The Marine Finds His Family. Angel Smits
eyelids. The tiny bungalow she’d bought in Florida hurt the most to think about. Her studio. Tyler’s bedroom full of his toys. Her room with the soft mattress and her favorite blue decorations. She even missed the leaky pipe in the bathroom.
All of it gone.
Anger replaced the threatening tears. She wanted it back. All of it.
She’d do whatever she could to get it back.
Slowly, wiping her eyes on her shoulder, Tammie stood away from the wall. She took a deep breath and started walking again. One way or another, she was going home.
When she rounded the corner where the diner sat, the bright lights of the block eased her fears. The diner. The liquor store. The pawnshop...
She’d met the owner of the pawnshop when he’d come into the diner a couple weeks ago. Nice, older guy. Tipped good.
Stepping inside the brightly lit store, Tammie noticed that the pawnshop was huge. Every last corner was filled with pieces of furniture, electronics galore, some odd stuffed animal heads on the wall and cases of jewelry. She’d never seen anything like it. Tammie ignored most of it, especially the jewelry cases—it would hurt too much. Instead, she walked purposefully to the cases at the back. Five hundred and forty-six dollars wouldn’t buy her a new gun. It wouldn’t buy her a big gun.
But it would buy her a working one.
Her hands shook as she held the cold metal...thing in the palm of her hand.
“You know how to shoot that, lady?” the kid behind the counter asked.
“Not yet,” was all she said.
She knew she was taking a risk, filling out all the paperwork, but if Dom were following her—maybe he’d think twice knowing she was armed.
Her resolve and anger slipped into place and she calmed. Carefully, she counted the precious bills out onto the counter, leaving herself with barely enough money to eat until she got paid on Friday.
She headed out into the artificially lit night toward the diner. She’d be early—again—but Cora didn’t mind her crashing in the tiny break room, as long as she was ready and on her feet in time for the rush.
She hefted her backpack, its newly added weight comforting. She was ready.
DJ PULLED WYATT’S truck over to the curb and killed the engine. The worn streets and should-be-condemned houses reminded him too much of an Afghan village he’d been to once. A lifetime ago. Despite the Texas heat, he shivered and stared at the house beyond the wire fence.
A good hundred years old, it was probably an old farmhouse that the urban sprawl had engulfed. It didn’t look like the rest of the block. Older. Worn.
The porch ran downhill and a coonhound rested on the uneven boards. DJ climbed out and crossed the street. He opened the gate, and the hound lifted its head. DJ didn’t hear a growl or see much other movement. A good sign.
He’d worn his fatigues and driven the big black truck today on purpose. He wanted Cora—was that her name?—to be able to figure out who he was. Tyler seemed to like the old woman and her coonhound—Rufus? Yeah, that was his name. Rufus. Tyler had said they’d been really good people.
DJ knew the dog wasn’t a threat. Tyler had told him that and had given him info on the dog treats the hound liked best. His pocket was packed with a bagful. So far the dog hadn’t moved except to swish an ear at the fly that buzzed him.
“Hello?” DJ called, hoping someone would step out and greet him. Yeah, right. He’d more likely get his head blown off. Slowly, he took a couple of steps. Waited. Another two steps.
“That’s far enough,” an old woman’s voice called from an open window.
“Cora?” he called out.
“Yeah. Who’s askin’?”
“DJ. DJ Hawkins.” He had nothing to lose at this point. This woman was a good person according to Tyler. She’d helped Tammie hide from whatever or whomever she was running from. She’d been the one to find Wyatt and help Tyler get to him. She cared, and for that DJ respected her. “I’m looking for Tammie Easton.”
“Yeah? Well, she ain’t here.”
Despite the negative responses, DJ felt as if he was making progress. “Well, I know she was a friend of yours. Do you know where she might be?”
“Why should I tell you?”
He knew what he wanted to say. Should he? What the hell. “Tyler wants his mother back.” He took a step forward. “And I agree.” Well, mostly he did, but admitting that part wouldn’t get him any answers.
The elderly woman who stepped out onto the tilting porch wasn’t even five feet tall. The shotgun she held in her hands looked huge in comparison and was aimed straight at his chest. Not the first time he’d stared down the barrel of a gun. A trickle of sweat sneaked down his back.
Tyler had said Cora would know who he was. If Tammie was here, he hoped she’d recognize him and speak up. Preferably before the shotgun got seriously involved.
“Afternoon, ma’am.” He knew he’d have to draw on every ounce of his Southern charm and manners. Cora was old-school. Slowly, the tiny woman made her way down the steps, the gun barrel never wavering. He extended a hand, but she didn’t take it—she’d have had to take one off the gun to do so. He let his hand drop back to his side.
The silence stretched out. DJ could almost see the wheels turn in the old woman’s head.
“I know who you are, young man. If I did know where...” Her voice lowered, and she and the gun moved closer. “Why should I tell you?”
“’Cause Tyler’s birthday is coming up and he’s not too happy about his mom missing it.”
“That boy.” She fought a smile, and then, shaking her head, she sobered. “He doing okay?”
“Yeah. Real good.”
“Look here.” She shook the shotgun as if to emphasize her point. “You didn’t hear this from me, but you might want to have yourself a nice big piece of pie at the Half Cup Café, sometime after ten p.m.”
“She workin’ there?”
“I can’t say any more.” The woman glanced around and shook the gun again for good measure. The softened look on her face no longer held the same threat, though. “You give that boy a hug for me, you hear me?” She leaned in for added emphasis.
DJ lifted his hands in surrender, completing her show for whoever she believed was watching. “I’ve got a gift for the dog from Tyler—in my pocket.”
“Reach for it real careful.” She waved with the gun and DJ fought the urge to smile. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag. “Now drop it on the ground.” He got the distinct impression this woman had seen a few too many Westerns in her day. But he’d play along. She’d given him the info he needed.
“Thanks for your time, ma’am.”
She didn’t say any more, but he didn’t hear her move away, either. DJ went back to the truck and climbed in. It wasn’t until he stopped at the end of the street, and glanced in the rearview mirror, that he saw the gun lower. She bent and picked up the bag, stuffing it into her pocket before scurrying back to the front porch. He smiled when he saw the old dog rise up and follow her inside. Tyler would be happy.
But how would Tammie react when she saw him?
Eight hours later he was close to finding out. DJ leaned against the brick wall of a closed thrift store. It was late. Really late. Maybe too late.
Across the street, the Half Cup Café sat like a beacon at the end of the darkened street. None