The Pagan Stone

“For di

“For anything.” Rising, she started to lift the bucket, but he put his hand over hers. “I need to dump this out, then hose this off.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

With a smile, she tipped her head. “A not-altogether-unpleasant manly task?”

“You could say.”

“Then have at it. I’ll clean up and we can start unloading the truck.”

They worked quickly, and in tandem. That was another thing, he thought. He couldn’t remember ever working in tandem with a woman. He couldn’t think of a single sane reason cleaning up with her after dealing with the mangled bodies of snakes should start up those messy thoughts and feelings.

“What do you want when this is over?” he asked as he washed up at the sink.

“What do I want when this is over?” She repeated it thoughtfully as she poured him another cup of coffee. “About twelve hours’ sleep in a wonderful bed with 450 thread count sheets, followed by a pitcher of mimosas along with breakfast in bed.”

“All good choices, but I meant what do you want?”

“Ah, the more philosophical and encompassing want.” She poured grapefruit juice and ginger ale over ice, rattled it, then took a long drink. “A break initially. From the work, the stress, this town-not that I have anything against it. Just a celebratory break from all of it. Then I want to come back and help Qui

Everything about her surprised him, he realized. “I was thinking we might catch that twelve hours’ sleep and breakfast in bed together. Somewhere that’s not here.”

“Is that an offer?”

“It sounds like it.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Just like that?”

“Life’s short or it’s long, Gage. Who the hell knows. So, yes, just like that.”

He reached out, touched her cheek. “Where do you want to go?”

“Surprise me.” She lifted her hand to cover his.

“What if I said-” He broke off when they heard the front door open. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll surprise you.”

Sixteen

LAYLA CAME INTO THE DINING ROOM, WHICH WAS currently in the process of morphing into their main research area. Laptops, stacks of files, charts, maps covered the table. The dry-erase board stood wedged in a corner, and Cal crouched on the floor hooking up a printer.

“Fox says he grabbed di

“I think I still need somebody to tell me again, a few times.”

“How about if I just call you Daddy?” Qui

He let out the breathless laugh of a man caught between the thrill and the terror. “Wow.” Then shifted to where Qui

“They’re basking,” she told Gage and Cybil in the kitchen.

“They’re entitled.” Cybil closed a cupboard door, put her hands on her hips, and did a survey of the room. “I think this’ll have to do. All the perishables from our place are stowed, and we’ll have to live with the spill-over in dry goods.”

“I’ll get what makes sense out of Fox’s apartment tomorrow,” Layla said. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Flip for the guest room.” Gage took a quarter out of his pocket. “Loser takes the pullout in the office.”

“Oh.” Layla frowned at the coin. “I want to be gracious and say you’re already in there, but I’ve slept on that pullout. Heads. No… tails.”

“Pick one, sweetheart.”

She fisted her hands on either side of her head, wiggled her hips, squeezed her eyes tight. Gage had seen people invent stranger rituals for luck.

“Tails.”

Gage flipped it, snagged it, slapped it on the back of his hand. “Should’ve gone with your first instinct.”

She sighed over the eagle. “Oh well. Fox is going to be a while, so…”

“We’ll try the link as soon as the dining room’s set up.” Cybil glanced out the window. “I guess we stick inside. It’s starting to rain.”

“Plus, snakes. Well, enough basking for them.” Layla walked back in the dining room to help organize.

“YOU’RE TAKING A LOT ON.” FOX STOOD BY HIS FATHER on the back porch of the farmhouse, staring out through the steady, soaking rain.

“I was at Woodstock, kid of mine. We’ll be fine.”

In the distant field a handful of tents stood already pitched. He and his father, along with his brother, Ridge, and Bill Turner, had put together a wooden platform, hung a canopy over it on poles to serve as a kind of cook tent.

That wasn’t so weird, Fox thought, but the line of bright blue Porta Potties along the back edge of the field? That was a strange sight.

His parents would take it in stride, Fox knew. That’s what they did.

“Bill’s going to hook up a few shower areas,” Brian went on, adjusting the bill of his ball cap as he stood in his old work boots and ancient Levi’s. “He’s a handy guy.”

“Yeah.”

“They’ll be pretty rude and crude, but it’ll serve for a week or two, and supplement the schedule your mom and Sparrow are going to make up for people to use the house.”

“Don’t just let people have the run of the place.” Fox looked into his father’s calm eyes. “Come on, Dad, I know you guys. Not everybody’s honest and trustworthy.”

“You mean there are dishonest people in the world who aren’t in politics?” Brian lifted his eyebrows high. “Next thing you’re going to tell me there’s no Easter Bu

“Just lock up at night for a change. Just for now.”

Brian made a noncommittal sound. “Jim expects some people to start heading over within the next couple of days.”

Fox surrendered. His parents would do what they would do. “Could he give you any idea how many?”

“A couple hundred. People listen to Jim. More if he can manage it.”

“I’ll help as much as I can.”

“You don’t worry about that. We’ll take care of this. You do what you have to do, and goddamn it, you take care of yourself. You’re the only oldest son I’ve got.”

“That’s true.” He turned, gave Brian a hug. “I’ll see you later.”

He jogged out to his truck, through the soft summer rain. Hot shower, dry clothes, beer, he thought. In that order. Better, maybe he could talk Layla into the shower with him. He started the truck, backed around his brother’s pickup to head out to the road.

He hoped Gage and Cybil had some luck, or were having some if they were into the link-up. Things had started to… pulse, he decided. He could feel it. The town had taken on shadows, he thought, that had nothing to do with summer rain or wet, gloomy nights. Just a couple more answers, he thought. Just a couple more pieces of the puzzle. That’s all they needed.

He caught the flash of headlights, well behind him, in his rearview mirror, and made the next turn. His windshield wipers swished, and Stone Sour rocked out of the radio. Tapping his hands on the wheel, thinking of that hot shower, he drove another mile before his engine clicked and coughed.

“Oh, come on! Didn’t I just give you a tune-up?” Even as he spoke, the truck shuddered, slowed. A

“The rain just makes it perfect, doesn’t it?” He started to get out, considered. As his tawny eyes shifted to his rearview mirror, he pulled out his phone. And cursed when he saw the No Service display. “Yeah, yeah, can you hear me now?”