit. For your weapon.”
Hank stood abruptly, kicking back the stool so that Ridge had to catch it. “You a cop?” he said, too loudly.
Ridge very deliberately shook his head. “No, I’m just a concerned citizen.” He held the stool for Hank, but he just stood there, confused and surprised and anxious. “Concerned, right now, about whether you’re bringing with you more trouble even than that gun.”
“What you talking about, man? You crazy or somethin’?”
