BooksBarbecue
Back Deception Cove
Chapters (78)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-Three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. Thirty-Nine
  46. Forty
  47. Forty-One
  48. Forty-Two
  49. Forty-Three
  50. Forty-Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Fifty-Four
  61. Fifty-Five
  62. Fifty-Six
  63. Fifty-Seven
  64. Fifty-Eight
  65. Fifty-Nine
  66. Sixty
  67. Sixty-One
  68. Sixty-Two
  69. Sixty-Three
  70. Sixty-Four
  71. Sixty-Five
  72. Sixty-Six
  73. Sixty-Seven
  74. Sixty-Eight
  75. Acknowledgments
  76. Discover More
  77. About the Author
  78. Also by Owen Laukkanen

“I don’t want it,” Jess said. “What I want is to clear up a few things about my dead husband, and it sounds like you might be the guy who can help. Now, are you going to put the gun away and we can talk, or do we have to keep measuring our dicks in this rain?”

The kid made to talk. Stopped. Started again. “You first.”

Jess lowered the shotgun. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said. “What’s your name, anyway?”

The kid gave another beat. Closed his eyes, like he was so messed up he was trying to remember. Messed up, or scared shitless.

“Rengo,” he said.

“Rengo, all right.” Jess gestured at the trailer behind him. “Invite us inside, Rengo, and let’s talk for a while.”

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Eight

They found the truck around two in the afternoon. Dale spotted it—that ugly puke-green paint job—poking out from behind a little one-stall mechanic’s shop on the highway into the Makah reservation.

There was someone working underneath an old Buick in the service bay. Harwood walked in, stood by the bumper, Dale right beside him.

“Where are they?” he said.

There was a pause, and the sound of the man setting down his tools. Then he rolled out on a little trolley, looked up at them from the floor.

“Beg your pardon?” he said.

He was an older guy, Native. Salt-and-pepper goatee, ditto for the hair. Going soft around the middle, but his eyes were still hard. The name on his coveralls said DAVIS.

“Jess Winslow and that convict she’s running with,” Harwood said. “The two who gave you that truck in the back. Don’t play dumb with me.”

“That old Chev in the back?” Davis wiped his brow. “I think someone’s misled you, Deputy. That truck’s mine.”

“Bullshit it is. That truck’s been used in the commission of a crime. Hand me the keys, and I’ll take it off your hands.”

Davis held his gaze. “You got a warrant?”

Harwood stared at him, speechless.

“You got to have a warrant, don’t you, being as you came all the way from Deception for that truck,” Davis said. “So you all show me the paperwork and you can do what you please, but until then—”

“How about a big fucking gun?” Dale Whitmer, beside Harwood, his hand on his holster. “How’s that for your warrant?”

Davis said nothing. Something moved in the back of the shop, and two more men appeared. Younger than Davis—bigger, too—but definitely his kin. One of the men held a torque wrench. The other held a goddamn camera phone, and it was aimed straight at Harwood.

“You sure you want to go that route, Deputies?” Davis asked from the floor, his voice still infuriatingly easy. “Going to have a hell of a time explaining why two Deception Cove lawmen shot up an unarmed civilian on Indian land, aren’t you?”