《The Devil on Klack Mountain》 Chains of the Past The chains of the cheaply made SecureLynk handcuffs rattled against the metal table top when the young man adjusted his hands. Tara Brown, the dark-skinned, self-proclaimed FBI agent in the smart navy business suit, didn''t acknowledge the sound. She kept reading the pages in the thin manilla folder she held. "May I call you Nolan?" she asked, lowering the folder. "You may," the young man replied. Tara nodded and said, "But Nolan Keller isn''t your given name, is it?" When Nolan didn''t respond, she continued. "And it isn''t your only alias." "There is no crime against having different names, as long as I don''t use them to defraud anyone or disguise criminal activity." Tara nodded again and glanced back at the folder. "Your father worked in the intelligence community." No question was asked, so Nolan did not respond. "Do you know why you are here? Why you''ve been arrested?" "I was made aware of my Miranda Rights and informed I was being arrested for the murder of Nikki Bowen, my friend." Nolan said the words calmly but couldn''t keep his jaw from clenching. "Sherriff Caldwell seems convinced you are guilty. Why do you think that is?" Tara asked. Nolan appreciated her skills. She was good at this. "I assume it''s because I am capable." "What do you mean, capable?" Tara asked. "I''ve had documented training with weapons. I teach martial arts. Rumors around town suggest Nikki and I were romantically involved." "Were you romantically involved?" "No." "No? But you were close?" Nolan calmed himself with a slow breath. "Yes. She''s my friend." "Sherriff Caldwell says you have refused to cooperate. Why is that?" Tara laid the folder on the table in front of Nolan. "His deputies searched my business and home illegally. I didn''t invite them in and they didn''t present a writ or a warrant. No one will tell me what happened to Nikki. And Roy Caldwell is a bully." Nolan was said more than he wanted to, but something about Tara''s demeanor was relaxing. She was good. Her tone shifted smoothly, as needed. And she looked capable, too. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. A struggle from the area beyond the Sherriff''s office drew their attention. A mild look of concern flashed on Tara''s face, and her eyes narrowed. "A tweaker," Nolan said. "They brought him in right before me. That''s why we are in here and not in a proper cell." Tara stared at Nolan like he was a crossword puzzle, then she put a finger on the file folder. "Notes in your file say you spend a lot of time at the local shooting range." "This is Kentucky. Everyone has guns." "Let''s circle back to your father. Given his line of work, that you are fit and seem intelligent, why didn''t you follow him into the public service?" Nolan forced himself to relax again and said, "I wasn''t interested in the family business." "I see you have a 9mm pistol and a 12-gauge shotgun registered to you. Both Berettas. Do you own a Glock, Mr. Keller?" Nolan cocked his head to the side. Was Nikki shot? "No, but I''m betting you do. Probably a Glock 22. Or maybe a Glock 23, since your hands are small." He gestured to her side under her left arm. Tara sat up a little straighter and narrowed her eyes at Nolan just a fraction. "Nolan, what can you tell me about Ms. Bowen''s dealing with cult religions?" Nolan blinked. "Nikki? Nothing. She wasn''t into anything like that. Didn''t have time." "There were signs discovered at the scene of Ms. Bowen''s murder that suggest otherwise. Are you familiar with a Satanic cult operating in this area?" Tara''s soft demeanor had faded, and she pinned Nolan with a glare. "Sure. There''s a group around here somewhere. A bunch of potheads that drive up on Klack Mountain and smear themselves with goat''s blood or something. But Nikki wasn''t involved with them. She works at the University. They drug test. Look, I''ve answered your questions. Will you please tell me what happened to Nikki?" Nolan''s attempts at composure were fraying. Tara looked toward the door, where the inmate and police officers continued to struggle in the next room. She sighed and looked back at Nolan. "We know very little. She was hit by a car or a truck. And then she was shot. Then someone drew a pentagram on her abdomen with her own blood." None of that made sense. "Where?" "On State Route 427." The road leading up Klack Mountain. Nolan held his cuffed hands up to Tara. "Test me for GSR." "They haven''t done that?" Tara asked. "No. KSP and Caldwell don''t get along." "KSP?" Tara asked. "Kentucky State Police. They have a post out by the interstate. I haven''t seen a trooper yet." Nolan had been expecting a gray uniformed officer when Sherriff Caldwell brought Tara in. Why are the feds here, but not the troopers? Small town bickering aside, homicide wasn''t something the locals often dealt with. The look on Tara''s face told Nolan she was asking many of the same questions to herself. "If you have any information that could shed some light on this, I think it would go a long way towards getting Sherriff Caldwell to release you." Tara leaned across the table to sell her plea to Nolan when a primal scream erupted from the front office of the sheriff''s department. It was followed by a yell, and then a gunshot. The Glock 23 Nolan guessed Tara was carrying was in her hand before she finished standing. She looked at Nolan with resolve and a little excitement dancing in her eyes. "Keep your head down and stay put." Nolan held up his cuffed hands and said, "Where am I going to go?" Tara nodded and bolted out the door, gun in hand. Nolan thought about Nikki and about three seconds before he pushed the slide lock of his cuffs hard into the metal table. The cuffs cut into his wrists and he bit his lip to stifle a cry. Then the lock released, and the cuff popped off one wrist. He repeated the motion and tossed the cuffs on the table. "SecureLynk," he said with disgust as he flung open the office window and stepped into the night. Her Place Chapter 2 A light rain left the scent of petrichor hanging in the air. Nolan jogged across the street in front of the sheriff¡¯s office, his mind racing. His pockets had been emptied when he was arrested so he would need to improvise. The Subway restaurant less than a block away was busy. Nolan darted in the front door and grabbed a rewards card from the plastic holder at the register before continuing out the back exit. Nikki¡¯s apartment building was three blocks away. He felt like sprinting the entire way, but didn¡¯t want to draw more attention to himself than necessary. Cliffview Apartments were built like old motels with open breezeways. Nolan kept his head down as he jogged up the stairs to apartment nine. Nikki¡¯s place. He slipped the Subway rewards card in the door and wiggled it into the jamb. The locks, like everything else in the complex, were cheap. The one on Nikki¡¯s door was a slant-latch, like you would find a mobile home. Each of the units had a dead bolt, but Nikki never used it. Partly so Nolan could come and go as he pleased. The lock popped open and Nolan stepped inside. The part of Nolan¡¯s mind that knew Nikki was dead flooded him with grief. Thankfully, the part of his mind that wanted to find out who killed her and bury them shoved those feelings down. The scent of the awful Dollar Store lavender candle Nikki loved hung in the air. He stepped into the open living area and looked left into the studio kitchen. