Chapter 13Charlie’s frisking of Five Beavers yielded a pistol in one pocket and a switch blade in a leg sheath. When he finished, he pulled a pair of handcuffs out of a hidden pocket of his own and snapped them quickly around the other man’s wrists. He turned then, just as Dusty came to a sliding halt nearby. He leaped out, almost before the truck came to a full stop.
“You must’ve flown,” Charlie said, grinning at the younger man.
“Almost,” Dusty admitted. His answering grin faded fast when he saw Mari. She lay as if she had collapsed in mid-swing, a quartet of oozing furrows down her cheek, the one where the bruise from Mitch’s blow was just starting to fade. Another scratch on her right forearm bled a thin stream into the dust. Maya sprawled on her back, a purpling lump on her jaw and
