Page 68 of Waiting in Wyoming
Not all tentacles had been cut off, though.
Wayne knew that more intimately than practically anyone else, after all.
He called Linda, to check on her and the girls. Their youngest was struggling a little. She was nineteen and college was more difficult than she had anticipated. He was needed at home soon.
If…he went home. If Linda learned what he had done all these years, she would never forgive him. Never let him back in.
She had always had a kind, loving, forgiving soul. If she knew what he had done to her first husband when he had seen that bastard striking her that way…thou shalt not kill.
Linda would never love him again, if she knew…
And the girls…it would destroy them. Completely.
Wayne didn’t regret the money he had made through doing these jobs for men like Morris and Dale Fisher, but at times…the moral regret…it was real.
Made him question.
There were three trucks in the parking lot.
Wayne hesitated. The hair on the back of his neck stood up a little.
His unease didn’t leave when he saw the big maroon tractor-trailer pulling in.
He recognized it. The boy…what was Sonny doing there? The boy was supposed to be on a last run to Seattle. That was the plan.
Wayne didn’t like it when plans changed.
Not one bit. Sonny came up to him, the baby in her carrier, a blanket over her. Wayne looked down. She was sleeping. So precious—and she didn’t need to be anywhere near this evil.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Washington? Bosses don’t take well to screwups.”
“Wasn’t my fault.”
She was clean, her face was less flushed, and she looked good. The girl’s father still looked like he’d been rolling around in the landfill, though. Didn’t he ever wash his clothes? “How is she doing?”
“She was sick a few days ago. The formula was giving her diarrhea and a runny nose and fever. Allergies. The doctors at the hospital in Masterson gave her a different kind to try. She likes it. It doesn’t have soy in it. She’s put on almost a whole pound, too.” And this was a proud dad.
It did make Wayne want to smile. Maybe this boy would figure things out. Have a good life, after all.
It gave an old, jaded soul like Wayne Pryor hope in an odd sort of way.
Something he hadn’t felt much of on the flight up from Finley Creek.
He’d spent most of the last two days haunting the hospital, listening for hints of what was going to happen to Timothy Grundenman the third—his target’s asswipe of a son who thought nothing of murdering innocent people who didn’t deserve it.
And rumor had it Grundenman’s associates had gotten away.
Well, Wayne suspected he knew where they’d ended up. Kurt Fisher and Ashton Tompson and their pals spent a lot of timegoing between Wyoming and Texas. Doingoddjobs for those who paid well. Especially Kurt’s uncle.
Wayne wasn’t a fool.
“I got a question,” Sonny said. “Do you think the guys would be mad if that was my last run?”
That brought Wayne back to the present. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I came to talk to them. I can’t do it no more. I almost got caught. That load for Seattle. Cops were there before I even picked it up. I want out. I dropped the last load off this morning, but I can’t do it anymore. Not with Katie and everything.”
Wayne’s blood chilled. The kid couldn’t just walk away—they wouldn’t let him. Wayne looked at the baby when she snuffled a little. “Listen, Sonny. Get back in your truck and get out of here. Drive off. Out of state forever. And whatever you do—keep your mouth shut. And don’t look back.”