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard. If he was going to help Nikki, he would have to do something he swore he never would. Nolan drew in a bitter breath of lavender air and closed his eyes. The voice of his father entered his mind. You are starting off 0 and 2 on this one, kid. The voice of Nolan¡¯s father rang in his head. It wasn¡¯t really his father. At least he didn¡¯t think. But Nolan knew what his dad would have said and using his voice helped transfer Nolan to an objective place. Okay, what do we know? ¡°Nikki Bowen. 28. White female. Unmarried.¡± Nolan paused, as if he was waiting for the voice of his father to comment on Nikki being single. He did not, so Nolan continued. ¡°She has an MD-PhD in biochemistry and pharmacology from the University of Kentucky. She¡¯s in the last year of residency at the local hospital.¡± What does she have that someone would want?¡± Nolan bristled at the question. Nikki was great. She was brilliant, passionate, scatter brained, funny¡­ He realized his tangent wasn¡¯t helpful. ¡°She¡¯s broke. So not money. She does research part time for some local firm because her mother is sick and needs special care.¡± Nikki was raised in Michigan, where her mom still lived. What does she know? That question gave Nolan pause. He and Nikki were close, but everyone had secrets. He certainly did. Nolan scanned the sparse apartment. The wall to the right was bare, save for an old couch with tan upholstery and a wobbly wire coffee table pushed up against it. Directly on the far wall in front of Nolan was a filmy picture window with sliding panes on a stubborn metal rail. Thin blue curtains floated on gentle currents, seeping from the porous windows. An outdated thirty-two-inch LCD TV sat on a short end table. A thin layer of dust covered it. Beside the TV was a cheap designer¡¯s desk with a thin gray laptop closed on it. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. To his immediate left was the kitchenette with a small over, aluminum covered cooking coils on the top and dingy white microwave hanging above it. The aged compressor of a small refrigerator clunked rhythmically as it always did. Old, brown cabinets circled half the kitchen, some with their door drooping sadly ajar. A tiny table with a pair of folding chairs completed the d¨¦cor. A doorway between the kitchen and living room led to Nikki¡¯s bedroom. Nolan swallowed another lump. You need to see what you can find. We likely don¡¯t have much time. The voice was right. Nolan quickly scanned the couch and end table for anything out of place before moving to the laptop. He flipped the lid up and the screen lit up revealing a Windows login screen. Nolan drug a chair from the kitchen and perched on it before the computer. He entered 100581, the birthdate of Nikki¡¯s late older sister, and hit enter. The computer crunched on the password and Nolan thought about how he had helped Nikki install the various security software the hospital required her to use. The computer unlocked to a myriad of open apps. Email, Word and Excel documents, Firefox browser with a ridiculous number of open tabs, and a VPN login screen. He cycled through the browser tabs, but it was mostly research for school or work. Excel contained spreadsheets of various calculations, and Word held a half-finished research summary on Molecular Modeling. It didn¡¯t look like a school assignment and wasn¡¯t addressed to anyone. On a whim, Nolan pressed the print button and soon pages started spitting out on the compact inkjet printer on the self below. Nolan grabbed the pages, locked the computer, and closed the lid. Next, he turned to the kitchen and began rifling through the near-empty cabinets and drawers. He found nothing of interest there. The freezer was barren. Even the stacked ice cube trays were empty. When he yanked open the refrigerator a funky odor him and he saw the half full container of moo goo gai pan they had shared almost two weeks ago. He moved to slam it shut, but saw a curious brown paper bag in the very back. Inside the bag were two long sticks of medicine that looked like epinephrine pens, and a small glass vial. The pens had a label that read Benepali and the little bottle read Cyproterone. Nikki didn¡¯t take any medicine Nolan was aware of and he didn¡¯t recognize the names of these. As he put them back in the bag, the echo of a car door slamming got his attention. Nolan stuffed the bag in his back pocket and hustled to the thin curtain. Down in the courtyard were two sheriff¡¯s deputies standing at the open trunk of their cruiser. One pulled two Wal-Mart bags from the trunk and the other draped the strap of a camera over his head. They closed the trunk and moved toward the building. ¡°They are coming here,¡± Nolan thought. Panic rose, and he ducked out of sight of the window. Stay calm. You know the exits. He did. It had become a hobby as a kid, something his father encouraged. Nolan always counted heads and exits. Nothing he had found made sense, so he didn¡¯t know if it was valuable. He had to get somewhere to make the things he found make sense. Darting to the computer desk, he grabbed a can of compressed air and dashed into Nikki¡¯s bedroom. The smell of her perfume hung in the air and almost derailed him, but his father¡¯s voice still rang in his mind, giving him focus. With a twist of the latch and a powerful tug, the bedroom window opened just as a key entered the front door lock. A key¡­ Where had they gotten Nikki¡¯s key? She only had the one. The freedom of the cool night was just a foot away, but he couldn¡¯t leave. Not yet. Nolan stepped to the side to get a view of the deputies as they entered. He was away from the window in the dark room and they wouldn¡¯t be able to see him. He hoped. The first deputy stepped in quickly and began unloading his grocery bags on the table. A small stack of books came out, but Nolan couldn¡¯t see the titles. Next came a pair of long dark candles and a plastic bag what looked like chicken bones. Two rattle cans of red spray paint were in the second bag. The officer with the camera grabbed one and disappeared. Nolan heard him yank the top off, shake the can, and begin spraying. Nolan grasped for a clue what the two were doing when the first deputy says, ¡°Ima hit the bedroom.