Buried Truth by Dana Mentink Read Free Book Online

motorcycle.”
    “Me, too, but the Jeep will have to do this time. Come on. Uncle Bill wants us to go.”
    Heather felt Bill’s eyes on her as she walked Tina outside, but she did not look back.
    Once was enough.
    Bill called Charlie and explained things.
    “I told her she was to stay inside,” Charlie sputtered.
    “She’s a kid. She made a mistake.”
    Charlie hung up, leaving Bill to hope the little girl wouldn’t be punished too severely. This time he agreed with Charlie. With Oscar on the loose, it was better for everyone to stay away from him, including Tina.
    And Heather.
    He was surprised that seeing her brought up such a mess of feelings for him. He’d thought after losing Leanne, her and then Johnny, he didn’t have feelings left. He was wrong. His gut was a jumble of anger and longing. He pictured her brown eyes, remembered the feel of her hand on his arm.
    Let go of that, Bill. Remember the anger. Feed it. And find Oscar.
    He went outside and rolled Heather’s motorcycle into the back of his truck. The sooner he delivered it and severed all connection with her again, the better. His phone rang as he closed the tailgate.
    The voice of Tribal Ranger Al Crow was heavy with excitement. “Bill? That you?”
    “What’s up, Al?”
    “I knew you’d want to be in on it. We got him.”
    Bill’s gut tightened. “What?”
    “Oscar. Got a tip he was holing up in an old camper by Swallow Cliffs. Moving in on him now. Want in?”
    “Oh, yes,” Bill said. “I want in.”
    Swallow Cliffs was the local nickname for acres of prairie grassland nestled up to a dry streambed that cut along the bottom of a cliff face. Spring rains would transform the area into a vigorous river, which provided plenty of bugs and fresh water for the hordes of swallows that nested in the cliff walls. Now, as Bill and the three other men watched through binoculars from behind a screen of shrubs, the only movement came from the sudden dive of a bird and the swish of dry grass tickled by the hot wind.
    Next to Bill, Al Crow and Captain Richmond peered through binoculars. The camper perched crookedly in the grass was rusty, the windows obscured by blinds. Jim Rudley, the same federal investigator who had assisted in the manhunt for Oscar after Johnny’s death, held a phone to his ear. Crow shifted uneasily. “Could handle it ourselves.”
    Richmond grunted. “He’s calling for the bomb squad, just in case this is an ambush.”
    Both men shot a look at Bill. He could remember the blast so clearly, the one that had killed Johnny. The flash, the explosion that had made his ears ring. Holding his partner’s hand and begging him not to die. He forced a steady voice. “Who tipped us?”
    “Reggie,” Crow said.
    Reggie was a mechanic who did any odd job he could find on the Eagle Rock reservation. He’d proven to be a help to the Tribal Rangers on many occasions.
    Crow continued. “Said kids were using the trailer for drinking and such a while back, so he keeps a close eye on it. Saw some tracks near the creek, saw a light last night and called it in to us this morning.”
    Bill stared at the trailer. It had been there so long, on an abandoned stretch of land, he could no longer remember whohad left it there. Nothing moved in the interior. Nothing that he could see, anyway.
    Richmond and Crow stood next to him, hands on their guns, tense. He knew they felt the same mixture of anger and excitement that he did. If Oscar was in there, they could put away the guy who killed Johnny. This time for good.
    Rudley clicked off his phone and nodded to Bill. “Explosives guys are on their way, but it will be a while.”
    Bill looked again at the rusty trailer.
    I’m coming for you.
    Oscar was a twisted man, incapable of normal emotions, his troubles probably born of the days he lived with his mother and a steady stream of abusive men, according to the sketchy facts collected about his life. As far as Bill knew, Oscar loved only two things—his