At the Crossroads (Buckhorn, Montana #3)
B.J. Daniels
CHAPTER ONE
BOBBY BRADEN WIPED the blood off his fingers, noticing that he’d smeared some on the steering wheel. He pulled his shirtsleeve down and cleaned the streak of red away, the van swerving as he did.
“Hey, watch it!” In the passenger seat, Gene Donaldson checked his side mirror. “All we need is for a cop to pull us over,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice. It reminded Bobby of the grind of a chain saw. “If one of them sees you driving crazy—”
“I got it,” he grumbled. “Go back to sleep,” he said under his breath as he checked his rearview mirror. The black line of highway behind them was as empty as the highway in front of them. There was no one out here in the middle of Montana on a Sunday this early in the morning—especially this time of year, with Christmas only weeks away. He really doubted there would be a cop or highway patrol. But he wasn’t about to argue. He knew that would be his last mistake.
He stared ahead at the narrow strip of blacktop, wondering why Gene had been so insistent on them coming this way. Shouldn’t they try to cross into Canada? If Gene had a plan, he hadn’t shared it. Same with the bank job that Gene said would be a piece of cake. Unless an off-duty cop just happened to be in there cashing his check—and armed.
Concentrating on staying between the lines, Bobby took a breath and let it out slowly. He could smell the blood and the sweat and the fresh clean scent that rose from his shirt he and the others had stolen off a clothesline somewhere near the border. The shirt was too big, but he’d liked the color. Blue like his eyes. It bothered him that he’d gotten blood on the sleeve. The smear kept catching his eye, distracting him.
At a sound behind him, he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Eric’s anxious face. Bobby regretted letting Eric talk him into this, but he’d needed to get out of the state for a while. Now here he was back in Montana.
“How’s Gus?” he asked, keeping his voice down. He could hear Gene snoring but not his usual foghorn sound. Which meant he wasn’t completely out yet. Or he could be faking it.
Eric moved closer, pulling himself up with a hand on Bobby’s seat as he leaned forward and dropped his voice. “He’s not going to make it.”
Bobby met his gaze in the rearview for a moment, a silent understanding between them. They both knew what would happen if Gene’s younger brother died.
“We aren’t leaving Gus behind,” Gene said without opening his eyes. “He’ll pull through. He’s strong.” He opened his eyes and looked around. “Where the hell are we?”
“According to the last sign I saw, just outside Buckhorn, Montana,” Bobby said.
“Good. There’s a café in town. Go there,” Gene said, making Bobby realize that had been the man’s plan all along. “We’ll get food and medical supplies for Gus and dump this van for a different ride.” He pulled the pistol from beneath his belt and checked to make sure the clip was full before tucking it under the cotton jacket he’d gotten off the line.
Bobby met Eric’s gaze again in the mirror. Things were about to get a whole lot worse.
CHAPTER TWO
AT THE CAFé counter in Buckhorn, Culhane Travis rubbed the back of his neck impatiently as he watched the distracted, skinny male cook. This was taking way too long and making him nervous. He could hear the drone of Christmas music on a radio turned low in the kitchen and smell bacon frying unattended.
For the third time in the past fifteen minutes, the cook looked at the clock on the wall, then at his phone lying on the counter next to the grill. Leo Vernon, a parolee who’d only recently been released from Montana State Prison, had a rap sheet as long as his tattooed arm.
But Culhane was only interested in his latest crime. He’d been waiting for the short-order cook to take a smoke break out back rather than confronting him in the kitchen in front of all these people. He didn’t want to call any more attention to himself than he had to.
But if Leo didn’t take his break soon... Why was the man staying in the kitchen? Had the cook seen him and still thought he was with the sheriff’s department? Or was Leo waiting for something? For a text? For some important news? Waiting for someone?
Whatever it was, the cook’s mind wasn’t on cooking, Culhane thought as he watched his breakfast beginning to burn on the grill. When Leo picked up the spatula, his hand was shaking.
With a start, Culhane realized that the man wasn’t just distracted, he was scared. He felt his pulse bump up as he sensed the man’s tension even from the counter where he sat watching him through the pass-through.
The bell over the front door of the café jangled, making them both start. Leo’s gaze shot to the door. All the color bled from his face.
Feeling a gust of Montana fall air, Culhane turned to see three men come in. As a former sheriff’s deputy, he knew the look too well. Trouble had just walked in the door. He swore under his breath. With a warrant out for his arrest, he had more than enough trouble already. He picked up his Stetson from the counter and pulled it low, watching the men out of the corner of his eye.
The older man of the three had a lined face, buzz-cut gray hair and old prison tattoos that showed at his neck and forearms where he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves. He gave the other two no more than a glance. They were much younger, both looking nervous compared to the all-business demeanor of the obvious leader of the bunch. Novice criminals, he thought and felt the earlier tension spark like the first hint of an electrical storm. He knew instinctively that the three men weren’t here just for breakfast.