¡± The deputy grabbed the can from the table and Nolan stepped backwards out the window, his foot finding the top run of the old metal fire escape ladder. As he pulled his head through the window, he saw a bright red corner of a pentagram spray painted on the wall above the couch. The revelation that two sheriff¡¯s deputies were planting satanic evidence in Nikki¡¯s apartment made his head spin. Move. Deal with it later. The voice set him scurrying down the fire escape, which ended about eight feet above the ground. He dropped with a grunt and sprinted through the breezeway, not knowing if the deputy had heard the commotion. Once he cleared the part lot of the apartment complex, he turned north. Towards the hospital. Towards some answers. No Heartbeat Chapter 3 Nolan skirted in the shadows of the tall concrete wall between the employee parking lot and the emergency entrance of the hospital. He seemed to have finally caught a break. An empty ambulance was parked near the ER entrance. The back doors were open and signs of a recent transport were littered on the floor. As he neared the back of the emergency vehicle, he glanced around. There was a camera, but no people were evident. He ducked his head and hustled into the back of the bus, closing the doors behind him. Something crunched under Nolan''s foot and he looked down at the plastic sleeve of an Narcan injector. Naloxone. I should have guessed. Nolan mulled over the rising struggle with opioids that gripped this part of the country while he set about robbing the ambulance. After the third compartment, he found a cloth bag stuffed with light blue scrubs. They were XXL, and he was reminded to hurry. He wouldn''t want to be here when the guy who fit these came back. Two minutes later, he slipped out of the ambulance and around the back of the hospital. He could enter through the ER doors any hour of the night, but it was usually crowded and surveillance would be a problem. Instead, he stepped to a dimly lit metal door and began shaking the can of compressed air he brought from Nikki''s apartment. The place smelled like stale cigarettes. A large smoker''s pole had a wisp of smoke floating lazily from the hole at the top. Nolan turned the can upside down and hit the RF badge reader on the underside with a blast of cold air. Steam rolled off and trailed up the wall as the seconds ticked slowly by. He watched the little red light on the reader intently. Drops of rain speckled the back of his neck as he looked nervously around. Finally, the red light flashed violently. Nolan heard a little click. He tossed the can into the nearby weeds and yanked open the door. Bright light made him flinch as he entered and quickly surveyed the area. He''d been here before with Nikki and knew where to go. The men''s locker room was the third door on the left and Nolan slid in confidently. Voices made him turn immediately left and duck into a bathroom stall. Someone was speaking loudly about a cardiac tamponade. Through the crack in the door, Nolan saw a man in scrubs like his saunter out the door with a cell phone pressed to his head. Nolan exited the stall and crept past the rows of lockers to a tall wooden cabinet in the back of the room. He donned a mask and surgical cap before going down the row of lockers until he found one unlocked. The stethoscope he lifted looked cheap, and he didn''t feel so bad about stealing it. The badge he found clipped inside the locker was significantly more valuable. He moved swiftly but not hurriedly toward the elevator. The doors opened a few seconds later and two females, one pushing a folded wheelchair, poured out. Nolan slid behind them and pressed the button to the fifth floor. He tried to calm himself by regulating his breathing, but thoughts of his friend being shot wouldn''t leave him be. The hall to the left of the elevator was dark, but the double doors at the end of that hallway teemed with activity. The lab never sleeps in a hospital. Even one this small. Nolan tapped his stolen badge on the reader outside the third door on the right, and it opened with a beep and a click. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. The room was dark, and he wished he had a flashlight. It wouldn''t do for some curious lab rat to see light coming from a day shift office. With a shake of her mouse, Nikki''s desk computer came alive to a login prompt. Nolan slapped the badge on the little Imprivata reader on the desk and Windows began loading. He opened a web browser when the desktop loaded and searched for the medicines he took from Nikki''s apartment. Benepali was a very strong anti-inflammatory drugged used by people with severe arthritis. That made no sense. Nikki didn''t have arthritis. Cyproterone was even more perplexing. Nolan was sure Nikki didn''t have prostate cancer. Next, Nolan took out the papers and looked over the molecular modeling essay Nikki had been working on. The badge logged him into the computer as Hashmat Chada. It loaded the personal files for that person, but it wasn''t hard for Nolan to figure out the path to Nikki''s personal user space. Since she used the same password for everything, he was quickly browsing through a disorganized mess of files and folders. He sorted by date and a file called ''G Strain ¨C suppression models.docx'' rose to the top. It was last opened two days ago. Nolan opened the file and found the same essay he printed earlier with a lot more data. The graphs and models loaded slowly as Nolan scrolled quickly down the document in search of something useful. On the last page, the formatting changed dramatically. The clear and structured layout devolved into a page with fragmented thoughts listed one after the next. The very bottom was a bulleted list. Call Nolan. This seemed like a bug out plan. He scanned the document again, but couldn''t make much of it. He hit print and the printer on the shelf behind her came to life. Nikki''s mom was in a long-term care facility up north. Nolan wondered if Nikki had accomplished any of the things on the list. He made a mental note to check on Evelyn¡ªNikki''s mom¡ªas soon as he had the chance. He had to go. Nolan grabbed the printout, folded it, and stuck it in his jeans pocket beneath his scrubs. The hall was empty, and he took the elevator back to the first floor. The door of the elevator opened to pandemonium. A stretcher raced past carrying a wailing sheriff''s deputy cradling a badly broken arm and blood covering the left side of his face. The sheriff blew by, arguing with a resident as he followed the stretcher. Blood stained his face and hands. Nolan waited until the hallway was clear before stepping out. He could go out the front exit easily, but curiosity pulled him to the crowd of doctors and nurses outside the ER bay to his right. They