“What if I refuse?”
Tyson cocked the gun. “Those two nieces of yours sure are pretty. It would be a shame if me or one of my deputies had some unsolicited fun with them, wouldn’t it? And, worse, it would be tragic if something bad happened to those young ladies.”
Jason’s breath caught in his throat, picturing Nola and Niecy as he’d seen them yesterday. Niecy’s spunk and anger. Nola’s earnestness. Both so vibrant. Expressive. Smart. And beautiful. And this sonofabitch just threatened them. His head felt light and his stomach queasy. He resisted the urge to grab his knees. He glared at the drug dealer, who had his pistol pointed at Jason’s head. “What are you saying?” he managed to get out.
“I’m saying I’d hate for them to end up dead in the lake like their father.” Tyson moved closer and pressed the gun into Jason’s chest. “Do you understand?”
A chill enveloped Jason as he gazed into Tyson Cade’s eyes. The younger man wasn’t bluffing, and Jason again envisioned his nieces. This time, their expressions were blank, their bodies cold and unmoving, as they sank to the bottom of Lake Guntersville.
“I need your promise on that, Counselor,” Tyson continued, “or you may end up dead in that cove tonight.” He waved his gun toward the boathouse.
Jason tried to think, choosing his words as carefully as he could. “If I can figure out what it is she has on you, will you back off?”
“I’m not negotiating here,” Tyson said.
“I’m not sure she can win if she doesn’t testify,” Jason said.
“Then she’ll lose. Not my problem.” Again, he dug the pistol into Jason’s chest. “Waiting for that promise, Counselor.”
Jason let out a ragged breath. “I promise.”
“Good,” Tyson said, finishing the rest of his beer in one gulp and then tossing it in the front yard. “I’m really glad we had this conversation, aren’t you?”
Jason didn’t answer as he watched Tyson Cade walk down the driveway toward a black truck that had been pulled to the side of the road. The drug dealer looked at Jason over his shoulder and waved, as if he were saying goodbye to an old friend, before hopping in the vehicle.
Seconds later, he was gone.
Jason stood stock still in the driveway for a long time, gaping in the direction of the truck that had whisked his new nemesis away. Despite the July heat, he was freezing, and his fingers and hands were twitching. He couldn’t get the images of Nola and Niecy out of his mind.
He walked back into the house and locked the door. He set the carton of beer on the kitchen counter and gazed out at the water. He wanted a beer. He wanted to drink all five of these Yuenglings. He wanted that badly. Craved it. Needed it. His throat felt dry, and his hand reached for the bottle and then pulled back as if he were putting his fingertips over a fire. He stepped away from the alcohol and trudged down the stairs. He lay on the couch in the den where he’d played video games as a child. He stared up at the ceiling.
What have you gotten yourself and your family into, Jana?
Jason closed his eyes. He had another thought before exhaustion overcame him.
What in the hell am I going to do?
34
Jason awoke to the sun shining bright rays through the window behind the couch.
He shaded his eyes from the glare. He pulled himself to a sitting position, his body stiff and sore. The boat ride yesterday had been rough in patches, and his lower back and neck were suffering the effects.
He walked to the window and looked out at the cove. What he saw was what he remembered seeing every day of his childhood. Fishing boats in the middle of the lake and around several of the boathouses.
But the boats weren’t what held his eye. He also saw someone paddling a kayak. The craft pulled up to the adjacent boathouse, and a thin woman with a deep suntan hopped out and pulled the kayak onto the dock.
“I don’t believe it,” Jason said to himself. He opened the door and walked swiftly toward the woman. Once he reached the dock, he began to jog. She was just coming out the side door of the boathouse when he caught up to her. He sucked in a deep breath of the humid air and smiled.
“Jason James Rich,” she said, squinting at him with one eye open and the other closed. She wore a gray tank top and athletic shorts, which showed off the wiry muscles in her arms and legs. Sweat glistened on her forehead and neck, and her brown hair was tied up in a ponytail. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Savannah Chase Wittschen.” His grin widened. “You look fantastic.”