After Harv left the room, he tried to clear his mind of the red fog blanketing his thoughts. He needed to focus, to see the situation from a calm perspective. He concentrated on the FBI’s role in all of this. The farmhouse had been under surveillance before the raid. Okay, why? They obviously thought the Bridgestones might show up there. Still, no one had known about the tunnel at Freedom’s Echo, or else the FBI would’ve been waiting at the other end to grab them. Did Holly Simpson truly believe he and Harv represented the FBI’s best chance of collaring the Bridgestones? It seemed unlikely and overly risky. Maybe Frank Ortega had insisted they remain involved. That seemed more reasonable, but that scenario assumed Ortega had a level of influence with Director Lansing he’d denied during their initial meeting in San Diego. So what was the truth? Nathan wasn’t so sure anymore.

Setting that thought aside, he again envisioned the farmhouse. Immediately his thoughts returned to the garage. Something about it had been odd. He closed his eyes and pictured it in his head. Okay, it had a workbench on one side, tools on the other. The toolboxes were stacked against the far wall. There was a new Enduro motorcycle in the corner. Red, with a luggage rack. What does something like that cost? Four, maybe five grand? They didn’t seem like the type of guys able to afford something like that. It had looked fairly new and well maintained. Everything in that garage had looked new. He pictured the wall of tools above the workbench, everything organized by type and use and hung on neatly organized eye rings and hooks. And the power tools on the opposite side of the garage were also well maintained and arranged by use and type. He remembered the empty power-tool boxes. Who saves the empty boxes?

And why would a pair of losers need a trip wire on their front porch? How many people did that? He pictured the rigged stack of beer bottles. Were they just paranoid? Maybe they thought Leonard and Ernie were going to drop by. Could they have anticipated the authorities’ interest in them?

Nathan looked down at the bandage Harv had applied to his hand and thought about the gauze bandage on cousin Billy’s arm. There had been blood seeping through and the white tape was crossed at the corners. It looked a lot like a field dressing. He held up his hand. A lot like this one. He thought back to his field-medic training.

Shit!

He sprinted across the room and grabbed the phone message from Holly and punched the numbers into the nightstand phone and heard an annoying beeping. He hadn’t punched nine first. He stabbed the button and waited an eternity before hearing a dial tone, forcing himself to slow down and dialing Holly’s cell number carefully.

“Holly Simpson.”