One Mile Under (25 page)

“I’m going to call my boys over now, if you don’t just turn around.” His crew had heard the ruckus and one or two stood up waiting for the sign. “You’re on my property and I’m asking you nicely, one last time. So which is it, Mr. Hauck? What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to continue on with that suit. I can bring people in who can protect you.”

“Protect me …?” Watkins laughed. “
You …?
”

“You want to spend the rest of your life carrying around the belief that your boy died for nothing? Like I have all these years. That he wasn’t worth grieving for. They killed him, Mr. Watkins, sure and clear. Because what you were doing threatened them. But it won’t be for nothing if you stand back up. If the other people stand up with you. I want to help you carry it through.”

“You want to help me, son …” Watkins spat in the earth. “Leave.”

“You asked if it went away? What you were feeling. Well, I carried the grief of my daughter’s death around with me for years. But it wasn’t just grief. That was just a mask. It was guilt. And shame. And it ate me up. Like poison inside. Because I felt responsible. And that’s what I saw on you, Mr. Watkins. You can’t bring your son back, there’s nothing you can do about that now. But you can make what happened mean something.”

Watkins’s hostility seemed to shift. “What could possibly mean something anymore?”

Hauck stepped up to him. “Stopping them.”

“You come here and talk to me like you think you know.”

“I do know,” Hauck said. “I know everything you feel.”

The farmer’s eyes lost a little of their hardness and his fist opened around his cap. He gave Hauck a vague nod, looking past him at the fields. “They said if I ever brought it up again, they would …”

“They would what?” Hauck asked him.

“They told me I ought to be happy.” He sniffed. “’Cause I was actually lucky.”

“Lucky how …?”

“Lucky that they took the one that I didn’t …” He gritted his teeth, mashing something in his jaw. “That if I kept at it, there were two more and they’d go after them, too. The ones I did …”

“The ones you did
what?
” Hauck kept on him.

The farmer twisted his mouth. “Loved. The ones I loved. Is that what you wanted me to say?” His Caterpillar cap hung from his fingers.

“
Who
said that, Mr. Watkins?” Hauck looked at him.

Watkins averted his eyes. Shame had now come into them. “You know what they did, so just be done with it. I have two more.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t exactly ask his name.” Watkins let out a long, deep breath. “He called my cell phone. A day after it happened. Kelli picked it up. He told her it was concerning Trey, so I got on. We all thought it was just a crazy accident to that point. That boy was always going to end up like that one day anyway … He just said, ‘Told you it was time to rethink that suit, old man.’”

He looked at Hauck. “They’d warned me before. Tried to buy me off. Saying my land might have oil value. I didn’t want their money. They talked about my son’s scholarship. To CSU. They said they could take it away. Like that. That they gave a lot of money there and had friends … They had friends everywhere. I kept on going. Then they said, ‘We’re telling you one last time.’”

Watkins spat on the ground. “I’d have strangled that sonovabitch with my own hands if he were in front of me. But what was I to do? Nick’s got it all in front of him. He’s got football practice starting next month. Kelli, too. She’s just getting married.

“I’m not a weak man, Mr. Hauck. I lived my life and can take what comes. But how can I put them in danger like that? Think whatever you want, but you’d have done the same. Any father would. I can’t beat them. You can’t beat them. You can stand there and think you can. But you can’t. You can stand up to them, maybe. If you want.” His eyes had lost their fire. “But you can’t beat them.”

Hauck nodded and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “We can.”

“You come in here, stirring up all this hope … You say you know who it was? This Robertson. The one who killed Trey.”

“I don’t have proof. They have him out of sight. He was in the same unit in Iraq as a lot of the Alpha people. Part of a PsyOps unit. And he was there.”

“PsyOps, huh …?” Watkins nodded. “You know he’d settled down. All that wildness. You met Allie. She’s a good girl. They had Petey and … For the first time, he had a real life ahead of him …”

He stepped back toward the tractor. “I’ll talk to the others. I’ll see how they feel about things now. Not sure if they’ll be willing to recommit. Couldn’t blame them. But people here, they can be funny about things, you know … when you put their way of life on the line.”

“Mr. Watkins …” Hauck took a step after him and put out his hand.

