Where It Ends

| 3 | Madder than a Wet Hen

During the police report, Taryn had an easier time holding it together than I did. Knowing what I know now, I should have pulled my gun, cuffed those animals, and dropped their bloody carcasses over the Louisiana border. Even a Texas prison would be too good for the likes of them.

Without question, I believe what she said, and I doubt she was exaggerating. If anything, she was watering her report down, probably for my sake. That's what the one white lie would suggest anyway.

The story she told Waylan, the patrol officer on duty, went something like this. . .

After her college graduation ceremony, she decided to leave town. She began the long route from Charleston to Texas with just her diploma, a suitcase, and a few hundred dollars in her bank account. It was a seventeen-hour road trip, and to make the money last, she ate only packaged food and spent a small portion of the night prior sleeping in her car.

She was making good time and staying under budget until her car broke down just outside of Shreveport, Louisiana. She had it towed to the nearest mechanic. They got to it right away and it was affordable too, and for good reason. They quoted her one price, then demanded more at the end, claiming they discovered something else that needed fixing. The whole thing wasn't well communicated, and they got nasty when her credit card didn't go through.

When negotiation failed, they threatened to bring in their boss, and they made it very clear that he was not a nice man. While they were waiting for him to arrive, they locked her in a back room somewhere. They didn't quite know who they were dealing with, though. Miss Taryn Abernathy. She could climb anything with just her bare hands and flip flops.

The idiots left her in that room with her keys hanging on a hook. She panicked by acting fast. Through a narrow window, about six feet off the ground, she broke out of there in less than a minute and drove off in her own car, which, by her estimation, was running on prayer.

Fortunately, she made it home. What used to be her home, I should say. According to her license, she's a South Carolina girl now. Unfortunately, she happened to mention, while these predators were still acting like human beings, that Terrell was her next destination. She had a decent head start and took an alternate route, but the car still had issues. They probably beat her here. And knowing all the details about her vehicle, it didn't take them long to track her down.

The white lie came at the end . . . my part in the story. I do appreciate the light she cast me in. I'm an old friend of the family. I'm the by-the-books hero, who was in the right place at the right time. As much of a stretch as this may have been, it's not quite how she misled them.

Officer Waylan asked if they'd made any specific threat to her wellbeing. The correct answer was yes. It was something I was there to witness. I didn't hear what was said, but I did see how frantic she got. It had to be ugly, and whatever it was, it should have been in writing. I thought Taryn would agree, but she glanced at me, her eyes full of fear and regret, and said no.

I'd wanted to call her out on it, but something urged me not to. Blame it on pity, I guess. It broke my heart to hear her say that she had no one to call for help, not even her own mother.

I'm still shocked about that, but maybe I shouldn't be?

I suppose, in the dark, dusty, foul-smelling saloon parking lot, I'm not prepared for the story to get worse than it already is. So, I've been biting my tongue. It's leaving a bitter taste, though. It's something that needs a remedy the moment we get in my truck.

We get the BOLO in motion for these assholes, and then we're free to go.

The flashing lights acquired a crowd of curious onlookers that ebbed and flowed for a while. As the interview dragged on, it thinned considerably. Knox, however, got right up in the action as soon as the squad car arrived, and he's still lingering, despite the fact that it already pulled away. I may or may not have given him a hard look urging him to mind his own affairs, but, truth be told, there was no tactful way to get rid of him. He has a badge, too. He may be off duty, but then again, so am I.

I guide Taryn to my truck with my hand on her shoulder. She doesn't squirm or get all prickly again. She makes no move to get rid of it, and I leave it there, all the way to the driver's side door. And Knox, with those unblinking eyes of his, lets me know what a traitorous bastard he takes me for. This is not what he thinks it is, but the optics at this time of night would suggest otherwise.

Nellie is standing in the main thoroughfare beside him. I figured she'd be pleased. Taryn, the girl capable of stealing Knox from right beneath her nose, is leaving with me. But her face is a mess of sour and salty, same as always.

I can't imagine waking up to that every morning. He's a braver man than me. Still, it isn't any wonder why he's madder than a wet hen.

And the real kicker for him? We pass them by, and Taryn's at the wheel. He may wave to her and fake a smile, but I can tell he's fuming. It's a well-known fact that I wouldn't even let him drive my truck. We had a light-hearted tiff about it in public once. Half of Terrell probably overheard, and he's been given a hard time about his driving ever since.

That's going to be real hell for me on Saturday, and that's assuming I get to my crack-of-dawn shift in one piece. Friday, which has just started, isn't offering any assurances so far, and I doubt that'll change with my truck in motion.

Judging by the first two turns, I'm pretty sure we're headed to the ranch. I don't know why or how. Everything has been locked and boarded up for a while now. It belongs to the bank.

I can't say that would stop Taryn. If she wanted in, she'd get in. Just like, when she wanted out, she got out.

She's evaded those scoundrels twice now, and I doubt they'll be forgiving. And because of the carefully edited truth, they're unlikely to get more than a slap on the hand, and that's assuming they're ever found. The business, of course, will deny everything, except the part where Taryn still owes them money.

"Why'd you lie to him?" I ask her once the town lights are behind us.

"Lie to who?" Her voice is dreamy, listless. Her sad gaze remains on the long flat road ahead of us.

"Officer Waylan?" I remind her. "I saw it with my own eyes. The bald guy with his hand on your throat said something you didn't like, right in your ear."

It was intimately close. Never before in my life did I want to shoot someone so bad. It took every bit of self-control to let him get away.

She shudders at the recollection. "I'm a lady and it seems you're a gentleman." She finally glances over at me. "It's not something I care to repeat."

"You should tell me anyway and let me decide what to make of it. That's why they pay me the big bucks."

I have a four-year-old Silverado, an overpriced one-bedroom apartment, and two-beers-a-night of drinking money before I start swiping a credit card.

It isn't a good joke, but it hits, probably because she's tired and traumatized. After an airy giggle that isn't long-lasting, she reaches over and pats my knee in a very bless-your-heart sort of way. "Grady, there are bigger fish to fry, and I need you calm and levelheaded."

That's what I assumed, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

For the rest of the twenty-minute drive I know by heart, much to my own chagrin, I stare out the window without saying another word.

Before I have a chance to get over that one item, we arrive at the ranch I vowed never to return to. And in more ways than one, it's like a nightmare come true.