Raising Abel by W. Michael Gear

Author:W. Michael Gear [Gear, W. Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781639772964
Published: 2022-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

On the late afternoon of the nineteenth Veronica eased the Durango into the cul-de-sac on De France Drive. She pulled in at the right address: a white two-story house with natural stone facing on the lower floors. Evergreen shrubs and a small tree gave it a perfect suburban camouflage. Immediately behind the house the base of Lookout Mountain rose into the night.

"We're here," Veronica said wearily. "Look at this place. Four hundred and fifty grand at a minimum. We're paying way too many taxes."

She glanced at Bryce. "How are you doing?"

He opened his door, and the dome light illuminated his ashen face. "I don't know if I can walk."

"Whewe awe we?" Abel asked from the backseat. His first words in hours.

"Home away from home, kiddo." Veronica stepped out and stretched her tired back muscles. Abel squirmed out behind her, his buffalo filling the crook of his right arm. He stared around with uneasy blue eyes, taking in the mountain, the blinking red lights of the radio towers, and the glowing white M on the mountain.

"What that?" He pointed.

"That's the symbol for the Colorado School of Mines. It's just over there." She pointed north. "In a town called Golden."

Abel's low forehead lined. Then, just as if a switch had been flipped, he turned off again, face blank.

A woman opened the front door and stepped out onto the cement porch. She walked quickly down the driveway, a smile on her face. She wore a mid-length skirt, white blouse, and a loose wool jacket. "You must be Dr. Tremain. I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jones, Federal Bureau of Investigation." She offered her identification. "Did you have any trouble getting here?"

"Hello, Special Agent Jones." Veronica shook hands, gazing briefly at the plastic-coated picture ID. "Why is it that you are all 'special' agents?"

"Damn," Bryce said as he hit his foot against the door frame.

"Are you hurt?" Jones asked, stepping around the front of the Durango.

"Ankle," he muttered, and between Veronica and Jennifer was able to hop into the house. Abel followed uncertainly behind, holding his buffalo in an iron grip.

They maneuvered Bryce to a couch and lowered him. The living room boasted a glass-fronted fireplace, white walls, a drape-covered picture window, light blue carpeting, and comfortable-looking stuffed chairs.

"Nice place," Veronica said. A well-furnished dining room could be seen through the archway. The polished wood table and chairs looked Oriental—and expensive.

"Drug property seizure." Jones propped her hands on her hips and looked around. "Normally I spend my time in the back of a surveillance van. One of my better assignments was squatting beside a trash can in an alley downtown. I was supposed to be homeless. Hell...I was. At least for that three-week assignment."

She didn't look the part now, her tawny hair tied back, her blue eyes thoughtful. Veronica decided she was a striking woman.

"And who are you?" Jones leaned down toward Abel.

He scuttled behind Veronica's knee and peeked out warily, his thumb creeping up to his mouth for reassurance.

"This is Abel," Veronica introduced. "Rebecca's son.

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