Maggie nodded, and Quinn leaned down to kiss her hard on the lips.

Quinn could barely remember the cold house and the quiet empty rooms before Maggie and Brandon showed up in his life. The bourbon, the rain, and Tanya Tucker only enhanced the feeling. He was sure he’d have to get back on the road in the morning, maybe sooner—Lillie and the marshals were getting close. They had to be by now. How far could four kids with no money get?

“You look like you’re a million miles away, Quinn Colson,” Maggie said.

“Hopefully only a few hundred.”

“Lillie will bring them in safe,” Maggie said.

“I’m not worried about Lillie,” he said. “I’m worried who else might get there first.”

*   *   *

Bishop had been parked up in the pine thicket since nightfall, where he’d smoked a half pack of Pall Malls and drank two Red Bulls while listening to the America First radio hour. Illegal Immigrants Running Wild. Minorities with Their Hands Out. Hollywood Homos Radicalizing Youth. So much immorality and recklessness in this country that he wanted to puke. If it weren’t for all the mess last year, Governor Vardaman getting caught by the Feds and Colonel Pierce getting killed, the Watchmen would’ve been much further down the road. He never thought he’d have to take a job working for goddamn Johnny Stagg, enforcing peckerwoods and white trash that caused trouble. But here he was, late at night in his black Tahoe, hiding behind some skinny trees.

He’d killed the lights and only left twice to reconnoiter and take a piss. A quarter mile away was a nice view of the front porch where he’d go hunting, taking out both those Nix boys like Mr. Stagg wanted. Quick, easy, and efficient. He’d be sitting down to a Lumberjack Special at the Rebel before the sun came up.