Defiance: A House Divided (The Defending Home Series Book 2) Read online

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Having Zach and his young friend Dannyboy probably made a real difference.”

  Dale reluctantly agreed. He didn’t want to get into the troubles the two men were having. It was something they’d need to learn to sort out for themselves.

  “This place has become something of a castle,” Walter said. “But every good castle had one thing that we’re missing.”

  “A moat?” Dale said. “Believe it or not, I’m working on that.”

  “No,” Walter replied. “An escape tunnel.”

  The old man’s answer caught him off guard. The thought had never crossed Dale’s mind.

  “If we’re ever facing a hopeless situation, we need to find a way for some of us to get out safely. How better than right under the enemy’s noses?”

  “Where would it lead to?” Dale wondered aloud.

  “The barn out back,” Walter said without hesitation. “It’s best to avoid coming out in the open and risk being seen. From there we could make our way past the firing range. The barn and the brush beyond would provide at least some concealment from enemy forces.” Walter struggled for breath and Dale encouraged him to take it easy. “It’ll take some doing, but I know you can do it. You never know when it’ll come in handy.”

  Dale couldn’t help but agree, although the thought of running from the property seemed so counter-intuitive. If push came to shove, where would they go? How would they live? The questions that arose from such a scenario were plenty and the answers few. Dale told Walter he should rest.

  Most of the basement had been finished in concrete, apart from a crawlspace where the floor was mostly loose dirt. He headed downstairs to have a look and saw that a tunnel leading from the crawlspace to the barn was not only possible, it was vital. Walter had been right, it would be hard work, but one day it might just save their lives.

  Chapter 16

  Zach

  “I still think he coulda done more to save his brother’s life,” Dannyboy was saying to Zach and Colton, who were out back by the firing range. Dannyboy was a few feet away, standing before Shane’s grave.

  “I’m sure his widow Nicole would agree with you,” Zach said.

  “Guess I just don’t understand what was holding him back,” Dannyboy went on. “I could kill a thousand cartel goons and never feel satisfied.”

  “That’s because you’re still sore over Hawkeye,” Zach told him. “And I don’t blame you one bit, brother. I had about twenty loyal bikers by my side and Ortega and his men cut most of them to shreds before they had a chance to fire a single shot.”

  “We could hear the battle from the house,” Colton said. “That’s why we jumped in the truck to come help.”

  Zach remembered how quickly Dale and the others had swung into action, even after he’d told them to stay back. At the time, he’d been sure his posse was about to teach those drug dealers a lesson. He still had a hard time accepting that he had been the one to get schooled that day.

  “It was a good thing you listened. Y’all would have only gotten yourselves killed coming out in the open like that,” Zach said. “They were waiting for us. It wasn’t more than sheer luck that any of us got away. Maybe your uncle Dale doesn’t get it, but I intend to have my revenge on those scumbags whether he’s part of the plan or not.”

  Colton’s eyes fell to Shane’s grave. “I guess he can’t help feel responsible for all the people living in the house.”

  “He’s got a Superman complex,” Dannyboy shouted. “I seen it before. Guys who take the weight of the world on their shoulders.”

  “Man’s gotta take care of himself, first,” Zach said in a low voice. “Don’t you agree, Colton?”

  Zach could see his son nodding, but the young man’s eyes were saying something else.

  “If we only ever look out for ourselves,” Colton began, “what about the people who need help?”

  “You know what I learned in prison?” Zach said. “Nobody cares whether you live or die. Not the people in the cell next to you, not the guards or the warden and especially not the people on the outside. You’re the lowest of the low. Gangs form, don’t get me wrong. But there isn’t place in any of ’em for the weak.”

  “Do you think Ann is weak?” Colton asked, careful not to sound like he was challenging his father.

  “That frail old lady?” Dannyboy said. “Hell, yeah.”

  Zach laughed. Dannyboy had a knack for saying more in a couple of words than most men could say in an hour.

  “If she wasn’t with us, who would grow our vegetables or take care of the chickens? Who would look after the wounded?”