were stripping off gloves and aprons, wearing defeated looks. The ER doctor, a man Nolan knew, was chatting with a pair of somber residents. Nolan heard the doctor say, "Hyper-adrenergic Infarction". It was a fancy way of saying a drug induced heart attack. As Nolan crept by the room, he glanced at the patient sprawled on the gurney in the room. Two nurses were busy disconnecting IV lines and making notes in the digital EMR. The man was clearly dead. His face was twisted into a rictus of pain. His arms ended in bloody stumps, like he had been a victim of a corn picker. The tiny chain of a broken handcuff dangled from one stump. The man''s skin was ashen and his bloodshot eyes were wide open. Nolan swallowed hard and hustled past as he recognized the dead man. It was the tweaker from the jail. He flung the badge and stethoscope into the locker room as he hustled past. Maybe Dr. Chadda would think he just dropped them. A blast of rain and cold air hit Nolan as he burst out the door and past a pair of smoking nurses. The ambulance had been moved, so he walked numbly along the wall up to the parking lot. What happened to that guy? And the deputies? The rain had picked up again, and it felt like some of the horror of the ER scene was being washed away. A spooling window got his attention, followed by a voice calling, "Hey doc, do you make house calls?" Nolan stopped and looked in the window of the dark SUV at Tara Brown''s wry grin. Government Issued Nolan tried not to look like the kid getting caught cutting class. ¡°Pretty slick move with the handcuffs,¡± Agent Brown said. ¡°Did your father teach you that?¡± Nolan looked out the window as Agent Brown rolled the SUV away from the hospital. He sighed. ¡°No. He taught me to pay attention to things. I read a lot. Those handcuffs are garbage. I was doing Caldwell a favor.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think he would agree with you.¡± When Nolan looked at Tara, she held up a placating hand. ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t know you escaped. He¡¯s probably forgotten all about you. For now.¡± ¡°What happened back there? At the Sheriff¡¯s station.¡± ¡°You said it was just some tweaker,¡± Tara said wryly. ¡°He tore that office apart. I¡¯ve never seen that kind of strength. Especially on a little guy.¡± ¡°I saw some of what he did,¡± Nolan said. ¡°His hands were ruined. The ER doc said his heart basically exploded.¡± His eyes drifted around the vehicle, taking everything in. ¡°That reminds me. What were you doing sneaking out of the hospital looking like Derek Shepherd?¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Nevermind,¡± Tara said, shaking her head. ¡°Why were you there?¡± ¡°Well, I went by Nikki¡¯s place and found some things that didn¡¯t make sense and--¡± Tara interrupted. ¡°Hold up. You searched Nikki Bowen¡¯s apartment? Do you have a key, or did you just pick the lock?¡± Nolan was silent for a moment. ¡°Why are you driving a rental?¡± ¡°What does that have to do with anything?¡± Tara said incredulously. She was gripping the wheel and the big SUV was going about ten miles over the limit as they rolled through town.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°If you are with the FBI, why are you driving a rental car? Doesn¡¯t the field office have a pool you could borrow from?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t change the subject, Keller.¡± Tara was getting worked up. That made Nolan more uneasy. He wasn¡¯t sure if her pretending to be an FBI agent was better or worse for him. He didn¡¯t have a lot of options or allies. The voice of his father was coaching him about how to use Tara for the information he might need. Ignoring that voice, he said, ¡°Something very bad is going on and I¡¯m trying to figure out what. Satan worshippers did not kill Nikki. I think she was killed because of her job.¡± ¡°At the hospital?¡± ¡°Her other job. She worked part time doing research models for a company in¡­I can¡¯t remember.¡± Nolan had almost said Miami. Though she worked to hide it, Tara¡¯s accent was laced with hints of Spanish influence. Her ¡®r¡¯s had a slight roll. When she compared him to Derek Shepherd, it sounded more like Chepherd. These things became more pronounced when she was upset, as she was now. The small, black leather carry-on in the back seat had an MIA tag still attached. Nolan¡¯s heart raced, and he considered bailing out of the truck. The car had auto lock doors, so he¡¯d have to unlock them manually before jumping out. Unfortunately, Tara was driving like a Miamian, still well over the limit. ¡°What did you find at Nikki¡¯s that makes you think she was killed because of her job?¡± Tara asked. She had regained her calm demeanor and her generic accent. ¡°Do you know what Benepali and Cyproterone are used for?¡± Tara was silent. She braked for an orange light, but ran it and mashed the accelerator. ¡°Pharmacology isn¡¯t my speciality.¡± Yet she knows they are drugs. ¡°I found both in Nikki¡¯s apartment, but she doesn¡¯t take any medicine. She isn¡¯t sick.¡± Nolan frowned. ¡°Wasn¡¯t sick.¡± Tara glanced at Nolan. ¡°Besides, these aren¡¯t medicines a healthy woman would take. Any woman, really. I also found a partial molecular modeling report on her computer. That¡¯s why I went to the hospital. To find the rest of the report.¡± Tara shook her head. ¡°Man, you just zoom through the felonies, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°There is more. Two sheriff¡¯s deputies showed up at her apartment. They were planting a book on Satan worship, and black candles. They even had a little pile of chicken bones they dumped on the table.¡± Nolan watched Tara for a reaction. ¡°Nolan, are you sure about this?¡± ¡°Yes. As I was¡­ egressing, one of them was spray painting a red pentagram on Nikki¡¯s living room wall.¡± Tara¡¯s face scrunched up in confusion. ¡°Hold on. You are going to have to give me the whole story from the top. Is there a place to get a decent cup of coffee around here?¡± ¡°No. But I know a church with bad coffee.¡± Tara gave Nolan an exasperated look, which he met with a winning smile. The Preacher ¡°Keller, what are we doing?¡± Still using the last name, I see. ¡°This is a safe place to talk. It¡¯s a church. It won¡¯t bite you.¡± Tara fixed Nolan with another incredulous look. He was cataloging those for future reference. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a church. In the middle of nowhere. It¡¯s a convenient place for doing God knows what.¡± Tara gripped the steering wheel of the SUV as the tires crunched along the driveway. ¡°I thought you were the religious expert,¡± Nolan said. He shifted in his seat to hide unlocking his door. Just in case. ¡°Religious crimes. Why do you think I don¡¯t want to be here?