Breacher (Tom Keeler Book 2) by Jack Lively (reading well TXT) 📕

lane, but I figured there was no choice really. He’d have the rest of his life to play with his computer once this was over. I made the Browning safe, wiped it with my shirt and put my pinkie finger through the trigger guard, the gun hanging down. I held it out to Hank. “Kid, it’s probably best if you took the credit for this guy and his friend.”

He looked at the gun I was offering to him, then at me. “What?”

“You killed them, it’s just self defense. Like a no-brainer. Your house, your mom. Me, it’s more complicated. I’m trying to avoid complications, Hank. Not having much success, so I’ll take any help I can get.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Take the gun, give it to Ellie when she gets here.”

Hank took the gun and tossed it on the corpse. He said, “Don’t the bodies stiffen up?”

I said, “Yes, but not quite yet.”

He said, “How long does it take?”

“Couple of hours, Hank.”

“Oh.”

I said, “They must have parked closer than a mile, but probably not exactly your driveway. Can you think where?”

Hank didn’t have to think for long. He said, “There’s a trailhead by the river, just over the hill. You can get there from the road.”

I pointed at the Mossberg on the kitchen table. “You know how to use that thing without accidentally shooting me?”

“Yeah I guess.”

“It’s one or the other, Hank. Yes or no, no guessing.”

“Yes.”

I said, “Good. Let’s go.”

Hank led the way through the woods, to a footpath leading down to a river bank. He held the shotgun like a kid who had grown up in the Alaskan outback. That is to say, he held the gun correctly and I felt safe around him. More than I could say for most people. A shiny green Jeep was parked by the river. It was a new model. Front end like a recognizable Jeep, but the back end was extended, like an SUV. The trail wound away from the house to an unpaved road. I figured it was the same road that we had used to get to the house. I approached the vehicle cautiously with the Glock ready. Hank stood back. But I already knew the Jeep would be empty. In the back seat was a Pelican case. It contained the drone, packed neatly into bespoke compartments. The Jeep’s keys were under the driver seat.

I drove back up to the house. Hank sat next to me, silent for the two-minute ride. When we stepped out of the vehicle, Ellie’s pickup truck was pulling into the driveway after us. She jerked to a stop. Came out of her truck looking worried. She said, “What happened?”

I said, “They came faster than we expected, Ellie.”

She looked at Hank, then at the house, then at me. “Where’s Helen?”

I shook my head. “Didn’t make it.”

Ellie took a step forward, shock on her face, reddening suddenly. The world of violent death that she had been a part of her previous life as a big city homicide detective had furiously returned in remote Alaska.

She got over it fast. “Bastards.”

I said, “Dead bastards. She didn’t make it, but neither did the guys they sent.”

Ellie’s face had hardened, old habits die hard. “How many, Keeler?” I held up two fingers. She said, “Show me.”

“One in the living room, the other’s out back in the woods. Helen’s right there in the kitchen.”

Ellie looked at the dead man. “He died here?”

“No. Outside.”

“Why did you move the guy into the living room?”

I said, “They sent a drone first. I had half an idea that it would come back. But it didn’t. Turns out the drone’s in the back seat of the Jeep we found.”

Ellie nodded and walked into the kitchen. She hitched her jeans, bent down over Helen’s body, pulled back the blanket and examined the wounds without disturbing the scene, like the pro that she was. I came after her. Ellie was shaking her head. “Scumbag shooter was having fun with her, huh? Like a damned game.”

I said nothing.

Ellie glanced at Hank, not dealing with him yet, stepped into the living room and stood over the shooter’s body. She was looking for wounds, but there weren’t any. Ellie felt around his neck and then looked at me. “You broke his neck?”

I said, “Not me, it was Hank.”

She looked up at Hank, standing limp in the doorway. Ellie wasn’t buying it and wasn’t happy. “Quit pretending to be a damned comedian, Keeler!” She returned to the body, feeling with her fingers around the spinal cord and then up the jaw line. Ellie whistled respectfully. She pulled down the guy’s shirt collar and exposed a chest tattoo. “1488.”

I said, “Same guys who had come at me in the prison.”

Ellie said, “You know what it means, 1488?”

“I figured it was a date.”

“Well, Keeler, here’s a little Alaskan education for you. Fourteen words in the slogan: ‘We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.’ Eighth letter in the alphabet is H. So, two eights equal HH, which stands for Heil Hitler.”

I said, “Like a secret society of morons.”

“Yeah. Pretty dedicated morons.”

I didn’t say it, but I was feeling pretty good about taking these two out of circulation. Ellie walked to Hank and put her hands on his shoulder, pulled his head to her breast. “Hank, I’m so sorry about your mom. She was a good person.”

Hank pulled away after a few seconds. “Thanks Ellie, I appreciate it.” Then he looked at me.

Ellie said to me, “What do you think?”

I said, “These are the same two who did the job at Beaver Falls. Same MO from the shooter. Same caliber bullet. Second guy was backup. You’ll confirm it with forensics I’m sure.”

She nodded. “I have to call it in. We have a liaison with Port Morris for the wagon and the technical part.”

I said, “It’s your jurisdiction now, Ellie. Your investigation. You call the shots.”

She said, “True. Port Morris PD will consider this case closed if