The old man stared at me, that thoughtful look in his eyes once again. As though he knew something about me that I didn’t even know myself. But Warren didn’t get a chance to answer.

On the highway, a black SUV slowed. Instead of passing by like all the other cars and trucks, it pulled into the gravel lot. For a moment, I thought the Foxes were going to get their first customer of the day. Then I saw the white banner on the car door. The one that read Dawson Mining Company. The two is in Mining had been changed to resemble a rune—a lit stick of dynamite. The same rune the dwarf who’d attacked Violet had had tattooed on his bicep.

Finn noticed the writing and rune as well and glanced at me. “Trouble,” he said in a low voice.

“You think?” I asked, already reaching for one of my knives.

16

16

The SUV stopped, the doors opened, and several men poured out. One after another, they kept coming, like they were clowns crammed into a circus car and this was their only chance of escape. Five men total: two giants, two shorter, burly guys, and a dwarf. The giants and other men wore work clothes—grimy coveralls, sturdy boots, thick gloves. The dwarf was dressed a little nicer—clean jeans, boots, a black T-shirt, and a tight black blazer that looked like it would do a Hulk rip down the sleeves if he breathed too hard.

The dwarf headed toward the front porch, and the rest of the men fell in step behind him. Finn and I exchanged a quick glance, and he made a motion with his hand. I nodded and slid left into a shadow that pooled on the porch. Finn moved off to the right. Donovan Caine stayed where he was on the porch steps, although the detective got to his feet. Warren and Violet Fox remained seated in their rocking chairs. Violet’s face paled, and she crossed her arms over her stomach, like she was trying not to vomit. A scowl deepened the lines around Warren’s mouth.

The dwarf stopped at the base of the stairs that led up to the wooden porch. He hitched his thumbs in the belt loops on his jeans and put a foot up on one of the stairs.

Black snakeskin boots covered his feet. Orange-red flames spread over the tops, while silverstone tipped the pointed ends. A black ten-gallon hat rested on the dwarf ’s head, making him seem taller than his five feet, and the lariat tie around his neck featured a piece of turquoise almost as big as my fist. Somebody liked playing cowboy.