¡± Tara parked the vehicle and kept glancing at the wooden sign in the yard that read Red Creek Baptist Church. ¡°Well, Pastor Gene hasn¡¯t been committing any crimes. Not lately, at least.¡± Nolan popped open the door and motioned for Tara to follow him. Tara climbed out of the SUV but didn¡¯t meet Nolan. She racked her Glock to check for a chambered round, then re-holstered it. Nolan sighed and, when she finally joined him, led her around the side of the church. ¡°Now, where are we going?¡± Tara asked, gesturing toward the front doors of the building. ¡°Pastor Gene doesn¡¯t live in the church.¡± Nolan pointed to a small house behind the church. On cue, the porch light came on and a broad figure filled the doorway. ¡°Nolan? Is that you?¡± called a husky voice in a wary tone. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s me. And I brought a friend.¡± ¡°She looks like a Fed,¡± Pastor Gene said. Tara gave Nolan a wilting look. Nolan shrugged. ¡°He doesn¡¯t have the best relationship with law enforcement.¡± Tara groaned. An entryway light flicked on, revealing a tall, rough-looking man with gray hair and a well-manicured beard of the same color. Nolan stepped onto the porch and glanced up at the round security camera over the door. Nolan had noticed there were three others attached to the church. ¡°Come in,¡± the big man said, holding open the screen door. Pastor Gene dropped his phone into his pocket and offered Nolan a handshake as he entered. Then Pastor Gene gave Tara a smile that didn¡¯t make it to his eyes. ¡°Please, have a seat.¡± Pastor Gene directed his guests to a small dining table. ¡°Would you like some coffee?¡± Nolan gave Tara a smile. ¡°Yes. Thank you.¡± The big man put worn coffee mugs on the table and poured the last of the day¡¯s coffee into them. He sat down and looked at his two guests. Soft yellow light poured in from the dim yellow entryway light. ¡°Nolan,¡± Pastor Gene said, in a softer tone, ¡°I¡¯m sorry about Nikki.¡± ¡°Word travels fast in a small town.¡± Tara said with a hint of sarcasm. ¡°Faster if you have a police scanner.¡± Pastor Gene took a deep draw from his cup and smiled at Tara. ¡°You haven¡¯t introduced me to your friend, Nolan.¡± ¡°Right. Pastor Gene, this is Agent Tara Brown with the FBI. She is helping investigate Nikki¡¯s¡­case.¡± Nolan pursed his lips and looked at Tara. ¡°Agent Brown, this is Pastor Gene Riley.¡± ¡°Those look like prison tattoos, Gene.¡± Pastor Gene looked at tiny pistols on his knuckles and the gothic inscription No Condemnation in big, faded letters on his forearm. None of the ink looked professional. ¡°I spent six years in Colman, for armed robbery, weapons possession, and a host of other stupid stuff. Surely you¡¯re familiar with that facility? ¡®Cause you strike me as a South Florida girl.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad you two are getting to know each other, but that¡¯s not why we came.¡± Tara and Gene looked at Nolan. ¡°Agent Brown is with the FBI¡¯s religious based crimes division. Sheriff Campbell thinks Nikki was mixed up in some Satanic stuff and that¡¯s why she was killed.¡± Pastor Gene scrunched his face in confusion. ¡°Scanner said she was shot. The only group around here messing with Satanic stuff is Bobby Clay and his pothead crew. College kids. They aren¡¯t violent. Just stupid.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Well, someone is trying hard to make it look like that¡¯s what¡¯s going on. Where does Bobby hang out?¡± Nolan gave Pastor Gene a meaningful look and his friend understood who he meant by ¡®someone¡¯. Most of Nolan¡¯s friends, few as they may be, had problems with Sheriff Campbell. ¡°Where¡¯s the best place to make trouble around here?¡± Gene asked. Nolan nodded. ¡°Klack Mountain.¡± A long silence passed between the men. Tara said, ¡°What is it about Klack Mountain? Sheriff Campbell said it under his breath like he was summoning the Candyman.¡± Nolan sighed and offered a shrug. ¡°Decades of folklore surround that mountain. Some say it¡¯s haunted. Kind of like there¡¯s an ominous cloud hanging over it.¡± ¡°Old folks say they found an old Indian Burial ground when they dug the lake. I don¡¯t put much stock in anything superstitious, but you won¡¯t find me driving up that mountain at night.¡± ¡°What else is up there?¡± Tara asked. ¡°Not much. Old abandoned warehouses. Used to be an old Pulp Mill that shut down years ago.¡± Gene frowned. ¡°Did I leave my blue jacket here the last time I stopped by?¡± Nolan asked. It¡¯s getting nasty outside.¡± Gene nodded slowly. ¡°The Italian one? Yeah, I think you did.¡± ¡°Great. I¡¯m going to grab it.¡± Nolan stood and pointed a finger accusingly at Tara and Gene. ¡°Can you two behave for a few minutes?¡± Tara shrugged, and Gene smiled. Nolan wanted his jacket, but there was something he needed more. He had an itch in the back of his mind that he couldn¡¯t shake. Until he made sense of that, he needed his security blanket. A single lamp burning in Gene¡¯s office was the only light source. Nolan looked over his shoulder to make sure Tara hadn¡¯t followed him. Then he stepped into the office and slid a skeleton key from the top of a bookshelf. He used the key to open the top drawer of an old roll-top desk. He moved a Rural King catalog to reveal a Beretta 92FS. His gun. A shudder of dread coursed up Nolan¡¯s spine. Reaching for the weapon felt like crossing a threshold he couldn¡¯t return from. It was yet another step along a path he desired to leave behind, but dogged his heels every step of his adult life. With a sigh, he pulled the weapon free of the drawer. It was heavy and felt good in his hands. His dread vanished, and a euphoria washed over him. This was the best handgun in the world. Nolan had spent the better part of five years with this gun, or one just like it, in arm¡¯s reach. He had worked countless hours with his dad in Quantico and Glynco, or in various Urban Gray sites training with many weapons. Despite his father chiding the 92FS as a relic, or M9 as was its military designation, Nolan always came back to the Beretta. Nolan worked the slide to make sure a round was chambered. As he clicked the slide release, he heard a commotion from the kitchen. He tucked the Beretta into the back of his waistband and dashed back to the kitchen. Gene had wrestled Tara to the floor. The big man had Tara in a choke hold and was improving the hold with every passing second. For her part, Tara was digging her chin into Gene¡¯s bicep to keep him from getting a lock. She also was squirming to get to one knee, no doubt to try to twist out of the hold. ¡°Gene, what are you doing?¡± Nolan yelled, resisting the urge to grab the Beretta at his back. ¡°Nolan, I¡¯m so sorry. They are coming. You¡¯ve got to go. Get out¡ª¡± a sharp elbow from Tara cut Gene¡¯s words short. ¡°What are you talking about? Who is coming?