He heard a muted
phfft
go past him. Watkins groaned and jerked to the side.

A burst of crimson exploded on his shoulder.

Without even looking behind, Hauck leapt and threw his body over the farmer, dragging him to the ground. The workers all shouted and scurried away as another shot clanged off the tractor.

Hauck screamed, “Get down! Get down!”

He huddled there, the farmer breathing heavily underneath him, and tried to calculate where the shots had come from—someone was obviously using a sound suppressor—hoping he was out of sight there and the next one wouldn’t tear into his back. He tried to roll Watkins toward the cover of the tractor. A third shot whooshed in and kicked up dust at their feet. And then a fourth. Hauck inched Watkins closer to the tractor. “You okay?”

“I think so,” the farmer said, glassy-eyed. “But I can’t feel my arm.”

Hauck rolled him over and saw that Watkins’s shoulder was covered in blood. He looked behind him, calculating where the shots had come from, peering over the hood of the tractor, and saw a car out on the road about a hundred yards away, the shooter leaning on the hood with a rifle.

He ducked back down as another shot pinged off the hood of the tractor.

The workers were flat in a ditch, jabbering in Spanish. Watkins sat up against the wheel, his hand on his bloody shoulder. “Damn.”

“
Chuck! Chuck!
” Marie Watkins bolted from the house, shouting. “Oh my God, what’s happening?”

“Marie, get down. Get down now!” the farmer hollered, grimacing.

“He’s been shot, but he’s okay,” Hauck yelled back. “Call 911!”

“Oh my God!”

“Do it, Marie! I’m all right,” Watkins yelled again. “Do it now!”

She ran back inside the house.

“I’m losing a lot of blood,” Watkins said, staring at Hauck with a dazed expression. “We have to stop it. Otherwise I’ll bleed out.”

Hauck ripped off his shirt from over his tee. He balled it up and stuffed it into the wound. “What’s the most pleasing thing you can think of?” he asked Watkins.

“Easy.” The farmer chortled. “Rain.”

“Then I would think of Noah,” Hauck said, “’cause this’ll hurt.” He pressed on the wound, hard. The farmer grimaced and turned away.

“You see combat?” Hauck asked.

“Huh?”

“You seem to know your gunshot wounds.”

Watkins shrugged. “Mekong Delta. Hue.”

“Then I guess you know what to do.
Here …”
Hauck put the man’s hands on the balled-up shirt that was growing moist with blood. “Press. I have to make sure this guy doesn’t come after us.”

“How you gonna stop him if he does?”

Hauck looked up in the tractor cab and saw the keys in the ignition. “Come after him.”

Suddenly the sound of a wailing siren pierced their ears, from the direction of the farmhouse. It went on and on. You could probably hear it all over the county.

“Tornado warning.” Watkins grinned. “Smart gal, huh?”

“Real smart.” Hauck nodded. He heard a car engine start. He got up and peered out over the tractor hood and watched the car he had seen the shooter on drive off, heading down the long road back to the main road and Templeton.

“I can’t believe after what those sonavabitches did they would try to kill me, too,” Watkins said, sucking back the pain.

“They didn’t,” Hauck said, taking over the shirt and pressing to stop the blood flow, “try to kill you.”

“Well they sure did a damn good impression of it then.” Watkins winced.

Hauck realized that if he hadn’t taken a step toward Watkins, that would have been his head. “That was for me.”

“Well, I told you you should’ve been in that car of yours, on that road and gone. You know they were wrong,” the farmer said, his eyes growing a bit glazy. Marie Watkins came running across the fields.

“About what?” Hauck said, folding his shirt over and pressing the other side down.

“Trey. I did love him, Mr. Hauck. I loved them all.”

“I know you did,” Hauck said. “I saw that, too.”

The siren continued to wail. Marie Watkins arrived, fear in her eyes. “Chuck, Chuck, are you all right?” She saw him on the ground. “Oh my God, Chuck!”

“He’s been hit in the shoulder,” Hauck said. “I think the bullet went right through him. I think he’ll be okay.”

“The police are on their way. I told them there was shooting.”

“
Riddick?
” Watkins rolled his eyes with a sarcastic snort. “That’ll kick me over the edge for sure.”

