Ghost River by Jon Coon (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

is important, but if that bridge falls in we could have another Minneapolis or West Virginia on our hands.”

“I understand, Gabe,” Tom said. “It’s a bad situation. Just be as cautious as you can.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Gabe said staring into the bottom of his coffee mug. “How are the kids doing?” He looked up at Carol and thought about Charlie’s last request. How will this broken family ever be whole again?

Carol put down her cup and stared at him. “Thank goodness my dad is here. He’s been keeping them sane. Emily is really sad. Paul is angry, looking for someone to blame.”

“I’m angry too. And if there is someone to blame, I promise—”

Tom raised his hand as though stopping traffic. “Go easy, Gabe. One of the important things I learned from forty years in the Rangers is don’t get mad. Get smart and get a conviction. Anger brings tunnel vision, and then we miss important details. If there is someone to blame, don’t let your anger help him get away with it.”

“Thank you for the advice. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Sorry it’s under these circumstances.” Gabe saw the goodness in the man and felt the loss and pain.

“Anything I can do to help, just ask.” Tom put a hand on Gabe’s shoulder.

“Roger that. There’s nothing my guys won’t do for Charlie.” Gabe stood up.

Tom shook his hand with a solid grip. Carol hugged him and held close to his arm.

“No more tears,” she said as they walked to the door. “Charlie couldn’t stand cry-babies. We’ll get through this and get on with life. I’m not going to spend months or years crying over something I can’t change.”

“It will take some time, Carol. Let the healing come at its own pace. Call me if you need anything.”

Carol was still on his arm and pulled him closer. “Gabe, there was a reason you and Charlie were best friends. Next to my dad, he admired you more than anyone. Please be careful. We couldn’t stand to lose you too.”

CHAPTER 2

1900

Captain Brady’s Home

Storm clouds rising

Have the highway department guys done anything about restricting the weight on the bridge yet? Pretty spooky. Wonder how long it’s been like that?” Gabe asked as he and Nick Doyle, former Navy diver and explosive ordinance disposal specialist, drove to the captain’s house.

Nick shifted the police baton and pepper spray on his duty belt, trying to make sitting more comfortable. Gabe thought of him as exactly what a Navy diver should be: smart, fit, hair high and tight, experienced but still youthful in appearance and action.

“Would make me think twice about driving big rigs over that bridge,” Nick answered. “I can’t believe the inspection team let it get this bad.”

“Yeah, but are the highway guys taking precautions?”

“I’ll check it out first thing in the morning,” Nick answered.

The GPS robot voice interrupted. “You have arrived at your destination on the right.”

Gabe checked the mailbox number and turned into the drive. It was an unpretentious single-story red brick ranch with a double garage and a dark green SUV in the drive. Gabe pulled in beside the SUV, and as they walked up the steps, two big guys in short sleeves, with stout arms and tattoos, came out the front door. One carried a roll of blueprints, which he held over his head like an umbrella.

The other smiled and said, “Hey, you must be Nick and Gabe. Go on in. He’s expecting you.” As the men hurried past, Gabe noticed the taller one was holding his arm. His shirt was torn, and blood was beginning to soak through.

“Your arm?” Gabe asked. But the men ignored him and went quickly down the steps and got in the SUV.

Nick rang the bell while Gabe continued to watch the men in the car. When they didn’t get a response, Nick knocked again. Nothing. The car backed out of the drive and eased around a corner. Nick tried the door. It opened, and he called loudly, “Captain, it’s Gabe and Nick.”

Nick opened the door farther, then stepped quickly back, bumping into Gabe. A German shepherd lay in a pool of blood on the foyer floor. Gabe knelt by the dog and checked for a pulse. Uncertain about the dog, Gabe pulled his pistol and shouted loudly, “Captain Brady!” No answer.

“The guys in the SUV,” Gabe said.

Nick nodded and moved cautiously past the dog. Nick was beside Gabe, weapon drawn as they moved forward through the living area toward the open door of a study off the kitchen and dining room. Gabe called out for the captain again.

Turning the corner they found Brady sat slumped over a large mahogany desk in the den. Two chest wounds oozed blood down the chair onto the carpet. Gabe walked around the desk and checked the captain for a pulse. Too late.

They heard a car outside, and Gabe looked up. He heard the front door open.

“I’ll call—” Nick began. Then the cough of a silenced pistol came from the study doorway, and Nick moaned, his pistol slipping from his hand as he dropped to the floor. He fumbled for his weapon left handed and returned fire from where he lay in front of the desk.

From behind the desk, Gabe opened fire at the two men in the doorway, hitting one who went down hard. The taller one spun back around, spraying the room with semi-automatic fire.

Rounds hit the desk in front of Gabe and the wall behind him. Gabe slammed home a fresh clip and returned fire, shooting through the wall, trying to guess where the attacker might be. As he fired, Gabe moved from behind the desk, listening for movement in the other room. Then he heard the front door slam and the squeal of tires in the driveway. He looked at Nick who yelled, “Go!”

Gabe ran from the den, stepped around the downed shooter, jumped over the dog in the hall, shoved open the front door, and emptied his clip at the green