¡± Nolan asked. He wanted to get closer, but the two combatants thrashed violently on the small kitchen floor. One chair was on its back across the room. ¡°Campbell¡¯s boys. They know you are here. Please go.¡± Campbell¡¯s boys? Nolan¡¯s stomach dropped as he worked through the implications. He remembered Gene slipping his phone into his pocket when they arrived. Had he called the Sheriff? That made no sense. Unless they were holding something bad over his head. Gene was a good man with a bad past that was bound to catch up to him. He vowed he would die before going back to prison. The pain he had seen on the man¡¯s face was from more than the elbow he had taken. ¡°Just go. I¡¯ll hold her,¡± Gene said. Except he didn¡¯t. Tara lurched forward with surprising strength, planted a knee on the linoleum and twisted violently. Gene flopped over Tara¡¯s shoulder and smashed into a table leg, shattering it. The big man scrambled to his knees while Tara wobbled to her feet. The flash of headlights and the crunch of gravel in the driveway made Gene freeze in place. His eyes went wide, and he dashed for the front door as a pair of car doors slammed. Nolan was already moving. He had seen the flash of headlights and the two forms pass in front of them. The roar of a 12-gauge shotgun blew the screen door apart, flinging Gene to the floor before he could secure the front door. Nolan grabbed Tara in the same moment and spun her to the floor, out of line of sight of the shooter. They landed in a heap and Nolan realized he dropped his Beretta in the chaos. The pump action shucked as the shooter chambered another round. Pastor Gene kicked the heavy wooden door closed from where he lay bleeding. The 12 gauge roared again and shards from the splintered door covered Nolan as he groped for his gun in the darkness. The weapon had gotten pinned under Tara as they tumbled. He whipped the weapon free and spun into a tactical kneeling stance as the shooter kicked the shattered door open and stepped through. Nolan sent two rounds into the shooter¡¯s chest, knocking him back onto the porch. Nolan slid up from his stance to take a position beside the window. He barely had time to duck before the second shooter blasted the window with his shotgun. Tara had hit her head on her second trip to the floor and was recovering slowly. The dark stain of Gene¡¯s lifeblood pooled around him. Gravel crunched outside the ruined front door as the second man retrieved his fallen comrade. Nolan dashed to Gene¡¯s side, but his friend waved him toward the door. A vehicle roared to life in a spray of gravel, then squealed rubber as the car, a dark Ford LTD, reversed onto the highway. Nolan was out the door and unloading on the fleeing car. The back windshield shattered and sparks flew from the Ford as it sped away. The gun clicked empty three rounds too soon, and he looked at the weapon incredulously. Nolan frowned. He knew a poor carpenter blamed his tools, but something wasn¡¯t right with his Beretta. His face fell as he inspected the weapon. Tara appeared in the doorway a moment later, holding a hand to the side of her head. ¡°Something wrong with your weapon, soldier?¡± Tara said dryly. Frowning, Nolan handed the butt of the weapon to Tara. ¡°Yeah. Sorry about that.¡± Tara frowned as she took the Glock from Nolan and laid his Beretta in his open hand. After Action Nolan firmly pressed the towel into Gene¡¯s side, and the man winced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Gene.¡± ¡°No, kid. I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know what they wanted. I thought you were in danger.¡± The bleeding wasn¡¯t slowing, despite Nolan¡¯s efforts. He heard Tara rummaging through her rent-a-fed vehicle for something. ¡°Try to rest, Gene.¡± Maybe relaxing would help slow the bleeding. Gene was in danger. No, is in danger. Thanks, in part, to his call to the sheriff¡¯s office. Nolan sighed. He didn¡¯t really believe Gene would intentionally put him in danger. He pursed his lips when he saw the other man¡¯s blood on his hands. This wasn¡¯t the time to worry about whose fault this mess was. ¡°Move,¡± Tara called as she came through the doorway. She pushed Nolan to the side and placed a gloved hand over the towel he was holding. A small cloth bag clinked to the floor. ¡°What can I do?¡± Nolan asked as he stood. ¡°Call an ambulance.¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± Nolan asked. His trust in the city¡¯s municipal systems was at an all-time low. ¡°Yes. Unless you want your friend to die on his kitchen floor.¡± Gene dug in his jeans pocket. Nolan stooped and slid the man¡¯s phone from his pocket. The screen lit up when he flipped the lid up. He stepped through the ruined screen door and onto the porch. ¡°9-1-1, what¡¯s your emergency?¡± Nolan swallowed and spoke quickly. ¡°I just heard gunshots and yelling coming from the Baptist church on route 20. Two men sped away in a dark Ford.¡± ¡°Sir, I need some information. Can you give me your name?¡± Nolan laid the phone on the wicker chair and stepped back in the kitchen. Gene¡¯s eyes were closed, and his head lolled to one side. A stab of fear jolted Nolan, and he darted forward. ¡°Is he¡­?¡± Sleeping,¡± Tara said, warding Nolan off with an up-raised hand. ¡°I gave him something to make him relax.¡± ¡°Relax? Tara, he¡¯s bleeding to death!¡± Nolan was pretty sure you didn¡¯t want a patient that was losing blood to nod off. Tara snatched her little cloth bag off the floor and put a hand on Nolan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I took care of it. He¡¯s gonna be fine as long as that ambulance doesn¡¯t take all day.¡± Took care of it? Nolan looked at Gene¡¯s wounded side. There was a clean, white bandage covering the area. He wasn¡¯t a doctor, but also wasn¡¯t an idiot. Gene had a wound you could put a thumb into. Tara couldn¡¯t have just fixed it. ¡°Nolan.¡± Tara said firmly. Nolan met her serious gaze. ¡°We¡¯ve got to get out of here. You killed a sheriff¡¯s deputy. And I¡¯m either your hostage or your accomplice.¡± Nolan shook his head. ¡°No. He was wearing armor. Something that would stop a .40 caliber. I hit him twice in the chest before he went down, but there is no blood.¡± He gestured to the spot where the deputy had fallen. ¡°And kidnapping a federal agent is a crime.¡± Tara pursed her lips and huffed out a breath. ¡°They will be back.¡± The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.Nolan didn¡¯t argue. And he had pulled the trigger before he knew about the body armor. He felt like a married man who had slipped off his wedding band before stepping into a club. There had been no hesitation, and he felt no regret. His ingrained instincts took over, silencing his moral qualms when the first shot rang out. ¡°Were these the same two you saw at Nikki¡¯s?¡± ¡°Pretty sure. Hard to tell for sure,¡± Nolan said. ¡°But you are right. We need to get out of here.