  “I don’t know,” Dannyboy said dismissively. “The same person who took care of that stuff before she was around.”

  “That was Dale,” Colton answered. “But then he wouldn’t be able to do anything else.”

  “What’s your point?” Zach said, getting annoyed.

  “All I’m trying to say is that everyone’s got a place, even if they can’t fire a gun real well or win a fistfight.”

  Dannyboy cackled with laughter. “Ann in a fistfight. Now there’s a sight.”

  “Well, none of that changes the fact that the cartel keeps growing while we’re stuck here watching Ann grow veggies. I’m guessing even you can see I’m right.”

  Colton nodded, somewhat reluctantly, but he did so nevertheless, even if it was to win his father’s approval.

  “We need reinforcements,” Zach said. “We need to build a group of tough SOBs who won’t shy away from giving those kingpins a taste of their own medicine.”

  Dannyboy perked up. “How do you figure on doing that?”

  “I’m not sure, just yet,” Zach said. “But I’m starting to think it may involve leaving this farm and striking out on my own.”

  “Not without me,” Dannyboy said. “I wouldn’t dare miss an opportunity to even the score.”

  “What about you?” Zach asked, eyeing his son. “We leave, will you join us?”

  Colton’s gaze flitted between them. He didn’t say a word, but as far as Zach was concerned, he’d said more than enough.

  •••

  Dale

  It was the middle of the night when Dale awoke, the soft squeal of the windmill churning outside his window mixed with the repetitive sound of Duke’s light snoring from the foot of his bed. Otherwise, the house was quiet.

  Faint threads of light bled in from the hallway, or was it the kitchen downstairs? Nearly everyone took turns on sentry duty and so it wasn’t unheard of that some lights would be left on as the person in question made their rounds. Dale checked his watch. It was still Nicole’s shift. He knew that because he’d nudged her awake before plopping into his own bed, dead tired after a long day of hard labor. The urge to close his eyes and drift back to sleep was strong and yet something about that light bothered him. Dale got out of bed and made it all the way to the door before backtracking to grab the .45 caliber Ruger he kept on the nightstand next to his pillow. By then Duke was on his feet, tail wagging.

  He chambered a round in the pistol, but kept the safety on as the two of them made their way downstairs, Dale’s bare feet whispering along the hardwood floor, Duke’s nails clicking softly alongside him.

  After a brief search, he couldn’t find Nicole on the first or the second floor. And that sick feeling in the pit of his belly began to return. But was he overreacting? With the house locked down, there was no way for any of Ortega or Sheriff Gaines’ men to sneak inside without Duke going absolutely haywire. Who needed an alarm system when you had Duke?

  With that in mind, Dale made his way into the basement, certain there was a perfectly logical explanation. Maybe she’d decided to flout the rules and head into the basement to find something to eat. He wouldn’t be happy, but that would be nothing compared to wasting precious water in order to wash a Brinks truck.

  Dale was halfway down the stairs when he heard Nicole speaking.

  “I tried,” she said, weakly
.

  A male voice replied that she needed to try harder.

  Drawing closer, Dale saw she was on the shortwave.

  Nicole jumped and screamed with fright when she saw Dale standing a few feet away, his facial features twisted in puzzlement.

  “Dale, you scared the heck out of me.”

  “What’s going on here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dale’s patience was wearing thin. “Who were you speaking with?”

  There was a pregnant pause. “My uncle up in Scottsdale,” she said at last. “I was just checking up on him.”

  “You’re lying,” Dale said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t play the offended one with me,” he snapped. “Unless you can talk to ghosts, that wasn’t your uncle. Walter already told me everyone in your extended family is either dead or missing.”

  And in a horrible flash, Dale suddenly understood what was going on. She was talking to Sheriff Gaines, or at the very least to one of his men, revealing details about the defenses they’d erected and ways to overcome them.

  The person on the other end of the radio could only hear you when you depressed the button and spoke into the mic, which meant whoever was on the other end was deaf to the conversation he was having with Nicole.