Suddenly a thought rose up that sent terror through Hauck’s blood.

Dani …

He’d left her in town. By herself. If they’d come after him in this way, right out in the open, what would they do to her?

“I need to go,” Hauck said. “My niece may be in danger. I left her back in town.”

“Go on, go!” Watkins said, gritting his teeth, “I’ll be all right here.”

“I need something from you first …” Hauck looked at Marie.

“What? Anything.”

“I need a gun.”

Dani was at the counter at the one café in town. There were only a couple of tables filled, the conversations ranging from the Wounded Warrior Basket Drive next week to the prospects of rain to the Colorado Rockies.

She ordered a club sandwich, and sent a couple of emails to Geoff and her roommate, Patti, and went over in her mind what Jen Keeler had told them. The mystery was filling in. They now knew that Trey was killed to force his father and the other farmers to back down from their suit against the town. The only question now was what could be done about it. They knew that bringing in the local police would be about as effective as filing a complaint with RMM’s customer service department.

And then there was Wade. Something just didn’t sit right with her. How he’d dragged his feet from the start, hidden the fact that he’d impounded the film from the park that implicated Robertson. How he’d called her just the other night, sounding strange, vague. Almost drunk, she thought.
Do the smart thing, and come on back …

The smart thing.
Meaning what?

It seemed to come to her all at once.

They’d gotten to him, too
. Just like they’d gotten to the people here. The police and the lawyers.

They wanted to come after Trey and they’d somehow bought Wade off. He was a walking, talking advertisement for a payout even from a couple of hundred miles away.

That was why he’d sounded so helpless on the phone the other night.
Do the smart thing, and come on back.

Because she and Ty were in danger here.

She checked the time. Ty had been gone for well over an hour now.
Typical …
The little bell jingled when the front door of the café opened and Dani turned, expecting to see him come in. It was another man. She went to text Ty again. The man looked around the small café and came up to the counter. There were three or four stools open but he took one next to her. He was in his twenties, nice build, short hair, with a scruffy beard and muscular arms, wearing a South by Southwest T-shirt over his jeans.

He smiled affably. “This seat taken?”

“No.” She moved her bag and phone closer to her. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” The guy had nice, green eyes, though there was something about him that seemed vaguely familiar. Maybe she had seen him at the funeral, she thought. Or around town somewhere.

She hit redial again, set to step outside if Ty picked up, but his voice mail came on again. She clicked off the phone, having already left a message.

“So what do you think, the chili or the bison burger?” the guy next to her asked.

Dani shrugged. “I don’t know. First time here myself. Well, second, actually.”

“Same here. I don’t find myself in town much during the day. But we shut down the well site today, so they gave us the afternoon off.”

Dani turned toward him. “You work on one of the wells?”

“Betsy Three South. Seven days a week. Think I’ll go with the burger. You don’t see fresh bison on the menu everyday.” He seemed pleasant and polite in a midwestern kind of way. “Been pretty much spending twenty-four/seven out there.”

“That’s crazy. For how long?”

“I don’t know … For over a month now. Gotta feed the beast while it’s hungry, as they say.”

“Or thirsty, I guess.” Dani smiled.

“Or thirsty.” The guy grinned back. He ordered from the waitress, along with a Diet Coke.

“So who do you work for?” Dani asked.

“Freelance mostly. Betsy’s a nat gas well. Man, it feels good just to get these hands out of the dirt. So what brings you here? I’ve never seen you before around town.”

“Just visiting,” Dani said.

“Well, then you’re lucky.” The guy grinned, flagging the waitress. “The only thing I get to visit is a hydraulic compressor valve that separates natural gas from mud and water.”

“Well, not that lucky,” Dani said. “I came for a funeral.”

“Oh, sorry. Meant no disrespect.”

She smiled back. “That’s okay.”

The waitress came over with his soda. The guy took a glance toward the front door.

“So what sort of work do you do there?” Dani asked.

“Valve hand. On the water flow,” he said.

“For fracking?”

“That’s the only way to get the product out,” he said. He took a sip of his soda and sighed.

“I actually always wondered,” Dani said, “where all the water comes from for something like that. You need a lot of it, right?”