¡± He looked over Tara¡¯s shoulder at Gene. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. ¡°Are you sure he¡¯ll be alright?¡± ¡°He¡¯s fine. C¡¯mon. We¡¯ve got to get somewhere else. Quick.¡± Tara moved past Nolan in the narrow doorway and hustled to her SUV. With one last look at his friend, Nolan trotted after her. At Nolan¡¯s instruction, Tara took a one lane road about a mile from the church. Right after taking the little road, a siren drew his attention, and he looked out the back window to see an ambulance fly past, lights flashing. Nolan took a little comfort in knowing it was heading for Gene. His racing mind shuffled through the many questions from the night. It was difficult to decide which problem to tackle first. So he started with the one most fresh on his mind. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you call for backup?¡± Nolan looked at Tara¡¯s face, illuminated by the lights of the dashboard. ¡°Nolan, you are the one who said those were sheriff¡¯s deputies shooting at us. I don¡¯t think we should have called them back.¡± Tara didn¡¯t take her eyes off the road. ¡°Where does this road go? It¡¯s more like a bicycle path.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t change the subject. You know what I mean.¡± Nolan stared at her. Taking her eyes off the road for a moment, Tara gave him a look that said she did. But she didn¡¯t answer. Nolan clenched his jaw and cycled a deep breath. ¡°I have a hard time trusting people. We all have our secrets. I get that. But none of this makes any sense. My friend is dead and the people I thought I could count on are letting me down. Give me a reason to trust you.¡± Tara huffed. ¡°I can give you several. First, I¡¯ve protected you from the sheriff and his men. Twice. Second, I¡¯ve ferried you around instead of slapping bracelets on you. Third, I used some classified med-tech on your friend, who attacked me, by the way, instead of letting him die.¡± Classified? Is that what she meant by ¡®took care of it¡¯? Nolan¡¯s father had worked on some things that were mind blowing when he was alive. He had also worked on some stuff he wouldn¡¯t even talk about. ¡°Fourth, I want to figure out what happened to Nikki, same as you. Besides, if I wanted you dead, why wouldn¡¯t I just shoot you down and dump you in a ditch somewhere?¡± Nolan looked at Tara, deciding how far he could trust her. He turned to look out the window as they rolled through the countryside. ¡°Because your gun is empty, and I¡¯ve got eighteen in the mag and one in the hole.¡± Trust Tara stomped the brakes of the SUV. Nolan¡¯s seatbelt snapped tight as the antilock brakes whined. He braced himself on the dashboard with one hand and grabbed the stock of his Beretta with the other. The gun never left his belt, but Nolan twisted in his seat to gape at Tara. Tara peered through the windshield into the night. ¡°Nolan, I can''t do this.¡± ¡°Tara,¡± Nolan said carefully, ¡°what are you talking about?¡± ¡°Look. I¡¯ve not been totally honest with you.¡± ¡°Really? About which part?¡± Nolan was getting upset and knew he should keep his mouth shut, but his blood was up. And he needed time to think. ¡°About being an FBI agent? Or having crazy gunshot repair technology. Or maybe about being able to hip throw a two hundred and thirty pound man from a prone position? Tara, what have you been honest about?¡± ¡°You¡¯re smart, Nolan. Smarter than I gave you credit for at first. But there are forces at play here¡ªthings you don¡¯t understand. Things that could destroy you. Nikki¡¯s death wasn¡¯t random, and it wasn¡¯t some cult killing. But if you keep chasing answers, you will meet the same fate. I can¡¯t protect you from everything.¡± Nolan wanted to pop off. He didn¡¯t need protection. Hadn¡¯t for a long time. Pieces started clicking together in his mind and his hot anger puffed away. ¡°You are a part of it.¡± Calm washed over him and ice filled his veins. ¡°Whatever the Genesis Strain is. You are in on it. Or you were.¡± Tara didn¡¯t answer, but Nolan noted her hand move from the steering wheel to her thigh. Very close to her seatbelt latch. Seatbelt. It was another tell. He¡¯d never known a G-man to wear a seatbelt. That slowed egress from your vehicle. ¡°Now you are what? On the lam from whoever is behind this?¡± Nolan held her gaze. Even as her hand slipped toward her seatbelt, his slipped behind his back. Tara softened her stare and said, ¡°Do you know why Nikki kept her research a secret from you? She was protecting you. And if you care about her memory, you¡¯ll let this go. Some truths aren¡¯t worth knowing.¡± ¡°But are worth getting killed for?¡± Nolan shook his head slowly. ¡°Nolan, I don¡¯t know what happened to Nikki, but I want to find out as badly as you.¡± Tara turned toward Nolan in her seat. ¡°These people she was mixed up with are monsters.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°And what are you?¡± Nolan waited for a reply, but Tara gave none. ¡°You had my file long before Nikki was killed. Were you hoping to activate me, like some sleeper cell? Wind me up and turn me loose on the bad guys? Was that your plan?¡± Nolan saw the subtle shift in Tara¡¯s demeanor and sprung into action. With the hand behind his back, he flicked open the door handle and pushed himself out of the vehicle. He drew his Beretta and trained it steadily on Tara. She froze. Her hand hovering above the seatbelt latch and her body coiled to lunge at him. ¡°You should be careful what you wish for.¡± Nolan took a step back and assumed a two-handed shooters pose. ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are or what you are after, Tara. And I can¡¯t work with someone I can¡¯t trust. Fire erupted from the Beretta as Nolan put a 9mm in each passenger tire. He heard Tara cursing and yelling his name as he cleared a barbed wire fence and sprinted across an open field.