  “Ask them something,” Dale ordered her.

  “What?” The tremble in her voice rose sharply. He could hear the way her tongue was sticking to her palate, a clear sign of dry mouth and an obvious indication of nervousness and guilt.

  “I wanna hear their voice. You say it’s your uncle, then I want you to ask him about the weather in Scottsdale.” The gun was in Dale’s hand. He wasn’t prepared to use it, not just yet, but she didn’t need to know that.

  Nicole hesitated before doing as he asked. “How’s the weather down there?” she asked, wincing.

  “Weather?” The voice on the other end let out a distinctive-sounding laugh, one Dale had heard many times before. “What are you talking about, babe?”

  And with that the blood drained from Dale’s face and the strength went out of his legs. He knew who she’d been speaking with. Knew it wasn’t Randy or one of his deputies.

  The man on the other end wasn’t her uncle from Scottsdale.

  It was Shane.

  Chapter 17

  Dale woke everyone in the house by banging a pot with a metal spoon. The sound of cursing—nearly all of it emanating from Zach and Dannyboy—rolled down at him from the rooms upstairs. Sleepy-eyed and grumpy, they slowly assembled in the living room, the early-morning sky still a darkened mass.

  “For the love of God, this better be important,” Zach complained. “I was on a beach in Acapulco sipping Mai Tais and chatting with a redhead in a bikini.”

  Dannyboy chuckled, wiping the gunk from the corners of his lips.

  “I was being chased by Mayor Reid’s corpse,” Sandy said, cupping her elbows and shivering.

  “A shrink would have a field day with that one,” Zach told her. His gaze then shifted over to Nicole, who was sitting in a chair facing the rest of them. “Someone’s in trouble. Lemme guess, she used a bucket of water to flush a number one instead of letting it mellow.”

  Even Colton couldn’t help but smirk at that one.

  “Quit screwing around,” Dale barked uncharacteristically, his thundering voice devoid of any humor. “I wouldn’t have called you all out of bed if it wasn’t serious.”

  He started to explain what had happened. By the time he arrived at the part where Shane was still alive, one side of the room was sitting in stunned silence while the other erupted into a volley of questions and comments.

  “I mean, how’s that even possible?” Colton asked, his hands at eye level as though he were trying to pluck something out of thin air.

  Sandy shook her head in astonishment. “We buried him.”

  Their confusion was understandable. Dale himself was still trying to understand what had happened and, more importantly, why. Not surprisingly, Nicole wasn’t saying much.

  “So the two of ’em are working with Sheriff Gaines,” Zach said with disgust.

  “It appears so,” Dale replied. “You can see now why this isn’t the time for potty humor.”

  Ann was off to the side, weeping quietly. Nicole saw her mom and began crying herself.

  “If Shane’s still alive,” Brooke began, choosing her words carefully, “then who did we bury?”

  “Could be anyone,” Colton said.

  Dale wasn’t so sure. “Not to get too graphic, but they needed to use someone recently dead.”

  “Also someone about the same height and weight as Shane,” Sandy added. Her days as a deputy were no doubt kicking in.

  “Then it sure as heck wasn’t any of the bikers I rode in with,” Zach assured them. “Those boys were grizzlies to a man.” He stopped himself. “Unless it was Hawkeye. He was killed minutes before the cartel attacked us.” His gaze shifted to Nicole. “What was the point of all this?”

  She sat with her arms crossed, not saying a word.

  “Give me ten minutes and I’ll get her talking,” Dannyboy said. Hawkeye had been his childhood friend and the thought of the cartel desecrating his corpse no doubt infuriated him.

  Dale would never allow that to happen, but decided to remain quiet. If empty threats would get Nicole talking, he was more than happy to indulge Zach’s young friend.

  Dannyboy stood up and made a threatening move toward Nicole, who stuck out her arms to shield herself. “He wanted what was rightfully his,” she said, spewing the words like they’d been trapped behind her lips for months, maybe even years.

