Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(209)



Dalton McIntyre was a black hole.

He only had a bank account into which they transferred his pay and how the f**k he got that without any apparent ID was anyone’s f**king guess.

Except it had a second name on the account, not McIntyre, first name Michael, last name Simpson, middle name, eerily, Caulfield.

So Tate ran Simpson and got shit. Same thing all around. No taxes, no license, no credit, no car, no property. Nothing. Not one f**king thing. Except a birth date, born in County Hospital, the same hospital where Tate was born, a hospital twenty minutes away, Simpson’s birth date nearly thirty years ago. His birthday July eighth and Dalton’s birth date on his application stated August seventh.

Transposed.

So who the f**k was Michael Simpson?

No wonder the Feds never got close. Both of them, Dalton and Simpson, totally off the grid.

Tate swiveled in his chair and leaned forward, putting his elbows to his knees and his head in his hands.

“Think, Jackson,” he muttered to himself, “think.”

He felt movement and looked up to see that Deke’s mammoth frame was filling the door. Then Tate’s eyes went to Bubba.

“I made some calls,” Bubba mumbled.

“Came by to see if we had to lock you down,” Deke announced.

“No one’s f**kin’ lockin’ me down,” Tate returned.

“You holdin’ your shit?” Deke asked.

“Yes, I’m f**kin’ holdin’ my shit,” Tate clipped in answer.

This was true. The part he didn’t share was that he was barely f**king holding his shit.

Deke surveyed Tate then looked at Bubba. “Wood’s organizing search parties at the garage. You comin’?”

Bubba glanced at Tate then he looked to Deke and said, “Yeah.”

Deke’s eyes moved to Tate. “You?”

Tate stood up. “We’re combin’ the hills where Sunny was attacked.”

Deke nodded. “Wood’s already got boys headin’ that way. They even got f**kin’ quadrants. He’s all over it.”

“Feds didn’t find anything up there,” Bubba noted.

“That don’t mean there’s nothin’ to be found,” Deke replied.

“Krys got Jonas?” Tate asked Bubba and Bubba nodded.

“Stella’s on her way up,” Deke added.

“Let’s go,” Tate muttered and headed out the door.

Krys and Jonas were in the living room when they arrived. Both sets of eyes flew to the three men as they hit the dining area.

Jonas shot off his chair and ran to Tate, slamming into him headlong and throwing his arms around Tate’s middle.

Jonas was holding his shit too, but that hold was slipping.

“Dad,” Jonas whispered, his voice small and scared and Tate allowed himself in that instant to acknowledge what he’d known since he’d heard Frank’s voice on the phone and that was the fact that tonight someone was going to die and Tatum Jackson was going to f**king kill him.

“Goin’ out, Bub, lookin’ for Laurie,” Tate muttered, his hand moving along his son’s hair and down to curl around his neck.

Jonas’s head shot back. “Can I –?”

“No,” Tate cut him off.

“But –”

“I gotta go, Bub,” Tate told him.

“But Dad –”

Tate grasped him by his biceps, pulled him firmly but gently away and held on as he bent double and looked in his son’s eyes. His eyes. Eyes Laurie had told him, in the dark when they were in bed after he’d made love to her weeks ago, that she thought were the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen, both sets of them.

“Who’s my big man?” Tate whispered.

Jonas’s lip trembled.

Then he whispered back, “Me.”

“Look out for Krys,” Tate directed.

“Okay,” Jonas was still whispering.

Tate let him go but hooked him with an arm around his shoulders, yanking his son into his body and squeezing tight. Then he let him go again and his eyes swept Krys. She was standing and he saw her eyes were bright but her jaw was clenched. Gritting her teeth to keep back the tears.

“Be back with Laurie,” Tate told her.

She swallowed.

“Right, Tate,” she said.

They were out the door, Deke peeling off to his truck, Bubba to his, Tate to the Explorer when they saw lights coming up the lane. They stopped to see Shambles and Sunny’s VW van park off to the side. Both got out, Shambles ran to them, Sunny coming slower.

“Word?” Shambles demanded.

“We’re goin’ to look for her,” Bubba answered.

“I’m coming,” he turned to Tate. “Jonas?”

“In the house,” Tate answered and looked at Sunny. “He could use you.”

She didn’t even nod. She ran to the house.

Shambles ran to the passenger side of Bubba’s truck.

They all climbed in and went down the mountain.

* * * * *

Jim-Billy

He should have bought one of those cell phones.

He really should have.

But he didn’t and there was no time to spare.

He also shouldn’t drink so goddamned much.

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