Brandon pointed a gun at them. “Cute. Real cute. Now cut the crap.” Norm pulled up in the car. “Fletcher is to the west.”

Brandon pointed at the car. “Get in.”

Dwight opened the car door and motioned Jean inside. She carefully slid inside and to the right-side door. Dwight went in behind her. Brandon got in beside Dwight, gun still pointed at him. “I don’t want any crap from either of you.” He shut the door. “Let’s get Fletch.”

Norm pulled away from the curb and did a U-turn in the street. He went back to Main Street and turned right. He gave a honk at a male figure on the sidewalk and pulled up. Fletcher got in the front passenger seat. “Let’s go.”

Norm pulled away and drove up Main. There were a lot of turns and soon, Jean had no idea at all where they were. “You don’t have to do this. Let us go.”

“Way too late,” Fletcher said from the front seat. “We can’t have you runnin’ to the cops and blabbin’ everything you know.”

“We don’t know anything,” Dwight said.

Brandon smashed him in the head with the gun. “Shut. Up.”

Dwight shook his head. In the passing street lights Jean could see he had a scalp wound that was bleeding. Blood was running down the side of his face and dripping onto his shirt collar and jacket. She lay her head on his shoulder by way of comfort. There wasn’t much else she could do.

“You call him?” Norm asked.

“Yeah,” Fletch answered. “He’ll meet us there.”

That did not sound good to Jean. She could see they were in an industrial area and that didn’t seem like it would end well for them. The clock on the dash said ten-thirty. Was that all? It seemed like they’d been running forever. Detective Voberg would be at the station by now, wondering what happened. Jean sighed. Was it going to be Ari waiting for them in some abandoned warehouse? “Who punched me?”

“Shut up,” Fletcher said from the front seat.

“No, really. In the restaurant. Who punched me? Damon and Soren were at lunch with me and they were at the table. So, who was it? You, Fletcher?”

Fletcher reached around the seat and slapped her. “What do you care? Shut up.” He turned back around and resettled his seat belt.

Jean’s face burned. Beside her she could see Dwight’s hands ball up into fists. He grunted.

“Keep it steady, Dwight,” Brandon told him. “Just keep quiet.”

Jean was ticked off. It must have been Fletcher. Somehow Damon or Soren called him. What a mess. She saw that Norm was pulling around to the back of a warehouse. She studied the area through the window. A row of warehouses. Some with lights on over doors, some dark. This one was dark. Norm stopped at a side door and turned off the car. “Everybody out.”

Fletcher was out first and opened Jean’s door, a nine-millimeter hand gun pointed at her. “Out.”

On the other side, Norm was out of the car holding the other passenger door. Brandon was a few feet away, his gun pointed at Dwight. Dwight left the car slowly, hands up.

That’s when Jean’s cell rang. Everyone, including Jean, jumped. Fletcher glared at Brandon. “You didn’t take their phones?”

“No time. Answer it, Jean.”

Jean looked at Fletcher. He glared but motioned to her pocket. Jean pulled the phone from her jeans pocket and swiped the answer button. “Hi.”

“Jean, it’s Voberg. Where are you?”

“Oh, hi Jim. I’m still at the reunion. How are you? Those beautiful babies?”

“You’re in trouble?”

“Yes. A lot of fun.”

“We’ll try to get a trace.”

“And your father and I have been having a good talk.”

“Dwight’s with you?”

“Yes. And a few of the others I’ve told you about over the years.”

Fletcher made a cutting motion with his free hand and jabbed the gun in her direction.

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks son. I’ll call you when I get home.” As soon as she clicked off, Fletcher grabbed the phone from her hand and smashed it on the ground. He stomped on it for good measure. Then he grabbed her by her arm and jerked her toward the door. “Enough crap. Inside.”

They all walked, with Fletcher’s occasional shove, through the warehouse to a small room in the middle. Fletcher turned on the overhead fluorescents and shoved her again to a chair against the far wall. Brandon pushed Dwight to the chair next to it. “Find Ari,” Brandon said.

Norm nodded and left. Jean looked around. No windows. An ancient steel desk that looked like military surplus. The steel chairs she and Dwight were in seemed the same. The vinyl had cracked, and the stuffing was coming out of both the seats and the backs. Fletcher tied Dwight’s arms to the chair arms and his feet to the front legs. He tied Jean up next. He and Brandon left, shutting the door behind him.

Dwight whispered. “Who was on the phone?”

“Detective Voberg. I hope she understood that I meant the names on the list I gave her this morning.”

“Me too. She’s not going to be able to track our phones. They smashed them both.”

“I know. Let’s hope she can track their phones.”

“How’s your back.”

