She opened her eyes and hugged Ladarius. Ladarius laughed but then stumbled back as Chastity told him to move his ass, the blonde princess already seated in the captain’s chair, her key cranked in the ignition, pulling the boat back into the cold black water. The men yelling for them to stop, radios in their hands squawking while they raised their hands in the lights on the dock.

Chastity slid the throttle into high and the front of the boat nearly lifted from the water, throwing TJ and Ladarius down to the deck, Holly and John Wesley huddled together in the seats, cold and shivering from the rain.

SEVENTEEN

The bad weather moved in later that night, Quinn back at home, sitting in the parlor with Maggie, a warm glass of Four Roses in hand and Tanya Tucker on the turntable. Maggie loved “What’s Your Mama’s Name” and “Blood Red and Goin’ Down” and took any chance she had to slip the record into rotation with Quinn’s Charley Pride and Waylon. Both of them understood that the classic age of country was long gone, along with common sense, moral responsibility, and the good ole family farm. On a rainy night, the farmhouse seemed like a time capsule, with its high ceilings, beaded board walls, and seed glass windows. Sometimes Quinn could still smell his grandfather’s old cherry pipe tobacco despite all the new paint.

Maggie believed it was ghosts. Quinn blamed fluctuating temperatures.

“Was this her first album?” Maggie asked.

“Second,” Quinn said. “After Delta Dawn.”

“She’s just a baby,” she said. “But sounds like a woman.”

“Experience can do that to a kid.”

Quinn had kicked off his boots at the front door and locked away his gun for the night, although he kept a loaded shotgun hidden and out of reach of the kids. He’d hung up his uniform shirt, radio, and service belt. His phone, as always, remained on and at his side, the idea of having a night off or even a full night’s sleep never an option. Maggie motioned to his empty glass.

“That went fast.”

“Just the one,” Quinn said, looking at his watch. “Headed back in at oh-five-hundred.”

Maggie joined him up on the couch, resting her head in his lap and staring up at him. Both Brandon and Halley were asleep. The baby monitor, not unlike Quinn’s radio, remained on and connected with the loft upstairs. The parlor soon went quiet, the A side of the record finishing, whooshing in that center space and waiting to get flipped. Both he and Maggie too damn tired to get up.

“You think those kids are still in Arkansas?” Maggie asked.

“Lillie said they were in Forrest City yesterday,” Quinn said. “Their minivan threw a belt.”

“And now?”

“Lillie heard they’re headed west.”

“No other plans?”

“I figure TJ wants far out of Tibbehah County until we finally arrest Chester.”