July 31

Creede, Western North Carolina

“I’ve found a new location to store our product. The first shipment will be ready to go within a few days.”

Blaze Harwood lifted his gaze from his workbench to his eldest son Caleb. “First shipment?”

“Our sellers are promising larger than expected quantities. I’d rather make several smaller shipments than one large shipment. It’s not safe to keep too much in one place—as proven by the Bamford raid.”

Blaze lowered his attention back to the block of basswood, concentrating on running his gouge in the right direction and at the right depth. With only one eye, he struggled with depth perception. But like everything else he attempted, he conquered the weakness.

Slowing his breathing to match his strokes, he asked, “You made the decision to increase our number of shipments? On your own?”

Silence dropped into the air like a front-end loader dumping a bucket of boulders.

“N-no, sir,” Caleb stuttered out. “The increase in shipments was a recommendation.”

“Increased shipments mean an increase in my costs. Increased costs cut into my profit. Decreased profits mean less money to put towards your mother’s dinner table.” His one-eyed black gaze met his son’s. “How would I explain that to your mama?”

Caleb’s shoulders slumped and he ducked his head. “Sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Pleased by his son’s submission, he set his carving tool to the wood again. “Your heart was in the right place. But don’t ever forget this is my business and I make the decisions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Rather than more shipments, we’ll store our product in smaller quantities at numerous locations. Once we have enough to transport, you’ll combine the product and send it off.”

“I’ll search for new locations right away.”

“They must be secure, out-of-sight, and climate-controlled.”

“Of course.”

The door burst open, and Blaze tore his sidearm from his hip holster.

“Granddaddy, look what I made!”

He slid his Glock back into place and noted Caleb doing the same. His five-year-old grandson leaped, and Blaze caught him midair before settling him on his lap.

“Tobias,” Caleb scolded. “I told you to knock before coming into Granddaddy’s shop.” He held out his hands to take the child. “Sorry, Daddy. Let me get him back to his mama.”

Waving Caleb off, he said, “The boy can stay.” To his grandson, he said, “What have you got there?”

“A boat!”

“Why, yes. I see it now.”

“I’m going to sail to Disney World.”

“Why not let your parents drive you? Or better yet, fly.”

“Mama said we’re never getting out of his hellhole.”

His gaze rose up to Caleb’s once again. “Did she?”

“Yeah,” Tobias said, oblivious to the tension. “She doesn’t like it here much.”

“Florida’s quite a distance. You might need some food.”

Tobias stared at his paper boat, no doubt devising a plan to get himself and his provisions aboard his creation. His young mind never stopped. Unlike Caleb at that age, when all he’d focused on was making mud pies.

“What’s that?” Tobias pointed to the block of rough-carved basswood.

“A duck.” He drew the carving closer so his grandson could rub a grimy finger across the woodgrains. “Can you see it?”

Tobias tilted his head. His finger stopped where the head would soon appear. “Wing.”

“Smart boy.” To Caleb, he said, “Leave him with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

When the workshop door opened, he warned his eldest, “Search quietly. My contact at the Service said they’re more determined than ever to locate the owner of the barn warehouse.”

“It’s good you buried your connection behind a wall of shell companies.”

“Yes, I did my part.” He allowed three heartbeats to pass. “Did you?”

“They won’t find anything. The only thing we left behind was a betrayer.”

“I hope your confidence is warranted.” He brushed a hand over Tobias’s blond head. “I truly do.”