His boss hadn’t given him an assignment like this in years. It was great to know he was needed for something besides the other mundane daily tasks he did for the boss. He had skills. Lately, there hadn’t been any use for them.

He finished up in the restroom and stepped into the tiny convenience store to pay for his gas. The overweight clerk was alone, his gaze glued to a tiny TV set mounted behind the counter near the ceiling as he sipped on a straw from the biggest soda cup Gerald had ever seen. He glanced at Gerald and then bounced his gaze back to the TV.

“All set?” There was black decay between all of the clerk’s front teeth.

Probably sucks on sugary Coke all day long.

Gerald nodded and pulled cash out of his wallet, eyeing a Hostess display with Twinkies and Ding Dongs. The clerk’s teeth made him change his mind.

“I can’t believe it’s been almost ten years since someone was murdered in Luna County,” the clerk said as he punched buttons on his register.

“What?” Gerald looked at the TV. A news reporter was standing on a familiar street in Demming. He couldn’t make out her words. “What happened?”

“Someone murdered the bakery owner in Demming last night. They’re clueless on what happened.” The clerk slapped the change in Gerald’s hand without counting it back.

Rude. Lazy. Sloppy.

Gerald felt a slow burn of anger start in his chest and swell outward.

“Stupid police out here don’t even know what to do with a murder.” The clerk picked up his cup, sucked at the straw, and turned his back on Gerald, his focus on the TV.

Gerald envisioned the clerk unconscious on the floor behind the counter with blood seeping from his ear. Gerald’s skin prickled in a good way.

“Look at those idiots. Just standing—holy crap! Check her out.”

Gerald looked.

Jamie Jacobs stood out from the circle of cops. Next to her, Michael Brody held her hand. The scene was shot from a camera across the street, as the reporter droned on. But Jamie stood out. Long legs, long black hair, perfect ass.

“Fuck. I ain’t never seen a piece like that around here. I’d like to tap me some of that.” The clerk took a long, noisy suck at the straw.

Gerald stared at the clerk and swallowed the small bit of bile that had risen at the thought of the sloppy man with someone like Jamie. Revulsion curled his upper lip.

“Looks like someone’s already gettin’ some,” the clerk chortled. “Lucky dude.”

Gerald glanced at the TV. Apparently, the cameraman found Jamie pleasant to focus on. He’d zoomed in on her and Michael Brody, who’d moved his arm around her shoulders. Even Gerald could pick up the protective waves flowing off Brody and across Jamie.

What’d Brody think of the mess inside the bakery? Coulda been your girlfriend…

Did they know where Chris would turn up next? They probably wouldn’t be standing around if they did. Gerald twisted his lips. He had to figure out Chris’s next move. Following the sister had worked pretty well, but now she looked lost and confused.

Too bad her time with Gerald had been so short. They could have had a lot more fun. Kinda like he’d had with the old Mexican.

Maybe…

Maybe the sister simply didn’t know that she held a clue to where Chris was going next. Maybe she just needed motivation like he’d given the old man. Or would Michael Brody be more motivated to hunt down Chris Jacobs if his girlfriend was threatened?

Gerald knew of two men who would probably do anything to protect Jamie Jacobs. There had to be an advantage for him in that fact. An idea started to simmer in the back of his brain, hovering just out of sight.

What if…

He was in the middle of nowhere, and all the police for hundreds of miles were focused on a tiny bakery. They didn’t even know what they were looking for. And he knew where Jamie and Brody were staying in Demming.

What would Chris do if the police found a bunch of Twinkies in place of Jamie?

Would that bring him out of hiding?

Gerald dumped his change on the counter and fished a few more bills out of his pocket.

“How many Twinkies will that buy me?”

Mason headed out to look at the bunker again. All the evidence had been collected. It’d been enough to fill a small U-Haul trailer. Mason was a bit overwhelmed by the huge amount of crap that’d been taken from a bunker that, at first glance, had seemed sparse and bare. But when it came to children, they overlooked nothing. Anything that could give them a hair or fiber had been pulled. The state lab was going to be backed up. Again.

He’d looked over everything the techs were removing, but he’d been focused on the big items. The kids’ backpacks, the cameras, the pictures. The state crime lab would let him know if a grain of dirt yielded any amazing clues.

The scene beneath the big firs was quiet. One lone trooper held the assignment to keep away the curious public. The OSP navy sedan with its distinctive gold swoop was parked in the shade but blocked the pathway to the scene. Its driver sat in the front seat. Mason saw him put down a novel as he pulled closer and then stepped out of his vehicle. Mason parked beside the sedan and pulled out his ID for the trooper. He didn’t recognize the cop, but he figured Ray would have known him instantly. The trooper waved off the ID.

“Afternoon, Detective.” He waved his wide-brimmed hat to fan his face. “I wasn’t expecting anyone today.”

Mason shook the trooper’s hand. “Robertson,” read his name badge. “I wasn’t planning to come out. I just need to look around again. How long have they got you on guard duty?”