Fatal Justice (Jack Lamburt #1)(21)

He removed his boots and socks. He draped the socks over his boots and placed them close to the fire so that they’d dry fast. He took off his shirt and pants and laid them closer to the fire. He took the little Derringer from its ankle holster and examined it. It was damp, but he knew it would work. He placed it on the ground and took off his ankle holster and placed it down near the fire.

He lay down on the plastic and rolled the part furthest from the fire over his body for warmth. He flashed back to waking up in the back of the vehicle wrapped in plastic and had a whole-body shiver before shaking the claustrophobic thoughts from his head.

He sighed. For the first time since he was a kid, he enjoyed the simple things in life that he’d normally take for granted. Heat. Water. And shelter in the form of a little plastic sheet.

But his contentment didn’t extinguish his anger. I will kill that bastard, was his last thought before falling asleep.





23





A few hours later, Debbie arrived at work and opened the Red Barn for lunch. She hadn’t heard from Jack and was still pissed about last night, and she caught herself slamming the fridge door in anger. Him and his damn work. She knew what it was like to be married to her job, and while it had been exciting in her twenties, she’d grown tired of the one-dimensional emptiness of her life.

Next month it would be two years since her boss had tapped on the side of her cubicle, asking to see her. Her heart had pounded in excitement as she’d followed him down the hallway to his corner office. She’d just returned from an overseas assignment where things had gone well. A good, clean op. She’d expected an “attaboy” or maybe even an award for her mission success.

Instead, she was told that her parents were dead.

They were killed by a drunk driver on Route 88 just outside of Albany. After the initial shock subsided, she requested and received a three-month leave of absence to come home to Cobleskill and clean up their affairs. She’d never left.

And she’d never once looked back. If anything, she regretted spending so much of her early years working so hard.

Foreign travel and eighty-hour workweeks were the norm, and her stress levels were though the roof. Since she’d been here, her quality of life had been a thousand times better. Too bad it had taken her parents’ death for her to realize it.

That was what annoyed her so much about last night, when Mr. Married-to-his-work had ditched her. She shook her head and sighed. What the hell could be so important in Summit, New York, that he had to work? Freakin’ A.

She refilled the bar supplies, pulled the chain of the neon Budweiser sign a little too hard, and sat down behind the bar. She took out her phone to text Jack, frowned, then put it back in her pocket. Screw this.

The door squeaked open and her first customers of the day, two burly corrections officers from the Summit Shock Camp, strode in and sat down at the bar. They were regulars at the Red Barn and stopped by a few days per week for supper after working the midnight-to-eight shift plus a little OT.

“Hey, Debs, how goes it?” Rodney asked.

Debbie smiled at him and placed a napkin and a cold draft in front of him. “Awesome,” she lied. “How about you guys?”

He shrugged. “Ah, I’m okay. You know how it is, another night in the shock camp jungle.”

She put a second draft on the bar for David, who looked up from his paper and nodded his thanks. He took a mouthful and “aahh’d” his appreciation. She smiled at him and turned to start their tab.

Rodney admired her Levi’s, and a grin spread across his bearded face. “I’m much better now, though.”

She turned around and he raised his beer to her with a wink.

“I bet.” She turned around again and pretended to do some work while she watched him study her ass in the mirror. He tilted his head to one side, like a dog trying to figure something out. She flicked her long, straight black hair behind her back in an exaggerated motion for his benefit and tied it up in a knot, turning sideways while her hands were still behind her head. Her breasts strained at her T-shirt, and she saw Rodney elbow David out of the corner of her eye. He hit him so hard that he almost spilled his beer.

David looked up at Rodney, saw his intense straight-ahead stare, and turned in time to catch Debbie’s profile. His mouth opened.

She turned and looked at them, an “I caught you red-handed” smirk on her face, and asked, “You guys having the usual?”

Red crept up Rodney’s neck and under his beard before blanketing his cheeks. “Um, yep.” They both looked down and drank from their mugs.

She wrote down their order and delivered it to the kitchen with an exaggerated bounce in her step. She came back and they made some small talk. The typical male bravado blossomed after only half a beer. Like Rodney’s “When you gone leave that sheriff and date a real man?”

“Soon as I find one.” Her standard reply, which came with an over-the-top disappointed sigh, as if she’d never find one. Although after getting stood up last night by Mr. Married-to-his-work, I might start looking for real.

They bantered back and forth until the cook rang the bell, letting Debbie know that their food was ready. She served them and left them alone to eat in peace.

Two men she recognized from last night walked in. Holy cow, they looked like crap—unshaven, with bed head, wrinkled, slept-in clothes, worry lines painted across their oily foreheads. Must have been one tough night. She wondered where the third guy was. Probably still sleeping it off.