  Dale looked on in stunned amazement.

  Her eyes met Dale’s and she struggled to hold his intense glare. “He loved you, Dale. Believe it or not, he loved you to death. He wanted you to be proud of him. Seemed nothing he ever did was good enough. Same went for your father. When Dale got the property, I guess for Shane that was a final slap in the face.”

  “So he decided to have us killed and take it for himself,” Dale shouted in disbelief.

  Nicole shook her head. “He made an agreement with Mayor Reid that you, my parents and myself were not to be harmed. Once you were cast out, we would run the well on the mayor’s behalf.”

  “And what about the rest of us?” Colton asked. Zach, Sandy and Dannyboy were just as eager to hear what she had to say.

  She shook her head, her eyes downcast.

  “We were as dead as dog meat,” Zach said, then turned to Duke. “No offense, ol’ boy.”

  Dale pivoted toward Ann, who was still crying, his voice soft, wounded, as he said, “Please tell me that you weren’t part of this.” Ann and Walter had become like parents to Dale and the thought of being betrayed by them was almost too much to bear.

  “They had nothing to do with this,” Nicole swore, seemingly relieved to be getting it out, but also visibly frightened with the looming prospect of punishment or even death.

  “So that time Shane took off in the pickup,” Dale began.

  “He’d gone to meet with Sheriff Gaines,” Nicole replied, hardly missing a beat. “To insist that he wouldn’t help them unless he guaranteed your safety.”

  “Oh, how noble,” Zach spat.

  Brooke’s eyes went wide. “And the goats? He poisoned them, didn’t he?”

  Nicole’s eyes closed as though anticipating a blow. “No, that was me.”

  Colton just shook his head. “This keeps getting better and better. Next you’re going to tell us one of you killed JFK.”

  Dale lifted his face, which had been buried in his hands. “So let me get this straight. We’d be turfed out to die and the two of you would carry on as if nothing had happened? Did you really think a principled man like your father would allow that?”

  “We didn’t think that far ahead, I guess.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Dale went on. “But there’s one thing that isn’t adding up for me. Shane was far too lazy and
frankly self-involved to conspire his way out a paper bag. Someone else had to be pulling the strings, putting ideas in his head, poisoning his mind even more.”

  Nicole hid her face in her hands and wept, rocking back and forth. But even Dale could see those weren’t the tears of remorse. No, after the pain of Julie’s passing, Dale knew what it meant to be gutted. The tears in Nicole’s eyes were the tears of regret. Regret at having been caught.

  “The next order of business,” Zach said, “should be finding a rope and a tree tall enough to hang her from.”

  Dale didn’t say a word. Not because Zach was wrong, but because he was trying to decide how right he was.

  Chapter 18

  Randy

  Dawn had turned to early morning when Edwardo Ortega and his group of bodyguards showed up at the sheriff’s office. Many of the deputies who hadn’t been working the night shift were only starting to stir.

  Edwardo strode right into the barracks area, stuck the tips of both pinkies into his mouth and let out an ear-shattering blast.

  “Good morning, my friends,” he said in a rare display of joviality. “You know what they say. The early bird gets the worm.” Which sounded to Randy’s tired ear more like, “De hearly bur gets da whurm.”

  But it was the blaring truck horns drifting in from outside which really caught his attention.

  “What’s this all about?” Randy said, trying his best to hide his annoyance. A man thought twice about offending his boss when the man in charge was a cold-blooded killer. That the sheriff himself was also guilty of murder—and more than one—didn’t seem to register in his sluggish early-morning brain. Either way, psychos and sociopaths always seemed to be the other guy.

  Randy and his deputies dressed and shuffled outside. If this was another oath-taking ceremony, Randy wasn’t sure what he’d do. Those horns blared again as three water trucks came roaring down the street, the cartel flag stenciled along the side. Gone were the days when the drug lords needed to hide from any government. Perhaps the reason was simple. In many cases they had simply taken the government’s place.