“The shoving didn’t help.” Jean could see Dwight’s hands clenching and unclenching. “Save your strength. Being mad isn’t going to help.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But if I get a hold of Fletcher I’m going to beat him bloody.”

Jean sighed. Let him be angry, better than afraid. Because that’s where she was, and it didn’t feel good at all. Maybe if she wasn’t already in pain it would be different. Right now, she wouldn’t be able to put up a fight if she had to. That made her feel weak and helpless. She sniffed back tears. “Too bad they used rope. We might have been able to do something about duct tape.”

Dwight stretched his hands. “Yeah. This is on for good unless we can figure out a way to cut it.” He twisted around to look behind the chairs. “Nothing back here.”

Jean looked at the old desk. “There’s an edge up on the top but even if we could get the chairs over there, it’s too high to cut the rope on our wrists.” The rest of the room didn’t have anything but dirt in the corners. “Maybe we can get them to fight with each other.”

Dwight chuckled. “Get them mad enough to shoot each other. That would be great.”

Jean was smiling when the door opened. Fletcher pointed the gun at them, his face suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“Imagining you with your hands cuffed behind you and shoved into prison for the rest of your life.” Jean smiled broadly. “It’s such a pretty picture.”

He took three steps across the room when a voice behind him said, “Stop.”

Fletcher stood over Jean, fist raised. His face was a mask of fury.

“I said stop.”

Fletcher dropped his hand and went to the desk. The dark-haired man Jean had seen at the candy factory stepped into the room.

“Ari, isn’t it?” Jean asked. She lifted her chin. “The murderer.”

“I told you she heard everything!” Norm stepped into the room behind Ari. Brandon followed him.

“Miss Hays, Mr. Hays.” Ari stood about three feet in front of them and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re causing me quite a bit of extra work.”

“That sucks for you.” Dwight sneered.

Ari rolled his eyes. “Bravado will do you no good. You both know too much and will have to be dealt with.” He turned to Brandon. “This is going to cost extra.”

“So you’re not the boss.” Jean stared at Brandon. “I suppose that makes you the boss.”

“Justin was.” Brandon shook his head. “But he was making bad decisions. He had to be removed.” He looked at Ari. “Fine. Same fee for each of them as for Justin.”

Jean’s stomach felt like it was instantly filled with ice. If her hands hadn’t been tied down, they’d be shaking. “You could cut us in.”

Ari turned back to her. Brandon’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

Dwight and Jean traded glances. Dwight answered. “Cut us in. We already know. So, cut us in. I could use the extra money.”

Norm, Fletcher, and Brandon traded glances. Fletcher shook his head. “They can’t be trusted. They were goody-two-shoes in Afghanistan and they are now. They’ll rat us out as soon as we cut them loose.”

Norm rubbed his chin as he studied Jean and Dwight. “I’m not seeing it either. I remember them from the day. Neither one of them would take so much as a doughnut. I vote no.”

“I say no, too.” Brandon nodded at Ari. “You want help transporting them?”

“Wait,” Jean cried out. “What about Gail, Ian and Damon’s vote?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s already three in agreement. I doubt all three would vote yes, and they wouldn’t. They’re not stupid.”

Ari nodded. “Yes. Two people, two bodies. Better to have many hands.”

“We’ll take them out to the desert, then.” Brandon motioned to Fletcher. “Untie them from the chairs. Tie their hands behind their backs. They can walk for now.”

Fletcher handed Norm the gun and worked on Jean first. He wasn’t gentle. The rope had cut into her wrists and when he forced her arms behind her and retied them, the rope bit into the already painful cuts. She made a small whimper. “Shut it.” He jerked the rope just for spite.

He left her ankles tied to the chair while he worked on Dwight’s hands. Then untied all of their feet. “Stand up.”

Norm gave Fletcher back his gun. “Follow me.”

Jean followed Norm, Dwight behind her. Ari was at the warehouse door, holding it open. Brandon was next to a cargo van, the side door open. “Get in.”

There was no graceful way to do it with her hands tied so Jean sat down and swung her feet inside. Then it was an awkward hitching backward to get to the opposite wall. None of it made her back feel better.

Dwight they pushed in and he fell badly on his left shoulder. He cried out in pain, but Fletcher just shoved him into the van before jumping up inside and dragging Dwight to a spot beside Jean. Dwight was biting his lower lip.

“Is it hurt?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Fletcher hit the van wall beside Dwight’s head. “No talking.”

Ari got into the driver’s seat. Brandon in the passenger seat. Fletcher sat against the door wall, gun pointed at them. Norm stood at the cargo doors. “I’ll follow.” Then he shut the doors.

“Let’s go,” Fletcher said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Twenty-Two