Nolan splashed through the shallow creek and crouched as he climbed the small embankment behind the two-story garage where he worked and lived. He knew this would be the first place someone would look for him, and he counted on them thinking he wasn¡¯t stupid enough to come back here. It was stupid to do so, but he was desperate and running out of resources. When he was sure the coast was clear, Nolan punched in the code on the keypad on his side door and stepped inside his back office. He closed his eyes to let them adjust to the darkness. Flipping on lights, or even activating a flashlight, would draw a crowd for sure. After a few seconds, he slipped out of his office and into the double-bay repair garage in the front. Nolan frowned. The place was in disarray. A stack of oil filters lay spilled across the floor. Various tools and supplies were all over the floor. Nolan sighed, but continued to the ladder leading down under the oil change bay to his left. At the back of the bay, he grabbed an 11/16ths socket from a toolbox. In the back of the bay, there was an empty metal shelf. Someone had raked Chilton¡¯s manuals and air filter boxes from the shelf. Nolan no longer felt bad about breaking Sheriff Campbell¡¯s handcuffs. A plate on one shelf on the back wall slid open with effort, and Nolan put the socket on a thick metal nut in the wall. He worked the socket a few times until he heard a click. Then he spun the wall ninety degrees to reveal a secret room. This room was intended for oil storage years ago. Back then, you would fill a 55-gallon drum and then dump it in the middle of a field somewhere. Nolan found a better use for the space. Nolan spun the lock on his Zanotti Armor wall safe with practiced ease. He pulled the lock and the thick metal door opened with a muted click. Glancing over the contents, he pulled three pre-paid Visa cards from an envelope in one of the pockets just inside the safe. Something wasn¡¯t right about his safe, but his mind hadn¡¯t finished processing the quick inventory he had done. He moved on to a pistol in a soft ankle holster. The Beretta 84fs made an excellent backup weapon. There were two clips of .380 ACP behind the weapon. He slid those into his back jeans pocket. Two 9mm clips for his 92fs joined the others as Nolan¡¯s eyes scanned the safe. A thin go-bag was squeezed into one of the rifle slots. As he bent to pick it up, his mind finally solved the riddle of his uneasy feeling. The unmistakable clink of the bolt release on a Beretta 1301 tactical shotgun told him what was missing from his safe. Grand Nolan shielded his eyes from the searing light, and his mind started racing. He was trapped. No one would miss at this distance. But the gunman hadn¡¯t fired yet. ¡°This is my place of business. You can¡¯t be here without a warrant.¡± If it was the sheriff¡¯s men, they wouldn¡¯t bother with a warrant, but he had to buy time to think. ¡°Nolan?¡± called a familiar voice. The shotgun barrel sagged to the floor. ¡°Sid?¡± The gunman flipped a switch, and an overhead light revealed a teenager of Latin descent. ¡°Nolan, what are you doing here? The sheriff came by earlier. Tossed the place. No manches, bro. I figured you had skipped town by now.¡± Nolan processed things. Sid was a kid from the local high school. He had legal troubles in the past and was an orphan, like Nolan. He worked in the garage after school. ¡°What are you doing here? It¡¯s a school night.¡± ¡°Playing GTA on your PlayStation,¡± Sid said sheepishly. Great. Just what he needs. Sid was a car boost from back East. Nolan got him placed in a home across town. He was supposed to mentor the kid and keep him out of trouble. ¡°Wait, how did you get here?¡± ¡°Look, Nolan. Those pigs could return at any time. You should get out of here.¡± ¡°Sid, how did you get here? Did you steal Fredito¡¯s truck?¡± ¡°That scrap heap? No way. That heap sounds like a lawnmower when you start it.¡± Sid stopped himself and started biting his lower lip to keep from saying more. Nolan mentally reviewed what he had seen on the street when he arrived. He frowned when he recalled the Nissan parked on the street a block away. ¡°Mr. Stone¡¯s 370Z? Really?¡± Sid looked at his feet. ¡°How did you get past the chip in the key fob?¡± Nolan¡¯s tone was growing firm and parental. ¡°I made a copy of it with your RFID cloner.¡± As if everything with Nikki, Gene, and Tara wasn¡¯t enough now, he was failing as a pseudo parent. He sighed and stared at Sid until the boy looked up. ¡°We are gonna talk about this more later.¡± Sid nodded. ¡°For now, you need to give me my shotgun, return Mr. Stone¡¯s car, and get in bed. I¡¯m in some trouble, and I don¡¯t have time to deal with this right now.¡± Sid¡¯s reproachful look deepened, and he seemed to be chewing on some hard words. ¡°I¡­ I can help you.¡± Nolan knew what Sid meant, and it broke his heart. Sid¡¯s uncles were deeply involved in violent gang activity. The same activity had claimed his father¡¯s life. When Sid was only twelve he had driven stolen cars to rescue his uncles at his mother¡¯s behest. After she was killed, Sid lost himself in that horrible life. Now, the seventeen-year-old kid was offering to step back into that life to help Nolan. No. He could never let Sid do that. Nolan had his hands full avoiding his own demons. If he let Sid fall back into that, he could never forgive himself. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.¡°No. Shotgun. Car. School. Go.¡± Nolan held out a hand to take the proffered shotgun. ¡°And thank you for not shooting me.¡± Sid nodded and slipped up the stairs to the garage bay. Knowing the kid, Sid had done more than show trigger discipline. He was likely watching the place in case intruders showed up. Nolan sighed again and thought of Tara¡¯s admission that he would need to tap into those dormant skills if he wanted to get out of his situation alive. If a seventeen-year-old kid had gotten the drop on him, she may have a point. Nolan emerged from the hidden room with a large field bag full of weapons and gadgets, but no clues about what to do next. Sid pulled a square flashlight from a drawer and moved toward the rear exit. As Nolan stepped out of the stairwell, his eyes fell on the car in the corner under a dirty, old canvas cover. A lump formed in his throat and his heart pounded. Nolan had broken the spell his father¡¯s old car had on him years ago. He kept it in the garage to remind him of what he had left behind. He had passed the car hundreds of times without a second thought. Now, given how he¡¯d had several close brushes with that old life, the old car called to him. Sid saw the exchange between Nolan and the car and said, ¡°I just aired up the tires the other day. Should be good to go.¡± Good to go? No. I can¡¯t do that. Nolan shook his head. ¡°If you take your truck, you¡¯ll get picked up right away,¡± Sid offered. Sid was right. I can¡¯t drive that car. I can¡¯t. Even as he thought about it, he knew his resolve was eroding. He didn¡¯t even know where he was going. But he did. He came here to arm himself for a trip up the mountain. The hair on his neck stood up at the thought. It was foolish. Klack Mountain was a living ghost story. He was a grown man. Well trained. What did he have to fear? He even entertained Sid¡¯s offer to join him, but quickly shook that off. ¡°Is the battery topped off?¡± Sid set the flashlight down and moved to a workbench. ¡°Give me ten minutes.¡± Just like that, Nolan put another toe over the line he did not want to cross. The momentum of the half-conscious decision made his head spin. He put down his field bag and sat on a mechanic stool. He blew out a long breath as Sid pulled the dirty canvas car cover free. The flashlight danced along the glossy black paint of the sleek 1987 Grand National GNX and Nolan¡¯s breath caught.